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Finding Badabruk

I flew into Gothenburg's (ironically called) City airport, another of Ryanair's special destinations that's so small it doesn't have a cash machine within 10km. So, almost stranded forever without any Swedish Kroner I hunted through my bags until I found enough forgotten cash to get the coach into Gothenburg.

Leaving my bags in left luggage I spent a pleasant few hours wandering around the city before I caught the train to Kil, a one street town, where Chris met me and we got onto a small train into Varmland's forest. An hour later we stepped off into the darkness at Badabruk, the station nothing more than a small concrete platform surrounded by trees. I followed Chris as he led the way through the forest towards his house. Bada isn't so much a village as a random scattering of houses in the Swedish countryside, and as we slid around and fell on the ice with my bags it felt as though we were never going to get there.

After thirty minutes of walking, however, we made it to the front door of Chris's red wooden house, far, far away from civilisation. He lit the wooden stove, we sat down, and there was nothing else to do but open some beer.


That explains the call at 02:00 I got whilst asleep in a crappy guest house in Turkey (unfortunately work related)

Fantastic to speak to Chris again though :-) Nice one Bronny, good to hear that you've revived the calling when pissed late at night tradition... reminds me of our session with Jack in Trinidad

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