A slow week on the Archipelago Trail

The road ferries make a particular noise when the ramp comes down, a heavy clank and then a long scrape on the concrete. By the end of the week I was hearing it in my sleep.

The first afternoon was only the paved cycle path from Turku out to Parainen and a night there. In the morning I walked to the viewing platform over the limestone quarry, right next to the town centre and much larger than I had imagined. Pale terraces going down and down, and trucks at the bottom the size of crumbs. I took two frames and stopped, because I could already see it would be a photograph of a big grey hole.

The Archipelago Trail, Saariston rengastie, is a loop from Turku out through the islands and back, on bridges and ferries. Most people drive it over a weekend. I had a week, a bicycle, the Bessa, a bag of Fomapan 100 and one roll of HP5 for evenings, and no real plan except one ferry booking.

After Parainen the ferries start. The first two, to Nauvo and then on to Korppoo, are short crossings on the yellow road ferries, and they are free. You roll on with the cars, stand at the rail long enough to eat half a bun, and roll off again. The cars leave in a pack, and by the second day I had learned to pull onto the verge and let it go by.

The heat had started the Saturday before I left and it did not let go all week. So I rode in the mornings and again after six, and spent the middle of the day in whatever shade there was. Midday light on Fomapan is hard and white anyway. I stayed two nights in Nauvo and did almost nothing on the day in between, which was the best decision of the week. I watched boats in the guest harbour and ate an ice cream faster than I wanted to. After the lake at juhannus, brown and cold, the sea was almost warm.

Out here the signs give the Swedish name first, Nagu before Nauvo. Officially it is all Parainen now, which is hard to believe when the town hall is several ferries away. My school Swedish works for ordering coffee and fails the moment anyone asks me something back. Everyone switched to Finnish with great patience.

From Korppoo the ferry to Houtskari takes half an hour or more, and that is where it began to feel like a trip. The islands get smaller and the road narrower, and there is more rock than field: smooth grey rock with juniper in the cracks, and red boathouses. I shot most of a roll that afternoon. The Bessa's meter did not like the bright water behind everything, and I suspect many of those frames will come back thin. I tried to give an extra stop where I remembered to. I did not always remember.

The one crossing that needs planning is from Houtskari to Iniö. It is a summer route of about an hour, and this year you book and pay online in advance, at most two weeks ahead. I had booked it ten days ahead and then worried about it all week, which is what booking things does to me. I arrived at Mossala far too early and sat on the warm rock by the pier eating saaristolaisleipä, the dark, sweet archipelago bread, straight from the bag.

Iniö was the quietest of all. The sun went down late and the sky stayed pale for hours after. I swam off the rocks long after supper and there was still enough light to find my towel without trying.

Then one more ferry, to Kustavi, where the signs are suddenly only in Finnish again, and it felt as if the trip had changed language without telling me. The last part, through Taivassalo back towards Turku, was bigger roads and more cars, and my legs had had enough well before the end.

Now I am on the train from Turku, the bicycle in its reserved place and sand in both panniers. This summer the train only goes as far as Karjaa, because of the track work in Espoo, and from there it is a bus to Helsinki and a hope that there is room for the bicycle underneath.

There are five rolls of Fomapan in the pannier, plus the HP5, which I barely used. I already know which frames I am hoping for, which usually means it will be some others.