18 Oct - Swedish Island Hopping

From Sweden

Marstrand Sweden brought back memories of my childhood weekends on the boat anchored at Block Island, Nantucket, Essex, Martha’s Vineyard, or Cuttyhunk. This small island was heavily focused around serious sailing (it’s where the Swedish Match Cup is held), just as the New England marinas. The buildings had detailed trim and railings, almost to the extent of Martha’s Vineyards Victorian homes. Most of the buildings were white with red roofs, similar to some found on Block Island. The landscape was the tell-tale sign that this was no New England port.

Saturday morning was the laziest morning yet. The complimentary breakfast had oranges and a juice press offered. Wow! The oranges’ flavor was a bit flat, not as fresh/tangy as SoCal, but I was still very thankful to have any fresh juice at all! The only other difference from the standard Norwegian buffet was the sour milk. There were bowls of various hearty cereals and two bowls of white stuff. One bowl was labeled as “fruit yogurt” and the other as “sour milk”. I went for it thinking it’ll be like the Norge’s sour yogurt. It was sourer and had less structure than the other yogurts, and just as good. The yogurts of Scandinavia are sights better than the US yogurts. I wish the US dairy farmers processed it the same and disregarded the added sugars!

My new friend Karen joined me at breakfast just as I was ready to depart. Instead, I grabbed a cup of tea. After some conversation, she informed me that the teen sailors had taken a morning run around the island, and were jumping on the boats at 10am. She wanted to watch the herd depart. I wasn’t far behind. The front desk provided me an island map, which showed a surprising amount of greenery. The cobblestone boardwalk guided me along the island’s edge for a bit. At the North end the 60 teens were zig-zagging their sails back and forth in a tight pack… without collisions nor capsizing. A whistle blew from one of the inflatable dinghies with a “1 minute warning” in English. There were Finland kids participating, so the coaches used English for everyone. Towards the end of the minute, the boats all started facing the same direction and sure enough a second whistle marked the start of the race. Other than a few confused sails still hovering in the back, all sails were pointed seaward. What fun!

It was an absolute beautiful day... bright sun, light wind, and not a cloud in the sky. The walk around the island was great. It’s perfect for kids to run and hike around on the trails through the woods and on the rocks. The walk ended at the houses and stores. There were only two stores open (it’s the off-season), so I browsed them both. One of the stores was an art compilation from various folks (glass maker, knitter, pottery, paint, nautical lights, etc.). Each artist took turns running the store for a day. Today it was the glass artist and she once again proved that it’s a small world. In conversation it came up that I was from California. She had just sent a glass bowl to a couple in California whom was in the store a couple weeks ago. I asked if she remembered what town. She said, “Oh yes, I had to google earth the address to see where they lived. The town was Man-hat-tan Beach.” Enough said.

By noon my Marstrand visit had expired. I took the return ferry ride with the hotel receptionist. She asked if I’d figured out where I was going next. The meal comrade (Karen) had suggested another quaint Swedish seaside resort that sounded like “Smorfgen”. I tried that pronunciation in this conversation, and she immediately knew what I was talking about. She agreed that it would be a fine destination. That sealed the deal. I packed myself up in the car (no parking ticket!), took a check of the map, and I was on the road again… this time the back roads.

Once in a while the back roads had a peek view of the water, although it was fjord water and not open sea. There was usually a sailboat or motorboat chugging along these waterways. Jobiska would’ve fit right in (Jamie’s old made-in-Sweden sail boat w/ a 3ft keel). When I use the word “fjord” in the same topic of the Sweden coast, it’s overkill. These waterways are lined with evergreen hills or smooth rock. Most comparable to the pacific northwest, and nothing like Norway’s west coast.

After a few hours, I pulled up and over the bridge to the island of Smögen . This island certainly had the potential to meet the quaint requirement. It didn’t full-fill it until after I checked into the only hotel (yes, there was room!) and began exploring. My walk was along the edge of the island. This one had no trees (other than in people’s small yards) and was all rock. The island would be ideal for swimming in the summer (it had various natural pools with ladders onto the rock) and was built around the fishing industry. There was a lovely boardwalk along the fisherman huts. Some were snoozing in the setting sun’s light and some were conversing, still wearing the rubber gear from the day’s work.

The sunset light was beautiful on the rocks and houses. Similar to Denmark, the sunsets are very long here so the lighting is favorable for photographers and artists. I’m neither, so be patient with my snapshots.

The dinner was probably the most disappointing of the trip. It was a beautiful restaurant with an expertly written menu. The chef just didn’t deliver complimentary flavors on the plate nor do justice to the menu’s writer. Oh well, can’t like ‘em all.

Returning to the room, I posted a blog entry before the ritual phone call with Jamie. He would’ve really enjoyed these sea side towns and would’ve been tugging at my jacket to remind me of a phrase I’ve repeated “you can get a boat after we get a house”…. Hmmm ….