The yearly harvest market in Trosa appears to be a big drawcard to the town. Hundreds of visitors flood the cobbled streets, visiting the scores of stalls selling everything from sweets to sausages, bundles of brooms to apple and leek bread. I don’t know what it’s been like in previous years but today it appeared to be a great success. And the weather was perfect for it.
It reminded me of the Farnham Christmas Market but without Christmas. And the cold. Mind you, Amanda thinks it is cold so maybe not.
We even managed to meet a couple of the only people we know in Trosa amid the crowds. A bit like the year we met up with Sue and Pip in Castle Street. Well, strictly speaking I didn’t. Mirinda had forgotten to turn the dial on our parking disc so I went back to Max while she and Amanda kept up their wandering. When I returned they were chatting, excitedly, with Christina and Anna from the not a garden party the other week. They were discussing the dispersal of my Swedish phone number…which I don’t have yet.
The reason they were discussing my non-existent phone number is because, as soon as I am added to the bank account, something that can happen now I have my ID, I can get Bank ID and then, a phone contract. This, hopefully, will bring with it, some sort of broadband deal as well. Until the fibre is connected at least.
Following a lively chat, we headed for the museum grounds, where a chap was playing guitar and singing to an adoring crowd, some seated, some buying hot dogs, others looking at candles and other handmade goods.
It was a wonderful, happy, and seemingly successful, market. I assume that the organizers were suitably pleased after the seasonal crowds were down this year. Or so we’ve been told.
A bit like I was pleased today when Mirinda and Amanda jumped in and made us all lunch. It was quite the surprise. It improved my mood somewhat, given I was a bit grumpy. The reason I was a bit grumpy was because we were running late for the English language tour of Tullgarn Slott. And I hate rushing for anything. Mainly for fear of falling over.
It was a bit hit and miss whether we’d make it but, as Mirinda screeched to a halt in the car park, she shoved Amanda from the passenger side, ordering her to race to the ticket office. Tickets in hand, Amanda was then sent on as the forward party while I attempted to hurry up the gravel drive, forcing Mirinda into my dawdlish, shuffling pace.
Amanda held the door, valiantly, and we arrived just in time for the tour to begin. Actually, it had, sort of, already started, but our lovely guide began once more for our benefit.
There were only five other people on the tour and, even then, two of them went off with the spare guide because the young fellow with the headphones wasn’t happy sitting still and waiting. And then there were five. Though, apart from us, it was only a Spanish couple with a small daughter. At least they seemed to be Spanish. She spoke English with a thick accent, and he didn’t really say anything. The kid spoke Swedish. I think.
Anyway, they were very miserable but they may have been because the father had to carry around two chairs which he never really used. As did Mirinda, thinking I might need to sit down at some stage.
Sitting aside, the tour was excellent. The slott was amazing, with lots of different periods appearing as we went from room to room. It was all incredibly interesting. Mirinda and Anna went on the 15th and were full of stories about the place. Their guide told different stories to today’s so Mirinda learned a little bit more of the history of the place.
Possibly my favourite bit was the main, land side entrance which Gustav had created when the trains arrived. Victoria collected, among many other things, tiles from her travels, and they were used to decorate the new entrance. I particularly liked the fact that they weren’t all the same. From birds to plants, Delft designs to Bible verses, it all looked marvellous. And was a testimony to her collecting skills.
Mind you, I also really liked the ‘conversation floor’. According to the guide, the picture inlaid into the floor of the outer, waiting chamber to the lady’s bedroom, was intentionally put in place so the normally shy Swedes, who were waiting to be received into some royal presence, could strike up a conversation. The image featured a couple of ancient Romans picking up cupid like cherubs in preparation to throwing them at love interests.
Then, of course, there’s the man who built a yacht inside the slott which, when completed, was far too big to remove. It meant removing walls, doors, windows, etc and lowering it to the ground. His father gave him a generous stipend on the condition that he never made another boat.
Having completed our tour, we headed around to the seaward side of the house so Amanda could pose with her peacock outfit, before heading back to the house. We would have popped into the café for afternoon fika but, of course, the café was closed. We had fika at home instead.
It was a splendid day, capped off by Amanda sneakily doing the washing up after dinner. I felt very spoiled.
