Orust via IKEA

What to do on a rainy Friday in Sweden? Our route from Trollhãtten to Orust took us through Uddevalla, dismissed by our trusty Lonely Planet guidebook as a 'characterless transport hub'. Fair enough, viewed from the motorway the town did seem to be unexpectedly endowed with railway sidings. It also had an IKEA. So we went there for lunch along with a few other bedraggled motorhomers.

What can I say? The meatballs are identical those available in Nottingham but chips are not on offer. We managed the cheapest IKEA visit ever, limiting our purchases to a couple of 'porcilin' mugs, some tea towels and a small folding clothes dryer. Back home we have a tendency to walk into IKEA requiring a light bulb and exiting it with a sofa that won't fit in the car.

By the time we were back on the road the rain had stopped and the sun made a half-hearted effort to put in an appearance. We identified two possible campsites near Orust. The first described as a 'family resort' was located on the mainland near the bridge to the island, the second was just beyond, on Orust itself and seemed be be a more modest place. We had no preferences, all we needed was a laundry.

What transpired next was one of those minor moho cock-up moments when something which should be perfectly straightforward conspires to become needlessly complicated. 'Hafsten 'resort' seemed to be a bigger deal than its lowly inclusion in the Acsi handbook indicated. Long before we neared the place it started to appear on road signs - 10km to Hafsten Resort, 5km, 2km... When we got to the junction we were signed down a narrow single track. Muriel, our much maligned and under appreciated sat-nav became very bewildered telling us we were 3.9km. from our destination but it would take 22 minutes to get there. On Google maps it looked less than a kilometre distant. I did not like the look of the narrow road at all, it had soft verges, ditches on each side and tiny passing places adequate only if the oncoming vehicle was a Vespa. After less than half a kilometre, as we approached junction to a farm track, I decided I'd had enough. "I'm not happy, let's go to the other place," I suggested. I reversed gingerly up the rocky side road and retraced my steps.

Back on the main road it was only five minutes further on, over the bow shaped bridge onto the island,  before we reached the turn off to the alternative site. The road was good for 200 metres or so up to a boat builders - Orust is famous in Sweden for producing wooden yachts apparently - once past the place the way ahead reverted to a goat track. However, since Vindöns Camping had been signed as 500m off the main road we had only a short stretch of goat track to navigate.

Luck was not on our side, around the first bend three mechanical diggers were performing an intricate road mending dance. After completing a particular intricate move (fabyoolus darling) they stopped momentarily to let us slalom through. We reached reception, it was shut, in fact the entire place was utterly deserted.

As in Italy and Spain, many urban dwelling Swedes live in apartments. Without an outside space then having somewhere in the countryside or coast to get away to at the weekend is popular. Sweden has the highest proportion of second home owners in Europe. Those that can't afford a house opt for a static caravan. On most sites statics and camping chalets far out number touring pitches. 

It's interesting to compare Scandinavian sites to those in southern Europe. In Italy owners tend to extend their statics with idiosyncratic additions crafted from plywood and tarpaulin. Here and in Denmark everybody seems to have an identical blue and cream caravan awning made by a firm called Isabella. I have no idea if the fashion is imposed by the sites or just the done thing. Anyway the effect of this is to make Italian campsites resemble shanty towns and Scandinavian ones look like field hospitals. Off season both feel slightly spooky, like the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse 

Gill hopped out of the cab and went walkabout seeking someone who could book us in. She seemed to disappeared for ages, I began to worry about the zombies. Then a battered Toyota pickup parked beside us. The chap who alighted from it was the spitting image of an extra from 'The Killing' who had a walk-on part as the fugitive leader of a neo-nazi Malmö motorcycle gang - same brick shit-house build, scraggy beard, ponytail and receding hairline, camouflage cargo shorts and terrifying tattoos. Of course appearances can be deceiving, if introduced socially he may have immediately shared pictures of his newborn or spoken enthusiastically of a lifelong interest in ornithology; nevertheless, he did resemble an axe murderer. He disappeared down the same path as Gill had taken.

Gill reappeared. Happily she had dodged lurking psychopaths and zombies but failed to find anyone else.

"This is too hard," I decided. "Let's go back to the first place." Back we went past the dancing diggers, over the bridge and down goat track number one.

Now with a little more perseverance we reached the first of Hafsten Resort's reassuring motivational signs - the first one read, 'Don't worry there's a different way out'; next, after a further couple of kilometres of goat track, 'You are almost halfway there!' We needed a bit of humour.

Describing the site as a 'resort' was a bit of a stretch, but it certainly was a very well equipped family campsite occupying the 'neck' of a rocky isthmus covered in pine and birch woods. In short, a beautiful spot. Behind the modern two storey reception was a small waterpark complete with corkscrew slide. We were well wrapped up against the biting wind, but kids were in the pool shrieking with delight.

At the desk, as we signed in, I remarked to the receptionist that Swedish kids must be tough. 'Not really,' she laughed, 'the water is heated to 28°!'

It was a Friday when we arrived, around mid-afternoon; the site was quiet. Two hours later it was packed, a really popular place for a family weekend break. I can see why, there are lots of things to do aside from the waterpark.

Not that we used anything other than the washing machines. What the on-site activities did ensure was most people stayed put so the nearby paths though the forest and by the shore were almost deserted. They were very beautiful.

Evening walk - 

Clouds imperfectly reflected in rippling water...

is it even more beautiful than mirror still? 

Next afternoon - the woods more or less empty - most people doing stuff back at the site

After the sea, sunlit woods are my favorite thing...

see - happy Pete!

As we returned from our afternoon walk we passed the hot tub area. It was packed with sixty somethings. Yes, two men did clamber out and took a swim in the chilly Baltic but sadly fell somewhat short of the stereotype by: 1. Wearing trunks; 2. Failing to beat themselves with birch twigs; 3. Clambering gingerly into the briny - no whooping and leaping in with wild abandon. Perhaps it's just the Finns that do the Nordic sauna full Monte.

Note to the left of Pete - packed hot tub, further to the left, bloke heads for Nordic briny, friend in tub rises to join him...

Overall I think we were pleased to have ended up at Hafsten Resort rather than Camping Zombie Apocalypse across the bridge. I say this with one big proviso - the place's smart card system. A couple of years ago I read an article that Sweden had made more progress towards becoming a cashless society than any other country in the EU, even to the point of providing homeless people's benefits on a contactless card. I hope their attempt to become the world's first electronic welfare state rests on more reliable a technology that the smart card systems we have found on camp sites. 

One of the more irritating aspects of camping in both Denmark and Sweden is that showers tend to be timed and come at a cost. The site had tried to solve the problem of having to provide one free hot shower per day to Acsi members by crediting a smart card. This is ok, if it works, one of ours didn't. When Gill headed back to reception to sort out the problem she joined a very long queue at the desk. Every single service in the site had to be purchased using the contactless card - showers, waterpark, sauna, snacks at the shop... and everything went through the same till on reception which was also where people checked in and out. I never did manage to use the site's showers - too har;, I made do with the on-board trickle. Smart systems! Who do they actually benefit other than accountants? Do any of them actually work reliably? Not the robot receptionist you get on customer service 'unhelp lines' nor supermarket automated checkouts. I want a person not a machine! Rant of the day over ...