31st August 2019

With the school summer holidays now in full swing, a few days have passed without us having the company of Lucas, Ellis, and Harry, while Charlotte is busy with her gardening business. Usually, Sue entertains the boys while I keep Harry occupied with walks and treats. Occasionally, when Sue has a U3A activity she doesn’t want to miss, I have all three, which means Lucas and a reluctant Ellis accompany Harry on his necessary regular ‘poop’ walks.

On 9th August, Sue’s little Suzuki went into the garage for its annual MOT. Having covered just over 2,000 miles since last year, it was no surprise that it passed with flying colours. My Fiesta developed a fault with the airbag sensor several months ago, a common issue caused by the front seat connections. I cleaned up the contacts myself, but resetting the warning light required either a garage visit or the purchase of a diagnostic tool. I opted for the garage, and it cost me £65 just to switch a light off!

On 11th August, Sarah and Lee invited us to Newbold Verdon for Sunday lunch. It was a lovely, warm day and a great opportunity to see the hard work they’ve put into their garden. We also discovered they had been busy inside the house, converting an outhouse into a rather plush, hi-tech gym, as well as freshening up other areas with new paint, furniture, and artwork. They’ve certainly been busy little beavers! Lunch was all the more enjoyable as we didn’t have to cook or wash up afterwards.

On 15th August, the Rothwells went to the East Coast for a four-day stay in a caravan. They were lucky with the weather, managing to get out onto the beach and visit a few local attractions, a well-deserved break for the family. Harry stayed with us, as they weren’t sure he would cope with caravan living (he’s too big and energetic). He adapted well to staying with us for a few days; he has quite a laid-back attitude, and like Mia, I am the one imprinted in his mind for walkies! This means that wherever I am, Harry is. However, unlike Mia, who insists on sleeping on the bed, Harry prefers the more civilised option of a dog mattress at the side.

On 17th August, Sarah and Lee spent a few days in Durham, enjoying the sights and cuisine of this historic northern city.

Jamie’s Peugeot decided to break down after a day out in Derbyshire, visiting the Peak Cavern. As with my vehicle, the problem was electrical and linked to the engine management system, requiring a new part. His solution was to borrow my car to get to work, as his Audi R8 makes far too much of a racket at 6 am for the neighbours (and, I imagine, uses a lot more fuel than mine!). However, on 21st August, he was forced to swap to Sue’s less macho pink Alto, as we took my Fiesta to Mountfitchet Castle, near Stansted.

 

We stayed that night at the Days Hotel next to the M11, before catching an early morning flight to Nyköping, Sweden. Our visit to Mountfitchet Castle was an interesting way to spend the afternoon before checking into the hotel. It is the only authentic reconstruction of a castle on its original site in the world, very well done, impressively authentic, and a fun day out for all ages.

We were fortunate that our midweek visit wasn’t as busy as it surely gets at weekends, allowing us to explore at our own pace. The weather was perfect, and we had a good laugh watching groups of eager children pull on ropes to fire the catapult, launching water balloons at a fearsome cardboard Viking. The historical signage was plentiful, and even Sue and I, both ex-teachers, learnt a few new things. For instance, we hadn’t known that many castles had a trough full of vinegar at the entrance, where merchants were required to wash their coins to prevent the spread of disease.

The site is also home to a brilliant toy museum, so vast and fascinating that even a whole day spent perusing the exhibitions wouldn’t have done it justice. It was a shame we didn’t have more time, as it brought back wonderful memories of our childhood. We also took a turn through the Haunted House, which turned out to be a great laugh.

Before heading to our accommodation for the night, we enjoyed a pleasant walk through the town to visit the windmill perched above this charming London commuter settlement. On our way back to the car, we stopped for refreshments in the sunny beer garden of a town-centre hostelry.

The following morning, we caught our 8:30 am Ryanair flight to Skavsta Airport in Nyköping, Södermanland County, Sweden, without a hitch. Located about an hour’s drive south of Stockholm, Nyköping is a popular weekend holiday destination for Swedes and was once the country’s capital. Our pre-booked taxi to the hotel was late, requiring a phone call to the office to chivvy up the driver, whose excuse was heavy traffic. Nevertheless, we arrived at the aptly named Good Morning Hotel around 1 pm and checked into our room after first enjoying several cups of coffee and croissants, freely available in the lobby.

