The fifth bottle of wine: farewell Sweden!
More benign angels floated by when we reached Marestorp, together with the sunshine, after a torrential downpour sheltering under the roof of our favourite bakery, that to our horror was closed! Öland is really shutting down for summer.
Ian and Ingabeth welcomed us with hugs and cards and balloons, it being Bert's 65th birthday, and with the Champagne, real for once, we had a lovely evening far too late as poor Ian had to get up far too early the next morning. On Bertils card it read “…this voucher entitles you and chosen partner for a free night at the Hinchliffe Hotel…” I am afraid we abused it.
The next morning Bertil had arranged, after chats with Ian, riding with Icelandic horses in the afternoon. Me, ride a horse?
In Visslaved. There they stood, munching hay and snorting under the shadow of the oaks, as it was a warm afternoon and most of us longed for that ride through forest where shade was available. Unusual for this late in the year. As I was the only one who has never ridden a horse, I got the oldest maiden, 24, which suited me well, and it was with a bit of a pitter-pattering heart I got on, threw my leg over the saddle and sat there with reigns in my hands I had no idea what to do with! But Anne, a Danish girl, took me under her wing, and after about 3 min of instructions in general, one was expected to set off. Or at least my horse was. 15 horses in a line, nose to tail to start with, at a nice slow pace which I managed pretty well. It takes a while to settle in though, and by the time Julia shouted "nu tyltar vi", (tylta is what only Icelandic and Mongolian horses do naturally) I was not quite ready but managed. The path ran through marvelous forest paths, over roots and stones and moss covered floors, the trunks rising like untouched roman pillars on both sides, grey lichen covering the stones, crossing streams and meadows and blackberry thickets, low slung branches one had to duck under and through all together a beautiful countryside. I got the knack of tyltaing at last, by leaning backwards and holding the reigns tighter, and though I chose not to gallop, together with the girl that one of the horses threw off and she landed in an arch in the grass and broke an electric fence, my darling horse decided to do it anyway, sneaky little thing that she was, and suddenly there I was, galloping! Remembered to lift my bum and loosen the reigns, and it was rather fun. Anne came right beside me and said it was going well, was it not, and said horses sometimes do exactly as they fancy...well, from now on I would not let it think an idiot was sitting on her back. She was not fooled of curse!
We stopped by a farm and had bread, butter and cheese with coffee on a rough wooden long table with benches under shady trees, before continuing our afternoon ride. What would I feel like tomorrow?
It really was one of the most marvelous things I have ever done, and would gladly repeat it again. Next time, in Iceland, next time in the homeland of these horses. Though Ian was already suggesting Mongolia on horseback or the pampas.
Ian is a storyteller, and told us one about his brother. Far better than I can do here; Ian's brother went shopping with four kids and a shopping scanner his wife gave him. Frustrated and fed up after all four children running in different directions, him trying to keep track of them and the shopping list, the scanner either not doing it's job or bleeping in the wrong way, he was at the end of his tether. Seeing the sign on the scanner, where it said if you need assistance “call for help”, he lighted up. So he shouted, standing in the middle of an isle, at the top of his lungs, “Help, help!” Repeatedly. So helpers with emergency kits ect. arrived and as they wondered what had happened he just said calmly, “Well, this scanner is not working and it says here…”
We slept well in our guest room upstairs, and in the morning it was rather sad goodbyes to our friends. Not even an invitation to rebuild the terrace was enough to stay on, as Bert had set his heart on Ullared. But Ullared! The biggest shopping centre in Scandinavia.
It was not half as bad as expected, no 2 hour queues, no rush, plenty of nice blue clad people to help you find stuff, and I did find a cheap but good summer down jacket which has been my aim all summer. There was a lot, it was big, yes, and cheap, but after we had found a Swedish flag and a leather jacket for Bert, we came out, quite happy to go and find a place for the night, as usual by a church, some obscure little place called Gunnar's Sjö this time, with a darling little room for church visitors with three chairs, curtains, old fotos on the wall, and a bathroom free for all to use! We were quite surprised, never having seen this in any other place. Singularly free of vandalism, this place must be. We cycled up and down hill, past tranquil lakes and summer houses all dozing waiting for that last week end summer visit, before shut down. Only cowbells rang and one frog croaked as the sun set.
Oh, met a man with an Afghan hound and Italian greyhound at Ullared. Cute story about the little chap, the Italian Greyhound, the size of a cat; They chase rabbits and hares like crazy, born to it, and this one once chased a wild rabbit like the wind, both running for all they were worth, and reaching the point of exhaustion at the same time, panting beside one another and wondering what they were supposed to do next! So the little greyhound trotted back to his owner and the hare jumped into the bushes.
We meandered past meadows and neat farms on our way towards Norway, and after an exciting shopping trip to Grums of all places, to get a few liters of wine, saw a gleaming shiny glittery Cadillac in red with a blond driver. USA in Sweden. We arrived at Töcksfors, a dreadful shopping centre by the border for Norwegians and shot out fairly soon to find our peaceful place by Fågelsjön for the night. Never a disappointment camping here, the lake stretching far into the distance, the evening calm, like a magic mirror, resting on the water.
We shall miss Sweden, it's clean wayside toilets and “Rasta” (rest) places, instead of the most distasteful and dirty and rubbishy lot here in Norway.
