How it starts...
For two hours we watched
endless flat vistas of trees and lakes go by. Our line ended in the middle of
nowhere, a train station surrounded by wilderness. A cheerful man holding a
little girl with blonde ringlets and no shoes greeted us. His name was Tomas,
she was PJ – half of the family we would be spending our next month with.
We had never met this family
before – only sporadic emails in the months leading up to our departure. We had
been connected through a website that provided work-abroad opportunities to
volunteers. Jacob and I wanted to go to Sweden, and this family needed help
around their house. It was a risk, but one we were excited to take.
Upon arriving in Sweden, our
first priority was to buy ice cream. According to Tomas, Swedes love their ice
cream, and it was the only proper way to welcome us to the country. Twenty
minutes later, even deeper into forested countryside, we arrived at their home,
a 100 year old, 25 room converted schoolhouse. I say schoolhouse - but think of
it more as the Bennett’s house from Pride and Prejudice: grand in it’s
expansiveness, but drafty and worn down.
The house was tucked away
from the road, surrounded by trees, with a river edging the backyard. One side
of the yard had been transformed into an impressively productive vegetable
garden, while the other side had overgrown into masses of raspberry bushes.
The house smelled like raw
wood and yeast. Everything inside was recycled, homespun, and appeared to be
undergoing constant renovation. Somehow, however, it was all remarkably pretty.
Reindeer moss and curious little blue rocks decorated windowsills and bedside
tables. Doors were painted with swirling flower designs and homemade art
adorned the walls.
Shortly after arriving we
were called to eat. Dinner was made up of vegetables picked from the garden,
fish caught from the river in the backyard, and homemade bread, all laid out on
a trestle table underneath a tree. The evening air was warm and the grass was
soft beneath our feet.
Jacob and I were experiencing
a bit of shock. Just 24 hours earlier we had left San Diego, our bags packed
with everything we could need for our 6-month journey. On paper we had been
preparing for this trip for months, but in reality this trip was years in the
making. Even before Jacob and I met and fell in love we knew we wanted to
travel. We knew we wanted to travel with someone we loved, and we knew that
this, only months after our wedding, was potentially the only time we could
pick up our lives and leave without a care.
I have the fortune of being
born into dual citizenship, with an American father and French mother. Jacob
likewise has dual citizenship, with an American mother and Swiss father. This
afforded us an opportunity not available to many – we were free to travel as
citizens of the EU, having family and friends scattered throughout Europe. As
such, we could spend longer in Europe than most Americans are allowed, and hop
from country to country, throwing ourselves on the hospitality of friends and
family. Mid-air to Europe we had switched our passports, leaving as Americans
and arriving as Europeans. In a way we felt like we had dropped off the map. As
far as America would know, Jacob and I had simply vanished in thin air.
Our destination in Sweden
didn’t just feel like another country however, it felt like entering a
storybook. From palm trees and sun-bleached concrete we found ourselves among
cool pines and creaky wooden stairs.
To be continued in the book...
