Now I’m on the road again. Sitting on a train, headed west. To Strömstad, the home of the Smith clan, my paternal grandmother’s father’s family. Our end destination is Koster, a group of islands just outside of Strömstad. As a matter of fact, the most western community in Sweden. After that comes Norway, Scotland, and the Atlantic ocean. My dad went there every summer growing up, and for a long time, so did I. But now I haven’t been since the summer after highschool graduation, in 2007. But now we’re on our way, me, dad, Anna and brother, aunt Eva, uncle Terence, my two cousins and their families, my grandmother’s two sisters and some of my dad’s cousins. Almost the entire Ragnar Smith clan – of which no one is named Smith anymore. I’m actually quite excited. In my opinion, it’s one of the most beautiful places in Sweden.
Being on the border to Norway, the cellphone network received there is Norwegian more often than Swedish, so I’ve decided to turn off the internet function on my phone and go analogue. I don’t have my laptop with me either.
So, the plan is this: I’ll read books and write in my notebook and take long walks on the cliffs by the ocean while listening to podcasts about literature and philosophy and world events. I’ll take photographs and make notes, that I’ll then transcribe when I’m home again. I’ll spend time with my family. I’m looking forward to the quiet. And the waves. Salt in the air. The highland cattle in the national park. The cliffs and crevices that I know so well, the perfect spots for hiding away, reading for an entire day. The wind that will almost blow you away.
Over and out.
Katja Malmborg 