Towards a field in Finland.

Though we have yet to book any of the ferries to get us home we do know we are aiming to return around 7th July, which means during the first week of June we are more or less half way through the trip. This bit has been somewhat slippery to plan. Originally we envisaged being in Stockholm, but June 6th is Swedish National Day, and the campsites in the capital were all booked-up. Matthew wondered about joining us for a couple of days in Stockholm, his work commitments meant that the second week in June was a better option, so we booked the Stockholm site for four days from June 9th. He's not going to be able to make it now, but we are committed to those dates.

This meant we had a bit of time on our hands between leaving Svenerik and Maria's and arriving in Stockholm. We explored the options - perhaps returning to the 'stellplatts' further along the Gota canal, or visiting some sites on the shores of Sweden's second biggest lake - Vättern. Maybe a trip to Uppsala and the famous Viking sites to the north of it might be interesting. For some reason none of these options excited us.

Browsing our road atlas around Uppsala, I noted the Aland Islands halfway between Sweden and Finland. They look interesting, I thought. There was a ferry marked from the small port of Grisslehamn. I checked the price, just €45 euros each way, it seemed a bargain, so I booked it. 

I had to go online to find out anything about them. They were not included in our guidebook to Sweden for a very good reason, they are an autonomous Swedish speaking area administered by Finland. Strategically positioned straddling the Baltic and the Gulf of Bothnia the archipelago changed hands many times between. Finland, Russia and Sweden. 

From Arboga to Grisslehamn is about 200km. We drove past Vasteras then turned northwards towards Uppsala. It was a pleasing rather than a remarkable landscape.

Two hours of this...

the driver needed a break,

anti-elk fencing, you don't see that at Watford Gap.

Civilisation!

Across country from Uppsala to Grisslehamn the smaller roads are much prettier. Beautiful forests and old straggling villages, then, as we approached the coast, pine fringed rocky inlets. 

We planned to sleep at the dock, but the six dedicated motorhome spots were all occupied. We moved to the campsite at the marina. As we wandered about looking for the entrance a guy driving a small digger stopped, explaining he worked for the marina, gestured to a place on a terrace outside the barrier to the main site. It had ehu and was near the sanitary block. It was fine, a little pricey at almost £30. I think he saw us as an opportunity to maximise his sale.

Grisslehamn is an attractive small harbour community, typical probably in the archipelago that stretches northwards from Stockholm. What lifts it from the ordinary is though the small inlet looks barely wide enough to harbour a fishing boat in fact it can accommodate a big ferry.

We were the last vehicle loaded, squeezed on behind a horse box. From the clattering inside I don't think the occupants were happy seafarers. After our experience crossing to Gothenburg we knew what to expect - rows of slot-machines, big booze shops, foot passengers with trolleys stacked with shrink wrapped cans, beer and wine flowing liberally at breakfast.

We decided to go on deck. It is a beautiful coast, but as it slipped behind us we sailed into a bank of fog, everything went grey and the temperature plummeted.

The alcohol prices are a smidgen less than in the shops and the choice of wine very good. We bought a couple of bottles of wine including an interesting looking 2010 Rioja Reserva. At €11 euros it is more than we normally would spend, however, you could easily spend a similar amount for a classy Rioja Reserva in a Bodega in Haro, as we discovered when we were there last October.

Though there was no need to show passports when we landed in Eckerbrö, the Finnish customs were on hand with black Labradors, running them around the vehicles checking for drugs. We had found a campsite in a remote spot about 10 Kms from the port. Yesterday we had been surprised how busy Grisslehamn had been, and with the Swedish National holiday today we thought it best to book ahead. The woman who answered the phone at Kattnäs Camping assured us it was unnecessary.

When we arrived It became clear why a reservation was not required. Kattanäs was little more than a mooring about 3kms down a single track road through the forest, the campsite just a field next to the inlet, a simple place with good facilities, though the ehu was switched off. We were the only people on the camping field. About half a dozen of the statics down by the shore were occupied.

It had all the allure of Gill's idyllic 'field in France' - peaceful, in the depths of nature, full of birdsong and wild flowers - which was a delightful surprise given we were on the shores of a Finnish island in the middle of the Baltic.

Kattanäs is one of those obscure but unforgettable places. Sunset happens here late in the evening and very slowly. It's not just the northerly latitude that makes for a tardy twilight, Finland is in a different time zone to Sweden, one hour ahead, the same zone as Greece. So when the sun dips below the horizon at 10pm in Sweden, here it was 11pm; midnight is a glimmering half light, utterly tranquil but slightly spectral.

The underlying rock is rose granite, Gill's favourite. We waited by the shore for the sun to go down which it did very slowly. As it reached the horizon the sky turned pale pink and the reddish rocks on the waters edge glowed. The sea was flecked with gold.

Gulls swooped and dived, one caught a fish almost as big as itself, but it wriggled out of the bird's beak and fell back into the dark water. Other gulls gathered circling and swooping seeking the escapee, but it had gone. Two fast sports fishing boats sped up the fjord, one chasing the other. momentarily the peace was shattered and the smooth water churned by their wash, as the sound of the engines faded the wavelets gradually turned to ripples.

It was still mild, but we were tired so headed back to the van. We cracked open the Rioja and had a couple of glasses each, it was delicious. 

Time for bed, though a golden light was still glimmering throughout the trees to the west. It was one of those moments of near perfection, why we travel thousands of mundane miles to experience the fleeting extraordinary.