The Olympics ... here ... in London!

I have been considering my Olympics posts now for quite some time.  In part my delay is a result of wanting them to appropriately capture the vibe of it all and conversely because I simply have been spending my spare time catching up on all the events on bbc.co.uk instead !

My Olympic buzz has been a slow burn.  I am not traditionally a huge sports fan on the regular, but I have always been into the Olympics, especially women's gymnastics.  It started to flicker when the torch relay passed within blocks of my flat, sprinted into a crescendo when I was surprisingly offered last minute tickets to watch the dress rehearsal of the opening ceremony, and may have hit pinnacle as I sat in box seats at the women's gymnastics team finals. (woot!)

The city is buzzing!  Most Londoners are either gone or not leaving the house, so as you cruise the streets or ride the tubes you most often are surrounded by excited visitors, Olympic volunteers in full costume, and if you're lucky a genuine athlete wearing their medal!  Its actually quite pleasing.

Many of the countries are hosting "houses" where they welcome visitors to express their local culture, food, and drink, so the city is donning flags from all around the world.  Regents Street is decked out with all the International banners on display ... the Olympic rings adorn Tower Bridge ... there is an overall sense of excitement and comradery among the people from all around the world.

Not sure if you have noticed, but at the events everyone cheers for everyone!   The sport of it all is truly prevailing, and I couldn't be more proud of the people of the world right now.  We are the woooorld, we are the peeeeople, we are the ones who make a brighter day ....  sorry, I digress.

I mentioned it a bit, but a few key events have donned my experience so far:

Olympic torch relay ... criss-crossed England, then the city of London for days, passing within blocks of my flat.  It was simple and under-stated, but accomplished what is was supposed to ... spreading the Olympic spirit throughout the land.  Not sure who our chick was, but she was cute. (Those last few statements are a kind of metaphor for Britain in general.)

Actual torch holding myself ... my company is the official data sponsor of the Olympics.  Thus, we had two torch holders and in the end a torch in our office for a couple hours for posing.  Heavy, but not ... and a somewhat disappointing revelation that there are indeed thousands of Olympics torches each year.  Hm.

Women's Gymnastics Team Finals ... the motherload.  I did indeed buy these tickets outright as the one souvenir event I must attend.  We arrived in style on the new "airline" cable car across the river.  The seats were outstanding, and well, the USA whooped behind to secure gold in case you haven't seen it already.  Homemade T-shirts!  USA! USA! USA!

Beach Volleyball in front of Buckhingham Palace ... seriously.  A surprise gift from a friend - front row tickets to both a men's and women's event.  And to boot, it was actually Brazilian Women ... and they had DJs and dancers! Fun! Fun! Fun!

Since then I have been keeping up online, especially with gymnastics, diving, swimming, and track in between, taking advantage of wondering town when the opportunity arises.  So hard to believe the closing ceremony is already this weekend.  I did manage to get a hold of some free tickets to the park nearby that will be airing the ceremony on big screens (although temptingly the tickets are on sale for £1500 each on the london2012 website ... NOT!!)

It has been unreal so far ... literally unreal.  As I was watching the opening ceremony on TV, I thought, "what is that?" and indeed out the window saw the fighter jets fly overhead coming straight from the stadium spritzing their red, white, and blue smoke.  

And later that evening, basking in the aura of what I had just witnessed, again, a "what is that?" and it was indeed the fireworks going off over the Olympic Park in the distance.  I live within walking distance of the arena.

I am sure that the surreality of it all will catch up with me in the future, but for now, I am going to keep cruising the streets looking for Phelps and Gaby, keeping an eye in the sky for Beckham's helicopter buzzing him to the next sport, and praying Pink Floyd closes the ceremony!!!  Woo hooo!!!  USA! USA! USA!

Verona ... Valpolicella Wine Region

Music has a profound impact on a situation.  Take for example my recent taxi trip from my hotel to the train station in Milan.  It started as a fairly typical business trip morning - drag out of bed, pack up, make sure I don't forget the phone charger, get in the cab and panic until I don't miss my next mode of transport ...

But what happened instead was a glider ride through the city, floating through the roundabouts, mood altered by the crisp classical music the cabbie was playing a tad bit louder than politically correct.  I don't know who it was ... I pretend Vivaldi or some other Italian Boroque artist I should be more informed about ... but with his fingers tapping out the piano on his knee and the warm wind in my face it was divine and I should have thanked him.