The hotel was conveniently located near several fast-food outlets and a supermarket, with a leisurely 30-minute walk into the centre of Nyköping (pronounced neesherping). Like the Dutch, the Swedes have a deep love for cycling, and their road system reflects this, with a maze of cycle lanes weaving alongside, over, and under roads designed for less strenuous vehicles, predominantly Volvos, unsurprisingly. We followed one of these cycle and pedestrian paths on our meander into the town centre.

Our route first took us through a light industrial area before leading into the suburbs, where clean and modern apartment blocks dominated the landscape. In Sweden, heating is free in most towns thanks to a communal heating system, which explains the uniform design of these residential developments. As we entered the older part of the town, the buildings became more traditional and colourful.

Västra Storgatan, a pedestrianised street running through the centre, is where the shops, banks, and restaurants are located. It’s a charming and picturesque thoroughfare, bustling with smartly dressed locals going about their business, many on bicycles, weaving in and out of bollards, flower displays, and pedestrians. The bike of choice seemed to be the classic, ungeared sit-up-and-beg type, a rare sight in the UK, where we seem to prefer sleeker, sportier low-handlebar models. I think we’re missing a trick, though, the Swedes certainly look elegant as they glide effortlessly over the cobbles.

Our target was the Tourist Information Office in the central square. Here, we attempted to book a train ticket to Stockholm for the following day, but since we didn’t have our passports with us, they advised us to go directly to the station to purchase the tickets. Before leaving, we also confirmed that bicycles could be hired from the centre, a key part of our plan for later in the trip.

Continuing down Västra Storgatan, we crossed the appropriately named Nyköping River. As with much of this picturesque road, the bridge was adorned with bright, cascading flower displays. We took a moment to pause here, sitting and watching both the locals passing by and the wildlife below. A lone heron perched thoughtfully on a branch, seemingly unbothered by the bustle of people just metres away. (He wouldn’t get away with that under the bridge in Harborough!)

The bridge was well-equipped for weary wanderers, with four sets of rotating seats placed along the overpass, an ideal spot to rest tired feet after a shopping spree. We gladly took advantage of them, enjoying the peaceful blend of nature and city life.

Suitably rested, we continued down to the end of the thoroughfare, where it appeared to lead into a park and the frontage of a large educational institution. Returning to the heavily cobbled central square, we took a look inside a large, imposing white church set into one of its corners. It wasn’t particularly ornate or decorated, but it was cool and offered a welcome respite from the sun.

Using my mobile’s GPS, we followed its directions towards the train station, stopping briefly to admire a striking building perched atop a rocky knoll. It could have been a church, a fortification, or something else entirely, without any signage; its significance remained a mystery, so we left it to its own devices. Everywhere we go, there are historical, geographical, and communal information boards, none of which are in English. Other than the pictorial representations, we remain largely ignorant of their content. This surprises me, as almost everyone we’ve encountered speaks impeccable English, the only exceptions being our Somali taxi driver and other obvious immigrants (though no doubt their Swedish is quite fluent).

On arrival at the station, we were disappointed to find it was unmanned, with tickets only available from a machine. Once again, there was no concession to English, so I fumbled my way through the Swedish menu, eventually reaching the payment screen for what I believed to be the correct train on the right day. However, I hesitated when it came to inserting my card, as there was no one around to confirm that I had selected the right options. Instead, we timed our walk back to the hotel to gauge our journey the following morning; amusingly, Sue timed it at 32 minutes while I recorded 28.

That evening, we ate at MAX, a McDonald style fast food outlet near the hotel. The staff seemed thoroughly bewildered when I insisted on paying in cash. Swedes pay for absolutely everything by card. Everyone else used the self-service terminals, where they selected their meals and paid electronically before receiving a numbered slip, which they watched for on the overhead screens. The only hitch? The machines displayed Swedish only. We failed once again and resorted to paying with legal Swedish currency; appropriately, our choice was chicken!

The next morning, I mentioned the train ticket issue to our English-speaking hotel receptionist, who kindly booked them for us and printed them out on reassuringly official paper. We only purchased our outward journey, as she assured us that Stockholm’s Central Station was staffed 24/7 and we would have no trouble securing a return ticket, which proved to be the case.

The 23rd was Susan’s birthday. We celebrated with an early breakfast at the hotel at 6 am, a very good and substantial spread. Our walk to the station took 30 minutes, a fair compromise between our previous day’s timings. There were quite a few people waiting for the train, but we had no trouble finding seats. I can’t recall much of the 50-minute journey, as the scenery was much the same as what we had seen on our recent jaunt on the Polar Bear Express to Moosonee (Canada), forest, and yet more forest, so I shut my eyes and dozed until we reached the outskirts of the capital. Sue informed me that I only missed a few lakes, which I can live with!

