A journey with boxes

Just last weekend my partner and I went on a journey. There was at least a week of preparations, involving packing, bookings, packing books and measuring things. Things were sorted, some things were chucked out and things we had forgotten about were discovered under other things. It was… not exciting but it kept us busy. Finally the big day arrived, and with the help of a very helpful friend we picked up the vehicle we’d booked and began our journey.
We started with the bed and the couch, as they were the biggest.

Yes, we moved house. I was hoping to drag it out and make it seem like an adventure, but for all those who have moved (which I assume is pretty much everyone..?), I surmise that adventure is not the word that comes to mind when you remember moving. Maybe ‘argh’ or ‘never again’ or possibly ‘no, not the boxes, anything but the boxes’. At the moment, I’m somewhere between the last two phrases. And we still need to go to IKEA to get shelves for extra books and generally putting things on and lights and everything else. Wee!

Ok, sarcasm and drama aside, all the sorting, packing, carrying, cleaning, carrying, unpacking and sorting has been worth it. Our new place is new, clean and spacious and during the wonderful and brief few hours of sunlight we have a view of a birch and pine forest out of the kitchen window. And a large kitchen. And a dishwasher. It’s the nicest place we’ve stayed in so far in Sweden, and actually the nicest place we’ve rented together at all, including that one place in Perth. If I had my family over here for dinner, no one would have to sit on the couch arm to eat dinner ever again.
As it’s a first-hand contract we can also do pretty much what we like with it, including putting up pictures on the walls, which I can’t wait to do. We can also stay for as long as we want, which feels like quite a luxury. It will give us time to settle in and make ourselves comfortable. And did I mention there’s a spare room, with space for a spare bed? Yes, that is a hint to all of you who have considered visiting Scandinavia at some point. On that note I make great porridge.

Leaves on a cold day

Leaves on a cold day

So while we’ve been planning our move and settling in, the coldward turn of the weather has become more and more noticeable. Leaves are frosted over and sparkling in the occasional sunlight, footpaths are slick with ice and the regular rain is really starting to get miserable. All of which means that when there is sunlight, it is glorious. As my previous post demonstrated, a day of sun is something to be treasured and basked in. Not only is it a lovely and slightly warmer break from the dark and cold, but the effect of the sun sliding low along the horizon makes the light even more defined and beautiful. Even big brown office buildings take on a welcoming glow. The birch and pine stands near our new home have been quite beautiful.

Trees in the morning light

Trees in the morning light

The darkness has also lead to a certain social pressure that mounts whenever I look out of the window or walk down the street. In every window (I’m not even exaggerating…) there is a triangle of candles, most often electric, and at least one lit up star. We have our own advent candle holder, though I’m not sure how long I can justify not having an electric one. Perhaps this is an even crueler way to troll Swedes than sitting next to them on an empty tram: not putting up advent lights. Soon, very soon.

A walk in the sun

A walk in the sun

Soon will also bring Lucia, Jul and New Years, and vising friends and family and birthdays. I think with all these things to look forward to, the darkness won’t seem quite so cold.

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A tourist at home

I am writing this from my apartment in Göteborg, as outside the sun shines the the flowers continue to bloom in every possible hue. It’s a contrast to the overcast chill of my last day in Perth, an irony that is definitely not been lost on me.

The morning choir

The morning choir

Though it has resulted in this post being a few days later than usual, I thought I’d wait till I returned to Sweden to write the final post about the trip to Australia. Now that I’m back I have a different perspective than what I had when I was sitting in my old bedroom, listening to the magpies in the trees outside the window. Sitting here in the apartment, listening to the cars roar past on the highway outside the window, the whole trip seems almost unreal. It’s the feeling I was somewhat expecting when we arrived in Perth 3 weeks ago, as though the months in Sweden had been a passing fancy, and we were now back home at last. Instead I felt off balance for about two weeks, a mix of jetlag and an unsettling feeling that the familiar was foreign. I tried to explain this to family and friends, and I’m not sure now whether it made sense, or whether I inadvertently sounded as though I was gladly clear of our home town. Although, the only way to really sound like a native is to knock it, right?

A black swan

A black swan

One part of the trip that I very much enjoyed was getting to spend time in by myself among trees. I do that here as well, but it’s different when it’s the types of trees and shrubs I grew up with and can name. There were walks around the home, including finding half of a smashed bee hive in the empty trunk of a fallen branch that still smelt of honey and visiting one of my favourite parks.

A pearly eucalypt

A pearly eucalypt

The pine plantation that surrounds the park was my childhood image of a fairy tale forest, and I spent hours there acting out adventures with friends or just wandering by myself and staring up at the towering pines and pretending I was in a forest in a far off land.
My family had bbqs in the curve of a creek, under a tree whose leaves turned gold in Autumn, and one of my favourite photos of my dad was taken there, as he supervised the wood-fire bbq.
Also in the park is an old oak, planted in 1870 which from a distance looks dense and no taller than the eucalypts surrounding it. When you walk along the raised platform and step underneath, it’s as though you’re inside a dome of leaves, sheltered by branches that reach almost to the ground that are in turn held up by an immense trunk. I’ve seen karri trees over 70 metres tall in the south of WA, and old olive trees in Italy, but for me they don’t compare to that old oak.

A 144 year old oak

A 144 year old oak

In addition to walks in the forest, I spent most of the final week driving around to last-minute catch ups, and eating a lot. I just looked at my calendar and Sunday through to Thursday are back-to-back lunches, afternoon teas and dinners. I also managed to see my grandma, who I haven’t seen in many years. It’s impossible to replace nine months of casual meet ups with a few hours over tea or a meal and surprisingly surprising to remember that time passes at the same speed across the world. People move on to new jobs, try new things, change plans and go about their lives, irrespective of any imaginary pause buttons. Hearing of new plans and ideas, I’m looking forward to seeing how much change another year will bring.

Dinner at Little Creatures

Dinner at Little Creatures

So what have I learnt from the trip?

That a holiday and visiting an old home are not the same thing.

Nothing beats good food and good company.

It takes a few days for my native accent to cease being hilarious.

Something can be both familiar and foreign at the same time.

Home doesn’t have to be one place.