When I was 16 and going off for my high-school exchange year, I really wanted to go to California. To Los Angeles. I was totally smitten with Hollywood and I pictured myself as a future lawyer (clearly, too much L.A. Law had been consumed) living in Beverly Hills, with my very own pool boy.

I ended up in Kansas. In the smallest town possible – South Haven. Population at the time: 386 (and I wasn’t even living in the town).

That year became one of the most important of my life. It taught me about people, about community, and naturally, about myself.

Years later, when Fabbe signed up to go to college to play football (soccer), he had his own version of the dream: a large school, preferably on the East Coast, close to a big city. We actually got an offer from Post University, but even with a full student loan, the tuition was just too much.

Then along came Feather River College – a junior college in California, tucked into the Sierra Nevada mountains. In a little town called Quincy (population claimed to be around 5,000). Not only is Quincy small (but to be fair it’s about the same size as Båstad ) – it’s remote as… well, let’s just say you don’t end up there by accident.

But I’ve learned to be careful with preconceived notions. And, a little wiser from my own younger experience, I had a good feeling after Fabbe’s first chat with the coach, both about the school and the place.

When Fabbe left in the end of July, we decided we’d fly over in the fall to visit and catch a home game.

I had never been to the West Coast before; the Mr. had been to San Diego once, 35 years ago (when dinosaurs roamed the earth). After a day in San Francisco, we picked up our Bronco and headed toward Sacramento for a surprise visit at Fabbe’s away game. But first, we couldn’t resist a scenic detour down Highway 1.

The day after we reached Quincy after a drive through Lake Tahoe and Reno, NV. The scenery was stunning – shifting between rugged, wildfire-marked mountains and endless plains. I couldn’t help thinking about the pioneers who once crossed these lands by horse and carriage (without Google Maps to tell them where the next coffee stop was or how long until they’d “arrived at their destination”.)

In Quincy, we rented a lovely Airbnb, perfect for unwinding after long days of exploring.

Yes, the town is small and very different from ours, but it’s buzzing with life – filled with what I’d call a pioneer spirit. There’s a cozy mix of coffee shops, local stores, and people who genuinely seem to know (and look out for) one another.

We, of course, visited the college and met the team (so polite young men), but we also found time for horseback riding and skeet shooting at Greenhorn Ranch – because when in the Wild West, you might as well lean into it.

And everywhere we went (mainly around college but also outside) , people came up to talk to us “Fabian’s parents”, not just out of curiosity, but to make sure we knew that Fabbe was safe and cared for. It was as if the whole community had quietly decided to take our (and the other international) son(s) under their wing. The school president approached us at the away game in Sacramento, and then again at the home game in Quincy, checking that we felt welcome and that everything was okay.

I will ask someone to make a I ❤️Quincy t-shirt. Because that’s how I feel after our short visit.

Driving back to San Francisco International airport via CA-70 W, was a memory for life. Which it would be just driving down the mountain side in never ending serpentine roads, with no and none internet connection (the settlers would have managed this so much better than I did). Now we added some spice to it. After 30 minutes of driving, the tire pressure on our back wheel showed low,. Well, now we’ve been to American Tires in Yuba – thanks to them and Hertz we got smooth and fast service removing the nail and arrived safely at the car rental.