Sunday. Sun. Smögen.

It’s been about 42 years since I was last in Smögen, that postcard-perfect fishing village on Sweden’s west coast. Hard for me to grasp how quickly time has passed. Back then, I visited several summers in a row – a kind of mandatory stop during a week-long sailing trip along this gorgeous coast.

Late April, about a month before the village winds up for another intense season, felt like the perfect time for a revisit. Everything was unhurried. No boats tied up three-deep along the harbor, no riff-raff, no lines. Just open space, salty air, and a calm that I won’t get to enjoy once the summer madness takes over.

Buddy Henry and I spent a good part of the day trekking along the smooth granite rocks and the worn wooden walkways that run through Smögen, taking it in at a slower (and sober) pace than I ever did back in the day.

At Skäret – one of several cafés and restaurants in the harbor – I ended up talking shrimp sandwiches with a guy behind the counter. On an average day, they sell around 150, sometimes upwards of 200. Each carries roughly 50 shrimp and goes for 259 SEK. Over a full season, that adds up to a lot of shrimp.

I read somewhere that in 1984, when I was last in Smögen, a shrimp sandwich went for around 40 SEK.

Back when I was a somewhat frequent visitor, the shrimp were probably peeled locally. Today, after being caught in the North Sea, they’re shipped to Morocco to be peeled, then sent back to Smögen again, ready to be served on a piece of delicious bread with mayo and eggs. It feels like a long detour for those little pink critters.

Henry and I both wondered what happens to their shells. Maybe they’re turned into stock and, in some roundabout way, make their way back to Sweden as bouillon cubes.