The following day, after a brief stroll through Trondheim, we were on our way to Lugnvik - our next host's town, just outside Östersund - for the Swedish installment of Midsummer. Sweden's, like, actually renowned for their celebrations. This is going to be a lot better than Norway's version, no doubt.
We soon found a ride straight to Lugnvik with a lovely woman and her daughter on their way to visit the Swedish side of their family for Midsummer weekend. After a short chat with them, and seeing our eyelids drooping, the mother just puts it out there that it's alright if we want to sleep - she will wake us when we get there. I was incredibly thankful for this because I was pretty knackered from the long haul of the previous day. At some point along this entire Nordic adventure, it became pretty easy to snooze in cars with strangers. I still remember how impossible it was for me initially.
Thanks to her daughter's iPhone, the woman drove us right to our host's place, and after thanking her profusely, we rushed to meet Benny and get started with the Midsummer festivities, woo! Benny was a fun host with a great sense of humour and a couple of guinea pigs. We found out from him that most people didn't really celebrate Midsummer too seriously, or else it was only a family event. But we still decided to go into town with him and another CouchSurfer staying there to see if anything was happening. I was looking forward to do some firepoi spinning too, since it had been so long, and perhaps there would be some money to be made on Midsummer.
It was around 11pm when we got there, still crepuscular outside, and somewhat drizzly. Östersund was a ghost town. I had no end of François' mocking: "Let's go see Midsummer in Sweden, yeaaaaah!" But hey, if you can't find the party, make your own. Everyone was armed with an SLR as I performed for my limited audience at the city's bus station. Benny even recorded a short clip in which the desolateness is plainly visible.
It would be unfair however to say that there were absolutely no people and no celebrations though. There were a few happily inebriated young fellows passing by, cheering and taking photos. At some point I yelled back at them: "Give me money!". Then they came closer and we took photos together. Thusly went Swedish Midsummer. Fun was had once again.
***
A portion of the following day also deserves special mention though. Benny took us to see one of Sweden's largest waterfalls, and we also visited a chocolate factory where copious amounts of free samples were doled out. Then, after stocking up on some crushed reindeer in a tube, we said our goodbyes to Benny and he dropped us near the road we had to take to continue our journey.
It seemed like the worst location to get a ride, so I set about making crushed reindeer sandwiches when a car stopped, and some bewildered passengers began gesturing to us half hesitantly, half insistingly. I was taken aback at first and was not sure what they were trying to communicate, as we had no common language. I finally managed to gather that they were headed in the same direction as us but only up to a town about half-way from where we had to be (thankfully I had a pretty good memory for some of the names of places in the areas we passed by!).
As we agreed to go with them, the driver, a sixty-something plain-looking man, stepped out of the car to move some items from the crowded back seat into the even more crowded trunk in order to make room for us. His wife, a jovial and plump woman wearing a headscarf, shortly followed suit to make sure he would not crush the cases of eggs. The couple had been in the area to buy some food because it was apparently cheaper. I suddenly had flashbacks of rural Eastern Europe.
As we agreed to go with them, the driver, a sixty-something plain-looking man, stepped out of the car to move some items from the crowded back seat into the even more crowded trunk in order to make room for us. His wife, a jovial and plump woman wearing a headscarf, shortly followed suit to make sure he would not crush the cases of eggs. The couple had been in the area to buy some food because it was apparently cheaper. I suddenly had flashbacks of rural Eastern Europe.
We then all squeezed into the tiny space with our large bags and set about awkwardly acquainting ourselves. It turned out they were from Uzbekistan! They spoke Uzbek, Russian, and some Swedish, and the husband could speak a few words of English. The wife generously offered us little croissants and chocolates, along with some tea (she was holding a huge insulated teapot and some cups on her lap, among other things). We were incredibly grateful for their kindness, and I was glad to at least be able to thank her in a language she would understand. She smiled so deeply and nodded every time I said "Spasiba".
The husband tried to make conversation with us, and I kept turning to François to decipher what they were saying. Despite the fact that François' English and Russian are less conversational than mine, he was the one who understood most of it! He had a practised flair for interpreting what people intended to say in foreign languages, whereas I was analytically hanging on to each of the words' literal meaning. I think we were talking about how the summer had been rainy in Scandinavia so far. And we told them where we were from and where we were going. Eventually the guessing and interpreting became somewhat draining for everyone so we just enjoyed the scenery quietly.
The husband tried to make conversation with us, and I kept turning to François to decipher what they were saying. Despite the fact that François' English and Russian are less conversational than mine, he was the one who understood most of it! He had a practised flair for interpreting what people intended to say in foreign languages, whereas I was analytically hanging on to each of the words' literal meaning. I think we were talking about how the summer had been rainy in Scandinavia so far. And we told them where we were from and where we were going. Eventually the guessing and interpreting became somewhat draining for everyone so we just enjoyed the scenery quietly.
As we were munching on the pastries, the husband cranked up the traditional Uzbek music to really set the mood. It was unreal. During that entire ride, I had completely forgotten we were in Sweden.
When we arrived at their hometown, the husband took François aside, looked him in the eye, and told him that he would go out of his way and drive us to our destination if we paid the gas. We declined. He then asked us if we needed a place to spend the night. They gave us their phone number and told us to call them if we needed anything, and that we could stay the night in case we didn't find a ride onwards. This was all translated to me from Uzbek-Swedish-English to French by François, by the way. I was just speechless. After many smiles and waves and "Spasiba", they were on their way and we were on ours.
When we arrived at their hometown, the husband took François aside, looked him in the eye, and told him that he would go out of his way and drive us to our destination if we paid the gas. We declined. He then asked us if we needed a place to spend the night. They gave us their phone number and told us to call them if we needed anything, and that we could stay the night in case we didn't find a ride onwards. This was all translated to me from Uzbek-Swedish-English to French by François, by the way. I was just speechless. After many smiles and waves and "Spasiba", they were on their way and we were on ours.
We ended up being lucky and getting a ride out of that small town, but I still have the little piece of paper with their phone number in my notebook.
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