Trip 42 — Fasta Åland Walk

Day 3: Djurvik to Sålis via Berghamn
Saturday, 22 June 2024

Today: 46179 steps/37.06 km/23.03 mi/6h 39m
Total: 71007 steps/57.04 km/35.44 mi/10h 16m

Winnie the little white dog greeted me yesterday at Djurviks Gästgård, but it was Minnie that came to see me out this morning.

"He likes to be around people," Olivia had told me. "We're not sure how he knows." (I hadn't recognized her at the guesthouse, but she and her sister had been the violinists at the maypole ceremony. Her brother-in-law had been the guitarist, so presumably any untoward chord collisions were forgiven at suppertime, or perhaps later in bed.)

Minnie hadn't visited me yesterday, preferring to roam the grass at a distance in whatever way he had learned, seemingly randomly but probably carefully calculated by this point. Today, however, Minnie was at my front steps when I departed, whereupon he quickly turned around and headed back out toward the beach.

"Bye, Minnie," I said. Cute little lawn-mowing robot.

Another brilliant day with thin, white, angular parcels of cloud, like sails in the sky. I'd almost forgotten that air could have such little pollution. The only sounds were the welcome ch-ch-cheerio of the birds and the hateful bom-bom-ba-du-bom of the flies, with an occasional contrabass fly circling me. Bzaaaaoooomnmn!

I was so distracted by the beauty of the day that I missed the continuation of the road to Djurvik (in fairness, it had one of those red-ring signs that suggested not everyone was welcome) and instead passed the stable, which put me on a more roundabout route approaching the sea. I didn't mind the extra distance, though, and I preferred to be nearer the coast anyway.

A gate kept vehicles from proceeding toward another stable and the cabins near the shore, but I walked around it, hoping creatures on foot were welcome. A woman with two dogs said hello, and there was no corresponding gate on the other side. The path was lovely here, with sweet-smelling forest and occasional wildflowers.

Before joining the main road I passed a quarry and asphalt works, along with a foul-smelling pool of stagnant water. The flies loved it here. A sign ended with "risk" and I hoped the Swedish words before it meant "Pass at your own." There was no one working here on the holiday anyway.

I came to a windmill and junction at Torp. This was horse-and-red-barn country. I sat down in a bus shelter for a quick rest opposite horses being tended to in their stables. At the junction was a group of young boys on bicycles, seemingly discussing where to head next. They seemed to be on a supervised outing.

When I continued north, a child about six years old shouted something from a house.

"Hej," I responded — the informal greeting, sounding like "Hey" in English but with a more pronounced "Y."

The child repeated the sentence, and I caught the "-sommar" at the end.

"Glad Midsommar!" I shouted back, hoping the current happy-holiday greeting was the correct response.

The horses gave way to cows and sheep, and I came to the busiest intersection I'd pass all day, at Hammarland. If it hadn't been Midsummer, perhaps the deli on the corner would have been open. Instead I sat on the steps and ate a few bites of cheese and half a grapefruit.

To the right was the main road back to Mariehamn; to the left, a grocery store — also closed for the holiday — and, farther along, the bridge to the next big island west. I continued straight and, after an hour, reached the Berghamn turnoff.

Berghamn is a strangely shaped peninsula somewhat resembling a right-facing head in profile, with a bay for the mouth and a lake for the eye, and a sort of crown jutting up and left. It's a considerable area, one I didn't want to overlook, and the only road in was this left turn from Bovik.

I followed this road for an hour, occasionally glimpsing a lake or sea. The necessity of walking, I thought. You almost have to walk to catch the sparkle of the water at its most picturesque angle, and then to fine-tune your position.

A rapid chuk-chuk-chuk from above cooled my thoughts. I know this sound by now, though I wasn't sure what kind of seabird it was. One became two, and then twelve, and the sky was suddenly gray for the first time I'd seen on Åland: nature painting the mood.

The birds followed me for a few minutes. I didn't know where the nest was. I hoped they didn't start swooping down at my head. Were they terns? They were too high up to tell.

I passed the lake on my left and the birds left me alone. I soon came to another body of water, this one a bay. There was a perfectly sized rock for sitting and having another snack. I continued ahead for a few more minutes until the roads started to disperse toward Berghamn's various bulges. I was near the midpoint of all of them, and I considered that enough of an exploration of the area.

I walked back up and sat on the rock. There were many such rocks in the area — it would have been a great place for a kids' picnic outing. I finished the grapefruit and had some more cheese. I didn't think much of the ants scuttling all over the ground until I felt a sting on my ankle: These were biters after all. It happened again a few minutes later, and I took that as my cue to leave.

Back up the hour to Bovik. This time, as I passed the protective birds, a rainbow appeared above: an arc of.a sun halo in a cloudless sky. The necessity of walking, one interpretation. Would people in a car have seen that?

I continued up the very gentle slope. A dog barked ahead, and then I saw it, a German shepherd behind a fence. Its comrades joined in, maybe ten dogs in all, a racket that put me on high alert until I judged them all to be safely enclosed. Their human family was out on their porch, and we gave each other cautious glances, but I had nothing to complain about — the trigger of the barking is on me; they had done their part in keeping me safe.

I reached Bovik and continued for about 25 minutes more, until I arrived at Paradiset, a combination lodging and antique shop. Torbjörn and Eva welcomed me.

"I'll give you the King Oscar room," Eva said, ushering me under the velvet drapes. Like Svarta Katten, the room had one of those old stoves in the corner; of course I wouldn't need it. The bed had a green canopy with curtains and yellow fringes. On the wall were an oval mirror and a painting of swans. From the looks of it, not much had changed since King Oscar II peaceably brought about the separation of Norway from Sweden in 1905.

"We have two cats," Eva went on. "One is old and almost blind. The other one is young and does whatever she wants. If you leave the window open, a cat might jump in bed with you."

"That's all right."

"Once we had two girls sleeping in your room," Torbjörn said. "When they woke up, they noticed something between them in the bed. One of them got up and the other said, 'Tell me, is there a cat next to me?' Hmm..."

Torbjörn went outside to the grill to prepare my prearranged dinner. "It's his first time grilling fish," Eva said. "Usually he does meat."

I was the only guest eating in the dining room, whose decor was similarly cozily ancient. The salad of corn, olives, tomato, cucumber, and feta was especially welcome — I don't eat enough salad on my walks. The skewers of salmon and shrimp, accompanied by boiled potatoes, were masterfully grilled, as I later told Torbjörn.

"Breakfast is at half nine," Eva said.

I've learned to confirm what that phrasing means; I guessed that the Swedish meaning matched the German. "Does that mean eight-thirty?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Because in Britain 'half nine' means nine-thirty, and I wouldn't want to miss it."

"Do you eat everything for breakfast?" Torbjörn asked. "Eggs, bacon, sausage...?"

"Yes. But I don't drink coffee."

"Tea?"

"Yes, tea and juice are good."

"We have very special apple juice here," Torbjörn said.

"I've had it! It's wonderful."

"All right. We stay in the next house there," Eva said, pointing. "If you need us, come knock on our door."

They were ready for a quick dinner and then bed. She had had an unexpectedly long day, she explained, having suddenly been called upon to serve lunch for a group of eight young boys on bicycles.

Go on to day 4