The train carriage was larger than those back in the UK, but the décor and fittings were quite dated; it must have been old rolling stock. I did spot a few more modern carriages flashing by, but at 190 krona (£15.93) for two one-way tickets covering a 50-minute journey, it was excellent value.

We had planned to join a free walking tour of the old town at 10 am. I had saved the meeting point outside Gamla Stan subway station on my phone’s GPS, but frustratingly, it didn’t take us to the exact location. After 15 minutes of searching and passing several other foreign-language tours, I finally asked a waiter in a nearby restaurant, who pointed us in the right direction. We found a group of about 15 tourists waiting for the English-guided tour, with a similar number gathered for the Spanish version.

Although the morning had been bright and sunny up to that point, disappointingly, it started to rain, persisting throughout our entire time in the city, at times turning into a downpour.

Our guide introduced herself as being from India. She had come to Sweden to study Urban Development at university and had liked Stockholm so much that she decided to stay. Her English was excellent (though I’m unsure about her Swedish). She was very knowledgeable about Swedish history and, as expected, particularly well-versed in the architecture of the buildings we passed.

Even though Sue and I were dressed appropriately for wet weather, we still ended up soaked. I have no idea how the less prepared members of our group avoided drowning! Despite the miserable conditions, with water gushing over slippery cobbled lanes and alleys, our guide kept us engaged, and not a single person slunk off in search of shelter during the 2.5-hour tour.

When the tour ended near the Parliament building, we tipped her generously for her endurance before finding a covered spot from which to watch the daily changing of the guard. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the grand display of pomp and ceremony that unfolded before us. The spectacle lasted a good half-hour and concluded with a brass band concert on horseback. There was much marching, saluting, sword-brandishing, shouted commands, and, of course, music from the mounted band. It was a magnificent display, undiminished by the rain and the sea of umbrellas.

Eventually, with the ceremonial procession riding off, presumably back to their barracks, we made our way off the island of Gamla Stan and headed to the National Museum on the southern bank of the river.

The name ‘Stockholm’ splits into two distinct parts, Stock-holm, meaning “Log-islet.” The most widely accepted explanation for the name is that sharpened logs were driven into the strait north of what is now the Old Town (Gamla Stan), acting as a barrier to prevent boats from entering the commercially significant lake to the north without payment.

We sought refuge in the museum, grateful for the chance to warm up with a hot drink and explore its dry exhibits. After partially drying out, we made our way to the top floor, which housed the earliest displays of Swedish artwork, with each level dedicated to a different period in history. We both agreed that it was an exceptionally well-organised museum, filled with magnificent paintings, a perfect place to visit on a rainy day. Having thoroughly explored the top floor, we decided to leave, saving the remaining four floors for a potential future visit. Keen to revisit some of the locations from our earlier tour, we stepped back out into the rain, hoping to do so before we dissolved completely.

We quickly retraced our steps to the old town, taking our time to absorb its bustling atmosphere, along with the persistent drizzle from above. As expected, Sue concluded our visit with the purchase of a Christmas tree bauble.

Late in the afternoon, we made our leisurely way back to the Central Station, where, as assured by our hotel receptionist, there was indeed a manned ticket office. The staff obligingly printed out our return tickets, putting our minds at ease. Once again, warm and comfortable, I dozed through most of the journey. On arriving in Nyköping, we were pleased to find that the rain hadn’t bothered to visit here!

For convenience, we dined once more at MAX, though this time, we embraced the Swedish way. Navigating the self-service terminal, we guessed our way through the selection process and bravely tackled the card payment system. The moment our chosen meals appeared on the tray, we exchanged a smug, triumphant look, success! I think we’ve cracked Swedish.

The following morning, after a slightly later breakfast (8 am), we stepped out under clear blue skies with the promise of a hot day ahead. Back in the UK, it was shaping up to be a scorcher, too, the hottest August Bank Holiday on record. At the Tourist Information Office, we hired a couple of bikes for the day at a very reasonable 100 krona each (£8.37). I was quite impressed with our machines, quintessentially Swedish, complete with baskets and a cleverly built-in lock that secured the rear wheel with a simple turn of a key. Unfamiliar with the design, Sue took some time to adjust to the bike’s setup: a single gear, a front brake lever, and an internal rear brake operated by pedalling backwards, a surprisingly effective system. We practised in the cobbled main square before setting off towards the end of Västra Storgatan.

