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I'm having meat balls with potatoes, brown sauce and lingon jam in the student restaurant.

It's bright and airy with a high ceiling, wooden floors and walls. It's very late for lunch so only a few students and faculty sit here now. When it's full it gets very loud here. Now I only hear a few high, clear Swedish voices. Some of them speak English with an atrocious accent.

My first stop for the day was Gamla Linköping. It's a photographer's dream. Everything is period and cars are not allowed.

Walking around there I was again struck by the relationship the Swedes have with wood. We just can't get enough of the stuff. Just saying the word, trä, gives us a warm, fuzzy feeling. If we could, we would surround ourselves only with smooth, warm, unpainted wood and some pure cotton fabrics in white and blue for warmth.

We tolerate metal in small amounts when wood really wouldn't work. Push bikes are an example. We cannot say plast, the Swedish word for plastic, without sneering and pulling a disgusted face. Concrete just makes us depressed.

To make a Swedish person happy, just give us a smooth, fragrant, juniper wood butter knife and watch us sniff it and rub it with a smile. A juniper butter knife! What pure, innocent delight.
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