I don’t particularly like baths. Wallowing for a while in my own, wet filth, does not appeal to me in the least. I realise there’s a lot of people who like it a lot. Fair enough, I say, as long as I can have a shower, that’s fine. Unlike me, my wife is one of those people that rather enjoys a bath.
Mirinda was very pleased when we walked into the house and saw the bath. There’s no bath where we’re staying near Stockholm. Just a shower. Mirinda was further delighted when she realised the bath had big, gushy water jets lining it. This is something she’s always wanted. A jet assisted bath.
So, this morning, filled with anticipation, Mirinda prepared for her bath.
The water was pretty slow so it took a while for the water to reach the jet holes. But, eventually, there was enough water to get in the bath and turn on the juice.
The jet bath started spitting out water. Unfortunately, water wasn’t the only thing it spat out.
Apparently the water is sucked in and the dirt from the previous bath spat out. How come the water has changed colour, she thought given she didn’t have her glasses on. Retrieving her glasses she decided a shower was the better option as she watched small bits of something brown floating around her. It was, as she said, totally gross.
Mirinda was quickly convinced jet baths are not a good idea.
The shower, attached to the bath, was a bit squirty, so the bathroom gets an impromptu wash every time you use it. But, at least the water is clear and clean.
Oh, and the wifi doesn’t work. I spent ages last night trying to get it to work. There’s a very confusing mess of cables and strange white boxes with some lights on but most off. Eventually I gave up and started using my phone as a hotspot. Not ideal, but better than nothing.
I sent a message to the owner asking how to make the wifi work. The owner said they’d have to talk to the provider and it would take a few days.
But, apart from that, the place is delightful. This is the view from the sitting room window.
And it was raining this morning. Not heavily and it did stop. And Mirinda managed to take the girls for a woodland walk up to a lake.
Finally, the sun came out and the day gradually turned lovely so we decided to head off to Nora for a look see.
And what a lovely town, Nora is. About the size of Haslemere while looking like a French bastide town, Nora is the kind of place I’d like to live in. In particular because it has a rather delightful and extensive cheese shop.
There’s also the beautiful church, perched high up, the steeple easily visible from every direction. It’s possibly the third church on the site and was built in 1880. They say ‘possibly’ because the previous church dated from the 6th century before it was demolished and there’s no record of the one before that.
Inside, the church is warm and inviting. Sort of like the one we visited in Dalarö but bigger and with a very impressive ceiling. In fact, as well as the ceiling, there are a couple of excellent frescoes painted by Mrs Ragnhild Nordensten from Nora.
Apart from the obvious beauty of the church, it was wonderful finding one that’s just open rather than strictly within certain plague restrictive times. The church in Nora is open daily from 9am to 5pm. This is far more like god intended. I’m sure.
Given I was the only one there, the church was infused with peace and solitude. It was lovely.
In the meanwhilst, Mirinda was outside with the girls, talking to locals. One very helpful chap suggested she might want to visit the local vet where they could give the girls a much better haircut than the GazHack they’re currently sporting.
Actually, there’s a lot of dogs in Nora. Emma ignored all of them apart from one, rather huge German Shepherd which she barked at. Freya didn’t engage with any other dog. Both of them were very happy to be fussed over by humans though, something which happened a lot in Nora.
Speaking of the girls, we also found a wonderful Greek restaurant where, as well as excellent food (and beer) they also allow dogs to sit quietly under your table while you eat.
We were a bit concerned when we were the only customers. I always worry about these small businesses when they are mostly empty. I guess a lot of it is the pandemic and some of it is the season but, whatever the reason, I always feel a bit sad.
But, needless worry has never been my strong suit and was proved once more to be unnecessary. By the time we left, the place was almost full of fellow diners.
Before heading back to the house, we drove around looking at For Sale houses before stopping at the big, out of town ICA for essential things that were not included in the rental. Like dish cloth, dishwashing liquid, toilet paper etc. We then drove back.
And, in a case of immaculate timing, the weather dramatically changed as we sat inside.
We decided that the house was the best place to be.
The house, as well as having an inadequate bathroom, has a lot of ‘stuff’. It’s one of those Airbnb places where it’s like the owners have just stepped out. Obviously, being the busy body I am, I decided to go through a lot of books and magazines under the rather giant coffee table.
Among such delights as floral magazines and a photo album featuring bouquets of flowers, was a folder marked Interflora University. This folder contained notes taken by, I think, the woman who now owns the house. At least the names are very similar.
We were both surprised that there is such a thing as Interflora University but, I guess, it makes sense. In an international company which prides itself in delivering consistently gorgeous bunches of flowers, a way of teaching the skills would be very handy.
Other books aside, possibly my favourite from under the coffee table was an interesting volume about a collection of Nordic people who are (well) known for their skills with flowers. In the brilliantly titled Nordic Masters of Flower Arrangement, these people show their wares in black and white photographs as well as appropriately flowery text. This must surely be an Interflora University key text.
