Girls' Day Out: Lysekil & Fiskebäckskil

On my first day trip with the girls, I got myself so turned around that I ended up in tears. On my first trip to Fiskebäckskil, I sprained both of my ankles. But I'm determined not to give up on exploring Sweden, so off we went on a day trip to Fiskebäckskil.

We actually started in Lysekil. It's a town about an hour south of us, on the water. Our destination was called Havets Hus (The Sea House), the local aquarium.

Outside stood a small play area. I've noticed before that all of the playgrounds in this region of Sweden (maybe in all of Sweden?) are ocean-themed and have boats to play on. It still comes as a surprise to see yet another playground with a boat. I feel like this is indicative of a major difference between Swedes and Americans. In the States, conformity isn't valued like it is here.

The aquarium was small, but with some interesting exhibits and enough English on the displays to help us follow along. The space was designed like an IKEA, with arrows on the floor showing visitors how to proceed through the museum. I also feel like this is another cultural difference. In the States, people wouldn't like to be told which way to go and they'd purposely go against the grain to set themselves apart.

Flatfish. Always a big hit.

Replica of a giant oarfish, world's largest bony fish!

Playing dress up under the jellyfish lights.

Everybody loves the stingrays.

Next, we walked up to the church overlooking the city. We poked around quietly inside. In the back, behind the pews, was an area set up like a cafe with small tables and a self-serve coffee machine. Although I haven't visited many churches in the US, I can't imagine a cathedral like this anywhere in the world with a cafe set up right in the nave!  I know that it's common to have coffee or a social gathering after a church service sometimes, and we have seen cafes attached to churches here. But this set-up, with the tables and chairs behind the pews was a first for me.

Church selfie

Coffee tables and a pipe organ

Gorgeous day, gorgeous place

We hiked back down the the aquarium to ask for help finding the ferry across to Fiskebäckskil. We had less than half an hour to walk back to our car (parked 700 meters away or about 7 football fields, if you're American), drive to the ferry stop, find the parking there, pay for parking, and buy tickets.

We were frantically trying to understand the ticket machine at the ferry stop when the ferry pulled up. It was hectic, but we made it!

Bye, Lysekil!

View from the crossing.

The trip across was short, only about 15 minutes. At Fiskebäckskil, we landed just in front of the swanky hotel where I'd enjoyed coffee my last time here. The girls and I walked over to the long stretch of sandy beach. It was totally different from the last time I'd been here. There were lots of families, my "private" beach was occupied, and the long dock held groups of kids jumping into the water. I wouldn't call it crowded, but much busier than my last visit, which was just before school let out for the summer.

Sunny, but windy enough for pants and a sweater

The infamous windmill. 

Highlight of Chelsea's day. Rescuing an inch worm.

After the beach, we hiked around the town a bit. We stumbled on a kids' birthday party and got to hear children singing the Swedish birthday song. The girls clambered up to the windmill, the scene of my recent misadventures. I declined to make the trek this time. We found a cute little cafe for a mid-afternoon fika, then made it back down to meet the ferry.

We did it!

In the end, I made it there and back without having to turn on the navigation system and (more importantly) without having to pull over and cry. I also did not injure myself, aside from slightly aggravating my weak ankles by walking around all day. The three of us were all exhausted after a full day out of the house and glad to arrive back home. Daytrip success!

Mental Health Day

A couple of weeks ago, my one Swedish friend invited me to tag along on a test-run of her new commute. Instead of coming to work at Tjärnö, she'll soon be working at another marine lab about 120 km away. Jeremy and I agreed that the girls could spend the day mostly on their own, and I took the chance to have a day off.

It was a super Swedish day!

The electric car my friend drove was quiet and beautiful and eco-friendly, everything a Swedish person could wish for. We arrived at Kristineberg, a marine research station with a long and distinguished history. It is also helpfully located at the edge of a gorgeous fjord.

While my friend got her work done, I went for a walk. Normally, I'm hesitant to tromp around in nature, but it felt like a waste and an insult not to explore the local scenery. I chose a nearby footpath, not knowing where it led. I marched through tall grasses. Bird song, buzzing insects, and the sound of my own footsteps path were the only sounds.

As I pressed on, I debated whether or not to keep going. I realized that no one in the world knew exactly where I was. When the path turned muddy, it seemed a perfect excuse to turn back. But someone had thoughtfully laid down boards along the path, so I pressed on.

The path finally emerged in a meadow. At the end of the meadow, the sea!

What is it about the water that pulls us toward it like a magnet?

At the water's edge, small stones on the shore gave way to boulders and rocky crags above. Some of the rocks on the ground held shimmering bits that glistened in the sun. Among the rocks lay a thousand tiny shells.

One small, perfect spiral.

I stood on a large rock, yellow with lichen, and peered over the edge into the water. The ocean floor seemed entirely made of rust-colored rocks. The coppery bottom was punctuated with shimmering bits of oyster shell. Greenish-brown seaweeds swayed gently in the current, and a rare, clear jellyfish floated by.

