There’s something mildly special about being a tourist in your home country. While Sweden no longer is home, it’s undeniable that I have a stronger connection to Sweden than most people not living there. It was therefore extra special when we visited this year when we had the rare opportunity where both families were together. When people who don’t normally spend a lot of time together, despite being family there’s an unspoken pressure to make every outing extra special.

When it comes to imagination in terms of fun things to do for everybody, I’m usually escorted out of the room. Gently, sure, but firmly nonetheless. Chairing the family outing committee however is my intrepid sister who, completely in character I might add, thought we would enjoy the unique and interesting experience of visiting a gargantuan sculpture made entirely from driftwood. The work of art in question is called Nimis. Now, to be fair, there is a fair amount of controversy surrounding the artist and as a result his pieces, but one can easily disregard that and simply enjoy the experience.

I say experience because this is no ordinary sculpture that you swing by on your Segway tour, snap a pic for posterity and move on for your next cone of soft-serve. We knew enough that going to this place with nine people we’d better bring lunch and what would be better on a sunny summer day in southern Sweden than a picnic. Having only gotten somewhat lost on the way there, we grabbed our picnic baskets, prodded the seniors and set out on the idyllic forest trail that would take us to our destination for a well-deserved break.

Like the movies where things start our swimmingly but where evidence of decreasing subtlety that things may not be exactly what we initially thought, we were starting to understand this was no walk in the park, no picnic. Literally. No other party, and there were a few, carried anything beyond their focused self and some water. Why? Well, what was a path became a trail and ended up as a semi-technical steep scramble down rocks, roots and dirt. It was at this stage my mother in law had to bow out. She had fought valiantly, but we all have limits and she had bravely decided to only keep going for another half hour after she had reached hers.

Near the bottom of the hill, but not yet at sea-level is the entrance to the faux-country Ladonia, which is itself the upper entrance to the sculpture Nimis. Yep, the sculpture has an entrance. This thing is huge. Like a tree-house made by 200 kids hopped up on speed, you walk through narrow passage ways, climb up rickety structures, watch your footing on rotting or rotted wood and squeeze yourself through too-tight openings all the while trying to remember the last time you had your tetanus shot. To make an interesting day even more so, I happily volunteered to look after, which meant trying to keep up with my soon 11-year old nephew who basically flew around the structure in places that would never in a million years hold my weight.

All the picnic food that we had managed to bring down to the top entrance of Nimis, we had to sheepishly bring back up. All those woes were forgotten when we gathered together to enjoy a well-deserved lunch that included five-kind tasting of homemade jam on Swedish pancakes. While it’s unfortunate not all could make it to Nimis itself, it’s still the best family picnic to date, despite carrying roast chickens down and up hiking trails.