Steep climbs up oxygen poor mountain passes. Adrenalin pumping escapes from packs of cyclist feeding dogs out for the kill. The water buffalo that only just missed my right shoulder when stomping onto my tent that bisarre night on the Lao countryside. Or when I was caught rambling around in the military area along the border of Vietnam and Cambodia a few weeks later.
My pulse has been beating fast before. During this trip more times than I could ever even begin to count. This particular morning though – the heart beating out of my chest was taking on its task with more commitment that should even be realistically possible.
Why?
Because I was going home.
I was about to reunite with what and who I left behind those years and million pedal strokes ago. With the home that with time had become more like a fairytale fantasy made up to make difficult times seem better – than a physical place with actual flesh-and-bone people who love me. The home that was now no longer more than a few kilometer wide batch of water away.
Strandvejen. Copenhagen – Helsingör. Denmark.
This is a blog post of photos. Some likely to tell those thousand words – others not. Flick the empathy running lobe of your brain on full reception mode and let’s run through them all at once.
If it felt good to step off the ferry and back onto Swedish soil?
To find my best brother in the world and Mom patiently waiting to welcome me with wide smiles and open arms when doing so? To bury my face in the brother’s chest and cry the overload of emotion into his jacket even beginning to take in this final dream-fulfilled-euphoria around me?
YES.
This was a welcome back to remember. Even happier than to receive it though – was I about knowing that nothing was really over just yet. I was back on home turf – but I wasn’t Home. My finish line is what it’s always been – Sundsvall. And I still have a winter crossing of Sweden to reach it.
This past week has been the nostalgia trip of a lifetime. Family. Long lost friends. Kexchoklad and Kalles Kaviar (though not necessarily combined..). My own language. And to crown it all – Swedish x-mas spirit.
To each and everyone who’ve made this experience one I’ll bring with me to my last day – THANK YOU.
Swedish tourist photo. Of the house? No. Of that good old orange stick! lol
And then. Now. Came x-mas for real.
Mr. Bike is left behind in a garage in Gothenburg and yesterday morning I caught a train into the woods of Västmanland. And in the small next-to-nothing town of my grandmother I found them all.
ALL.
It’s x-mas and I’m with my family. In a few days I’ll be back on the bike but for now I intend to squeeze every single drop of love out of this holiday-from-the-holiday with the people than mean the most to me.
I truly wish you all the bliss of getting to do the same.
Merry Christmas!
Untl next time,
Fredrika