I was so tempted to jump in! Despite knowing the water was beyond cold. Despite my general timidity. Despite having no swimsuit. Or towel. Or spare clothes.

I resisted the urge to soak myself and returned the way I'd came.

For lunch, my friend and I met in the lab's cafeteria. We ate steamed fish and boiled potatoes, covered in a creamy dill sauce. I ate from a plate on top of a tray, as everyone did. Afterwards, I put my silverware, food scraps, glass, plate, and tray in separate racks to be cleaned. It was a typically Swedish meal, eaten in a typically Swedish way.

After lunch, I opted for another walk. The lab is located near the community of Fiskebäckskil, which had the completely adorable population count of 379 souls at last count. Although it looked like a long walk to me (because I'm quite lazy), everyone assured me it was only a short walk and well worth the effort.

View of town, from the lab.

I found a path to follow and walked past a lovely sandy beach. Small naked Swedish children played in the water, while their father watched them from the shore. I found a tiny, private beach which I had all to myself.

Footpath to Fiskebäckskil. (Say that 5 times fast.)

The shoreline on the way to town.

Secret beach.

The town was a maze of steep and narrow cobbled streets. It reminded me of my first impression of Marblehead, the town where we lived in Massachusetts: It was too cute to be a real place, and looked like a movie set called "Quaint Seaside Village".

I think this is the school. I love it.

I found a stylish modern hotel, which stood in stark contrast to the older, traditional homes lining the streets of the village. I drank strong coffee and ate tiny delicious chocolates sitting on their fabulous patio.

I could have eaten a handful of those chocolates.

I literally stopped to smell the roses.

After my caffeine fortification, I clambered up a rocky hillside to an old windmill. Coming back down from the windmill's high perch, I made the poor choice to jump from a rock onto the mossy ground below. Though it was only a short drop, I managed to twist both my ankles landing on the uneven surface.

After saying several swear words and resting for a bit, I got back on my feet and gingerly picked my way back to the road. My ankles, though sore, carried me all the way back to the lab (where I promptly put both feet up and took some pain medicine).

Windmill selfie. Before the fall.

View from the windmill.

Soon enough, it was time to climb back into my friend's car to head home. As an added bonus to my very Swedish day, we dropped one of her colleagues off near the local IKEA on our way back.

I was glad to find that in my absence the girls had needed only minimal supervision from Jeremy. One of the benefits of our time in Sweden has been the amount of independence we've been able to give them. I hope to continue this trend when we're back in San Diego.

Although I was off my feet for the next several days and my ankles still aren't quite right, I'm grateful for a day away from my usual routine. For a day away from mom duties. For a day of wandering and exploring Sweden on my own.

Glad Midsommar!

There's a popular joke in Sweden: On a rainy day, when you're trying to do something outside with friends, someone will inevitably say, "Swedish summer... best day of the year!" It's funny because it's true. Although we've had lots of sunshiny days here, even in summer there's plenty of grey and rainy days.

The Swedes seem immune to crummy weather. If there's a barbecue scheduled, it goes ahead rain or shine. We sat outside in a cold drizzle eating hamburgers at a lab cookout recently.

We were warned that on Midsommar, Sweden's biggest summer holiday, there wound be no surrender and no retreat. If the rain came down, we'd all dance and sing and feast in the rain!

Waiting for the dancing to begin

Posing by the maypole. In the rain.

First, we attended our town's Midsommar celebration. It was located at a small, outdoor museum near the river that runs through Strömstad. I was surprised that in all our adventures around this small town, we'd never even heard of it before.

We poked into the few buildings and were reminded of Kulturen in Lund and the Vitlycke Museum. The small cafe served a typical Swedish menu, perfect for fika: coffee, waffles, cinnamon rolls, and cake. Ice cream cones and sodas for the kids.

Fika. Outside. In the rain.

The crowd gathered around the maypole was ready to dance as soon as the music began. Savannah and I had spent the morning learning Små Grodorna so that we would be prepared for at least one song.

The girls and I danced along as best we could. After half an hour of dancing in the rain to songs we could barely understand, we were ready for a break. I think the locals were just getting started!

Dancing around the maypole!

Back at the lab, we headed over to the white building where the students were enjoying their Midsommar celebration. We found them on the covered patio, seated at a long table, feasting, drinking, and singing.

They'd prepared a feast of Swedish delights: several quiches, deviled eggs, a cheese assortment, breads, fruit, meatballs, and fish. Someone convinced me to try the pickled herring, a Midsommar tradition. They assured me that the mustard version (of the four or five on offer) was the one I should try. I hesitantly put a bite-sized amount on my plate. I ate it on top of a slice of hearty bread. I did not require a second serving.

Each guest had a booklet of numbered songs. Anyone could stand up at any time, give the number of the song, and we were all expected to sing. At the end of each song, we were all expected to take a shot of snaps, any one of a variety of very strong alcoholic beverages being shared around the table.

I repeatedly snuck the girls' Sprite into my shot glass so that I could toast along with the group without having to drink what tasted and smelled like jet fuel. And to avoid becoming ill from the incredible amount of singing and toasting.

