The fourth bottle of wine is the biggest. Needs a big glass!; ÖLAND
We by-passed Kalmar and drove over the bridge, 4 miles long, coming to this island of dry stone walls criss- crossing the fields, wooden windmills creaking and unused, summer cottages covered in flowers and with all views within a glimpse of the sea. This long, narrow island, the summer paradise for all of Scandinavia, called Öland.
Flat and windy and sunny, teeming with people in full summer but now calm and collected.
Böda camping was an empty, quiet place, and instead of the teeming 7000 people this campsite can take, we were probably about 30, with great gaps between each camper or tent, closed restaurants, play areas with only last summers bare footprints in the sand. It had the desolate feel of a stripped Xmas tree in January, but we were quite happy, it would be a very quiet night with no loud beer induced parties or motorbikes and lorries shooting past. Not that I mind beer parties, but don’t want to he within hearing distance.
The beach, biggest in Sweden, stretched long and curving into the blue for 14 miles, the sand soft and powdery under your bare feet. A toddler ran into the sea, dipped her bottom and rinsed her swimsuit before clambering up to the parents, wrapping her into a pink morning gown. Further down a mentally handicapped man played in the sand while his two young keepers gossiped. He sounded like a peacock, uttering piercing cries when told to come along and stop playing.
The wind died down during the evening and we cycled happily pedaling along traffic free roads and gravel paths until hunger drove us home.
Showered in the handicap toilet, listening to the last sighs of the wind in the pine trees, seeing only one other couple reading in the light of storm lanterns and a caravan further away with a lit window.
So quiet you heard your own heartbeat.
We left the almost demised Böda camping, though the two hard core couples on 5th Avenue who were interviewed for TV were still there and would be till the end of September. They come 8th of April, when its still about -8 and snow, and stay till the new almost arrives. That’s dedication to camping!
The sun was warm, the whole island waiting for us. Right at the northern tip is the natural nature reserve, Trollskogen, where the tortured and twisted pines fall as they please, vines grow and choke trees, climbing along the pine pillars into the sky. We used the cycle path right across, and made little detours by foot to the beach where cycles were not allowed, walking on the large pebbles and boulders facing the eastern sea. There lay “vraket”, the shipwreck, weathered and battered for many a year, it's wooden nails still holding the proud structure together. No one saw what happened all those years ago.
At the very tip where nobody else ventured that day, we sat down sharing a beer, with hundreds of cormorants watching us, their yellow eyes beadily observing our moves. Or just staring out to sea, slowly lifting their wings to dry in the breeze.
Gasping for coffee after this, cycling over stones and roots for a few miles, we found a wonderful place were they roasted their own beans every morning and baked everything on offer. Good coffee is a hard thing to find, we have discovered, most make do with any brew.
Raukar, fossilized formations of ancient corals, only found here, were the next object, but we blundered into a fort church by mistake, with the upper rooms for women and children when the pirates attacked in the 1200's, and the attic from where the bow and arrows where fired from, still visible. An enthusiastic man told us the tale, sitting under the timber roof far above us, and at the same time advertised his own little collection of novels, his two crutches handily displayed. One just had to get one, a book, signed. It could be as good as Ninni Schulmans new one...or not, who cares.
By the western beaches rose the “raukar”, molded and pounded by the sea after the fossils were built up and compressed about 1mm every thousand years. The sun shone like a bright band of light far out at sea, while a few hardy swimmers dipped themselves in the waters. Such a mild, friendly place this, compared to the shores of the North Sea, no matter how dramatic the locals make it to be.
Free camping again, not wanting organized places, we found a lovely pocket just south of the northern tip, where only another couple had the same thoughts. Sea birds and swans being our neighbors as well as some well fattened calves. The wind died down, the sea lay metallic and calm and far away showers were falling. We got all of 30 seconds of rain! This is most unnatural.
