It’s 1pm and we’re cutting it fine for lunch. We’ll need to order soon because eating too far past 11.30am will throw off the kitchen, says our tour leader Karlijn. As lunch plans edge closer to a Swedish “MAXBurger” on the go, this Scandinavian scheduling surprises me.
I’m in Gothenburg, and this means a city break. The main elements of which – sightseeing, steps and navigating public transport – usually involve an intense itinerary. I’d mentally prepared for quick turnarounds and stacked activities as we weaved between the city’s tram tracks. Besides, who’s a late-lunching Londoner to judge when Sweden sits down for its midday meal?
As expected, post-bite to eat, so commenced a whistlestop walking tour of fish markets, mermaid statues and the wooden courtyards of the Haga neighbourhood – generally in Gothenburg, assume structures were originally built in wood and “then it burnt down”.
Even with serious credentials for sustainability and style, Sweden’s cities aren’t quiet. There’s the same traffic and tourist footfall as any major metropolis, and you’re never more than a few feet from a commuting cyclist.
Gothenburg is a great city to explore. But for a slow summer escape from the office, it’s less fly and flop, more move and booze at your pick of its 40 breweries.
Only on arrival in Alingsås, 45 minutes away, did my “no delay” date with a carrot salad in an empty restaurant start to make sense. Every minute wasted waiting for lunch was an obstacle to fika – Sweden’s designated coffee and cake break.
The ingredients of this cherished custom? Coffee, cake and conversation. A sort of informal afternoon tea taken with friends, colleagues, strangers. Gunilla Davidsson from the West Sweden Tourist Board describes fika as “a social institution where you get together and have a dialogue about everything that’s in your mind”.
Read more: Malmö city guide: Where to eat, drink, stay and shop
Here in Alingsås, the “capital of fika”, a cafe crawl includes cardamon buns from Nolbygards, award-winning coconut Silviakaka (Silvia cake) at Café Viola and a slice of pastel green princess cake at the Grand Hotel alongside copious cups of black coffee. I should have expected nothing less from a country that celebrates cinnamon buns every 4 October.
To successfully fika, “you must take the time to sit down”, says fika guide Kersti Westin. Feet sore from the Gothenburg tour, I did not have to be told twice to take a seat and dive into caffeine and Eurovision chatter.
City break step-count a thing of the past, and daily coffee and cake breaks baked into my future, I don’t resist drifting even further from Sweden’s second city on a short ferry to the southernmost island in the Gothenburg archipelago.
On Vrångö island, population almost 400, there are no cars, no chains, no nightlife. Here, seabirds sing, saunas float, and residents are trusted to take and pay from the island’s small supermarket.
Breakfast is leisurely. Gone is the morning buffet dash of Gothenburg; at Kajkanten boat houses, baskets of eggs, fresh bread, veg, cheese and yoghurt are delivered daily from the mainland to be prepared as you please.
.jpeg)
Read more: Why I believe wild camping should be a basic human right
Days here are shaped by nature. From the island reserve Vrangoskargarden to wooden swim jetties, the tiny islet can be tailored to both outdoor adventures and taking a second to stand still.
Now, kayaking can be stressful at the best of times, especially in strong winds. Yet, a paddle with swooping oystercatchers feels peaceful, like there’s actually time to sit back and give my arms a rest ahead of the two-minute stroll to Hamnkrogen Lotsen for a crayfish boil that evening.
Visitors to Vrångö can also while away the hours cycling, hiking and padel or stop to soak in the surroundings on another fika break.
On a boat ride to Valö, another blissful speck of Sweden’s some 267,000 islands, Gothenburg’s tallest building Karlatornet, dubbed “the zipper”, juts into a cloudless sky a world away from the wildflower fields, red clapboard huts and empty beaches enjoyed in the archipelago when Sweden’s temperatures tease the low twenties.
As the Med sweats each summer, Scandinavians save it for the sauna.
I have never mused on the idea of intentionally travelling somewhere cold in summer. Honestly, the term “coolcation” makes me shiver with the fear that my shoulders won’t be bronzed at baggage claim. But, on my Maldives-style barefoot cycle to Kajkanten’s relaxation raft, sun still out at 9pm, holiday heavyweights in Italy and Spain were given a serious run for their money.
“Bara Bada Bastu”, Sweden’s 2025 Eurovision ode to saunas, resonated as I roasted in Vrångö’s floating human saucepan post-hot tub cup of tea and cold plunge into the sea. Even white jellyfish that Kajkanten owner Håkan Karlsten promised me are friendly, and the familiar underfoot slime of seaweed couldn’t convince me to call it a night.
As the benefits of the Wim Hof way of life continue to be debated, according to Swedish seaweed diver and culinary creator Karolina Martinson, it’s this overlooked marine algae that is really “very good for us”.
So much so that Karolina hosts a seaweed tapas culinary experience on Vrångö to discover the blue food. The bane of beach days isn’t the salty atrocity I had imagined. “Mermaid’s necklace” resembles the taste of truffle, obviously enhanced when wrapped around deep-fried halloumi. Sugar kelp seaweed slaw is as inoffensive as the cabbage variety, while seaweed-marinated catfish cooked outside on a wood fire has more flavour than the high-end sashimi I had eaten in Gothenburg.
Karolina says: “Societies here for the fishing are asking the question, ‘what are we going to eat from the ocean in the future?’”
As global fish stocks deplete, foraging for seaweed is about “looking at the things in nature that people throw away”, says Karolina.
Allemansrätten, also known as the Right of Public Access, is a Swedish legal principle that allows everyone to roam freely in nature, including forests, fields, and coastlines. Aside from foraging, Swedes can rent nature necessities for free as part of Fritidsbanken – effectively, a library for sports and outdoor equipment.
Nowhere is this respect for nature more obvious than in the tranquil Swedish lakes, Dalarna County, my next stop.
Unsurprisingly, Sweden is not a frontrunner on the safari scene. But my on-the-move moose sighting (slash alleged deer with a big head) had me glued to the window on every car journey, with brown bears and wolves also counted among the local wildlife.
“We share the forest with nature”, just as we had shared lunch with Bernard the seagull on Vrångö, says Lotta Backlund, a village guide in Rättvik.
But it’s not just nature to be found in the lakes. Folklore laps the shore, wooden horses stand tall, and cinnamon buns and tunnbrödsbageri flatbreads are masterfully baked by locals. As Lillibet and Lillibet teach me the twist technique behind the perfect bun, I’m zen in comparison to any efforts in a baking pan made in my own kitchen.
There’s an undeniable stillness to Sweden when you leave the city. With a culture of cake and conversation and adventures in nature ingrained into everyday life, if rushing to an early lunch means making time for quality dialogue, baked goods and sauna resets, I am sold on slowing down.
Having shunned Sweden’s cities and “fika-ed” to the fullest, I can see why Swedes often leave the likes of Stockholm and Gothenburg to frog dance around a more rural maypole during midsummer celebrations. Rolling past rapeseed fields and towering pine trees on the train from Tallberg to Stockholm, I’m at peace with the fact I’d rather encounter a brown bear in the forest than another wayward bike.
How to do it
Visit Sweden on Intrepid’s Taste of Scandinavia (from £1,564pp) or Scandinavia Explorer (from £3,650pp), which includes accommodation, some meals and activities, services of a local guide and ground transport while on the tour. International flights are extra. Book at intrepidtravel.com or call 0808 274 5111.
Read more: I ditched my phone and hiked 110km through the Swedish wilderness
