Rashult, Denningarums, & the Broken Castle

Living in Almhult, Sweden is quite pleasant, especially with little kids.  However, there tends not to be a whole lot to do in the small town itself, so we often find ourselves seeking out nearby attractions to enjoy life in Sweden with little kids.  Below are three pretty quick and easy destinations that can help pass these beautiful spring days.

Grass covered roof from the time of Linneaus

Linnes’ Rashult:  Carl von Linnaeus is a bit of legend around here; in fact, Almhult has a statue of him in the town square.  For those that don’t know, Carl Linnaeus is the guy who we must credit for giving us the Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species classification for all living things. (At least I am pretty sure that is what he did.)  Either way, he was born just about a 15min drive north of Almhult on the Vaxjovagen.  His birthplace is now a “tentative” UNESCO World Heritage Site that preserves a classic 18th century farm and environs.  The place is gorgeous, especially in spring and merits a leisurely visit.  The grounds offer three different walking paths that take you through farm, meadows, lake, and forest environments.  There are a few animals on the premises and a superb cafe that is all the rage.  The walks are not too difficult, K (who is now approaching 4yrs) was able to complete the 2.2km walk without any difficulties.

See bunny run…

Denningarums Gard:  Just south of Osby (home of Brio Toys and their kid friendly Toy Museum) you can find the riverside farm of Denningarums in the town of Ostana.  While small, it has its charms; from pigs, chickens, and rabbits to lamas and emus.  There were two large trampolines, a play-place, and a sandpit.  All very nice, but didn’t do much to really hook the adults, though the kids enjoyed it…at least when they were not be yelled at to stop chasing the ducks, the chickens, or the rabbits.  But, Denningarums also offers canoe and raft rentals to take out on the Helge A river.  The rafts are equipped with table and chairs and the one I saw being launched had a grill heating up for some on the river BBQing.  They also sell eco-friendly jams, syrups, drinks, and spices on top of the cafe on site.

Kronoberg Slott:  Just north of Vaxjo, this destination may be the furthest from Almhult, but it was also one of the most enjoyable.  While seemingly having been a relatively important fortress in the Nordic wars of the late 1600s, the castle now is in ruins; hence why K dubbed is the “Broken Castle”.  Though the castle may be broken, the charm of the place is magical.  There is something about ruins that simply frees the mind of what is there in front of you, so that your imagination can launch its own complete vision of what once was.  K ran all through the ruins brandishing his sword (stick) and defending the castle from the knights depicted on the information boards.  K found a fellow knight (a young Swedish boy of 5yrs) and together they raced through the broken down halls, scaled the crumbling walls, and watched out for those sneak Danes from vine-shrouded hallows.  Set on a tiny island off the southern shore of Lake Helgasjon, the surrounding environs are stunning.  With ducks swimming around the island and geese flying in for a rest, the natural beauty of the place perfectly compliments the noble decay of the fortress itself.  There is a very cute cafe serving ice-cream, coffee, pastries, and waffles as well as the steamboat ‘Thor’ for tours of the lake.

Waffles and a Castle

Vegetable grown right on premises!

When done, please bus your own table

Main Entrance to the Broken Castle

Vines cover the Broken Castle

The Broken Castle

M making for the Moat

K and friend traversing plank bridge across a field of wildflowers at Rashult

Fika at Rashult

Country Churches of Sweden

One of the things that my family loves about Sweden is driving through the beautiful countryside.  When in Burma, we were primarily constrained to the confines of Yangon and only got out once in a while with a taxi.  Coming to Sweden, it was one of my priorities to get a car so that we could independently explore this country, and get lost on their back rural roads.  And no matter where we drive, we are bound to see some very quaint churches.  Below is a sampling of some of the Swedish country churches we have stumbled across.

Near Rashult off of Vaxjovagen between Almhult and Dio.

Somwhere between Almhult and Gothenburg

Somewhere between Gothenburg and Almhult

Loshult (from a distance)

Loshult (close up)

Hamneda (snow)

Hamneda (sans snow)

Almhult (winter)

Almhult (All Saints Day)

Off of the E4 somewhere about 45 minutes out of Stockholm

Vaxjo (downtown)

We were so lost…first weekend in Europe, trying to find a pit-stop while returning our rental to Copenhagan.

That awkward moment…

Animation of a spinning barber pole (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You know that awkward moment when you sit down in a barber’s chair in a foreign country where you don’t really know the language and sincerely hope that the few words you do know will convey the correct information for the cut you want?  Well, now add to that, the barber’s chair you sat down is operated by a barber that you know is a refugee, but exactly from where you are not sure.  The plastic curtain thing is draped over your body and cinched in tight at the neck…you are all in now.

