• Write a diary “a little blubber in my igloo”

    Dalarna – strong and stubborn heart muscle of my Sweden, Dalarna – the birthplace of red decorated horses, crisps, ginger biscuits to the best round the banks and famous sausages falukorv; even a warm, brick-red hue – falurod, the color of the cozy wooden houses – was also born here, the road winds up and up, an immense lake silja silvery beneath, like fish scales, it is becoming colder, the temperature drops to 10, I wear a sweater and sneakers to change my ugg boots, climb even higher, at an altitude of 600 meters in densely intertwined with the forest hides a tiny village – lush undergrowth of the first spring flowers – everything is dissolved in a month later, the old wooden houses, blackened by time, the narrow path among the trees, a funny old junk from houses – wooden snowshoes for horses, the old carts, metal fixtures, at the edge of the forest, advancing inexorably, black wall, is very ancient house, all twisted with age, well in the courtyard, the door hanging by one hinge, and never closed completely, it is easy to wind his way through the cracks in the wooden walls, someone lives here, the window is lit Pale svechka.i I stand and look at the dancing flames of the candles pale, the creaking door, the black forest, I did not leave any doubt – it’s a real old mountain house vedmy.i when we hear the eerie, prolonged howl of wolves, the forest is coming closer. Village called fryksas, and here – our hotel, same old, wooden house, scored a nice variety of stuff, figurines wooden horses, softly lighted wax candles, a fireplace in the living room, out the window of our room can see a misty silver lake far below, miles besproglyadnogo woods and pale clouds, sleeping on the bristly pine makushkah. Belobrysaya girl, giving us the keys, said that the Bears almost never come close to the village, we can walk spokoyno.my spend the night in the living room all alone, the whole hotel for a long time firmly asleep, we sit on the floor in front of a fireplace, a thick woolen blanket, surrounded by books, newspapers, a bottle of wine, and I think this is one of the best nights of my morning wood zhizni. Pod end, the fire dutifully laid, we are blowing all the candles and go spat. Prozrachno blue dusk outside the window never potemneli.my wake up quite early and see how the clouds have flooded the village, I see how they move and move, fit comfortably, and the lake is completely lost.



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