After a weekend in Stockholm, my friend Stina and I jumped in the car to drive out to the countryside. We were headed for Örebro, Stina’s university town, and the countryside surrounding it. We were to spend the week by Lake Hjälmaren, Sweden’s fourth-largest lake.

Our first stop, Sigtuna: Sweden’s first town, was founded in 980, and is filled with Viking runestones. Stora Gatan, said to be Sweden’s oldest main street, dates back to the time of 10th-century King Erik the Victorious.

We stopped in for chokladtårta and coffee (oh boy, do they love coffee in Sweden. Upwards of 5 cups a day seems fairly normal) at the self-proclaimed oldest house in town, from the 1600s – Tant Brun (Aunt Brown). They claim that the coffeehouse was opened in the 17th century.

Onwards we drove until we reached Örebro. We fill the week leading up to midsummer day with walks in the countryside, dinners of potatoes and herring and cheese, visiting friends, and alternating between the lakeside Finnish sauna and swimming in the freezing cold lake.

Stina had a styled wedding to shoot in a barn, so we spent a lot of time picking wildflowers in the woods and making flower crowns. Oh, and picnicking in barns.

And then, before we’d had a chance to get sick of drinking, talking, walking, swimming, the beautiful countryside, or get used to the fact the sun never went down, it was Midsummer.

We were to spend it with a group of Stina’s friends at their potato farm. We woke up at Stina’s parent’s lake house, and baked raspberry pie to bring along. We head off through the countryside, and find ourselves on a beautiful balcony, overlooking the potato farm bathed in that lovely soft Swedish midsummer light.

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The table was decorated with flowers, and filled with pickled herring, bread, cheese, and of course, freshly dug potatoes. Someone had made Gubbröra (jump to recipe), which roughly translates as ‘old man’s mix’ – a Swedish classic egg-mayo-potato-fish-herb mix to spread on dark bread.

After lunch, we kicked off the Midsummer Olympics, filled with games such as ‘identify this piece of wood by smell and touch only’, potato races, and croquet.

We drank schnapps late into the night. The sky was still a dark shade of blue, everyone in the kitchen got out their instruments, and we played and sang in the new day. We sat there on the kitchen floor for hours, listening and tapping along to folk, blues, and Swedish songs. Deep voices singing Cash were punctuated by the occasional female voice singing songs in Swedish, known by all in the room but me.

In between each song, the room returned to the deep silence of nighttime in the countryside. We drank coffee and ate raspberry pie, listening to our own private concert, miles from anyone else. As we left the farmhouse, the wail of the accordion bade us goodbye.

The 3 a.m. sky is still light, and the sun decides not to set at all, and just skip straight to rising.

Goodnight Sweden.

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Gubbröra