Our first stop was the picturesque harbour adorned with vibrant troughs of flowers. The restaurants were bustling with people enjoying coffee and pastries while small yachts lay moored in the marina. A few motorboats chugged leisurely across the water, making the most of the sunshine. Despite the lovely weather, summer in Sweden was drawing to a close, and, after all, Vikings don’t plunder in the off-season.

Following a scenic cycle track that hugged the Baltic coast for a few miles, we arrived at a charming settlement of colourful wooden houses. After taking in the peaceful surroundings, we retraced our route back to the harbour, where we found a small restaurant with outdoor seating. Under the warm sun, we indulged in some of the most deliciously flavoured ice creams we’d had in a long time. As we polished off the cones, we entertained a friendly sparrow, at least until a pair of rooks swooped in to claim the spotlight.

Passing the larger waterfront restaurants again, I noticed that they were now brimming with patrons enjoying wine, beer, and leisurely lunches.

Just a few hundred metres from the harbour stood Nyköping Castle, perched beside the river flowing through town we parked our bikes and stepped inside this free museum and historical monument. The main exhibits were housed in the White Tower, offering a glimpse into life in the castle’s early days. However, none of the displays were in English; a small pamphlet provided just enough context to piece things together. The exhibitions were well done, authentic, imaginative, and sprinkled with humour. Like the local children exploring alongside us, I found myself entertained by the challenge of spotting the small, hidden rats that had been placed among the displays to encourage young minds to pay attention!

A guided tour in English was scheduled for 4 p.m., but we already had plans to be elsewhere by then. The rest of the castle lay in ruins, yet enough remained to give a strong sense of its former grandeur. Well worth a visit.

We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the town’s side streets, discovering interesting buildings and regretting our complete lack of Swedish, as every corner seemed to have an information board. As usual, Sue was more persistent than I was, making an effort to decipher what was being conveyed. I resigned myself to the fact that they were missing an opportunity by not including a barcode linking to a website with translations, as we’ve often seen in the UK. I could have used my Google Translate app, but I wasn’t entirely sure how.

Later in the afternoon, we cycled back towards the hotel but continued past it for just over a mile to visit a historical site I’d spotted on the map. It turned out to be an old farmhouse and associated buildings dating back to before the 1800s. As we stood outside, a friendly dog bounded up to us, gripping a sock firmly in its mouth, closely followed by its owner. We briefly explained why we were there, and she told us she was the farmer, though the farm itself was government-owned, and she was a tenant. With not much to see, we moved on to a large information board we’d noticed further down the road, next to a field gate and woodland. To our delight, part of it was in English! It explained that the area was a conservation site and part of a national hiking trail. After a short stroll down a wooded path to get a better view of a restored woodcutter’s cottage, we remounted our bikes and headed back towards the hotel.

We planned to stop at Willy’s, a large out-of-town supermarket, to compare prices with those back home. However, just as we arrived, we saw people filing out of the building. It didn’t take long to realise that the fire alarm had gone off, and the place was being evacuated. We moved on.

After a much-needed rest at the hotel, we decided to cycle back into Nyköping for dinner. It was 7:30 pm on a Saturday, and the town was deserted! We ended up eating alone in a Turkish pizza restaurant. Was Swedish Strictly Come Dancing on the telly? We’ve found it almost impossible to find authentic Swedish food here. The menus seem to revolve around burgers, sausages (which are often just hamburgers by another name), or fast-food chain imitations. Over the past few days, we’ve noticed that most restaurant-goers are either eating burgers, hamburgers, or pizza, very disappointing. At breakfast, the only nod to Swedish cuisine has been a small jar of pickled herring, which I seem to be the only one dipping into.

It was late but still light when we returned to the hotel. After storing our bikes in a utility room, we had coffee in reception before heading off to bed.

The following morning, fuelled by a full breakfast, we made our way back to the tourist information centre and booked our bikes for another half-day. We cycled down to the harbour, once again soaking up the warmth of the Swedish sun, licking ice creams from the same vendor as the previous day, and watching the locals go for mid-morning runs along the crisscrossing pathways. I noted that they seemed to run alone rather than in pairs, as is more common back home. Perhaps Swedes don’t need the encouragement of a running partner, or maybe it’s a reflection of the Scandinavian psyche. According to our Indian guide in Stockholm, Swedes tend to prefer solitude, which could explain the country’s troubling suicide statistics.

