We were at a reindeer herders’ convention near Jokkmokk in northern Sweden, watching a lassoing competition in the early autumn dusk. Hearing us speak, a fellow spectator turned our way.
“You must be the English people with the red van.”
Mentioning one of our favourite pull-ins near a lake a few miles to the south, this Sámi reindeer owner told us her family lived a little farther up the same dirt road. “We always look out for you at the end of July. It’s good to meet you at last.”
Over 2,000 miles from home, at least in one broad pine and birch covered valley, it seems our VW Transporter, like the returning swallows, had become a small part of the changing seasons.
Mind you, the van we’d parked that summer on the willow-studded verge near this lady’s home hadn’t been the vehicle to start the trend. We’d first pulled to a halt on that dirt road in an ex Coca-Cola T4, reaching the spot about 50 miles from the town of Arjeplog at the tail end of a four-day mad
