My slow Swedish summer on the tranquil islands of Östergötland

I’m on Sweden’s east coast to explore the Östergötland archipelago, a breathtaking expanse of approximately 9,000 islands and islets scattered across the Baltic Sea. Located just a few hours south of Stockholm, this less-travelled maritime labyrinth offers a profound sense of tranquility, a welcome antidote to the more crowded and celebrated archipelagos off Stockholm or Gothenburg. The Östergötland archipelago, a geological marvel shaped by ancient glaciers and continuous post-glacial rebound, encompasses several distinct pockets of coastline and smaller archipelagos, each with its own unique character: Arkösund, Sankt Anna, Gryt, and Tjust. These islands range from tiny, uninhabited granite skerries to larger landmasses flecked with traditional Falun red timber summer houses, iconic symbols of Swedish rural charm. They are home to a diverse array of wildlife, including various species of seals like the grey seal and ringed seal, a vibrant population of seabirds such such as eider ducks, cormorants, and terns, and dense, verdant forests dominated by alder, cedar, oak, and ancient pine, creating a rich tapestry of biodiversity unique to the Baltic coast.

My arrival in Arkösund, a journey that itself became an integral part of the experience, was undertaken in a suitably slow and deliberate fashion, embracing the growing trend of sustainable travel. My expedition to Arkösund – a picturesque 45-minute drive from Norrköping station along a winding road affectionately known by locals as the "End of the World," a moniker that speaks to its increasing remoteness and the feeling of entering a secluded haven – started a full 24 hours earlier. It began with an early morning Eurostar departure from London, carrying me through the Channel Tunnel to Brussels. From there, I seamlessly connected to a high-speed train bound for Hamburg, passing through Cologne, a journey that offered glimpses of European landscapes transitioning from urban sprawl to pastoral tranquility. The final leg was a true highlight of slow travel: boarding the SJ EuroNight Train to Norrköping, an overnight service that transformed transit into an opportunity for rest and reflection. I drifted to sleep as the train slipped across the Danish border in the early hours, waking to the subtle shudder as we crossed the magnificent Öresund Bridge, an engineering marvel connecting Denmark and Sweden. As we continued our northward trajectory from Malmö towards Östergötland, dawn unfolded outside my window in spectacular pink and dusky waves, painting the sky with hues that promised the beauty of the days ahead. This multi-leg rail journey not only significantly reduced my carbon footprint compared to flying but also offered a deeper, more immersive appreciation of the changing European landscape, allowing the anticipation of the archipelago to build with every mile.

Navigating the region’s intricate network of islands is a quintessential experience, with visitors typically choosing sailboats, small motorboats, or kayaks to explore its hidden coves and pristine shores. The elongated summer days are spent in a rhythm of swimming in the bracing Baltic, fishing for local catches, and hiking through ancient forests. From Arkösund jetty, I embarked on a boat trip, taking to the water with Åsa, a knowledgeable local guide, in a sturdy motorboat belonging to Kauko Lindstedt. Kauko, a Finn who has embraced the island life, has spent over 40 years living on the remote island of Aspöja, a mere four-mile crossing away from the mainland. Åsa explained an unspoken, yet deeply respected, rule among islanders and visitors: if you spot a moored kayak or boat, you respectfully move on to find your own secluded spot. This practice is deeply rooted in the Swedish spirit of allemansrätten, the revered national law embodying the "freedom to roam." This ancient right, dating back centuries and codified in modern law, allows anyone to walk, cycle, ride, ski, and camp freely in nature, provided they "do not disturb, do not destroy." It’s a foundational aspect of Swedish culture, fostering a profound connection to the outdoors and ensuring that there are, indeed, enough islands and wild spaces for everyone to enjoy in peace and solitude.