Just a few minutes’ cycle from the harbour was the Sörmlands Museum, a large, industrial-looking building that TripAdvisor had recommended as a worthwhile visit. Once again, all the exhibit information was in Swedish, but we were given an English pamphlet, and an English tour was scheduled for later in the day. However, this was unlike any museum we’d ever visited before. Rather than showcasing artefacts or historical events, it was a reflection of the lives of the people of Sörmland.

Spread across two floors, the museum presented the personal belongings, photographs, and memorabilia of various local individuals, some long deceased, others still alive (I assume). A few had achieved some level of fame, but most were ordinary people. Their life stories were displayed in carefully arranged rooms, with possessions placed behind glass for visitors to observe. Some had connections to the Romanovs, while others had competed in the 1936 Berlin Olympics. Most, however, were farmers, factory workers, and everyday folk from the past and present. Watching a slideshow of a person’s life while sitting amongst their possessions, and, in some cases, a reconstruction of their living space, was surprisingly moving. It left a deeper impression than I had expected. A fascinating and thought-provoking experience, better even than rat hunting.

At midday, we returned to the hotel to check out, leaving our luggage in a secure room before heading back into town.

Next, we set off upriver towards a lake I’d spotted on Google Maps. The track meandered alongside the watercourse, occasionally crossing from one bank to the other, and for the most part, we had it to ourselves. At one point, we stopped on a narrow wooden bridge, fascinated by a canoe slalom course designed for some serious ‘canoodling’! It was a Sunday afternoon, yet not a soul was using it. Why?

Our route then took us through woodland, which is predominant in this area. The track became increasingly challenging, with undulations, twists, and turns making progress tricky. We passed trees laden with cobnuts and hazelnuts, but couldn’t be bothered to stop and pick them. Probably less than half a mile from our destination, the path became even rougher. Rather than risk an accident, especially with a flight to catch that evening, we decided to turn back. We still had to return the bikes, after all.

On the way, we stopped at a delightful little café set on a hillside. As we approached, we could hear music drifting through the air. A band was rehearsing in the pretty flower garden ahead of a concert scheduled for 4 pm. The music was very much to our taste, and we sat listening for a while. Unfortunately, 4 pm was also the deadline for returning our bikes, so we had no choice but to press on, albeit reluctantly.

We returned the bikes on time and then strolled back to the Good Morning Hotel. Why do my feet always seem to drag when the long journey home begins?

To pass the time while waiting for our taxi transfer, we had planned to do a bit of geocaching. Our first hunt was a success, a magnetic micro-cache hidden beneath the huge MAX sign that we had seen from our room window each morning. Encouraged, we set off in search of a second cache located a little further down the road on the opposite side. However, it was in a field that was currently being harvested, and the combination of heavy traffic and dust kicked up by the combine made both the road crossing hazardous and the air unpleasant. Deciding it was a cache too far, we abandoned the search and retreated to reception, where we enjoyed coffee, croissants, fruit, and juice while waiting for our transfer.

Our 8:30 p.m. flight departed on time and arrived 20 minutes early. I slept for most of the journey, but Sue was less fortunate. We arrived home just after midnight to find the house had turned into an oven. The heatwave that had gripped the UK over the past few days had taken refuge inside Willow Bank!

On our return, the family informed us of their upcoming travels: Jamie is heading to Turkey, the Rothwells to Thailand, and the Verdons to France. This means Sue and I will have the pleasure of two dogs and a rabbit for company at various times! In response, we decided to book a trip to sail down the Amazon in January, hopefully with better luck than our last attempt two years ago.

Since returning, Peter and I had planned to lay some slabs on Jamie’s driveway. However, despite my reminding him to leave his garden gate open for access, he went to work without doing so. Instead, we moved to Plan B, heading to Charlotte’s to cut down a large willow tree that was leaning dangerously over her hen coop.

While there, I had a surprise call from Brigitte, who was back in the UK after returning her grandchildren from Cyprus. We arranged to meet later that afternoon once Sue (who was at the cinema) and I were home. Brigitte was flying back to Cyprus the next day, so it was nice to catch up. It seems they are now considering returning to the UK permanently. They’re looking into selling their Cypriot property, and there’s even a possibility of a job opening for Brigitte at her previous workplace in Leicester.

Meanwhile, Ashton has moved out, and Jamie is now living in Desborough with only Maddie, his rabbit, for company. He’s keeping busy with work; this weekend, he’s conducting a training seminar in London for his FX Learning clients.