You sit there, wondering if there will be any small talk.  Typically you try to avoid small talk, it has never been your strong suit and does not come naturally to you.  Well, your barber has had a slow day and is in need for some talk.  As you came in speaking English, he is pretty confident that you are an immigrant/visitor of some sort, so he opens up the conversation with…

B: “Where do you come from?” “The United States.” There is a slight pause, he glances at your face through the mirror.  “Oh.”  The comb pulls your hair and cold water is sprayed on your head. “Where do you come from?”  You ask to return the pleasantries.  “Iraq.”

Silence follows.  He did give you a look in that mirror, but now is intent on selecting the right fitting for the shears he has just plugged in.  The silence has a weight to it, one that speaks volumes though you yourself don’t know what to say.  You know that Sweden has accepted many refugees from the wars that your country has started.  It is pretty safe to assume that your barber is probably a war refugee, a refugee trying to make a living in cold rural Sweden as a barber, a refugee from a war that your nation started.  You left the US in part to distance yourself from its policies and politics, but unfortunately they seem to find you where ever you travel.

B:  “So, have you ever been to Iraq?”  “Um, no.  Where in Iraq are you from?”  “Baghdad.”  More silence and that awkward feeling continues to build.  You swear he keeps looking at you sideways through the mirror, but now he is intent on buzzing your hair off, and the clippers passing over your neck with that loud mechanical screech in your ear, you get goosebumps.  You try to remain rationale, but suddenly you are very worried that this might be one haircut you should have avoided.  Could this guy really hold a grudge enough to do something…”drastic”?

“Is Baghdad nice?”  You ask and immediately regret.  Its a fucking war zone, has been for over ten years now.  Not exactly a place to go for a picnic.  He stops buzzing and looks at you through the mirror, poised over your head, “It was beautiful once…under Saddam Hussein.”  He puts the clippers down and goes for the scissors.

He starts cutting your hair in earnest, but stops to brush some strands from your face.  You take this opportunity to thank him using one of the few Arabic words you remember from your college classes, “Shukran.”  He smiles, “You speak Arabic?!”  “Idruss luga Arabia fee gamia, but I really can’t say more than that.”  He laughs and the awkwardness fades away as you steer the conversation towards matters of family and children.  He is a new poppa to a six month old and is very happy to talk about his baby.  In the middle of the cut his wife calls to remind him of something and we laugh about nagging wives.

Yep, once you get through the political BS of the world, folks are just folks.  And in the end, I got a pretty decent haircut out of the deal.

A Knights Tale at Hovdala

Now, which side of Knackbrod do you butter?  Choose your side, pick-up your arms and take to the field of battle to defend your choice!!  But be sure that your arms are period appropriate, so only halberds, battle-axes, maces, swords, and bows will be allowed.  Oh, if you happen to have a horse you can use a lance too.

This past weekend, we were lucky enough to stumble across what we thought was just a medieval fair.  While the fair and pageantry of knights was quite impressive, we later learned that we had taken part of a 26-year-old medieval event, which is the largest in Sweden, the Double Wars.  For nine days, folks commit themselves to living as a member of the European world of the middle ages.  For a fee, these folks live in period appropriate tents and partake in a multitude of activities geared around diverse artisan and marshal arts.  On the last Friday and Saturday of the event, the public was open to join these folks at Hovdala Slott just outside of Hasselholm.

For us, the experience was more than worth the 45-minute drive south from Älmhult.  K just happens to be all about kings and knights to begin with, but now after this…nothing else can occupy his mind.  When we returned that night, we could hear K playing in his room with his action figures and yelling, “Bow to your King!” over and over again.  M loves horses, so watching the knights, resplendid in their costumes, charge down the field and prove themselves in multiple competitions of horsemanship and medieval weaponry.  The market was laden with period treats and spectacles.  But what really left S and I so impressed was that it did not feel faked or forced at all, in fact it was incredibly authentic.

Added to this authenticity was the fact that it was all in Swedish too, so talk about a foreign and authentic European experience.  I am sure that if it were in English, I would find it more ‘funny’ than ‘authentic’ listening to old English, but with not knowing the language, I took it as authentic.  The sounds of arrows thumping into the targets, the medicine man selling his wares, the mingled small talk of the period dressed customers as they haggled with the vendors, and the charge of the horses down the dirt track with the definitive thwack of an apple being smashed by a mace wielded by a knight upon her mount, and the smells of manure mixed in with the blacksmiths foundry and the roasted meat stands all created such an authentic medieval reality.  It helped too that Hovdala Castle was a perfect venue for such an event.  Tucked away from all other habitations in the rolling pastures and forests of southern Sweden, the bleat of grazing sheep, and the façade of the old manor itself.  Simply stunning and a world to get lost in again and again; but unfortunately, we will have to await next year for this particular May event…though perhaps next year we too might commit ourselves to a week of medieval debauchery!