More benign angels floated by when we reached Marestorp, together with the sunshine, after a torrential downpour sheltering under the roof of our favourite bakery, that to our horror was closed! Öland is really shutting down for summer.
Ian and Ingabeth welcomed us with hugs and cards and balloons, it being Bert's 65th birthday, and with the Champagne, real for once, we had a lovely evening far too late as poor Ian had to get up far too early the next morning. On Bertils card it read “…this voucher entitles you and chosen partner for a free night at the Hinchliffe Hotel…” I am afraid we abused it.
The next morning Bertil had arranged, after chats with Ian, riding with Icelandic horses in the afternoon. Me, ride a horse?
In Visslaved. There they stood, munching hay and snorting under the shadow of the oaks, as it was a warm afternoon and most of us longed for that ride through forest where shade was available. Unusual for this late in the year. As I was the only one who has never ridden a horse, I got the oldest maiden, 24, which suited me well, and it was with a bit of a pitter-pattering heart I got on, threw my leg over the saddle and sat there with reigns in my hands I had no idea what to do with! But Anne, a Danish girl, took me under her wing, and after about 3 min of instructions in general, one was expected to set off. Or at least my horse was. 15 horses in a line, nose to tail to start with, at a nice slow pace which I managed pretty well. It takes a while to settle in though, and by the time Julia shouted "nu tyltar vi", (tylta is what only Icelandic and Mongolian horses do naturally) I was not quite ready but managed. The path ran through marvelous forest paths, over roots and stones and moss covered floors, the trunks rising like untouched roman pillars on both sides, grey lichen covering the stones, crossing streams and meadows and blackberry thickets, low slung branches one had to duck under and through all together a beautiful countryside. I got the knack of tyltaing at last, by leaning backwards and holding the reigns tighter, and though I chose not to gallop, together with the girl that one of the horses threw off and she landed in an arch in the grass and broke an electric fence, my darling horse decided to do it anyway, sneaky little thing that she was, and suddenly there I was, galloping! Remembered to lift my bum and loosen the reigns, and it was rather fun. Anne came right beside me and said it was going well, was it not, and said horses sometimes do exactly as they fancy...well, from now on I would not let it think an idiot was sitting on her back. She was not fooled of curse!
We stopped by a farm and had bread, butter and cheese with coffee on a rough wooden long table with benches under shady trees, before continuing our afternoon ride. What would I feel like tomorrow?
It really was one of the most marvelous things I have ever done, and would gladly repeat it again. Next time, in Iceland, next time in the homeland of these horses. Though Ian was already suggesting Mongolia on horseback or the pampas.
Ian is a storyteller, and told us one about his brother. Far better than I can do here; Ian's brother went shopping with four kids and a shopping scanner his wife gave him. Frustrated and fed up after all four children running in different directions, him trying to keep track of them and the shopping list, the scanner either not doing it's job or bleeping in the wrong way, he was at the end of his tether. Seeing the sign on the scanner, where it said if you need assistance “call for help”, he lighted up. So he shouted, standing in the middle of an isle, at the top of his lungs, “Help, help!” Repeatedly. So helpers with emergency kits ect. arrived and as they wondered what had happened he just said calmly, “Well, this scanner is not working and it says here…”
We slept well in our guest room upstairs, and in the morning it was rather sad goodbyes to our friends. Not even an invitation to rebuild the terrace was enough to stay on, as Bert had set his heart on Ullared. But Ullared! The biggest shopping centre in Scandinavia.
It was not half as bad as expected, no 2 hour queues, no rush, plenty of nice blue clad people to help you find stuff, and I did find a cheap but good summer down jacket which has been my aim all summer. There was a lot, it was big, yes, and cheap, but after we had found a Swedish flag and a leather jacket for Bert, we came out, quite happy to go and find a place for the night, as usual by a church, some obscure little place called Gunnar's Sjö this time, with a darling little room for church visitors with three chairs, curtains, old fotos on the wall, and a bathroom free for all to use! We were quite surprised, never having seen this in any other place. Singularly free of vandalism, this place must be. We cycled up and down hill, past tranquil lakes and summer houses all dozing waiting for that last week end summer visit, before shut down. Only cowbells rang and one frog croaked as the sun set.
Oh, met a man with an Afghan hound and Italian greyhound at Ullared. Cute story about the little chap, the Italian Greyhound, the size of a cat; They chase rabbits and hares like crazy, born to it, and this one once chased a wild rabbit like the wind, both running for all they were worth, and reaching the point of exhaustion at the same time, panting beside one another and wondering what they were supposed to do next! So the little greyhound trotted back to his owner and the hare jumped into the bushes.
We meandered past meadows and neat farms on our way towards Norway, and after an exciting shopping trip to Grums of all places, to get a few liters of wine, saw a gleaming shiny glittery Cadillac in red with a blond driver. USA in Sweden. We arrived at Töcksfors, a dreadful shopping centre by the border for Norwegians and shot out fairly soon to find our peaceful place by Fågelsjön for the night. Never a disappointment camping here, the lake stretching far into the distance, the evening calm, like a magic mirror, resting on the water.
We shall miss Sweden, it's clean wayside toilets and “Rasta” (rest) places, instead of the most distasteful and dirty and rubbishy lot here in Norway.