Now that Daughter has informed the world – via fb – that I spent most of Friday eating all over the place, I suppose I needn’t hide this ugly fact from the rest of you.
We ate. Lots. Often. And it was good. You need to get your annual requirement of certain foods and eating places dealt with in a limited time, so slacking is to be avoided at all costs.
We got more lost than even I thought was possible, considering it was just one day, and we were in familiar territory. Must have been a curse. I firmly believe some road signs had been altered with me in mind.
The book we could have done with was the A-Z of the various places we went to, and through. Or tried to. Except I don’t expect there is an A-Z of Träslövsläge. It is a small fishing village south of Varberg. Which is itself not enormous. Nor is the smaller town of Falkenberg.
So, Träslövsläge looked beguiling enough when we stopped on our way north, that we decided to call in for ice cream at the place I sort of recalled in ‘downtown Träslövsläge’ on our way home in the evening. The same thought had occurred to a hundred other people, so we didn’t even bother joining the queues.
Instead we drove on. We could have retraced our steps. That way we wouldn’t have got lost in a mere fishing village. With the backseat passenger complaining, we finally found the main road again, at a spot much further south than I had imagined to be possible.
Earlier in the day we had found an unusual way into the centre of Falkenberg. So had a number of other motorists. The way wasn’t ideal, but the company even less so. We visited the museum for its summer exhibition of ceramics icon Stig Lindberg. Very good, and so was the teabread which was cheap on account of it being yesterday’s. (Yesterday’s yesterday.) We could choose our own mugs to drink from. The Resident IT Consultant then helped himself to a free map of Falkenberg.
This was to aid us in the leaving of Falkenberg. I mean, it was intended to do this. It didn’t. We just knew where we were as we lost ourselves deeper and deeper into the northern suburbs (if there is such a thing in a small town) of Falkenberg. Again, we found the main road eventually.
We spent the intervening journey discussing how to find a car park not yet full in Varberg, and where, and how not to get lost while doing this. The only map I had was the minute one on the permanent car parking ticket one has to carry to park in this lovely town. It is where I spent my childhood summers.
Didn’t help – much – as we ended up driving a very interesting way into Varberg. But whereas we didn’t find the place we wanted, we found a better place to park (next to the cemetery), and all was well. We even knew how to find the Pizzeria we were after. (It’s a holiday tradition. It’s where the gulls eat half pizzas in one fell swoop.)
We walked after this, which is fine, because no one got lost. We watched as a Norwegian car tried and failed to drive up a steep road. The same road the Resident IT Consultant then had us go up. I closed my eyes. I can understand why that road has a curfew on cars and motorbikes between 10pm and 6 am. The gunning of engines would drive anyone demented.
Having failed with the Träslövsläge ice cream, we went on to the Salmon restaurant where we had very large ones (ice creams, not salmons), half freezing by sitting outside, next to the motorway. Nice train on the other side.
This was going to be a short Saturday post. But at least you now know why we ate a lot and lost ourselves a lot. And that lovely red car is not our car.
