The wind has turned itself up a notch or two, from gale force to impossible.
Like the contorted trees along the shoreline, we too are slanting sideways as we retreat into the shelter of the Trolls' Forest (Trollskogen), gasping with laughter. But here beneath the misshapen tree trunks, our laughter sounds too loud, too blatant. In the sudden quiet, this is a mystical place, where we easily imagine Hansel and Gretel appearing from behind one of the gnarled trunks to ask us for directions. Instead, a cow fixes us with a flat bovine stare.
We are discovering that Ãland, Sweden's second largest island at 136 kilometres long and just 16 kilometres wide at its broadest point, lives up to its reputation for sun and wind: we experience both in equal portions, with a late-April snow sprinkle for good measure. Nicknamed "the Baltic Emerald," it has a landscape as open and as generous as the Swedes themselves but it is also a place of contrasts: windswept shorelines give way to places sheltered enough for wild orchids to grow. Viking rune stones stand next to Iron Age burial barrows and medieval forts. Eighteenth century windmills co-exist with an oak tree said to be 900 years young.
It's hard to know where to start on Ãland. It has one of the richest stocks of ancient monuments in Sweden: indeed, the entire southern half of the place is a UNESCO World Heritage site. We tiptoe around iron-and bronze-age burial sites, the remains of 1,500-year-old homesteads and ancient fortifications with exotic names such as Eketorp, Graborg, Gettlinge and Mysinge, dotting back and forth through the aeons like hyperactive time lords. Ismanstorp, with its circular wall three - four metres high, enclosing 88 individual dwelling and storage places, remains a mystery. Despite its size, archaeologists have found no signs of permanent residence here, and with nine gates, it would have been difficult to defend. Was it a temporary or seasonal market, a gathering place at the crossroads of trade? We fast-forward to mediaeval Kappelludde on the east side of the island - a mere youngster in comparison - where the ruins of St. Birgitta's chapel now stand lonely vigil beside its 13th century stone cross, melancholy in the evening light.
Together, the wind and the sun explain the presence of several hundred windmills scattered across this narrow ribbon of land. They range from the picturesque Lerkaka group of post mills - small 18th century windmills set upon posts, enabling them to be turned in any direction - to giant Bjornhovda, the island's largest stubble mill, "the king of mills." All of them depended on the bounty of Ãland's agricultural lands, sun-kissed through the summer months, and on the steady, blustery power of the wind.
It's hard to get away from that wind, especially at each tip of the island with their lighthouses, LÃ¥nge Erik in the north and LÃ¥nge Jan in the south. Trollskogen, the magic forest, with its meandering hiking trails and weirdly wind-sculpted trees, is near LÃ¥nge Erik. Its circuit trail is a gentle five kilometres but provides wonderful views out over the tousled, white-capped waters of the Baltic. The skeleton of an 18th century shipwreck looms out of the shingle, perhaps lured to its doom by ghosts from the prehistoric barrow graves along the shoreline. At the island's other end, LÃ¥nge Jan stands inside the Ottenby nature reserve, where we go to watch migrating birdlife only to find that the antics and equipment of the birdwatchers can be just as intriguing as the birds themselves. Apparently, size matters when it comes to spotting scopes and the length of your twitching list. And because twitchers tend to travel in packs, since they are all after the same rare sightings, predictable spots like Ottenby draw bird-lovers like a magnet.
Also in the southern part of the island, we stride out across the Store Alvaret, a rugged, exposed expanse of limestone steppe carpeted by wildflowers and scented by thyme in spring. We're breathing hard, but it has nothing to do with exertion. In fact, walking the close-cropped turf of the Alvaret is flat and easy, but the air is so crisp and bracing, we're spring-cleaning our lungs. Grazing sheep idly observe our passage as we search amongst the lichen-blotched stones for some of the 34 species of wild orchids like the military orchid (orchis militaris) and Ãland's signature "Adam and Eve" orchid (D. sambucina) that live here. It's a bit early in the year for them, though.
Being flat, the island also lends itself to cycling, which is one of the best ways to explore Ãland. With rented cycles and hearty lunch packs secured in a basket on the handlebars, we wobble along a few of the hundreds of kilometres of cycle paths that zigzag back and forth past neatly tended fields, bird-busy wetlands, shore meadows, deciduous woodlands and ever more of those windmills. Twenty kilometres of sandy beach curving around Böda Bay offer plenty of spots for a secluded picnic. We return to the bikes with skin that has been ever-so-slightly sandblasted and salt-crusted hair, teased into unruly spikes by the ever-present ocean breeze.
With all this fresh air and exercise, our appetites are large on Ãland. And they
are easily satisfied. We look for restaurants displaying the "Regional Matkultur Ãland" sign, where we know we will get traditional dishes using only the freshest of local ingredients. "Kroppkakor," small dumplings made from mashed potato with a pork filling served with lingonberry jam and pancakes called "lufsa" become favourites. We savour the thick local pea soup, only learning afterwards how lucky we were to be here on a Thursday, the day it is traditionally served. We're rather glad we're not here for the eel festival, but revel in island lamb dishes with local herbs and creamy potato puree. And we are gently taught the art of saying "SkÃ¥l" correctly, making eye contact with our dining companions over our raised glasses both before and (most importantly) after taking the first sip.
Ãland has not had an easy history. Over the centuries it has seen the Black Plague, crop failures, poverty and mass emigration. Today, as we drive back across the six-kilometre bridge to mainland Kalmar, we come away with the impression that this is a place determined to get into the most categories possible in the Guinness Book of Records - more than 400 windmills, 34 orchid species, 16 ancient fortifications, the highest lighthouse in Sweden, the unique biome of the limestone Alvaret. The list goes on. Small wonder that some two and a half million visitors, mostly Swedes, come here every year. Even the Swedish royal family, who should know a thing or two about their country, have their summer home here at Solliden, finding it perfect for rest and relaxation. And who can argue with a royal family?
The Swedes are a magnanimous lot. After all, they have given the world Tetra Paks, safety matches, Absolut Vodka, Ikea, Volvo and ABBA. But we suspect there is one little secret the Swedes would have liked to keep to themselves: their sunniest province, the island of Ãland.
