Pulling into the garage I imagined how the next few minutes would pan out. Chaos was a certainty on the other side of that door. Two excited tyrants, the world to condense into a few bags and less than an hour until the taxi arrived spelt disaster. I pensively opened the door, wincing reflexively as I did, deafening silence. Gab has us all packed, kids showered, dressed, uniforms away, school bags unpacked, she has everything not just together, but in calm order, well done her! I, on the other hand, wasn't so organised, the next half an hour flew by as the swarm of a million remaining jobs flittered through my mind. Before I know it, we're crossing the bridge, through the bureaucracy and into the lounge ready for the adventure.

We arrived at a 35c 5am in Dubai, it will crack 40c today but we won't' be here. It was Emerson's turn to be ill in the closing minutes of this flight, literally just after touchdown. Before we know it the big leg is over and we're boarding again for the last few hours to Stockholm. We arrive at a 20c midday, its the middle of summer and we just left a 22c mid-winter day behind in Sydney.

We pull out of the car hire depot straight onto the wrong side of the road, a mistake I seem to always have to make. Before we know it we've pulled up at Norrtaljë, a beautiful little town on our way to Svartnö. We strolled around the old centre, Fid was in heaven clocking 4 ice cream parlours in the first few minutes. A few minutes later we were into the System Bolaget, Sweden's state-run Dan Murphy's. You could tell tomorrow was party day, it was chaos - DJs on Boxing Day level chaos. But at the back, untouched, and unloved by the locals, a fully stocked shelf of Franziskaner! We loaded up, grabbed a bottle of Koonunga Hill (cheaper than at Dan Murphy's) and headed to the till. 

We had lunch at a little cafe by the canal, everyone hardly able to keep eyes open, before setting off to meet Karin and Östen in Svartnö. I'm still not used to roads that seem wide enough for one and bit cars, especially at 90km/h, we have a few adrenaline filled corners dancing with oncoming traffic and before we get enough time to take in the scenery we've found our way to the right part of the archipelago.
 
We turn off the main road, past the row of letter boxes, onto the grass road leading to Karin's house and everything before now melts. We're in some tranquil timewarp, even the back seat antics all cease, we're all wide-eyed with mouths to match. This is picture perfect postcard stuff. Karin comes to meet us on the road, the iron red country house surrounded by deep green clover lawn, the baltic glistening in the background. Östen, Roger, Marie and Johannes are pottering with the tractor. Karin and Östen have been restoring this 1940s tractor and tomorrow it needs to leave its home in the shed to make room for the party.
 
Karin gives us a tour of the properties and shows us to our room. There is a magnificently preserved formal receiving room in the front. It contains a certificate showing the house was in Karin's family in the late 18th century, just a year or two after European discovery of Australia. I don't have the vocabulary to do this place justice, everything is so ornate and original, the Husqvarna stoves that have to be well over 100 years old, the drying racks in the kitchen, the baltic granite cellar, the place is a wonderland.
 
Marie takes us down to the sea, on the way we pass a few other houses and barns, all cloaked in the iron red walls and white features colour scheme of the area, so picturesque. An old School just by the sea will be the home of tomorrow's Maypole for the Midsommar festival, today it's home to a huge swing the kids both burst to play on. On down to the sea, Max doesn't think twice before stripping off, diving in though was another matter. An exploratory toe has convinced him it's too cold, Marie is heading further and further away, it's too much he dives in and beams ear to ear. Emerson, however, has been scared off by the chill and plays with Viggo on the beach. Mia comes down to join us and dives in. The three of them swim across to the island a hundred meters or so across from the beach. The location is ridiculously Swedish, deep green forests come all the way down the waters edge, a granite formation pokes out from the water 20-30 meters out in the channel. Emerson and I head around to the next pontoon and see the boathouses dotting the shoreline. 
 
We head back to the house with Marie and Emerson picking flowers for the kitchen table. In the shed Roger has uncorked his Gotlandsdricka, a traditional homebrew from his native island to the south of Stockholm. A thick fruity brew, it tastes a lot like peach juice, but packs quite a different kick :) Karin and Östen have prepared a delicious dinner of pulled pork wraps with an even better desert of Östen's Turkish Peppar spiked Vodka.
 
The kids are off to bed, Gab and I weren't far behind. I've completely lost track of time, I think we've been up for nearly 50 hours, though we had some zzs on the plane, we've mostly been sustained by these wonderful surroundings - we are some very lucky tourists in this paradise.