A bit more fell during the night when I heard how the wind picked up, and no doubt nature, dry as dust, sucked thankfully all the bucketing rain that fell. By morning the clouds had dispersed, and we woke up to the ghostly moos of a heard of cows that wondered past here every morning, “The Bull” being the king of the road, totally ignoring cars and making them stop and wait till it suited him. Followed by mums and suckling calves. Power given by his stature, he could be as laid back as he wanted.
One day it was the big market day in Borgholm, and that is where we set off after the now compulsory coffee at this wonderful little bakery afore mentioned, where work started at 1am with the breads and finished off with the delicate tartlets and croissants, not to mention chocolate filled baskets and cheese cake...they even roast the coffee themselves.
Borgholm was full of people and the two main streets packed with stalls, mostly " I don't want this, so lets sell it" stuff but good food as well, home made and fresh from the garden. Found silver plated spoons I had wanted long, for a song! And a tea pot for “Gudridur”.
Driving south it looked cloudy and rain did fall all of 2 minutes (no wonder they advertise rain as a special treat here for summer guests) while we inspected the row of wind mills, beautifully kept and all the working parts visible and in order. Each farm had their own flourmill, but as wind was a must, several farms built theirs in a row on a windy height, maybe 30m or so above sea level.
Felt a bit whacked today, so it was back to our camping place by the sea where our friends still camped with their cat, and so we washed the potatoes in the sea and boiled them in sea water, quite delicious.
Cycled to the lighthouse and tried to photograph the hundreds of cormorants, but they see you from too far away, even though the noise they made was quite deafening, and fly off. Here visitors have been building little stone towers for years, and they littered the coast under the lighthouse like artistic statuettes. A family sat there and the children enjoyed throwing stones to their hearts content as the mum sat elegant in her flowery summer dress with a fur vest on and watched. Blackberries filled the thorny bushes, but we found only a few sweet enough to eat, most were covered in ants and spiders hungry for that juice we coveted as well.
Night fell like a red lantern in the black sky and silence descended like a friend. Our cat loving neighbors wee like most free camping people, not of the social caliber, in nature, and it suited Bert well. Night descended and we were safe in bed once again and let the gentle wind lull us into sleep before the cows would wake us up early enough the next morning.
Gentle wind? It stormed all night so we were rocked and buffeted like a wreck at sea, the rain lashing down. It blew so hard even in the morning the cows never bothered to come.
A perfect day to just be, lazily deciding what to do, or not, watching a few lone hardies jogging past, goodness knows from where, as there seemed nothing to sleep in for miles.
Took a look at the dying Böda camping, and saw the winter people arriving. Island families in thick clothes with blankets and food and coffee in a thermos. A day on the beach, winter style. Met the TV couple, brown as nuts and still wearing T- shirts and shorts and sand flip flops...”oh, we wait till the end of September before giving up!”
Spotted a less windy place for the last night on Öland, just below the sand dunes with valleys that gave you a view of the troubled sea and black skies, white clouds and flocks of birds flying past. There is so much sky here! The sand was cool under your feet, the sun gave its best, but with the dark nights and golden leaves floating on the wind gusts, one had to concede that autumn had come, even with a gentle knock, it is defensively here and summer will be packed and parceled to be undone and unknotted till next year. Even the “hardies” were crossing the bridge over to winter land today.
While still there, Bert's birthday dawned! And its 40 years since we first met. Still not quite fed up with each other, best wait another 40 years.
It's been lovely sleeping on Öland in my upper bedroom, old fashioned as this kind of camper van is these days of sleek new creations, but in them you cant just open your eyes in the middle of the night and see stars and the first streak of dawn over the sea, or watch the sheep or cows ambling past without moving your head. Or open the little window and feel the morning breeze on your face, cooling your pillow. No, as long as we can climb up the little ladder, we don't want those new sleek things!
What a glorious beginning to September, to autumn, which we celebrated with Prosecco bubbly, sitting outside in our chairs reading. Just perfect, after a walk in the sand and seeing the clouds, like friends, floating above like benign angels.
