Sweden, as Mum recalls it

Kitty Melrose

• Last Updated: August 20. 2009 4:43PM UAE / August 20. 2009 12:43PM GMT

At 19, my mum was an au pair in Sweden. The Jarlefors, who she worked for, went on to become my godparents and, as I grew up, many family holidays were spent at their wonderful summerhouse in Gullspäng on the shores of Lake Vänern.

It is every Swede’s dream – and tradition – to own a cottage right by the water. Tante and Farao’s (Swedish for auntie and uncle) didn’t disappoint. I can picture it now: signature red and white timber, with rambling orchards and woods.

There was splashing about on the shore, a jetty to somersault from, boat trips, hunting for mushrooms on the forest floor, filling buckets with berries, elk-spotting, lots of sunshine, freedom and fresh air. When I was eight, Tante led me into the garden and pointed at a pony, hired for my arrival. Heaven.

“It’s still my favourite country,” my mum told me as we reminisced, which prompted the idea of a sentimental return. Plus, now – a lot older – I also have my own family (my partner and our two-year-old son Riley). Where to holiday with a toddler? I liked the idea he might experience the magic I still remember.

And so the four of us landed in Västerås, just outside Stockholm, and picked up a hire car. Most visitors head west or to the pine-dotted archipelago that spools out from the Swedish capital. Instead, we took the two-hour drive inland into the Gästrikland region in central Sweden, with its lakes and vast tracts of silver birch and pine forests. We passed fields grazed by ponies, and wild purple lupins and harebells along the roadsides.

Here, in Ginborn, we’d rented a typical Swedish holiday house in a small hamlet spread out along a lakeside. My mum had discovered it on the internet. First impressions: large and homely. It had a rustic-style kitchen with doors opening out onto the veranda where you could see the lake, and a separate cabin for my mum to retreat to. We unpacked, put Riley to bed and had a cool drink, realising it also came with peace and quiet.

Time hasn’t stopped for Sweden, but the countryside remains as tranquil and uncluttered as mum and I remember it. The country is similar in size to Thailand or California yet with only 9.3 million inhabitants so there’s little pressure on the land. Forests cover 53 per cent of it, there are thousands of lakes, vast areas of trackless wilderness in national parks and an unspoilt coastline 3,200km long. Nature thrives, and one of the main activities is to enjoy it, which, over our first few days, is how we gently passed our time. Riley ran in and out of the place, exploring the lush gardens. He played by the lakeshore, splashing his feet in the water 30m from our front door.

We would head into the woods, making secret dens and picking wild strawberries. Grandma organised adventures for her grandson and they’d disappear. Every time that I saw my son’s thrilled face as he collected pine cones, jumped in puddles and chased frogs, I felt great. It was a world away from our city life – which was exactly the point – and still no need for the Thomas the Tank Engine DVD I’d brought.

There was adult quality time, too – lazing on the veranda over a book, firing up the coffee pot and grilling meatballs on the barbecue. A neighbour walking by and stopping for a chat or the sound of jet skis was as busy as it got. We discovered – to Riley’s delight – a huge bag of toys in a cupboard, and took turns playing football and badminton before cooling off in the lake.

Swedish summer temperatures can rise into the high 20s. North of the Arctic Circle, the sun never actually sets from May until mid-July, hence the name Land of the Midnight Sun. As south as we were, however, it dipped just below the horizon at around midnight, only to rise two hours later. There was no darkness, or even dusk for that matter – quite bizarre.

Up one morning at 2.30am with a restless Riley, I was amazed at the sky. There was just so much of it and it was as if someone had just dimmed the lights.

All that extra sunlight, of course, made “our” Lake Storsjön a great bathing and boating spot. The cottage came with a solid open canoe, which we heaved down to the shore. On the water, it was glorious, as we passed wooden rowing boats and young boys fishing in dinghies.

