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Published: April 17th 2011
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Day 4: Malmö-Jönköping
The Swedish language is a source of continuing fascination. First, there’s no point in trying to pronounce any word you see according to English rules and expecting to be understood. There are many words that can be worked out from Germanic roots, but it sounds unlike any other language we have heard. The Swedes, whom we continually ask for directions, are all able to communicate with us in English, which puts us single-language people to shame.
We left Malmö on a foggy morning, driving nervously northwards, on the right in a left-hand drive car for the first time in fourteen years. We were heading for Jönköping (pronounced Yern-sher-ping), situated at one end of a 128 km-long lake, and navigating really well until we were approaching the town and took a wrong turn. That really ups the driving pressure: in the city proper, dealing with wrong-side drive and trying to find the hotel – which we did eventually after more interventions from helpful strangers. On arrival, we checked into the Elite Stora Hotel, a grand old (1860s) place, overlooking the lake, at surprisingly good price, and then went for a walk uptown. The shops here are brilliant,
heaps of them and all on one street. Opening at 10 a.m. and closing at 7 p.m. is different!
I had a ham and cheese roll for a late lunch and Andrew had a tiny bit. Bad move, as it was smeared with mustard and sparked a bad case of the old allergic reaction. I went to the chemist and bought a strong antihistamine which worked quickly. So no dinner for Andrew, but I went to the pub attached to the hotel which was good: at last Swedish meatballs, which were yummy!
- Helen
Day 5: Jönköping-Adelsö
Anxious readers will be relieved to know that I was as right as rain this morning, and we proceeded to the next leg of our journey to the island of Adelsö, playing our new in-car parlour game of translate-the-Swedish-sign.. Lunch at a roadside café needed careful consideration as we discovered that a disturbingly large fraction of Swedish take-away options are brightened up with a dash of m*****d (senap, in Swedish).
Navigation was complex but not seriously problematic, and after a bit of map-reading and two ferry crossings we arrived. Adelsö is remarkably rural in character considering its
nearness to Stockholm – a mixture of weekenders, farmers and commuters, yet sleepy – like Winchelsea, as Helen remarked.
We were greeted by Peter, the owner of the cottage we’re in, who is friendly and greatly obliging, though belonging to a generation before the universal teaching of English in Swedish schools. He has an interesting face, kind of like an ageing but benign William Dafoe. The cottage is, well, cosy, but we knew that before we arrived. We had to go for a late drive one island back to find some food, as the only supermarket on Adelsö closes at 3 p.m. on a Saturday. After a late spag bol and a bit of Swedish TV, I decided to forgo the thrill of a top bunk for the safe option of a fold-out sofa bed.
- Andrew
(More photos - scroll right to bottom)
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