No, we don’t have gremlins living in our house. But yes, we’ve been dealing with some tech issues for the last few weeks. Thank heavens I always purchase a service warranty on any computer I buy because my Macbook Pro is currently off in another part of France being rebuilt. I do have redundancy, but I’m using a tiny little 13-inch MBP from 2013 — and it is soooooo slow!
Turning on the VPN for safety slows it down even more, but we suddenly have more neighbours on the street and I can see them pop up in the left column of my browser when I log on. Better safe and SLOW than sorry.
Back soon (again — I hope!) with an announcement that you might find interesting. By for now!
If I didn’t have emerging fruit on first year apple trees, a row of heavily laden pear trees, and roses in bloom all over the back garden, I would have simply stayed in bed all week with the covers pulled over my head.
Our former web host (Bluehost) had become more expensive (again) with less service or reliability. So, after well over a decade with them, I’ve switched to Hostinger. The migration that was meant to go oh-so-smoothly did not. And in the process of moving from one place to another, two of our four sites were hacked by some scoundrels.
Here on this site, they changed my WordPress log-in name and password — and thank heavens I noticed, took screenshots of the name they tried to log in with (unsuccessfully, thank heavens), and I’ve thoroughly cleaned this site and installed new anti-malware, anti-tampering, and so forth via plug-ins.
On Mark’s site, which is used as an online portfolio, they tried to snag our images of his successfully completed projects — probably to use for someone else’s site. On both sites, there were hundreds, seriously hundreds of comments in Russian redirecting people to other online sites.
Regaining control of our sites has put off our announcement of our new project, so it might be mid-September before you read about that.
Ah well — my trust in human nature has been tested and then some.
We’ve had 15 wonderful years of A Wanderful Life, but now it’s time for some changes.
This site has been significantly trimmed down this week and over 400 posts were removed. What remains are a few posts from the last 5 years, and an occasional beauty shot from earlier years. I’ve kept the still-relevant photo essays from Scandinavia, all done just before the pandemic created chaos. And there’s one post from the year 2000 when we came zooming back to France, quickly purchased a house to renovate, and Mark spent that year gutting a 200-plus-years-old village house in Brittany, turning it into our safe haven.
Photo essay sites are not popular the way they were when I set up this site in 2009. The world has moved on and video formats are what audiences want now.
We too are about to transition into video — with a new name and new links. I’ll be on a steep learning curve as I learn video editing, overlaying tracks of music, and the lengthy steps to getting it all online in a harmonious way.
Thank you for the years that you’ve been with us, and (fingers crossed!) I’ll be sharing our NEW SITE within the next few weeks.
There has been a very intentional pause in posting since the end of 2019. For all of us around the world, life became ultra-stressful during the pandemic of the last two years, and it didn’t seem like a wise idea to share anxiety with an already anguished world.
We left Sweden at the end of 2019 and raced back to France. After a lifetime of depending on intuitive input, I had a rather familiar feeling — a large hand was firmly planted in the middle of my back, propelling me forward, telling me not to relax until we were safely back there.
Over the week of Christmas, we wrote a contract to purchase a derelict house in a small village in Brittany, and we had the keys in our hands six weeks later on Valentine’s Day of 2020. The house, one of the old village shops with living quarters above, had been built in stages from the late 1600s or early 1700s, then the early 1800s, and then we had what I laughingly referred to as ‘the concrete bunker’ — a 1960s add-on. It was certainly not in any condition to be occupied.
Again, listening to a building sensation that something dreadful was coming down the road, we filled the house with as many building supplies as we could purchase. The following week, the pandemic was declared and France went into lockdown.
We were not allowed to leave the cold and damp rental house we occupied unless we were picking up groceries, filling a vehicle with fuel, or going to the doctor. And when we did go past our front door, we were required to have a separate written statement each time including our name, address, and time of day we had left the house. France was quite strict about their lockdown!
We were originally denied the right to travel between villages to do renovation work, but I was persistent — and it paid off. I continued to do writing and editing while reloading the fire repeatedly each day to try and stay warm. And after a flurry of letters to government offices, I finally obtained permission from the regional police for Mark to go straight from the rental house to our future home each day. Never stopping or talking to anyone, he spent almost every day for the next 6-plus months gutting and rebuilding that mucky house.
Most of the walls were covered with mud plaster atop ancient lathe.The side walls were stone covered with lime plaster.
Feeling purposeful during that time really helped us, and we didn’t slide into the same depths of depression that some people we knew were going through. We just kept on going, knowing that our ‘project’ would pay off. And it has.
For the first time in ever so long, we are happy where we live. We’ve been in for 17 months now and the house is still in various stages of ongoing renovations, but it was a big project since it’s a 3 level house with a long and narrow partly walled, partly fenced garden out back.
Gargoyles gushing water from the upper wall of the medieval church in the heart of the village.
Our village is small, lovely. and quite old. We have a medieval church (complete with gargoyles overhead gushing water) down the block that was established in Gallo-Roman times.
The people are friendly, and we are fortunate to have a charming bar and restaurant a few hundred metres from our front door. The pharmacy is a short walk around the corner, and we have an excellent boulangerie (bakery) and small grocery on the other side of the town square.
Historic image of the village.
It’s interesting to feel contentment after moving so often over the last two-plus decades. As we re-emerge into some semblance of life, still wearing masks in crowds or when we go shopping, you’ll soon see more new pictures and some flashback pics from our life in France.