Woe is the Adult Me

Today I found myself at a little girls birthday party.  The party was fun and as it was winding down S and I were set to collect the boys and make our exit, but instead we were invited to stick around for a small BBQ with a few other families a bit later that day.

Awesome!!  First, I love BBQ (or really any dinner party type thing); and second, I really want our family to become more social.  K is doing a great job at moving beyond his rottweiler stage (see The Rottweiler at Home), so we are ready.  Well, at least we thought we were ready.

Everything was going quite well, between the birthday party and the BBQ, the place cleared out so we were there to help prep and watch the kids.  Soon, I find myself happily chopping away at some herbs in the kitchen chatting with our gracious hosts; but, this left S supervising our very mobile, independent, and fiercely opinionated 17 month old M.  As you can image, this took S out of the adult conversation and experience.  K was doing a great job playing with some of the older brother’s toys, so that was not a problem. Six o’clock rolls around and food is still nowhere near to being ready.  Well, M is typically finished with his dinner and about to enter bath and bed mode by this time, but we work with it and raid our host’s frig for some tasty leftovers.  First barrier dealt with.

Then the other guests arrive, and we realize that we are definitely wearing “American Casual” when we should be attired in “Euro BBQ Chic”.  Well, we are sorta used to that, besides one of the guests informed me that he had wanted to wear shorts too, but that his wife would not allow it.  This fashion thing (or lack there of) seems to be a reoccurring theme for us, someday it would be nice to be trendy…but that is just not going to happen.  ’90s grunge is way too ingrained in our blood.  But, now I am feeling a little young as all of the other kids that have arrived all immediately took off to the basement (parent-free) room, and I am there holding M, who is desperately trying to vacuum the floor with a light-saber and pull the ears of our host’s small dog.

Then we discover our next challenge.  All of the kids who have come are in the basement and K wants to join them.  Actually, one of the older kids, a very sweet boy from the “big school” invited K to join them.  Halfway down the stairs the boy stops and says, “Well, they are playing a pretty aggressive game.”  Not quite understanding him (I was thinking twister or a bit of rough-housing pillow fights), I continued to take K into the parent-free zone and we met by an enormous TV where a boy was guiding a well animated Batman into sewer mayhem…and the Dark Knight is indeed a bit dark.  Of course K was mesmerized and objected strongly to my suggestions that we return to the upper levels.  Eventually, I got him out of the basement, but now we was sad that he could not be part of the older kids and watch the “movie”.  And on top of that, M had reached his point of over saturation.

It was a quarter to seven, M should have been bathed and into his last bedtime story by now, K would be following shortly.  Instead, we are in the middle of a boisterous and crowded kitchen, under-dressed and with two boys that are either in the process of, or about to, crash on us and the BBQ had not even fired up yet.  Oh woe is the adult me.  We paid our regrets, packed up our boys, and got home to bath M and find some decent leftovers for K and ourselves.

It is now nine o’clock, both boys have been fed, bathed, and are asleep.  Outside the sun is still shining and we can hear the neighborhood kids laughing and playing in the field behind us.  But alas, S and I are tired and spent and will find something mindless to do for the next hour or two before we too decide it is now late enough for us to go to bed as two respectable adults.

Ales Stenar

The cold ocean met the land as a thick fog blanketed the surrounding pastures where the sheep grazed contently under the fog-shrouded sun.  The land rose dramatically out of the sea and rolled on further into Sweden.  Upon the peak of the seaside precipice a monolithic stone Viking ship marks the site of King Ale’s final resting place, at least according to local legend.

59 large sandstone boulders outline the frame of a 67-meter long ship.  The ship itself is a remarkably accurate astrological calendar and it all dates back to roughly 1400 years before present day.  Today, instead of intimidating Viking, you will find the quite quaint seaside hamlet of Kaseberga, which is only about 15 kilometers east of the large town of Ystad.