People were literally walking in step to the beat, the street lights changed on cue, and I suddenly realized how life's serendipity is so strong ... the peace I felt in my heart as I headed to the Italian City of Love - Verona was a part of my destiny.

Perhaps a glutinous move, but since I was in Milan and I had recently been looking at a bottle of Amarone that was a gift of a dear friend in Chicago, I decided that one extra day on the road wouldn't hurt anyone and booked the one hour train ride to Verona from Milan.

The destination was more so Valpolicella - the classic wine region in the foothills of the Alps north of town.  Aside from their Classico and Superior varietals, they are most known for what I consider one of the three kings of wine - Amarone (others Barolo and Bordeaux).

It has a dear place in my heart, as it was really the first red wine that pulled me into the artform.  It is made using a unique technique of letting the grapes dry before they are pressed and produces a warm, round, fruity red wine that will get you over any bad break up.

I spent my days in Verona wondering the winding streets lined with text book balconies full of succulents and vines, stopping to taste the local food and sit by the river to take it all in.  I hiked up a mountain to view the top of town, and hired a driver to take me out into the hills of the wine region to visit a family on this wine farm and watch the sunset.

Seriously serendipitous.  Life's bounty abounds.

Bliss ... a.k.a. Provence

I liken a stay in the Luberon valley to ecstatic moments on repeat (for one, see side photo).

Last weekend, four girlfriends and I stayed in a stone cottage in the small town of Viens, East of Apt in the countryside of Provence (complete with a pool, vegetable garden, and view of distant lavender fields).  The goal:  local markets, sun, wine, dinner, repeat.  Mission accomplished and then some!

The food market in the town of Lourmarin, noted as being the best in the area, was the destination Friday AM.  The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the stalls were full of French linens, shopping baskets, salamis, cheese, bread, fabrics, wonderfully fresh local fruits and vegetables.

We all gathered whatever we fancied (I did get that French market basket I had been pining for) and slowly wondered the town before settling in for a lovely lunch and a bottle of Rose.

The old towns in this area are all, for lack of a better word, quaint.  With their faded pastel facades, worn shutters, and draping vines ... the French Provincial "look" is in raw form, and it is gorgeous.

After having a delicious lavender and honey ice cream, we set off on the winding drive through the grapevine covered hills back for the house to enjoy the sun by the pool and harvest the garden for dinner.

Eggplant, zucchini flowers, tomatoes, and fresh chard were all available and we took advantage of it!  Angela made roasted eggplant stuffed with Toulouse sausage and fresh tomato sauce; I made tomato salad, fresh greens, and fried up the zucchini flowers.  Of course, local reds from the Luberon valley were the perfect accompaniment.  It was a feast!!

Saturday morning we set off in search of the local baker, known for some of the best croissants around.  Boy, we weren't disappointed.  The little shop still had a fire inside a large brick oven where all the breads were made.  The chocolate filled croissant was amazing, and just the first of carbohydrate loaded day.

We carried on into the larger town of Apt, which has its weekly market on Saturday, and pushed through quickly to get some meat to grill for dinner.  I just may have bought some adorable linen curtains for the living room.

For the second half of the day some of the girls decided to wash off some work week stress by the pool, while Pam and I went in search of the lavender fields up near the town of Gordes and the Senanque Abby.

The remaining afternoon couldn't have been scripted better, and there were moments of pure bliss that aren't often experienced in life.  The drive was gorgeous, up and down the foot hills of the valley, crossing through small towns with patches of lavender fields between.  Gordes is picture perfect, perched on the hill, and we stopped to browse art galleries and wine shops after our visit to the Abbey.

The Senanque abbey is probably the most photographed site for lavender tourists and was stunning, both from above where you drive in and up close.  It is an active religious site where monks live today and can be seen working in the lavender fields.


As if the day couldn't get any better, on our way back home we came across the town St. Saturnin d' Apt which was having a flea market!!!  No choice, but to extend our day out a bit longer and wonder through this great fortune.  If only ... if only I had endless cash and if only I had a means to transfer back massive quantities of furniture (i.e. old wood farm tables, wrought iron day beds), old wine making supplies, fabrics ... ugh, there were so many dreamy items here.