The hosts also provided an abundance of cut flowers and supplies for making floral crowns, which many of us sported throughout the evening.

Midsommar selfie

After the feast, it was time for games and dancing. The students held relays using the maypole to race around. They danced around it in circles, the Swedes leading with traditional songs and dances and others adding anything else that would work, like "Head, shoulders, knees, and toes" or The Chicken Dance. I joined in for one more round of Små Grodorna. Once everyone was exhausted, it was time for dessert. And coffee. (It's Sweden, there's always more coffee!)

Traditional Midsommar dessert: Cake with strawberries

At this point, some of the students returned to the feast table for more singing and toasting, but I was lured back home to put the girls in bed. The party reminded me of the days when Jeremy and I lived on Skidaway Island in Georgia, hosting and attending student parties at the marine lab there, while he was working on his PhD.

I'm so thankful to be invited to join their celebration and enjoy a proper Midsommar party, with all the associated traditions. But I'm also glad for an excuse to go home early and leave the late night partying to the younger generation.

Daftöland

You have never seen two more excited children in your life.

They're so happy, and they haven't even gotten in yet.

Daftöland is our small, local, pirate-themed amusement park. We have driven past it almost daily since we arrived in Sweden. It sits at the corner of an intersection that connects our group of islands to the town of Strömstad. Sometimes, we pass Daftöland multiple times a day.

Daftöland has been closed since we arrived; it's only open during the summer. The girls have been counting the days until it would open. They waited three months. In those three months, they've been gazing lovingly at it each time we pass, memorizing the various attractions visible from the road, planning what they'd ride when they finally made it inside.

*squeeze!*

Recently, the park must have been making a promotional video. They were filming a group of people enjoying one of the park's more thrilling rides. On this day, we discovered that what we had assumed for three months was a plastic sheet covering a swimming pool or wading pond was actually a giant inflatable trampoline that we had only ever seen in its deflated state.

Swedish pirate log ride.

On the day Daftöland finally opened, it was a holiday weekend. All of Sweden was there. We opted to wait, despite the pleading of our children. The park's hours for the first month were odd, it only open certain days and sometimes closed early. So although it had opened, we kept driving by. And waiting.

Finally, one day last week on an afternoon when we had nothing else going on, the girls said, "Why don't we go to Daftöland?"

And so we did.

"I am MOANA!" (That's our default.)

The children were so overjoyed you would have thought that we bought them a pony. I wish I had written down the exact words they said. They said things like, "I think my heart is going to explode!" And, "There is never a day when I have been happier in my life!" And, "I can't believe my dreams are finally coming true!"

Swedish pirate teacups.

They were VERY excited at the idea that they were going to an amusement park that their friends back at home would likely never visit. I reminded them of the many things on this trip that their friends would probably never do (live in Sweden, go to school in Sweden, go to ANY of the places we've been fortunate to visit IN SWEDEN). They were not swayed by this at all.

Swedish pirate stomach-drop ride.

The inside of Daftöland was much as it looked from the road. For friends in the States, I'd compare it to Boomers in size, but cleaner and higher quality. And more piratey.

Giant Swedish pirate skull.

Although we'd seen the trampoline area from the road, seeing it in action was a shock. It was so different from any trampoline park back home. Here, there was one, giant inflatable surface. Surrounding it was only dirt with some wood chips in it, and around that a low wall made of rocks. Yes, rocks. The only safety instructions we saw were signs telling users to remove their shoes.

That small silver circle is a slash through a shoe.

In the States, there'd be a waiver you'd have to sign before you could get anywhere near the trampoline. Then, they'd sell you some special grippy socks. The trampoline would be divided up into several smaller trampolines (one per person, please) and there'd be an attendant there to monitor your use of the trampoline at all times. Oh, and it would be surrounded by padded walls.

All together now!

Another surprise: Self-operated rides. There was one that is similar to a ride we've been on a LEGOLAND, where you pull yourself up a tower. At Daftöland, there was no worker managing the line or helping people get in and out. At one point, my kids couldn't figure out how to unlock themselves from the seats. Another kid came over and said, "Push" in Swedish, while pointing to a button.

Operated by pull-power.

Another ride shocked us not only because it had no attendant, but because of the ride itself. We'd seen the top of this attraction for months, while driving by. We could see that there was some sort of little car on a slide, but couldn't see the whole thing. I thought it was like the "Super Slide" at the Del Mar Fair, only with a little car to ride in. It was not until we visited Daftöland that we realized what actually happened at the bottom of this ride.

First, you get pulled backward up a ramp...

...then you catch some air!

I cannot imagine this could ever exist in the United States. No attendant? People would try to stand up on the boat and surf down the ramp. People would try to flip the boat. People would DEFINITELY not adhere to the posted weight limit.

"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"

I can't quite reconcile the fact Americans are both more cautious AND more impulsive than the Swedes. The over-protectiveness at our trampoline parks seems ridiculous by comparison to the low-key rules here. Perhaps we need safety padding and attendants at every ride precisely because our default behavior is so reckless?

So yeah, we bought season passes. Watch out, Daftöland... the Americans are coming!