I suppose the word “paradise” means different things to different people. For a muslim man, who dies a martyr, paradise, according to sayings, means the 77 virgins waiting for him in another life (strange though, I’ve never heard what a female martyr can expect when she dies), others dream of sandy beaches in the Caribbean, for others again paradise might be a glamorous home by the waterfront.
For me and Devoted Husband paradise means our little summerhouse, a small, rather primitive timber log cabin, situated at the end of the road at the still water, way out in the dark forest in the province of Hälsingland about 4,5 h drive north of Stockholm. This is the place that gives us tranquility, time for reflection and a possibility to recharge our batteries. Here we have our kayaks, the nature right outside the door with fishing, berries and mushrooms – well, most of the stuff that makes us happy and grateful.
The standard is primitive; minimal kitchen, bunk beds, outdoor toilet and the lake being our bath tub. Electricity is the only modernity, thus it feels just as luxuriously every spring when Devoted Husband heroically crawls into the 8-degree water and fix with a hose that gives us water right into the kitchen tap.
For some of our friends life here seems much too uncomfortable, and there are even those who won’t visit just because they can’t take their daily shower or have to use the outhouse. For us most of the thrill and charm lies in the fact not living as comfortable as we do back home, why otherwise escape to the country?