But alas, I had niether and was over-joyed just having the memory of being at the best French Provincial flea market, perched on a hill with a stunning view of the countryside.  Ahhhh ... now for that glass of Rose.


A couple more hours in the sun, and we began our second evening feast. More goods from the garden, cheese, salami, olives, spicy anchovies and garlic, fig and goat cheese salad, and of course the steak on the grill (which required a lesson from the groundskeeper - "put sticks on grill, fire, voila").


Finally, our lazy Sunday, absorbing the last hours of sun and eating everything that remained in the fridge (that ham and cheese croissant was awesome!!).  We begrudgedly packed our belongings and went on our way back towards Marseilles to catch our flight.  The drive was nerve-racking.  For quite some time you are perched on the edge of the mountains, with shear drop offs at your side and no line of sight around hairpin turns.  Grip tight ... gulp.  The ladies were quite silent (probably praying for their lives).


An exhilarating experience, that rewarded us with a picture-perfect field of sunflowers on the other side of the mountain (interesting fact:  many artists, such as Vincent Van Gogh's sunflower paintings were inspired by the beauty of this region).


Though this post accounts most of our doings, the real joy of this trip was the time with the girls ... laughing, hugging, sharing the kitchen, and praising life's bounty ... bliss.


<< Long slide show on this one!! >>

Ridley Rd. Market

Recently I read an article about the five best markets in London ... the two clear winners are the notorious Borough market - foodie haven and clincher for my decision to move to London - and Broadway market - somewhat like a little Borough with a non-stop stream of eyebrow-raising hipster fashion just a walk up the canal from my place.

However, to my surprise the Ridley Road Market was also listed.  Ridley Rd. in the Dalston neighbourhood northeast of the city is also within walking distance of my flat and I had yet to pay it a visit ... what fortune!

This market is quite different from the others.  First, it is in the heart of an African neighbourhood, and the foods, flavours, and products exemplify that heritage.  Also, it's visitors tend to be lower income than the Borough type, so there are some great deals to come by as well (was listed as some of the most affordable veg in the city!).

So, this Saturday (oh glorious Saturdays when there is nothing to do but explore!) I grabbed my shopping bag, camera, and hit the street to see what was to offer.

I didn't quite expect I would leave England for a few hours, transported somewhere with smells of spice, entrancing music, bright colours, never before seen vegetables, and questionable cuts of meat.  It was amazing.

I'll admit, I was possibly caught a few times with my jaw hanging open as I stared in awe at woman wrapping themselves in stunning ethnic fabrics or an elderly couple lifting cow hearts out of a tub to determine which one looked the tastiest for dinner.  

There were rooms with intricate hair-braiding going on, butcher shelves lined with ram skulls, and the darling little turquoise parrot fish I discovered while snorkelling in Mexico on chilly display for consumption.

Smells of incense, shea butter for you hair and skin, and freshly made grilled breads filled with cheese (OMG!) ... gold hoop earrings, lace curtains, and wool socks.  Fresh strawberries, plantains and garden eggs (which I now know are a delicacy for lovers in Africa, and you make an eggplant like stew with them).

Nonetheless, the diversity of options here in London, and more specifically in East London never cease to amaze me.  It's awesome to be able walk just a short distance in any direction and literally feel as if you touch the opposite ends of the world.  Blessed.

Do you see what I see?

Been trying to get a snap of this for weeks now.  I will for certain get a better one, but for now its on the record.

This momentary flash - fur, fear, curiosity, hunger - provides such great exhilaration each day.  And it is each day, like clock work, right within the view from my "office"...

The Royal Ascot ... again

So, I will leave this short - in the documentary sense only.  I did indeed attend the Royal Ascot horse race this year (for last year's commentary see here).

It worked out this way ...
1) no, I am not interesting in going
2) It costs money and I went last year
3) no really, I am glad you guys are going, but it is just not my thing
4) well, I don't know, it just not as up-class as you think its going to be
5) Last year I had to get standing only for an hour train ride in my heels!
6) Holy cow, I look amazing in this dress
7) You MAKE reasons to where dresses like this
8) I need to buy this dress
9) hey, you guys still going to Ascot?
10)  dang ... now I need to buy a hat.

Went ... bet ... lost ... saw more fake tan and platform pumps in one place than should be legal ... and of course, do not plan to go back.