First, Böda camping Slide Show. The next, rest of Öland.
We by-passed Kalmar and drove over the bridge, 4 miles long, coming to this island of dry stone walls criss- crossing the fields, wooden windmills creaking and unused, summer cottages covered in flowers and with all views within a glimpse of the sea. This long, narrow island, the summer paradise for all of Scandinavia, called Öland.
Flat and windy and sunny, teeming with people in full summer but now calm and collected.
Böda camping was an empty, quiet place, and instead of the teeming 7000 people this campsite can take, we were probably about 30, with great gaps between each camper or tent, closed restaurants, play areas with only last summers bare footprints in the sand. It had the desolate feel of a stripped Xmas tree in January, but we were quite happy, it would be a very quiet night with no loud beer induced parties or motorbikes and lorries shooting past. Not that I mind beer parties, but don’t want to he within hearing distance.
The beach, biggest in Sweden, stretched long and curving into the blue for 14 miles, the sand soft and powdery under your bare feet. A toddler ran into the sea, dipped her bottom and rinsed her swimsuit before clambering up to the parents, wrapping her into a pink morning gown. Further down a mentally handicapped man played in the sand while his two young keepers gossiped. He sounded like a peacock, uttering piercing cries when told to come along and stop playing.
The wind died down during the evening and we cycled happily pedaling along traffic free roads and gravel paths until hunger drove us home.
Showered in the handicap toilet, listening to the last sighs of the wind in the pine trees, seeing only one other couple reading in the light of storm lanterns and a caravan further away with a lit window.
So quiet you heard your own heartbeat.
We left the almost demised Böda camping, though the two hard core couples on 5th Avenue who were interviewed for TV were still there and would be till the end of September. They come 8th of April, when its still about -8 and snow, and stay till the new almost arrives. That’s dedication to camping!
The sun was warm, the whole island waiting for us. Right at the northern tip is the natural nature reserve, Trollskogen, where the tortured and twisted pines fall as they please, vines grow and choke trees, climbing along the pine pillars into the sky. We used the cycle path right across, and made little detours by foot to the beach where cycles were not allowed, walking on the large pebbles and boulders facing the eastern sea. There lay “vraket”, the shipwreck, weathered and battered for many a year, it's wooden nails still holding the proud structure together. No one saw what happened all those years ago.
At the very tip where nobody else ventured that day, we sat down sharing a beer, with hundreds of cormorants watching us, their yellow eyes beadily observing our moves. Or just staring out to sea, slowly lifting their wings to dry in the breeze.
Gasping for coffee after this, cycling over stones and roots for a few miles, we found a wonderful place were they roasted their own beans every morning and baked everything on offer. Good coffee is a hard thing to find, we have discovered, most make do with any brew.
Raukar, fossilized formations of ancient corals, only found here, were the next object, but we blundered into a fort church by mistake, with the upper rooms for women and children when the pirates attacked in the 1200's, and the attic from where the bow and arrows where fired from, still visible. An enthusiastic man told us the tale, sitting under the timber roof far above us, and at the same time advertised his own little collection of novels, his two crutches handily displayed. One just had to get one, a book, signed. It could be as good as Ninni Schulmans new one...or not, who cares.
By the western beaches rose the “raukar”, molded and pounded by the sea after the fossils were built up and compressed about 1mm every thousand years. The sun shone like a bright band of light far out at sea, while a few hardy swimmers dipped themselves in the waters. Such a mild, friendly place this, compared to the shores of the North Sea, no matter how dramatic the locals make it to be.
Free camping again, not wanting organized places, we found a lovely pocket just south of the northern tip, where only another couple had the same thoughts. Sea birds and swans being our neighbors as well as some well fattened calves. The wind died down, the sea lay metallic and calm and far away showers were falling. We got all of 30 seconds of rain! This is most unnatural.
