Arrived in Sweden on the 17th of January after 20 hours of traveling, connecting flights, trains etc. Although chilly, it's such a dream to be surrounded by snow of this fairytale density. The little village where my Mum lives actually looks like postcard, surrounded by countryside (currently paddocks of snow) and miles of forest reservation. Of course the first thing on my list was to have a Swedish feast. What made the hit-list: The gamut of pickled herring varieties (Elderflower and lemon is my particular favourite but there's also orange and cinammon, red caviar and sour cream etc. It's also not lost on me that the top brand is called ABBA. No lies.), the most mouth watering smoked salmon and I mean 'smoked' 'til it's cooked and that lovely pale pink and so delightfully oily and wood-smoked that it melts in your mouth, and lastly SMOKED CAVIAR AND DILL PASTE, which comes packaged in a giant green tube not dissimilar to oil paint, same cap and all, and is simultaneously salty and sweet and a fantastic accompaniment to bread. I think I might have to take a giant tube with me to Italy. After my little (or not so litte) desgustation we had a little wander around the village, before it started to get dark before 4pm, which in theory doesn't sound too late, but which severely cuts down your day unless you're ready to go at the crack of dawn, which would in fact not be much help to your cause, since it's not really light until 8.30.
Reminder: this is not in fact a postcard.
My smile belies the -6 degrees of the setting...
As does the setting sun. It's actually before 4pm.
Delight, delight! Bounty from my first Swedish grocery-shop.
Bronze Age burial hill. I kid thee not.
On the road.
Just your run of the, er mill, Windmill in the schoolyard.
Mum and Noah.
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