P.S. there was an amazing Australian champion beauty flown over that was epic ... Black Caviar won the Queen's Jubilee race at Ascot 2012. I have my betting ticket against her to prove it.

A new found sense of freedom ...

While living in Chicago I always enjoyed riding my bike (a.k.a. "The Cadillac") around town to the markets, beach, dinner, etc.  In a city where driving isn't practical, and public transport, well stinky, riding a bike provides you with a means of travel complete with fresh air that is often much quicker than the alternatives.

It has been nearly two years now in London, and I have been hesitant to get a bike ... mainly because the arterial roads in the city are packed full of huge, scary buses that while sitting on the upper deck I have seen more than one close call with a biker.  Just getting used to being on the left side of the road took long enough to get accustomed to.

However, I am now ready.  The same desire - to get to my markets quicker and more exercise in my life - led me to the purchase of my Dutch bike!  


This large classic style frame provides just the right balance of practicality and cuteness.  While riding in Amsterdam (see blog here) my love for these bikes - with their heavy frame, covered bike chains, upright sitting style, and skirt guards - was solidified.  I still miss my rusty orange Schwinn from Chicago.


I researched online quite a bit, and honestly, the classics are VERY expensive.  With the odds being well over 50% that this bike will get stolen, I opted to get a used bike.  It is a Dutch 8-speed, rides very well, and has a cute rack on the back that has already proven to secure a bag of groceries.  Yet, it screams for a basket on the front ... waiting for the perfect one.


Turns out London is an amazing city for bikers!!  There are dozens of marked bike routes throughout the city that avoid the scary main roads and lead you down paths it seems one without a bike may never see!

The city provides free of charge awesome maps of the neighbourhoods, directing you to the most peaceful or efficient routes, depending on your need.  There are little secret routes, for bikes only and they even have biker stop lights!

I got down to the city centre in just 25 minutes (usually 45 minutes on public transport) and it looks like there is a safe route to my office.  Looking forward to this new found sense of freedom, and discovering even more hidden secrets in this intricate city.

Coldplay

There were a few things I knew about the band Coldplay ... they have some epic singles, are Brits, the lead singer married Gwyneth Paltrow, and they were playing at the Arsenal stadium in June (which is walking distance from my house).  This stacks up to a must see event.

I racked up six tickets, a crew to come along, and on a nice Spring evening in London there we were ... in the centre of the stadium watching the performance of the UK's top selling rock album of 2011.

I'm not a routine concert goer ... I mean I really do like Coldplay with their Earthy lyrics, dreamy rhythms, and perfect timing at introducing a jam session ... but, at first this was more a "been there, done that" kind of expectation.

What this turned into though was a bit more ... a push over the edge from just a music show.  It presented those moments when you look around with stars in your eyes, see your friends laughing, feel the unity of humanity, and jump up and down like you just don't care (or maybe conversely like it is just about the most important thing you could do).

There were large video screens so you could see the band, lasers, fireworks, bright colours, mad amounts of confetti, bouncing balls, lovers holding hands, and they gave every one lighted neon bracelets that blinked in perfect coordination with the beat of the music during parts of the show.  Pretty cool effects.

If you haven't heard of them, this video Yellow was one of their first, and of course they had dense yellow lighting while they played that ... girls were swooning.  Their most recent song "Paradise" was a hit, and of course "Viva la Vida" is a classic.


As if all that weren't enough, during the cliché 'pause, leave the stage, pretend the show is over' act they changed locations, moved towards the back of the stadium and literally popped out of the ground within meters of where we were standing!  It was the ultimate ... they performed their last few songs with the four of them on just a little stage right in front of us.  Nearly front row!

A friend of mine said it was a "life event".  It was etheral.  What's more, its kind of nice to know a couple guys at London City College, who played some tunes together, made it big time, married beautiful actresses and still maintained their souls.

Tea Cakes

Despite living in Britain for 22 months, I had yet to have a "proper" tea.  This was just unacceptable to my wonderful, baker friend Amy, who redeemed her birthday coupon this past weekend with an afternoon at the Wolseley.

Now, going for tea in England is not just a hot kettle of Lipton, oh no. Having tea is an event of cultural significance, and the manner in which you take your tea a symbol of your social class.  Ahhh, whatever, this is clearly about the cake (insert sarcastic comment about my class here).