Aspöja stands as one of the few inhabited islands in this vast archipelago, a testament to resilience and self-sufficiency. Kauko Lindstedt, much like many islanders I would encounter, embodies this industrious spirit. His days are a blend of building and maintaining structures, hunting for sustenance, expertly smoking freshly caught fish, and running small boating tours for curious visitors. He is eager to share his home, a close-knit community where just 25 people reside year-round, sustaining a way of life that feels both ancient and remarkably modern. We landed at his rustic jetty, stepping onto grassy meadows dotted with ancient lumps of granite, remnants of glacial eras, and teeming with a vibrant flutter of butterflies, a sign of the island’s pristine ecology. There are no cars on Aspöja, reinforcing its tranquil, untouched character; instead, the jetty features a communal wheelbarrow, a practical symbol of shared responsibility, used for transporting groceries, mail, and other necessities. During our visit, we met Helen, a remarkable islander who embodies the multi-faceted life here. She farms sheep and cattle, utilising their wool and meat, knits intricate patterns, tans sheepskins for warmth and craft, keeps bees for honey, diligently grows her own vegetables, and, with her daughter, runs Forsmans på Aspöja, the island’s sole restaurant. Lunch was a highlight: perfectly smoked fish, its flavour enhanced by generations of tradition, served alongside boiled potatoes generously heaped with fresh dill, a staple of Swedish summer cuisine. A surprising accompaniment was a glass of Baltic seawater, meticulously filtered through the island’s small, self-sufficient desalination plant, a testament to the innovative adaptations required for sustainable island living.

On the tranquil boat journey back to the mainland, we passed a rugged island stacked high with fishing nets, colourful buoys, and weathered wooden crates – a working testament to a disappearing way of life. A pair of craggy-faced men, their hands gnarled by years of sea and sun, waved to us. Åsa explained they were brothers, in their 70s, the final vestiges of a once-thriving fishing industry that sustained these communities for centuries. Poignantly, they are the last two fishers legally able to catch eels in this region; the licence, bound by tradition and law, can only be passed on through direct family lineage. With no children to inherit it, this ancient livelihood, deeply entwined with the archipelago’s history, will end with them, a bittersweet symbol of change and the loss of traditional ecological knowledge.

The following day, Åsa and I drove further along the coast, journeying to the enchanting Sankt Anna archipelago. Our route took us past rolling fields and dense forests before we paused for lunch at Mauritzberg Castle. This magnificent 400-year-old manor house, originally built as a defensive stronghold, suffered a devastating fate when it was burned down by Russian forces in 1719 during the Great Northern War. It was subsequently rebuilt in a style of opulent pastel rococo splendour, its grandeur now a striking historical landmark against the rugged Swedish landscape. Today, Mauritzberg functions as a hotel, restaurant, and conference centre, offering a blend of historical elegance and modern comfort. Arriving at the picturesque bay of Sankt Anna, I encountered a German tourist meticulously packing his kayak, preparing for a 10-day solo adventure into the archipelago. He recounted his deep affection for the region, explaining how he paddles for days from island to island without encountering a single soul, cherishing the profound solitude and connection with nature. This was his third trip here, a testament to the archipelago’s unique ability to offer genuine escape and rejuvenation.

Inspired by his spirit, I clambered into a kayak alongside Andreas, another Finn whose expertise in these waters was immediately apparent. Andreas works for Kajakparadiset, a local outfitter dedicated to sharing the magic of the archipelago. We paddled into the languid, liquid landscape, the rhythmic dip of paddles a soothing counterpoint to the gentle lapping of waves against our hulls. The water was remarkably clear, revealing glimpses of the rocky seabed below, and the air was filled with the cries of seabirds. We navigated through narrow channels, past rocky outcrops and miniature forests, feeling utterly immersed in the wilderness. We paused for fika – the cherished Swedish tradition of a coffee break, often accompanied by something sweet – on a sun-scorched granite islet. Stretching out on the warm rock, sipping hot coffee and savouring a cinnamon bun, we watched in awe as a majestic sea eagle soared effortlessly above us, its keen eyes scanning the waters for prey, a powerful symbol of the archipelago’s wild heart.

That night, I found comfortable respite at Skärgårdsbyn Mon, a charming hotel nestled on the mainland shore. Dinner was a delightful affair: perfectly buttered sea bream, its delicate flavour enhanced by the freshest local ingredients, accompanied by creamy potatoes, all enjoyed on the wooden balcony of the Boathouse restaurant. From this vantage point, I overlooked the tranquil marina, with the countless islands of the archipelago spilling out behind, fading into the barely darkened summer sky. As the twilight deepened, I couldn’t help but wonder enviously which secluded island the German kayaker had chosen to pitch his tent on, sleeping soundly under the vast, luminous Nordic sky.

I woke to the gentle patter of rain, a soft curtain descending over the landscape. However, with summer temperatures typically averaging around a comfortable 23°C, a little rain only adds to the atmospheric charm, enhancing the vibrant greens of the forests. Driving south with Åsa, I learned fascinating details about Sweden’s geography and commitment to nature: approximately 70% of the country is forested, crisscrossed by an extensive network of well-maintained hiking and biking trails, making it a paradise for outdoor enthusiasts.

