I entered Sweden on a ferry that docked in Helsingborg. Just a bit north, in Domstens, I was eager to test "Allemansrätten," the Right of Public Access granted by the Swedish constitution. This right allows free camping in the outdoors, even on private land, as long as you're more than seventy metres from a house. The first spot couldn’t have been better. Between a pine forest and the sloping grass leading down to a sandy beach, I had my pick. Being a Friday evening, many Swedes seemed to have a similar plan. The idea behind such a liberal law—encouraging citizens to experience the outdoors—seemed a success. Throughout the evening, there was a steady stream of people carrying rucksacks and tents. Some were traveling so light that I assumed they lived nearby but wanted to enjoy a night by the sea and under the stars!
I have a good ear for languages, but I can't quite get to grips with the sound of Swedish. After two days of hearing it in the country, I rtherwas puzzled by a conversation between two people at a campsite. I guessed it might be Finnish or something more exotic, so I had to find out. I asked them. One guy replied, smiling politely but looking rather puzzled:
"We are speaking Swedish..." he said, and I bet he would have loved to add, "Which other country did you think you were in?"
It's a very endearing language, with tones that go up, down, and sideways in the most unpredictable ways.
On my way to Göteborg, I met a Dutch couple along the cycleway. The husband casually remarked that the following day there would be a slight chance of rain but otherwise the week ahead looked perfect for cycling. The news cheered me up considerably, and I trusted his advice to the point that I didn’t bother to check the weather myself. After a month of not exactly wonderful days, I thought a slight chance of rain here and there would not stop me.
The day began cloudy but dry until 11 a.m., when the rain arrived with unwavering certainty. Just in time, I spotted a fast food restaurant where I could take refuge, spending three hours on Wi-Fi while indulging in French fries and burgers. The news was disheartening: the biblical deluge was expected to continue until the late afternoon. Despite this, I had to move on and get somewhere. My poncho provided some relief but I was soon drenched and, to make matters worse, battered by strong gusts of a nasty headwind. I was eager to find a campsite with an efficient tumble dryer, and I did! The routine comfort of what starts to feel like another lifetime had made me forget the true value of being dry. Hopefully another lesson that won’t be easily forgotten. Since then, I no longer heed meteorological advice from strangers but instead rely on a Nowegian app that is consistently recommended as the ultimate source for all of Scandinavia's forecasts.