The Wolseley, a darling little room off Picadilly Circus, is the "it" place for a proper tea in London.  Led off with a glass of champagne (well, at least ours did), the warm pot of warm pot of Wolseley blend tea is accompanied by a three tiered tray of finger sandwiches, pastries and scones.  Let's go row by row:

Sandwiches in Britain could have an entire chapter written about them, although it would be a dull one. They certainly do NOT believe in filling.  In fact, it seems the thinner the layering in the sandwich the higher your class level, and THAT I do not get. Paper thin cucumber?  Must be a princess. So, first floor contained five different crustless finger sandwiches - tarragon chicken was tasty.  I ate them all in a matter of minutes.

I'll skip to the top level ... scones.  It was in Cornwall (recall surfing trip here) where I was first introduced to clotted cream.  As far as good things go, this stuff ranks up there with cheese - and - I - love - cheese. Warm raisin scones with cream and jam along side your tea is a treat.  Add in the silver enamelled serving spoons and this really is all I would have needed for this tea to have been deemed a culinary success.

Yet, there was still the middle tray of petite sweets. Cookies, cakes, strawberry tortes, chocolate eclairs ...  Num num.  I can see why this tea tradition has stuck.

Santorini Sun

Ahh, the Bank Holiday.  Those random days here and there when the UK closes for reasons unbeknownst to me, but provide the perfect excuse for a little adventure.  This trip was devoted to the hunt of sun and sunsets, intermixed with with some delicious Greek food and girl time.

I've been yearning for a trip to the Greek islands for nearly 20 years now. Stories of friends sailing the Mediterranean, exploring foreign lands and foods, wind in their hair ... it was a dream worth holding on to. Finally my day has come. Destination: Santorini.

Our two story accommodation was perched on the side of a towering cliff with breathtaking views of the Caldera Bay, formed by the flooding of a huge volcanic crater thousands of years ago.  Some think Atlantis is underwater there.  Greeted with champagne, followed by Greek salad and an afternoon unwinding by the pool, the service was impeccable.

After viewing the first evening's sunset over an impressive bottle of local red wine and mousaka beyond expectations, the next day we opted to rent a car and drive down to the "Red Beach" at the southern tip of the island.  Santorini is not that large and early in May was pleasantly uncrowded.  After a short hike along side of the red pumice-like cliffs, we were nearly alone on a small black sand beach. Time to get the tan started!  We had a delicious lunch of fresh grilled fish seaside before heading back to clean up and make our way to another town Oia, known for white-washed churches and the best sunsets in the world.

Each morning we started with breakfast on the patio overlooking the vast sea.  Greek yoghurt with fruit and honey.  Yum.  Day two we explored another black sand beach near Perivolos.  This area was a bit more established, with beachside restaurants and sun chairs set up with cushions and straw umbrellas. We lived the rough life, flipping from front to back, alternating between reading books and taking a nap.  That evening, after strolling the numerous jewellery shops we enjoyed a delicious local Greek dinner at Nikolas Taverna in the main town of Thira. Ok, I did try the Ouzo. Not bad!

Day three:  boat trip!  The main excursion off Thira is to the two "burnt islands" in the bay.  They are literally mountains of volcanic rock, and after a boat ride you get to hike around the larger, smelling the sulfuric gas leaving the Earth, and praying that baby doesn't decide to blow.  It was better than it sounds.  Second stop is at the hot springs, which are billed as warm, bubbling sea with healing qualities where you can spread the silt from the water on your skin ... that was not better than it sounds.  The plunge you had to make from the boat into the frigid water was enough to stop your heart!

One of the more story-worthy points of the weekend was the trip back up to town from the port.  The city is perched nearly 400m above sea level. To get down we took a cable car, but on the way up we rode donkeys!  The fleet of Santorini donkeys has been carrying cargo up and down for centuries. All you do is hop on one, they know the route, hold on for dear life, hope they don't fight, and then hop off once you reach the top.  What an experience!!!  The local men running the operation looked straight out of history.  {I'll leave out the part about my friend spraining her ankle coming off a donkey and the experiences with the local clinic}.

Of course there was much more in between - gyros, grape vines growing like wreaths on the ground, conversations with taxi drivers, hikes through villages stacked on top of each other, naked people, stray dogs and cats, new Greek sandals, and the comradery of my girls.  Dream fulfilled.