Our journey led us to Fyrudden, a quaint hamlet situated on the south-eastern tip of a narrow peninsula within the Gryt archipelago. Here, Magnus Lindkvist, a seasoned boat captain with deep roots in these waters, awaited us in his grandfather’s venerable wooden boat. This vessel, a living piece of family history, was to carry us across eight miles of open water to the storied island of Harstena. Harstena is more than just an island for Magnus; it is where his grandparents once lived, where he spent every summer of his childhood, and where he continues to bring his own family today, perpetuating a cherished generational connection to this special place.

Upon arrival, the island of Harstena revealed itself as a captivating time capsule. A cluster of beautifully preserved 18th-century cabins still stands, their timber walls weathered by centuries of Baltic winds, offering a glimpse into the island’s past. The old schoolhouse has been meticulously transformed into a museum, a poignant archive depicting the rugged history of these wild islands. Here, exhibits detail the arduous means of survival for early islanders: the crucial importance of herring and eel fishing, the collection of seabird eggs, and the rendering of seal blubber for oil and warmth. A 1641 census, remarkably preserved, registers just two households on Harstena, and a meticulously researched family tree proudly traces the local names back to these original two founding families – a lineage that includes Magnus himself, and now, his son. This unbroken chain of generations living in harmony with the island’s rhythms is a powerful testament to endurance and tradition.

Back on the mainland, we drove north and inland, leaving the immediate coast behind to spend the night in Söderköping. This tiny town, steeped in rich history, boasts a medieval church where, in 1281, King Magnus Ladulås’s wife, Helvig, was crowned, marking a significant moment in Swedish royal history. Söderköping’s strategic importance is further defined by its position at the eastern end of the Göta Canal. This monumental waterway, a triumph of 19th-century engineering, was begun in 1810 with the audacious goal of connecting Gothenburg on Sweden’s west coast to the Baltic Sea on the east, thereby allowing ships to bypass the Danish Sound and avoid its heavy tolls. The following morning, I embraced the tranquil pace by cycling alongside the historic canal, watching pleasure boats gracefully navigate its locks. The ride included delightful stops: sampling exquisite homemade ice-cream from the legendary Smultronstället cafe, a local institution, and indulging in artisan chocolates from Jolla, a boutique known for its handcrafted confections.

By evening, I was back in Norrköping, the industrial city that served as my gateway to the archipelago. Once a booming hub of textile and paper mills, powered by the abundant water flowing through the Motala ström river, Norrköping has undergone a remarkable urban transformation. Today, its historic mill buildings have been sensitively restored and repurposed, forming a stylish and vibrant district of contemporary bars, chic apartments, and modern offices. The streets were alive at night, buzzing with the joyous energy of students celebrating the end of term and city revellers gearing up for a weekend of national celebrations, a stark yet harmonious contrast to the quiet solitude of the archipelago.

From the train window the following day, as I embarked on my journey back to the UK, I watched the verdant fields and dense forests unfurl like a living tapestry, Norrköping station gradually sliding away behind me. The late summer light, filtering softly through the trees, cast long shadows across the iconic red weatherboard farmsteads that dot the Swedish countryside. A skein of geese flew overhead in a perfect V, a poignant echo of the wild beauty I had witnessed. I found myself imagining the German kayaker, somewhere out in the vast Östergötland archipelago, searching for his perfect, untouched island to camp on tonight, and Magnus, patiently teaching his son to fish for herring from his great-grandfather’s boat, ensuring that the delicate balance of nature and visitor, tradition and adaptation, continues in harmony for generations to come. The profound sense of peace and the deep connection to nature offered by Sweden’s east coast archipelago left an indelible mark, a reminder of the enduring allure of wild, beautiful places and the sustainable journeys that lead us to them.

The trip was provided by Visit Sweden. The writer travelled by rail from Eurostar London to Brussels (from £39 one-way), then to Cologne/Köln (from £16.50 one-way), and on to Hamburg (from £16.50 one-way). The SJ EuroNight train from Hamburg to Norrköping costs from £40 one-way. Elite Grand hotel Norrköping has doubles from £80 B&B; Söderköpings Brunn from £93 B&B; Skärgårdsbyn Mon from £100; and Arkösunds hotell from £170 B&B.