A Spider Bit Me in Sweden, or, the Rest of Our Time in Sweden

Hi all! I'm writing from our lovely flat at Harlaxton Manor, where the weather is lovely, the people are lovely, the surgery in nearby Croxton Kerrial is lovely and efficient, even when they are squeezing pus out of your forehead….ah, England, where everything feels safe and comfortable. I'm so glad to be here.

First--I don't want to give short shrift to our final few days in Sweden, so I'll start there. It's difficult, however, to keep perspective on all that, now that I feel at "home" and have ready access to iodine patches to help my spider bite heal…

On Thursday last week I had the challenge of driving a rental car, sans GPS, from Arlanda airport to our Airbnb flat in Stockholm--easy enough on the E4 south, a bit more challenging once I was in the Sodermalm. Ben and the kids hung in the foyer of our flat after check out time and until I arrived, and, after a courage-giving kanelbullar and coffee, we headed south to Nynashamn ferry terminal to catch the ferry to Gotland. I liked driving a Volvo, and the kids were interested in the ferry experience, particularly the loading and unloading, and we arrived at our sweet little Airbnb stuga about 9 p.m. It was a small local cottage that had a nice porch and deck and a very different feel than our urban apartment in Stockholm, but I'd neglected to understand the Swedish well enough to know that we needed to provide our own sheets and towels, so our host scrounged what she could and we made it for four days on one towel (we washed it every day, don't worry, and dried it on the radiator…). 

Gotland is very beautiful. We were a short walk from a place called The Pancake Tree, build from a felled tree on the island that was moved and made into an epic playground where you can make your own pancakes on a giant, wood-fired griddle. We spent much of Friday afternoon at the Pancake Tree, where the kids played, Gabe and I took a long walk by the ocean, picking blackberries and watching bunnies and boats, and Ben got lots of photography time. We learned the next day that the builders of the Pancake Tree built the place in memory of their two sons, Max and Charlie, who died in the 2004 tsunami, in Thailand. It was a joyful place built from much grief, and a beautiful way to memorialize their sons. We spent Friday morning exploring Visby, a walled medieval town that hosts a medieval week each year and had just hosted Crime Week, a literary festival for crime writers from all over. Just after we left, there was an art festival coming to town, so we were there in the short break between festivals, though things were still fairly busy. Later in the time on the island we discovered some nicer places within Visby, but that first day, it seemed very commercial. Ben noted that it felt like a place that had made a deal with tourism and then regretted it, and I would agree. I did enjoy buying some local cheese and pesto from the cheese monger in Visby, and we had a fantastic lunch at Creperie and Logi, a French-style creperie what was yummy, where the kids tried (and liked!) some Norman cider. We had a nice dinner that night on the deck, where we could see the ocean and hear birds singing, and Friday was a good day.

The kids were eager to head back to the Pancake Tree on Saturday morning, but were real ornery, so much so that we imposed a time out that resulted in MUCH tantruming (ok, about 3 minutes, but you know that feels like an eternity) so I sent Ben and Ebi off to explore while I stayed home with the boys for an hour who promptly feel asleep as they were in timeout in different rooms. Just before they nodded off, a nosy (less generous Robyn) or caring (more generous Robyn) neighbor came over to "cheer the boys up" but also see "why (they) were upset" and, essentially, to see if we were beating them. Explaining our employment of consequences to an elderly Swedish woman was a real joy. We saw her the next day at the Pancake Tree, where she observed us and hung for a while, pleased that we had decided to stop abusing our children and allow them some small joy. Saturday was definitely the bottom of the family travel U--they were tired, we'd been with one another 24/7 for more than a week, and I'd woken up with a weird pimple that hurt a lot. I told Ben that we'd spent a lot of money to scream at our children in a foreign country. When Ben and Ebi got back, Ebi and I went for a sullen drive up to Kammelsham at the north of Gotland, and got take out savory waffles, and visited a great church. One of my favorite parts of Gotland was visiting a few of its 100 churches. Saturday was redeemed after everyone went to their emotional corners and napped before a dinner out at a tasty restaurant called Surfers in Visby, and a stroll to the cathedral where there was an organ concert, and a stroll through Visby at sunset, which was lovely, particularly the homes on the less-touristy side. 

On Sunday I woke with some swelling in my forehead and a bit of swelling under my right eye but thought it was just a really unpleasant pimple. It was rainy, rainy, rainy all day, so after 30 minutes at the Pancake Tree we spent the morning exploring churches on the island, which I really enjoyed and the kids and Ben tolerated for my sake. We visited about four churches on Sunday morning, and I was most impressed by Larrebro, where there had been a hospital for concentration camp survivors, and those who died while in care, mostly ages 21-40, about 50 in all, are buried in a multi-faith cemetery on this small Swedish island. I found that very moving, and admire the island's commitment to keeping up the churches (many were under repair) and to the revolving-pastors who hold worship services once or twice a month in the churches. There are many standing stones on the island, too, some of which are on church grounds. Sadly, I did not fall back through time in 1700s Scotland (yet)but given my recent need for medical care this turned out to be good luck. The other nice bit of Sunday was tea and ice cream at Sjelso Bageri, a bakery on the coast just north of Visby and overlooking an old fishing village, where Ben took some great pictures, I met a nice Swede to chat with, and the kids continued to have no chill.

Monday we returned by ferry where I donned a big pair of sunglasses because much of the right side of my face was pretty swollen, my right eye was swollen shut. Ben drove us to Uppsala, which is a great college town just north of Stockholm, and I enjoyed the park and tried to read while Ben took the kids for a walk and then we took them to a park--it was a nice last day in Sweden, though, if I'm honest, I was feeling really cruddy, not a little vain about my face, and had a good cry in the park for myself. It helped, but those of you who know me well know that I am not good sick. I returned our rental car, we had a picnic in our airport hotel, and tried to emotionally prepare ourselves for the early morning flight. The good news--that went smoothly, and I felt better emotionally almost as soon as we arrived at Harlaxton, and I feel better physically today.

The doctor in Croxton Kerrial thinks I was bit by a spider; he can't identify the spider from the bite, but I was in BAD shape physically when we arrived at Heathrow and Holly, Harlaxton's wonderful bi-continental coordinator, booked me into the surgery almost immediately (and drove me, offering empathy throughout.) I'll spare you the details, largely, unless you are Esme who has been getting a series of disgusting, un-bandaged photos, but I've been lanced twice and antibiotic-d and squeezed and bruised by some really nice doctors and nurses and I am feeling much better. Everyone feels very sorry for me. Last night I put an Avengers sticker on my bandage (it was weepy, gross) and I named the wound Paul Hollywood as the new season of Bakeoff is starting here.

More on our arrival and first few days at Harlaxton soon--it's been really good.