"When I was seventeen, it was a very good year", sung The Kingston Trio from the radio in the dashboard, and I wholeheartedly agreed. Now I was eighteen, and it was an even better year. The summer of 1966 saw me in a small band of friends roving the higher latitudes of Scandinavia in an old Volkswagen Beetle, enjoying life under the midnight sun and the company of nice Finnish girls. No thoughts of rugs at this time. But I had been working on it. The year before, in Belgrade, I had acquired my first kelim.