Utansjö

Early swim and good-bye to Taga's place.
Ulvöhamn, with its 17th century chapel featuring Jonah (and someone fishing with a rake).
Good-bye to Ulvön...
Hills, wonderful roads. Up and down and up and down among lakes. Few cars.
In the evening alterating waves of cold and warm air, and smell of freshly-cut grass.
Then at sunset the impressive bridge of Hoga Kusten, which made me dizzy when I looked up.
Am now inside in Fredrik's house (warmshowers website) in the pleasant company of two sensitive and sociable cats.

Norra Ulvön (bis)

Whereas a storm raged on land, there was hardly any rain on the land that rises from the sea - at most some friendly clouds. The day was spent reading, swimming and sleeping on the grass. In that soft mood, I found enough energy to go to Sandviken, one or two miles away, a preserved 18th century fishermen's village.
Now the sun has set for a second time on Taga's shore. I could stay here several weeks, just looking at the quiet and ever-changing sea, but the bicycle is already protesting. Tomorrow I will have to leave this haven and return, by boat, to the real land.

Norra Ulvön

Last night, I camped in the garden of Stina and her family. The garden featured, among other things, an overturned car, as can be seen in this evening picture. In the following morning picture, also with long shadows, Stina's beautiful horses can be seen in the distance.
In Nordmaling I had a proper Kalles Kaviar breakfast and, to celebrate the definitive victory over the toothache, some Kex Choklad (merci Nicole).
Then in Örnsköldsvik I wondered at some architectural creations, at the uncanny ski jump track, and at the big, strange-smelling factory.
I decided to take a boat to Norra Ulvön, a quiet island. The evening came, and the magnificent golden light fell on all things. When I reached the Northern end of the island at sunset and was offered some wine by the people living there, I understood that this place was, in fact, paradise. 

Gräsmyr

The morning was employed to solve the tire problem. Finding a 26 inches tire for a narrow rim was difficult, after two unsuccessful attemps in bike shops, the second of which was very spacious and owned by a very kind and helpful man, I found and mounted a new tire in Intersport.
I had planned to take a train. But the following conversation took place between me and my bicycle:

BICYCLE. So, is it for the purpose of taking a train that I have been equipped with a new tire?
ME. Well, but the wind is blowing the wrong way. And there's a storm coming.
B. It doesn't matter.
ME. You say that. And the E4?
B. We don't have to take it, there are ways around. Go to Gräsmyr and then Nordmaling...
ME. But that's a long detour.
B. I thought the point was to cycle.

So, the bicycle prevailed upon me and instead of taking a train, I headed westward to Gräsmyr, facing the wind. At some point I had the clear impression of riding right into the storm, which was very nice, given the heavy atmosphere. I was trying to understand why the name Gräsmyr sounded familiar. When I arrived there, a huge, HUGE storm began and I understood it reminded me of Grasmere, England (where I've never been). I took shelter, just at the right moment, under a sort of wide bus stop, and started to read. Now it's 8pm, I've read a lot and the sun is shining. I think I will carry on towards Nordmaling, the air has become pleasantly cool.

Umeå (bis)

In the morning, I visited Umeå's Bildmuseet, an impressive institution very white and clean inside, almost smelling of fresh paint. Delighted to find some relief from the sultry atmosphere outside, I spent quite some time within the fresh white walls, from the 6th floor to the ground floor.
On the 6th floor, in front of the four hysterically laughing faces (Geng Jianyi, The Second Situation, 1987), one can take the giant lift, large enough for a car and several people. On the 4th floor is found an accumulation of prehistoric axes (Ai Weiwei, Still Life, 1995). For some of them, their being axes seems mysterious. I watched part of a film called Seven Intellectuals in Bamboo Forest (Yang Fudong, 2003-2007).

On my way back to Fredrik and Lisa's place I had to admit that the rear tire of my bicycle had suffered much from the heat and had to be changed as soon as possible. It being Sunday, no bike shop was open. Fredrik gave me a spare tire they had, but it didn't fit. So I was very kindly allowed to stay one more night in the spare room, for which I am extremely grateful, all the more so as I probably needed some rest again, feeling rather tired - thanks a lot. And I could carry on reading Anna Karenine,  which has really become part of the trip now.

Tomorrow, after a visit to the bike shop, I am planning to take a train to beautiful Örnsköldsvik to make up for lost time, avoid the E4 (which, I am told, has long been called "the death road") and then take some time to cycle around the hilly High Coast. And perhaps take a ferry to an island...

Umeå

The day began with much sun and much heat. At five in the morning, woken up by the heat, I moved my tent in the shade of the neighbouring camping-car, and slept until eight. I had a last swim in my favourite lake before setting off.
In Botsmark, about halfway to Umeå,  I reconstituted stocks of water, yoghurt, fruit and juice concentrates. It is still a bit difficult to chew hard things, so I gave up cereal bars and now thrive on semi-liquid substances, including fruit purees for babies. I have tried them all, the best are with mango.
It was so hot that the smell of heated tarmack eclipsed the scent of pines. My tires became more black from hot tar.
The road was ok, nicely hilly, but not as charming and varied as the Skellefteå - Burträsk road. And given the heat, lakes could have been more numerous. So, arriving in Umeå late in the afternoon, I immediately jumped into the river.
The camping was a bit far away and too luxurious, so I asked for some place in a garden (it was too late to leave the city) and was very lucky to be welcomed by Fredrik, Lisa and their three lovely children, Martin, Kelle and Ebba. Not to mention Musse the cat, who is a rag-doll cat, extremely peaceful and malleable. Ebba uses the bicycle shed as a chute, since a chute has been promised to the children but not yet built... Given Fredrik's building skills, this, and other things, should soon take shape.

Surströmming

So, surströmming is not the name of a place, but almost. Yesterday evening, my camping-ground neighbours, Åsa, Patrick and their young son Leo, shared pizza and beer with me, and asked if I had ever eaten Surströmming. I said I had heard of Surströmming from my previous hosts, but never had a chance to taste it. Patrick asked how I could hope to reach Umeå without having eaten Surströmming, in fact, how could one even cycle without knowing that taste? And Patrick and Åsa said, if you're still here tomorrow evening, we'll have a proper surströmming party, with all the paraphernalia - potato, dill, butter, cream, vodka, beer, and subsequent swim in the lake. Did I have a choice? I had to stay in Burträsk and enjoy the place during one idle day, reading and swimming.

Now, the legend has it that only people from Northern Sweden can bare the taste, and especially the smell of Surströmming, which is herring that has fermented for a long time in a sort of brine. It is supposed to be an acquired taste. My opinion is that it is excellent food precisely with all the paraphernalia - it is essentially circumstancial and local, you can only eat it outside, with tunnbröd (thin bread) and fresh beer, in the summer and by a Northern lake. Provided these conditions, surströmming is universally delicious.

The problem of the locality of food is also posed by other fish products such as Kalles Kaviar, a wonderful pink paste made of fish roe that is eaten on bread, especially at breakfast. Someone affirmed that it could be sold only in this country and nowhere else. Well, IKEA sells something very similar everywhere in the world. But I had never enjoyed it as much as I enjoy it here - back there it wasn't the true Kalles Kaviar experience.