Sweden Diaries

The Bohuslän Coast

By Jace K

October 25^th, 2017

Friday

Today’s a driving day and we leave right after breakfast. A few days ago we drove up through Germany and Denmark into southern Sweden and since then it’s rained most of the time. Now we’re heading further north to the Bohuslän Coast.

At the campground we unpack and set up and walk out to the rocks to watch the last of the golden light. Right now it’s amazingly clear but it looks like the rain will be here again soon.

Saturday

Today feels like Iceland in the summer, with the bright sun and wind and fast moving white clouds and never ending light. The infernal sun shows his face shortly after four in the morning but we obstinately stay in the sleeping bags as long as possible. Breakfast is outside. Wild flowers are scattered across the campground lawn and oyster catchers graze between them. It’s good to be outside, even if it’s brisk. Also makes you appreciate why you’re spending so much money on rent instead of living in a tent.

We pack and start on a small walk inland. It takes us through boggy, mossy forest, up and into a pine grove, the ground lined with clover. We climb a rocky path and emerge into the sunlight at the top at a lookout and gaze out over the beautiful highway we came in on. And the sea.

Later, we walk the wrong way up a logging trail and find the entrance to a garbage dump because we misread the map and are apparently too stupid to tell north from south even with the sun shining us straight in the face.

Back on the trail and into the forest we watch a short, fat squirrel munch on a nut. We step around tall pines knocked over by a recent storm and on the downhills the water follows us along the path and turns it into a little stream. It flows on past the moss and sticks and ants and more wild flowers, white and blue and yellow.

We finish the walk, having carried our lunch out the same we we carried it in, and go back to the tent to eat it.

Our camping mats had become damp underneath from the rain so after lunch we take them out and lie them on the wet grass to dry. Surprisingly, this actually works. Then we notice a baby magpie has fallen out of the nest in the tree next to us and now hops around helplessly in the grass. It chirps, hops, falls over, hops again, chirps… We watch it for some time.

In the evening some people are having a party and dance remixes of Abba wash over our tent.

Sunday

The weather today is again like Iceland in the summer: overcast, drizzly, windy and about 13ºC. The baby magpie from the day before lies dead at the bottom of the tree and the nest is quiet.

It doesn’t look like good weather for walking and so we go for a drive north, through the rain and over the islands of Flatön and Skaftö. Ferries stand in where the road is absent.

Later in the day, now inland amongst the green hills and farms, we stop at a boutique shop selling marzipan. We sample their sweets while the owner puts on a fresh pot of coffee. We drink it on the lawn outside under a huge umbrella in the rain. It’s nice, this place they’ve made, this little corner of the universe they’ve carved out for themselves with its stone fences and wooden gates and sheds all painted red and white in that way Swedish sheds are always painted red and white. But can you really live off selling a bit of marzipan to the occasional lost tourist? We wonder and the rain falls on the umbrella.

After dinner we go for a short walk near the campsite. We’ve done this walk before but somehow manage to get completely lost and soon we have absolutely no idea where we are or which way is back. It’s kind of interesting. I don’t remember the last time I was genuinely lost.

We take a turn off from the path in the forest and emerge at a campground, but it’s not our campground and we didn’t think there were any other campgrounds around here. And it’s completely deserted. There are many caravans and holiday cabins all filled with personal possessions and boats on trailers but not a single other person. We try to read some posters of what look like upcoming events but they’re all in Swedish and don’t give any clues. A soccer ball lies on the sports field and towels hang from a clothes line, drying in the wind.

Eventually, rather due to luck than any particular navigational skill on our behalf, the scenery starts to look familiar and we reach a road we recognise and follow it back. We arrive and for the first time today the sun breaks through the clouds. It’s a quarter past ten.

Monday

Fried eggs and drizzle. Another Icelandic summer day in Sweden. We half heartedly begin a hike but partway through decide we’re not really prepared for the whole thing and so head back to look for a café instead. We find one, along with coffee, extremely sweet chocolate cake and several Germans, inside a beautiful old manor house. We sit on antique couches next to the piano in the room beside the library. It’s all extremely civilised. After the refreshments the rest of the trail seems more appealing. It’s the same sort of country as two days ago, alternating between mossy beach and oak forest, and pines and blown over trees. At one point it looks like someone dumped a whole English beach down the path and we’re suddenly walking on pebbles.

On the way back we pass through Skärhamn and look for something for dinner but it seems like the entire town is closed. Eventually we find a Thai restaurant that’s open, and actually rather busy. The doorway looks out over the sea but inside there’s no view. On the back wall hangs a giant photo of a Thai beach.

At home the sky has cleared but now it’s extremely windy and we fall asleep to the noise of the tent flapping.

Tuesday

Today we pack up camp and head north towards the island of Smögen. The town there is known for its beautifully coloured wooden houses but in the midday sun the colours don’t look like the pictures. We find one of the few open cafés and stop for lunch. Inside it’s all painted white wood, wallpaper, checkered tablecloths and mugs hanging from hooks on the wall. Wine glasses form a chandelier. The seaside aesthetic is cliché but here actually at the seaside it somehow works. And like so many places in Sweden, the food is excellent.

Afterwards we wander around the rest of the town in the ugly light and buy some mugs with birds on them.

In the evening we camp near a place our GPS calls Slovik and after dinner walk up the nearby rocks but it’s cloudy and there’s no light and soon the bugs come out. Millions and millions of tiny biting bugs. Clouds of them descend on us when we stand in the same spot for even a few seconds; it’s maddening. I stay for a while anyway, hoping to find a good photo, but I’m not sure it’s worth it.

Wednesday

We spend the day driving around the coast to the north. We buy average cinnamon buns at a supermarket and a woman wearing a headscarf begging for money smiles at us as we go in. We smile back but don’t give her any money. Refugee? We didn’t see anyone like her when we were here three years ago. We climb a nearby hill, past lawns kept tidy by robotic Husqvarna mowers, and at the top get a view of the town. From here we spot a fish and chips shop that looks open and head down for lunch. Finding restaurants this way is so much more satisfying than using the Internet. The fish is good and we drink a coffee after. Later, I take pictures of fishing sheds and rusty, broken things while Lotte waits patiently. At one of the swimming areas two emo girls walk past with a portable stereo being all rebellious. Nearby, a family swims in the sea, jumping off the diving platforms into the water amongst the jellyfish.

Back at the campsite we pack a picnic for our final dinner in Sweden and walk out over the rocks. Eventually the golden light comes and we take pictures of driftwood and wild flowers and endless granite.