We love Margit’s. And this is not the same Margit as yesterday’s Margit Sandemo. In fact, I’m not sure who Margit was, because the current owner is not Margit. She started working there as a teenager, before taking over the business as an adult. She likes it so much that a few years ago she razed the place to the ground one autumn, and rebuilt it just the same, but invisibly better, and was open for business again the next summer.
“Our” Margit’s Kiosk is open for just under three months every summer, and it’s the essential meeting place, where you go for your sweets. Or ice cream, newspapers and magazines. Some kiosks do hot dogs, sometimes coffee. Postcards, stamps, romances (I mean the book kind, not the real thing. Though, you never know.) They may have cinnamon buns, and you might be able to buy your milk there if you’re stuck.
But you stay on the outside. It’s neither a shop nor a café. But Margit’s could now qualify as a bookshop, because the other day I bought a signed crime novel there. It’s by local author Christina Larsson, although I believe she murders further afield, which is a relief. Margit’s owner whipped out the signed book when she saw me pause in front of the box of paperbacks on the counter, and proceeded to tell me what a good read it is, according to all her other customers.
We like to reward ourselves after a swim, with the local ice cream in real biscuit cones, sitting at the outdoor tables among all the flower pots, just enjoying the surroundings and looking at people. There’s a special feel to the place.
Margit’s closes for the season this evening, and we can’t wait for next year.