My slow Swedish summer on the tranquil islands of Östergötland

My journey has brought me to Sweden’s captivating east coast, to immerse myself in the Östergötland archipelago. This sprawling natural wonder encompasses an astonishing 9,000 islands and skerries, meticulously scattered across the cool, clear waters of the Baltic Sea, just a few hours south of the bustling capital of Stockholm. Often overlooked in favour of the more frequented archipelagos off Stockholm or Gothenburg, Östergötland offers a quieter, more intimate encounter with Swedish nature, a true haven for those seeking solitude and unspoiled beauty. Its vastness covers several distinct pockets of coastline, each with its own character, including the smaller archipelagos of Arkösund, Sankt Anna, Gryt, and Tjust. The larger, more prominent islands are adorned with the iconic, traditional red timber summer houses that are synonymous with Swedish rural charm. Beyond human habitation, these islands are vibrant ecosystems, serving as critical habitats for diverse wildlife, including elusive seals, countless species of seabirds, and dense, verdant forests composed of resilient alder, aromatic cedar, sturdy oak, and towering pine. The ecological richness here is a testament to the region’s commitment to conservation and its relatively untouched status.

My arrival in Arkösund was itself an ode to the principle of slow travel, a deliberate unwinding that began 24 hours earlier. The final leg, a scenic 45-minute drive from Norrköping station along a winding coastal road affectionately dubbed "the End of the World" by locals, felt like a journey to the edge of civilisation. My adventure commenced with an early morning Eurostar from London, whisking me through the Channel Tunnel to Brussels, then a seamless connection to Hamburg via the historic city of Cologne. From Hamburg, I boarded the SJ EuroNight Train, a comfortable sleeper service bound for Norrköping. As the train slipped across the Danish border in the quiet hours of the early morning, I slept soundly, only to wake as we traversed the impressive Öresund Bridge, a marvel of engineering that connects Denmark to Sweden. The dawn unfolded in a breathtaking panorama of pink and dusky waves, painting the sky in soft hues as the train gently shuddered out of Malmö, signaling our approach to the tranquil landscapes of Östergötland. This multi-leg rail journey, eschewing air travel, offered a profound sense of connection to the continent and a gradual immersion into the Nordic pace of life, setting the tone for the serene exploration ahead.

Navigating this intricate maze of islands is an essential part of the Östergötland experience. Visitors typically embrace the freedom of the water, exploring the region’s hidden coves and pristine shores in sailboats, agile small motorboats, or silent kayaks. Days here are long and languid, dedicated to the simple pleasures of swimming in the bracing Baltic waters, casting a line for local fish, or hiking through ancient forests. From the bustling Arkösund jetty, I embarked on a motorboat excursion with Åsa, an engaging local guide whose deep knowledge of the archipelago was immediately apparent. Our vessel belonged to Kauko Lindstedt, a fascinating Finn who has made the remote island of Aspöja his home for four decades, a mere four-mile crossing from the mainland. Åsa shared an unwritten rule among islanders: if you spot a moored kayak or boat, you respectfully move on. This practice is deeply rooted in the Swedish spirit of allemansrätten – "every man’s right" or the freedom to roam – a cherished national law that grants public access to nature, allowing individuals to walk, cycle, ride, ski, and even camp freely on most land, provided they do not disturb or destroy. In an archipelago boasting thousands of islands, there is, indeed, ample space for everyone to find their own slice of paradise.

Aspöja stands out as one of the few islands that supports a year-round community, a testament to the resilience and resourcefulness of its inhabitants. Kauko Lindstedt, like many islanders I encountered, embodies this industrious spirit. His days are filled with a myriad of tasks: building and maintaining his home, hunting for sustenance, expertly smoking freshly caught fish, and even running bespoke boating tours. He exudes a genuine eagerness to share his unique island home, where a tight-knit community of just 25 people resides permanently. Upon landing at his simple jetty, we walked across verdant, grassy meadows, punctuated by ancient lumps of granite and teeming with a vibrant flutter of butterflies. The absence of cars on Aspöja is striking, a powerful reminder of its isolated charm. Instead, the jetty features a communal wheelbarrow, a practical symbol of collective living, used for transporting groceries and mail. We met Helen, another remarkable islander, who exemplifies self-sufficiency. She diligently farms sheep and cattle, her hands equally adept at knitting intricate patterns, tanning sheepskins, tending to her busy bees, and cultivating a thriving vegetable garden. Helen, together with her daughter, also runs Forsmans på Aspöja, the island’s sole restaurant, a culinary oasis in this remote setting. Lunch was a simple yet exquisite affair: perfectly smoked fish and boiled potatoes, generously heaped with fresh dill, served alongside a glass of pure Baltic seawater, uniquely filtered through the island’s small, but vital, desalination plant – a testament to the ingenuity required for island living.

On the return journey to the mainland, our boat glided past a small, unassuming island, its shores stacked high with a colourful array of fishing nets, buoys, and weathered wooden crates. A pair of craggy-faced men, their features etched with years of sun and sea, offered a friendly wave. Åsa quietly explained that they were brothers, both in their 70s, representing the last vestiges of a once-thriving fishing industry that had sustained generations in this archipelago. They are, she revealed, the final two fishers legally permitted to catch eels, a licence that, due to strict regulations, can only be passed down through direct family lineage. With no children to inherit it, their trade, and a piece of the archipelago’s cultural heritage, will regrettably end with them, a poignant reminder of changing times and environmental challenges facing traditional livelihoods.

