Home is where the heart is

I love my little city, I really truly do. Being away for it for two months last year while I was travelling through Europe helped me realise that. Leaving Copenhagen airport, I realised that while I’d loved my time away, sometimes the best part of a holiday is coming home. And yeah, Adelaide is home.

What I hadn’t bargained for, however, was feeling so at home anywhere else on my travels. I thought that I would just be a tourist, an outsider, on the edge of all of these wonderful places, peering in. For the most part this held true. Most places I was just as content to leave as I was excited to arrive. Most places except one.

The land of Strindberg, ABBA, vikings, IKEA, the best seafood I’ve ever tasted, Bergmans (Ingrid and Ingmar, and I’m presuming many more), H&M, meatballs and lingonberry jam stole a little piece of my heart and I’m yet to get it back. You’d be justified in thinking that it felt so familiar because I have family there (seriously awesome family, might I add) who made me feel at home. I guess that is part of it, but there are plenty of places in the UK and even in Oz that equally as awesome members of my family live in and whilst I might feel at home with them, I don’t feel at home actually in their towns. Trudging through the cobblestoned streets of Stockholm’s Gamla Stan, sneaking into the back of a fisherman’s shop on the island of Orust to hold a ginormous lobster, strolling along the canal on a blustery afternoon in Gothenburg; these experiences were some of the many highlights of my time away and these places felt like home.

I’m so glad I got to spend some time in this most stunning part of the world with one of my best friends. I felt so grounded, so alive, so myself. Sweden, you’ve stolen a little bit of my heart. It’s okay, you can keep it, just as long as that means I can come back and see you again.







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