A bit more fell during the night when I heard how the wind picked up, and no doubt nature, dry as dust, sucked thankfully all the bucketing rain that fell. By morning the clouds had dispersed, and we woke up to the ghostly moos of a heard of cows that wondered past here every morning, “The Bull” being the king of the road, totally ignoring cars and making them stop and wait till it suited him. Followed by mums and suckling calves. Power given by his stature, he could be as laid back as he wanted.
One day it was the big market day in Borgholm, and that is where we set off after the now compulsory coffee at this wonderful little bakery afore mentioned, where work started at 1am with the breads and finished off with the delicate tartlets and croissants, not to mention chocolate filled baskets and cheese cake...they even roast the coffee themselves.
Borgholm was full of people and the two main streets packed with stalls, mostly " I don't want this, so lets sell it" stuff but good food as well, home made and fresh from the garden. Found silver plated spoons I had wanted long, for a song! And a tea pot for “Gudridur”.
Driving south it looked cloudy and rain did fall all of 2 minutes (no wonder they advertise rain as a special treat here for summer guests) while we inspected the row of wind mills, beautifully kept and all the working parts visible and in order. Each farm had their own flourmill, but as wind was a must, several farms built theirs in a row on a windy height, maybe 30m or so above sea level.
Felt a bit whacked today, so it was back to our camping place by the sea where our friends still camped with their cat, and so we washed the potatoes in the sea and boiled them in sea water, quite delicious.
Cycled to the lighthouse and tried to photograph the hundreds of cormorants, but they see you from too far away, even though the noise they made was quite deafening, and fly off. Here visitors have been building little stone towers for years, and they littered the coast under the lighthouse like artistic statuettes. A family sat there and the children enjoyed throwing stones to their hearts content as the mum sat elegant in her flowery summer dress with a fur vest on and watched. Blackberries filled the thorny bushes, but we found only a few sweet enough to eat, most were covered in ants and spiders hungry for that juice we coveted as well.
Night fell like a red lantern in the black sky and silence descended like a friend. Our cat loving neighbors wee like most free camping people, not of the social caliber, in nature, and it suited Bert well. Night descended and we were safe in bed once again and let the gentle wind lull us into sleep before the cows would wake us up early enough the next morning.
Gentle wind? It stormed all night so we were rocked and buffeted like a wreck at sea, the rain lashing down. It blew so hard even in the morning the cows never bothered to come.
A perfect day to just be, lazily deciding what to do, or not, watching a few lone hardies jogging past, goodness knows from where, as there seemed nothing to sleep in for miles.
Took a look at the dying Böda camping, and saw the winter people arriving. Island families in thick clothes with blankets and food and coffee in a thermos. A day on the beach, winter style. Met the TV couple, brown as nuts and still wearing T- shirts and shorts and sand flip flops...”oh, we wait till the end of September before giving up!”
Spotted a less windy place for the last night on Öland, just below the sand dunes with valleys that gave you a view of the troubled sea and black skies, white clouds and flocks of birds flying past. There is so much sky here! The sand was cool under your feet, the sun gave its best, but with the dark nights and golden leaves floating on the wind gusts, one had to concede that autumn had come, even with a gentle knock, it is defensively here and summer will be packed and parceled to be undone and unknotted till next year. Even the “hardies” were crossing the bridge over to winter land today.
While still there, Bert's birthday dawned! And its 40 years since we first met. Still not quite fed up with each other, best wait another 40 years.
It's been lovely sleeping on Öland in my upper bedroom, old fashioned as this kind of camper van is these days of sleek new creations, but in them you cant just open your eyes in the middle of the night and see stars and the first streak of dawn over the sea, or watch the sheep or cows ambling past without moving your head. Or open the little window and feel the morning breeze on your face, cooling your pillow. No, as long as we can climb up the little ladder, we don't want those new sleek things!
What a glorious beginning to September, to autumn, which we celebrated with Prosecco bubbly, sitting outside in our chairs reading. Just perfect, after a walk in the sand and seeing the clouds, like friends, floating above like benign angels.
First, Böda camping Slide Show. The next, rest of Öland.