Following our arrival in Marriehamn, the capital of Åland, we spent a full day discovering the real highlights of the town. After a typically slow start to our day, we spent hours exploring the excellent maritime museum and the Pommern, sister ship to the Mosholu, made famous to us, by Eric Newby’s The Last Grain Race, recommended reading!
At the campsite, we met superbly friendly finns, Mirea and family and vaguely planned to catch up at the next stop but sadly lost track of them after a brief sighting on Eckero where they opted for the more sought after camping. If you are reading this, send a message, we’d love to reconnect!
Marriehamn’s attained a special importance for us all following the most superb discovery of Real Italian Gelato. The gelateria is tucked away in a residential corner of the town, away from the tourist trail, off the beaten path. We confirmed the excellence of the products in a serious testing of Huge ice cream sundaes, all around. I assured Aldo and Anna who addressed us like a ‘famille moyenne française ‘ that we’d be back. I didn’t know how or when, as our intention was to do a route out towards Turku thence Helsinki. Little did we know then that events would transpire to force us to eat more and larger helpings of Scandinavia’s best gelato.
And so we began the journey onwards.
Cycling in Åland ‘fixe’ was not a great experience, too many pistes cyclables right beside the main arteries of the islands and too many fast dangerous overtakes on the smaller sealed roads where there was no designated bike path… However, the stops were good.
The walk around the old russian battery, the memorable stay sheltering from rain in the filthy hut on Eckerö, meeting dilapidated hut owners, Sven and Olav, the young man drying Uzbekistani melon for Scandinavian supermarket sale. The lithograph exhibition at the old customs and postmaster’s house in Eckero was a welcome toilet stop and shelter from the cold and wind and to boot we learned much about the French and British incursions into these lands, essentially all about the battle of Bomarsund (a Crimean affair once again).
The day after Eckero we stopped by an idyllic lake complete with diving platform picnic tables, toilet and beach, but the kids preferred a bonafide campsite, so on we went, on to the adventure. The campsite we cycled to was closed and the kids once again preferred to cycle on to the next marked campsite, 16km on ( and up the high point of all Åland).
After cycling up the 60m at the end of our additional 16km we arrived at the Geta ‘campground’ , a collection of huts on top of a beautiful vantage point, with precious little terrain to suggest a possibility of camping pitches. After our initial disappointment at the rocky choice of ground and tiny expensive mjukglass servings, the view and peacefulness of the place made up for shortcomings. Importantly the kitchen area was pleasant and showers fine. Everyone even slept well (after some boy tent tension).
The following morning we explored the area a bit, left grumpy Samuel at the pitch and enjoyed a beautiful walk down to the coast followed by a quick dip in the freezing crystal clear waters of the Baltic. The boys reenacted some classic Shakespearean théâtre in some rocky amphitheatre en route, Tim’s glasses were destroyed in a wrestle with Sascha and we rediscovered a happier Samuel back at camp before hopping back on bikes and speeding downhill to shopshopshop for food, a nearly daily chore. After a pleasant picnic outside the church yard while some local pigeon-like kids hung around waiting for biscuits (they expressed their extreme horror at the thought of cycling everyday) we headed onwards.
From Geta kyrka we headed out to Bomarsund, by far our most pleasant day cycling on Åland so far as the route was minor roads, gravel and a stop at Ida’s cottage (a sort of ye olde museum), with a little walk up to the old defensive fort.
Next we camped right by the site of the destroyed Russian Bomarsund fort, which we also visited. Luckily we could depend on Sascha to give us a history lesson on the events. The visitor center did not have sufficient appeal, to drag us away from hanging about on the rocks in the sun.
We were happy to leave Åland fixe, not islandy or wild enough and too many fast cars overtaking on blind corners. I invented the Aland, Åland Åland (‘get me off this island hell’ song as we headed away from Bomarsund..)
But then it all changed when we took the ferry to Vårdö, where it really all began to get super delicious and we understood what all the talk of Åland was really about. The little lost wild quiet islands of the archipelago. Off the beaten track. Here we discovered the tranquility of really remote island life, on the eastern edge of Åland, those scattered tiny outposts towards the elusive Turku archipelago.