[February in Minnesota feels like the perfect time to revisit our Midsummer trip to the south of Sweden…]
My favorite thing when planning a trip is making impulsive decisions with just enough of a gut feeling, and then doing very little research to support that decision. This is how we wound up on a train from Copenhagen to Malmö, Sweden, another train, then a bus, and at some point, two rickety bicycles and a ferry name Nanny as we spent two surreal days exploring southern Sweden’s Skåne region. Having grown up in a tiny town, I love visiting other villages to get a better understanding of what “rural” means around the world. I found the town of Torekov while looking for an Airbnb to stay at that was remote but still accessible via public transit and booked it without a second thought. I had no idea it would be the highlight of our trip.
J on the Öresundståg crossing the Oresund Bridge between Denmark and Sweden.
How nice if I could also take a train to my hometown in Greater Minnesota? And have it be this clean!
Our main form of transportation in Torekov.
Nanny, who takes visitors to and from Hallands Väderö, which is a nature preserve just off the coast of Torekov.
Our final bus literally deposited us off at the stop on our map marked “white church.” I had been confused, not expecting it to be so obvious in the end.
I also wanted a place that had hosts, knowing that by this point in our Scandinavian adventure, we’d be sick of each other’s company. Also, a rule of thumb when staying in a tiny place: always seek the advice of locals. We stayed with a wonderful woman named Ingrid, who works in Malmö but keeps a seaside home in Torekov, like several other Swedes.
What I did not know, but quickly discovered, was that the people who call Torekov and other seaside towns like it home are deep believers in the rejuvenating power of seawater. As Ingrid showed us our room, she pointed to two bright white, fluffy robes and said we could use them to “take the waters” with them that evening at sunset if we so wished, as though she was inviting us to afternoon fika.
As we learned that evening by sitting on the beach that first afternoon was that right before dinner (and again in the morning) almost everyone in the town dons swim suits and robes, plunges themselves into the freezing sea, and then strips off their wet suit, re-robes, and goes back home. Families have their favorite plunging points along the beach, which is dotted with stone docks that have ladders built into them purely for the purpose of these quick, 1-5 minute dunks. I had dipped my toes into the water, and even in early July, it was icy.
However, this was clearly the only way to fully experience this place, and so we let Ingrid and her partner know we could join them in the morning. After a homemade breakfast (which entailed so many more vegetables, fish pastes, rye breads, jams, boiled eggs and general range of accouterments than I was used to), we got on our bikes in our robes and went to “their spot.” They greeted friends as I gathered all my courage; I, like my mother, and a strictly warm water person. After jumping into the sea, I can attest that I felt like a better, healthier person, mostly at the knowledge of my own willpower. Probably also a little bone-cold delirium.
A family in their robes, post-afternoon plunge.
Me right before jumping into the freezing sea.
Little Swedes on big rock. Note family plunging in the background.
After we got out of the water, we left our suits on, whereas Ingrid & Co. draped theirs over their handlebars, and then we all rode to a tucked away little bakery. Clearly, this was also part of the ritual. A line of happy, suns-soaked Swedes waited in the tiny little bakeshop that smelled like heaven to get their daily bread and sweet rolls. They were so good J and I stopped again on our way out of town the next day.
There were four other magical things to note about Torekov:
Taking “Nanny,” the blue and white ferry, to the little island/nature preserve 15 minutes off the coast. Called Hallands Väderö, it has a few former lighthouse keeper cottages families can rent out, roaming sheep, and incredibly orange and big slugs. I dream once a week about the day I can rent out one of those houses for a big family reunion.
We had one of our best meals - fresh cod and Swedish meatballs - in Torekov, at a little place called X. Like most food we had in Scandinavia, it was the simplicity paired with perfect execution and balance. that put it over the top.
I love my wallet there. It had my passport, credit cards, and cash in it. Needless to say, when I couldn’t find it in our Airbnb, I came close to a panic attack. Mentally walking through our day, I realized I must have left it at the grocery store. I anxiously told Ingrid about my plight. “Oh, they’ll have it,” she said nonchalantly but with certainty. We biked there and were waiting by the doors at 8 am when they opened. Sure enough, it was simply sitting there, by the cashier’s little “lost and found” shelf and my shear state of anxiety was enough for them to hand it back to me. It made me so homesick, this complete trust, honesty, and good will.
There was a town center, which was essentially a courtyard around the old foundation outline of a former church. We sat there for a while watching kids run atop the shallow stone walls while parents chatted and ice cream cones dripped onto the grass.
On the train ride to Copenhagen, our next destination, I made J promise me we could come back to Torekov and rent one of the lighthouse keeper islands for my 40th birthday. I’ve already started saving for it.
Sheep grazing on Hallands Väderö
Town square centered around old church foundation remains.
At the edge of the sea. Not pictured: Lighthouse we’re facing.