Skogsby to Färjestaden. 17-ish km.

Woke up in a dripping wet tent, with slugs climbing up the netting of the door and flies everywhere between the two layers. The dripping part got its explanation the moment I got out of the tent – the entire meadow was wreathed in a thick mist.

I have, as usual, way more time than I need to walk the kilometres I have ahead of me. Today’s stage will take me closer and closer to civilisation, so I doubt there will be any interesting detours to take, and it might even be difficult to find secluded spots for breaks. So I might as well take my time and dry the tent and everything else here, and have a later start.

The grass on the ground was of course as wet as my tent, but I had the picnic table and bench at my disposal, and a dead tree behind it was as good as a wall organizer.

The tent itself I had to take apart and turn inside out to get all the flies out. Their only instinct when trapped was to try and fly higher up.

The trail continued among fields and farms. In addition to pumpkin and corn fields, there was also a sunflower field.

Otherwise my surroundings did indeed become more and more suburban. Small lanes at first, and then asphalt roads, and finally city streets. My feet were not happy about the latter.

And then – the end of the trail, at the Öland tourist information centre. Or technically the beginning, since I walked it backwards. I understand why they market it the other way, but I would argue that mine was better. It’s always preferable to walk south to north instead of the opposite, so I get the sun at my back and not in my face. And I rather liked the gradual reintroduction of society and all its trappings. The official way would have me start in a city and then walk further and further away – and then come back to it all with a big bang. I always find the end of a hike jarring, going from peace and quiet in the wilderness to the noise and bustle of a train station or a motorway. This way I could resurface more gently.

I can’t just put up my tent in a park in the city, so I headed to the nearest camping ground, which was luckily right next door.

Mine was the only tent on the camping ground’s tent field. Around me were hundreds of camper vans and camping trailers.

Once again I couldn’t pay on arrival, because the front desk was only manned from nine to five, which struck me as very odd opening hours for a place like this. Seriously, aren’t those the hours when the guests are least likely to need to talk to anyone? Wouldn’t it make more sense to be there in the evening when people are likely to arrive? Then again, if most people are here for weeks on end with their camping trailers, the front desk probably rarely gets any people actually arriving or leaving, and are more of a service desk, handling clogged toilets or broken lawnmowers and selling snacks.

Here is the bridge to the mainland, that I will be crossing by bus tomorrow.