That was the day
This is a self-indulgent article. Many months ago, I escaped from the monotony of both studying and pretending to study, embarking on a long voyage to the Skuleskogen National Park on Sweden's Bothnian coast. It was a solo adventure, made possible by an unusually high tolerance for complicated transport arrangements, and a sense of general lunacy. Despite the 900km round trip's panicked conclusion which may one day warrant its own entry in a Bill Bryson-esque travelogue, it was ultimately a success, a day detached from civilisation. The initial plan to devote a whole post to the trip was scuppered by deep exhaustion that lingered in subsequent days. My memories of the day now are no longer as precise as I want them to be. I can trace the emotions - ideas of how I thought I felt - but not the details that define what once felt important. The slightly uncomfortable truth is that the more I think about that day out, the more reckless I think I was. But in seeking spontaneous esca