<< Beautiful slideshow here! >>

It's not a dream ...

I slowly wake to the chiming bells of the Duomo and make my way to a cafe nearby, ordering a machiatto I enjoy standing casually at the counter amidst others doing the same.

I have time, so after the shot I find a sunny seat in front of the cathedral and finish reading the last few pages of a book that's had a hold of me, intermittently lifting my eye to gaze at the varied people strolling by. There are men is sharp shiny suits smoking cigarettes and women in four inch stilettos riding bikes.

After some time, I confidently make my way (without a map) down the winding cobblestone pedestrian ways lined with shops - designer clothing, shoes, and gelatto.  Upon meeting my colleague for lunch in the marble-floored, glass-domed galleria, I flawlessly execute the grab and hold right hand, right then left cheek kiss kiss (gone are the days of the awkward "left first? right first?" head bobs). I have a prosciutto pizza, a glass of Amarone, and the conversation is intellectual and productive.  I'm tan, rested from a recent holiday, and its a good hair day.

I'm starting to get a handle on this. It wasn't a dream, but at moments real life is so good it feels like one.

Eldstorp Säteri

.. translated as Eldstorp Manor, is recorded as the last residence in Sweden of my Great-Grandfather before he emigrated to America.  It is noted as being near a "town" called Askeryd, in the region of Småland.  If you Google Map "Eldstorp, Jönköping County, Sweden", zoom in quite close and look off to the right of the pin you will see a looped driveway with several buildings around it.  That is it.

Both Askeryd and Eldstorp have modern signs on the side of the road, indicating there is something there, but in actuality neither is more than a couple farm houses clustered together.  No Main Street, no grocery store, nothing else really aside from pine trees and lakes ... for miles and miles and miles.

I started doing some basic research last year and found a woman online specializing in tracing emigrants from this area.  I gave her all the details I could come up with and she was successful in tracking down four generations back from my Great Grandfather and also forward to known relatives living in the area still today.  Wow!

Straight through, Eldstorp is about a four hour drive southwest of Stockholm.  We made the most of it, taking the scenic route off the E4 highway along the coast of an enormous misty lake that was dotted with neatly kept red or yellow wood-sided, white-trimmed homes.  The countryside is quite stoic, noticeably lacking the buzz of modern technology and sense of urgency.

Our turning off point, and one of the few actual towns we encountered along the way, was Gränna.  Known as the birthplace of the candy cane (polkagris), it is dotted with candy shops and off course an intoxicating bakery where I also got to tick the box for the open-faced seafood sandwich I had been pining for. Gorgeous!

As we arrived near Askeryd we came upon an old church, which I am still certain is where several of my ancestors are buried.  Off a long dirt road from Askeryd, the Eldstorp Manor itself is quite lovely.  There are several houses together, none of which seemed to have been inhabited at the time, and all appear to be from different eras.  The large yellow house is certainly more modern, but the two red ones on the sides must certainly be over a hundred years old and were likely standing at the time my grandfather was living there. The barns also seemed to be quite old and I sense were also there at the time.

With the patch of birch trees in the back, the stone walls covered in moss, the red heart on the door of the barn, the sun peaking through the clouds, and the weight of the silence, I did feel connected.  And grateful.

Before the day got away from us we got back into the car to head down to our castle for the evening.  Yep, a castle.  I am not kidding when I say, when looking for lodging in the area, the options are slim and the Teleborgs Slott castle near Vaxjo really just seemed like a no-brainer for our night's stay on this epic journey.  It is stunning ... wins the award for best castle I have seen to date (though getting a surprise in the communal bathroom was something we probably could have lived without!).

In the morning we headed off for more adventure.  Not too far away was the home of my Mom's cousin, Jonny Kack.  Disappointingly he was not home when we arrived, but we did speak with a neighbour and exchanged some information about our quest.  Bit of an emotional event ... even the neighbour started to tear up with goosebumps!

From there we toured some of the Swedish crystal shops, smashed the car into a tree stump, visited the historic village of Eksjo for some last minute souvenirs and pastries before starting the long road trip back to the Stockholm airport. Whew.

I am so glad we made this trip.  I may even go back some day.  There is more history to uncover, and despite there being several generations and influences from other cultures in my DNA I still sense the heritage of the Swedish custom in me and my family and it is something I am proud of.

<< Of course a slide show on this one!! >>