Who goes North in December, much less to Stockholm, which sits at the same latitude as Anchorage, Alaska, for just three days? Apparently, I do, when work is footing the bill. The trip calls for an all-day meeting on a Monday, so it makes inherent sense to spend the weekend dawdling in and about the northern capital.

There are very few major cities in the world that have longer winter nights than Stockholm. In fact, the sun is already tucking in behind the horizon as I feel our SAS flight glide into position over Stockholm's Arlanda airport. I check my watch: half past two in the afternoon. We spill out of our 737 into the strange, empty sanitarium of Terminal 5, with its dark polished wood floors, grey Ikea seats arranged in neat lines, and floor-to-ceiling windows separating us from the plunging temperatures outside. No one talks as we click-and-clack our way to baggage claim.

My bus ride to central Stockholm costs 99 kr. (about $15), much cheaper than the Arlanda Express train at 220 kr. and just a shade longer at this time of day (30 minutes). Plus, I get a free tour of the city.

Stockholm has been the political and economic center of Northern Europe since the 13th century. With an urban population pushing 1 million, the city is spread over fourteen islands and peninsulas connected by bridges and pedestrian walkways. I learn quickly that the Swedes love candles. Small flames line window sills, mantles, tabletops and restaurant entrances. The flickering light lends Old Town ("Gamla Stan") Stockholm -- with its cobblestone streets, small squares, squatty buildings and light traffic -- a remarkably intimate ambience. The bus terminates at the Central Station and I walk two blocks down to the Sheraton Stockholm, where I burn 10,000 SPG points for a free room.

Not wanting to waste the few remaining minutes of sunshine, I drop my bags and hurry out the door. But the world turns fast -- daylight is no where to be seen and the early darkness makes me feel like dinner. It's 3:30PM. I walk across town, snapping photos along the way, to the Pelikan -- a working man's restaurant on Stockholm's south-most island (Blekingegatan 40, +46 (8) 556 090 90). It's a drag eating alone when I travel by myself, but that is no excuse to pass up the opportunity for a good meal! I order pytt y pana, a traditional Swedish dish of potato hash with bacon topped with a fried egg, washing it down with a pint of Langren's Lager (250 kr.).

Darkness and chill don't lend themselves to outdoor exploration, even if it is still early. So, sitting at the Pelikan, I decide to seek out some indoor entertainment for the evening: jazz. The annual Stockholm Jazz Festival is of international repute, so I imagine there are year-round venues of high-quality music in the city. The waiter recommends a club called Fasching, the jazz destination in Stockhom. On the way there, I stop by my hotel's club lounge for a drink and some dessert -- a Swedish apple tart of some sort with some cream.

I soon discover that the one great cultural gift that America has given the world -- jazz, that is... not McDonalds -- is flourishing in this cold city. It has taken on a remarkably high artistic standard, as demonstrated by the musicians here tonight. The Swede sitting next to me at the club strikes up a conversation over some wine and cider and he is kind enough to translate some of the jokes (somehow not as funny in English) and commentary from the musicians. What I love about watching jazz is the spontaneous creation -- it is music in the moment, it is freedom and it is trust.

The three hours at the small, cozy club are well worth the 125 kr. No surprise, it's still dark outside when I get back to the Sheraton. Tomorrow I plan to capitalize on as much sunlight as possible.