At some point, I’ll give you a chance to gasp a bit at our before and after pictures from the renovation. The teaser shots above should give you a clue of the obstacles Mark faced on the ground floor and first floor above. He’s only just begun to renovate the top floor, so there will be more stages of transformation.
In the meantime, it’s good to go back to basics and remember that life is good, and we are blessed.
It couldn’t have been any greyer — flat skies and a persistent thin drizzle keeping everything damp to the touch outside. But we had a destination in mind — the IKEA Museum in Almhult, Sweden — located in the original 1950s building that had been the first store in the retail empire.
The exhibits are spread out over several floors, but the entire experience moves at a sensible pace when compared to the slower-paced decision making necessary when shopping in one of their retail stores.
Levels of exhibits at the IKEA Museum in Almhult, Sweden — the original 1950s store in the IKEA empire.
The museum’s purpose is to explain the origins and history behind the founding of IKEA and why the harsh economic conditions of the region, both before World War II and immediately afterwards, had contributed to the ideas that fermented inside the head of Ingvar Kamprads.
Interestingly, the museum goes back to the rural poverty of the mid-1800s, a time that saw tens of thousands of Swedes emigrating in hopes of a better life, usually to the United States of America.
Once the exhibit arrives at the pre-war years of the 1930s, it very truthfully reveals that Kamprad’s beloved grandmother was a devoted follower of Hitler and believed in his cause. Fortunately, although Kamprad himself flirted with those ideas as a young teenager, he soon proved that his destiny was to empower Swedish society as a whole through good design at a fair cost.
Watching a documentary segment at the IKEA Museum in Almhult, Sweden.
The exhibits that showed how the building must have looked in 1958 when it opened were particularly interesting. There was nothing there that we wouldn’t have had in our own home today.
1958 Photo Mural & Furniture Juxtaposition-IKEA Museum in Almhult, Sweden.A beautiful showroom demonstrating the evolution of modern design ideas at the IKEA Museum in Almhult, Sweden.
We arrived at lunch time after I needed to sleep in a bit (chronic insomnia struck again!) and headed straight for the meatballs. Mark were the classic ones, but mine were salmon instead.
The lounge area of the cafe had a gas-effects fireplace and it was a cozy place for the informal business meetings we saw being conducted.
Business meeting being conducted in front of the fireplace at the IKEA Museum cafe in Almhult, Sweden.
It’s a very pleasant museum and the historical aspects of the exhibits allow the visitor to understand the background history that eventually created the global powerhouse that is the IKEA retail empire. Highly recommended!
A windowfront display of green glass in the shop at the IKEA Museum in Almhult, Sweden.
Sand between my toes and against my skin has never been all that pleasurable, even when I was a child or teenager and my mother took us to Florida for annual holidays. Crowds of sunscreen-covered folks, mingled smells of cooking food, and the cacophony of overlapping voices are also nothing of interest.
But — give me an opportunity to visit the seaside in the autumn or winter, to walk (with my shoes on!) with the wind whipping my hair and my cheeks becoming bright shades of red from the chilly temperatures, and I will happily keep you company!
The Baltic was just behind the treeline in our cottage in Ystad, quietly lapping at the sand a mere one-block distance down a narrow lane. We noticed that it’s a year-round spot for locals who are taking a daily stroll, walking the dog, or ambling along on their bicycles or mobility scooters.
Hope you enjoy these glimpses of off-season seaside life in Ystad!
Needing a break from art and design museums, we decided to get off the highway for two nights in Ystad, Sweden after we crossed The Bridge (yes, the one in the Scandi-Noir television series) and headed south from Malmo.
Just as we were leaving Aarhus, Denmark, the skies turned dark and ominous and we drove through heavy burst of rain and hail. The green-tinged sky looked as if tornadoes could drop out of it at any moment.
Fortunately, the weather cleared by the time we reached the border of Denmark and Sweden and we had a pleasant drive for the rest of the day.
Below is the Oresund Bridge — the one featured in the Swedish-Danish co-production television series The Bridge. Some tips for those who travel this way, there is a Border Force booth that is manned by police at the end. For the first time since we’ve been travelling in mainland Europe, we were required to produce our passports — and the fee to cross the bridge is over €50. That was a bit unexpected!
I needed to catch up on some writing and photo editing and a couple of days by the Baltic Sea in the off-season sounded quite relaxing. It was — and we ended up staying for five and a half days, not two.
Getting in and out of the van multiple times a day, whether to have a meal, see one of the sights, or just stretch our legs, was getting really tiresome.
The cottage I had rented more than met our expectations — it exceeded them with the attention to detail that the owners had paid when they renovated it. We had a fully-equipped kitchen and could cook for ourselves, removing the need to go out to restaurants or bring back sandwiches or salads. The beds were comfy, the neighbourhood was quiet, and the hot tub on the back deck was a genuine bonus.
For someone who is so research-minded, I had done ZERO research into things to do in the area. So it was a very pleasant surprise to discover that there was a movie and television studio in Ystad — Ystad Studios — where the 40-plus episodes of the Scandi-Noir crime series Wallander had been filmed. Portions of the series The Bridge were also produced there. Some of the sets from each of those shows, plus some movies we had never heard of, had been preserved to form a tour. What fun!
Off-season travelling often means less-crowded conditions. But we never anticipated having the entire studio tour area to ourselves. Below are some images from that tour. And yes, I know it’s cheesy, but we both enjoyed sitting in one of the leather chairs from the Wallander series and taking pictures to capture the moment.
An added bonus to staying put for several days was that Mark finally had a chance to ride his new bike someplace other than the congested roads of Essex in England!