The following day, Åsa and I ventured further along the coast, driving towards the enchanting Sankt Anna archipelago. Our journey included a delightful stop for lunch at Mauritzberg Castle, a magnificent 400-year-old manor house. This architectural gem, originally ravaged by Russian forces in 1719, was meticulously rebuilt in a stunning pastel rococo splendour, its grandeur a testament to its rich and turbulent history. Arriving at the serene bay of Sankt Anna, I encountered a German tourist meticulously packing his kayak, preparing for a 10-day solo adventure into the watery labyrinth. He shared, with a glint in his eye, how he paddles for days, from island to island, often without encountering another soul. His adoration for the solitude and unspoiled nature was palpable, and this was, remarkably, his third trip to this secluded paradise.

Inspired by his adventurous spirit, I too clambered into a kayak from the shore, accompanied by Andreas, my guide, another Finn working for the renowned outfitter Kajakparadiset. We paddled into the languid, liquid landscape, the rhythmic dip of our paddles the only interruption to the profound silence. The water, a clear mirror, reflected the expansive sky and the rugged beauty of the islands. We stopped for fika – the quintessential Swedish tradition of enjoying hot coffee and something sweet – on a sun-scorched granite islet, stretching out on the warm rock as a majestic sea eagle soared effortlessly above us, a powerful symbol of the wild.

That night, I found comfortable repose at Skärgårdsbyn Mon, a charming hotel nestled on the mainland shore, offering breathtaking views. Dinner was a culinary highlight: perfectly buttered sea bream and tender potatoes, savoured on the wooden balcony of the Boathouse restaurant. From my vantage point, overlooking the peaceful marina, the myriad islands spilled out behind, fading into the barely darkened sky. I found myself wondering, with a touch of envy, which remote island the German kayaker had chosen for his camp, sleeping under the perpetual Nordic twilight.

I awoke to the gentle patter of rain, a common yet refreshing summer occurrence. With average summer temperatures hovering around a comfortable 23°C, the weather here is rarely extreme, making it ideal for outdoor pursuits. Driving south with Åsa, I learned more about Sweden’s remarkable natural endowment: approximately 70% of the country is blanketed by dense forests, crisscrossed by an extensive network of well-maintained hiking and biking trails, offering endless opportunities for exploration.

Our next destination was Fyrudden, a picturesque hamlet located at the south-eastern tip of a narrow peninsula within the Gryt archipelago. Here, Magnus Lindkvist, a seasoned boat captain, awaited us in his grandfather’s sturdy wooden boat. He was to take us across eight miles of open water to the island of Harstena. Harstena holds deep personal significance for Magnus; it was where his grandparents once lived, and where he spent every summer of his childhood, a cherished tradition he now continues with his own family.

Harstena itself is a living museum, preserving a cluster of 18th-century cabins that stand as silent witnesses to generations past. The old schoolhouse, now lovingly restored, serves as a poignant museum, vividly depicting the history of these wild islands. It tells the stories of a time when herring and eel fishing, the gathering of seabird eggs, and the rendering of seal blubber were not just livelihoods, but the very means of survival for the islanders. A census from 1641 registers just two households, and a detailed family tree proudly traces local names back to these two original families – a lineage that notably includes Magnus and, now, his son. This unbroken connection highlights the enduring human spirit and the deep roots that bind families to this challenging yet rewarding environment.

Returning to the mainland, we drove north and then inland to spend the night in Söderköping. This tiny town is steeped in a rich tapestry of history, notably as the place where, in 1281, King Magnus Ladulås’s wife, Helvig, was crowned in its impressive medieval church. Söderköping stands proudly at the eastern terminus of the Göta Canal, an extraordinary feat of engineering. Construction began in 1810, driven by the Swedish ambition to bypass Danish taxes on goods passing through the Öresund Strait, thereby connecting Gothenburg on the west coast to the Baltic Sea in the east. The following morning, I embraced the opportunity to cycle alongside this historic waterway, observing the lock mechanisms at work and soaking in the tranquil scenery. My ride was punctuated by delightful stops: a scoop of artisanal ice cream from the legendary Smultronstället cafe, renowned for its vast array of flavours, and a selection of exquisite handmade chocolates from Jolla, a local artisan.

By evening, I had returned to Norrköping, a city with a fascinating past. Once a booming industrial hub, powered by its strategic location and abundant water resources for textile and paper mills, Norrköping has undergone a remarkable transformation. Today, its grand old mills have been meticulously restored and repurposed, forming a stylish and vibrant district of trendy bars, modern apartments, and contemporary offices. The streets pulsed with life that night, alive with the joyous celebrations of students marking the end of term, and city revellers gearing up for a weekend of national festivities, a striking contrast to the quiet solitude of the archipelago.

From the train window the following day, as I began my journey back to the UK, I watched the picturesque fields and dense forests unfurl like a tapestry. Norrköping station gradually receded behind me, the warm summer light filtering through the ancient trees and casting long shadows across the iconic red weatherboard farmsteads that dot the Swedish countryside. A perfect skein of geese flew overhead in a graceful V-formation, a final, poignant image. I imagined the German kayaker, somewhere out there, searching for his perfect, secluded island to camp tonight, and Magnus, patiently teaching his son to fish for herring from his great-grandfather’s very own boat. It is a delicate, timeless balance – the harmony between nature and visitor, tradition and modernity, continuing in this enchanting corner of Sweden.

The trip was thoughtfully provided by Visit Sweden. The writer embarked on a sustainable rail journey, with Eurostar tickets from London to Brussels starting from £39 one-way, connections to Cologne/Köln from £16.50 one-way, and onwards to Hamburg from £16.50 one-way. The SJ EuroNight train from Hamburg to Norrköping offered comfortable passage from £40 one-way. Accommodation included Elite Grand Hotel Norrköping with doubles from £80 B&B; Söderköpings Brunn from £93 B&B; Skärgårdsbyn Mon from £100; and Arkösunds Hotell from £170 B&B.