After much daring, I was the first to wade into the tea-coloured waters. There’s something special about wild swimming. You’re entering a totally natural world and there’s the feeling of freedom you don’t get in a swimming pool.

One evening, my partner and I walked down to the water. At 10pm, streaks of sun were catching the tops of the silver birches and lighting up the shore opposite. There was barely a ripple as we dipped into the waters, reeds rustling; by now there was nobody but us. To swim like this, as the sun sets, is strange and beautiful, like you’re the only people in the world. We stayed until midnight, when we pulled our towels around us and tiptoed back in the pale light.

Despite the cottage feeling remote, there are sights to see on your doorstep. So on our third day we took a trip to Årsunda beach – a two-kilometre-long sandy sweep with a safe swim area for kids, boat docks and long slender jetties. Here, you can take the steamboat Emma on a tour of Lake Storsjön. “Build castles, Mummy!” was Riley’s request. We had coffee and cake at the cafe with an amazing view looking out onto the water.

My mum’s one holiday request was to visit Carl Larsson’s Garden (www.clg.se/en) in Sundborn, Dalarna, where Tante and Farao had taken her 30 years earlier. One of Sweden’s most famous artists, Larsson’s home is a work of art in itself, filled with some of his most important watercolours (which he used to paint his way out of the Stockholm slum where he grew up). It attracts more than 60,000 visitors a year.

We took the 45-minute guided tour, which cost about US$12 (Dh44) and provided a fascinating insight into his work and also the life of his talented wife, Karin, who he married in 1883. She was a mother of eight and a modernist textile designer long before the term modernism even existed. There were picnic tables dotted around their pretty garden and we stayed for lunch, tucking into elk steak, spicy sausages, salmon and dill sauce, horseradish potatoes and beetroot salad.

Then we made our way to nearby Falun, where the brightly coloured model Dalecarlian horses (almost as symbolic as the Swedish flag) come from, and where we stuck our noses into a few designer craft shops.


There is plenty more beauty to explore here, such as the quaint towns of Leksand, Rättvik and Mora on Lake Siljan, where long boats can be seen each Sunday. If you have the time, go to Kolarbyn, a natural refuge, where the two-day moose safari (www.kolarbyn.se ) is popular. You spend the night in a little forest hut. There is no electricity but instead a campfire pit for outdoor dinners and a floating sauna .

Seafood is the big attraction on the Baltic coast beyond Gävle’s pretty old town. Bönan is a quaint 19th-century fishing village well known for its cured herring, salmon and white fish, with a lovely small bay. Gåsholma has boat rentals and a cafe famous for its delicious fish sandwiches.

You can take the 272 road to Färnebofjärden (www.farnebofjarden.se), one of Sweden’s 28 national parks, for challenging hikes. More diverse offerings include tractor museums and old Viking remains. You can ride horses, jump on a bike or play golf, which is enough to keep almost anyone happy for a week.

Our last day is Midsummer Eve, a huge event in Sweden on the lightest day of the year. It was originally a pagan festival to give thanks for relief from the long, dark winter, but also considered a magical night, as it was the best time for telling people’s futures. Girls kept watch at springs for a reflection of their husbands-to-be in the water.

Now it’s about families and friends getting together, dancing around tall, leafy maypoles while dressed in folk costumes, enjoying a feast of shrimp, pickled herring and Aquavit – the local schnapps – before gathering around bonfires held by the lakes. Some Swedes say that it beats Christmas.

We see countless tables laid in gardens and Swedish flags flying as we head to Högbo Bruk, a country park, to join in the celebrations, taking our own picnic. It’s full of little children with flower-crowns in their hair taking pony and cart rides and dancing along to the music. We were lucky to be there.

There’s always potential for disaster when you return to a place you’re attached to: it’s never as good as you remember it or not the same without the people who took you there in the first place.

Maybe it was down to timing, but as I wrote in the guest book, all three generations made new memories here. Tante and Farao would be proud.