If in the area, this merits a visit with a picnic lunch.  From the parking lot and campground in town, the stones were a gentle walk of (I estimate ten minutes…with my three and one year old walking along, it took us quite a bit longer).  There were grazing sheep in a neighboring field, but an open gate joined the two fields and there was no shortage of sheep droppings to test your agility.  The stones lie on atop a bluff looking out over the sea, though the fog was so thick when we were there, we were barely able to see the water.  K spent his time knocking on each rock on the landward side calling out to the dead Viking king until he was able to identify which stone contained the king.  M wove in and out on unsteady legs until he spotted the sheep nearby, which seemed to be much more fascinating to him then the large rocks propped up in the dirt.

Once Upon a May Day

The sun streamed in through the easterly windows with a blinding brilliance, especially for 5:45am.  Accompanying the sun came the morning cry from M demanding to be released from his crib.  It’s May 1^st, which is important to us for three reasons.  First, solidarity with the workers of the world!!  Second, it is the Almhult Disc Klubb’s season opener tournament.  Third, the cows too were to be released this day.

Kids are up and the family is fed and outside by 8am to play in the sun.  Once the clock ticks off 90 minutes, I find myself at Almhult’s disc golf bana warming up for the paired tournament.  I am randomly matched with an experienced and consistently solid player and am a bit nervous about not being the rookie pulling our score down.  Instead, I play very well working to match his skill level and in the end we took third place…maybe out of only four teams; but we still finished one under par.  More importantly, it was a beautiful day on the course with hardly a cloud in the blue sky, the sun shining through the still leafless trees, and not a hint of wind.

Back at home, both boys and one wife were finishing up some quality naptime.  All are roused out of their midday siesta so that we can meet up with friends at the “Releasing of the Cows”.  Throughout Sweden, as spring finally fully asserts itself, the various farms around the country will host cow release events.  We found ourselves at a very quint farm outside of the rural village of Pjatteryd, the sun is still shining and the air is warm and this farmer’s field is turned into a parking lot as locals from all over the surrounding communities come to witness the spectacle of the release.

The farm has a strong 4H county fair feel.  We went and looked at the pigs, moved past the classic red barn cum korv (sausage) grill-pit, to the lambs and then into another large barn where the farm’s cows have been penned in all winter.  There were horse rides, tractors and hay bales to climb over, and multiple fika stands with your choice of korv or bullar (cinnamon rolls).  Families mixed and mingled, greeting old friends and catching up on local news/gossip.  Many families settled down in the fields with blankets communally sharing homemade fika and kaffe.  But, as 2:30pm approached, the crowd wound itself down around the cow barn, lining a roped off area where the cows would be released to.  This would be their first day out of the barn since the cold winds brought the snow and frozen earth back in December.

The press of the crowd grew as the appointed release time inched closer.  I had found a clear spot on the fence at the far end where K and M were positioned to greet the cows.  (Though honestly M seemed much more interested in all of the dogs that various families brought, as well as the few tall hay stocks still sticking out of the ground.)  Not having experienced this before, S and I were hoping for a great big rush of bovine fury stampeding down the boulder-strewn field; but, we also anticipated a more likely scenario of gentle cattle mooing out of the barn to lazily maw on the grass.  The reality fit somewhere in between, but was actually closer to our hoped for vision.  The first cow emerged with a small flare and kick, but instead of charging down the field, it stopped and rolled its head back and forth over a rock near the door.  I suppose there is nothing like a good field rock to get that four-month winter itch out of your neck.  But soon, the rest of the brown cows, young and old, were pushing their way out into the field; and while they did bunch up close to the barn at first, soon they were actually charging down the field.  They ran at start and stops.  Some jumped and bucked, while others crouched and scratched.  Some of the bigger cows took this time as an opportunity to get out some of the pent up frustration they had by challenging each other and performing what I believe is very similar to a sumo wrestling match.

K and M loved it and shouted and cheered at the cows.  The entire roped off area was surrounded by kids; laughing, shouting, and giggling away at the frenzied antics of the cows as they jumped and pranced, rolled and rushed in their newly acquired freedom from the barn.  But soon, it was time to retreat either back to the cars for the drive home, or to a blanket spread of a yummy fika picnic.  We lingered on a bit longer, taking in the cows, stopping to look at the horses again, and to say thanks to our friends that invited us along to this very local festival.  As we walked back across the large field to our parked car, we reflected that this was a real genuine local celebration.  A celebration of spring, of being released from the doldrums of winter into the shining sun of summer to come.  While still not feeling like locals at all, we did happen upon numerous friends and folks that we knew from our town of Almhult.  This was a moment to take a break from the workweek and the routines that run our lives and to meet and greet and celebrate our own release, as well as the release of the cows.