2024: Gotaleden Sweden

The Trip

The Gotaleden is advertised as a gentle stroll in the world of long distance trekking, from Göteborg in western Sweden to Alingsås, which is not quite as west as Göteborg. The route promises lots of stops and not too much walking, which is how we prefer our long distance walks. It's home turf for Pete, so he has a half-hour train journey. Adrian decided it was best to fly to the wrong country, simply for the pleasure of a good, long shottie in a first class carriage on the splendid Danish railways.

Click on a picture to see it in more detail than necessary!

Day 1, monday: travel

We meet in the bar, where else? This year, it's the Metropolitan at Göteborg train station. Pete arrives first and asks for an IPA, but the barrel runs out after half a glass. He tries again, and this time the lager barrel manages a full glass. The barman just shrugs and hands over both. Result.

Both Swedes and Germans pronounce IPA as an acronym, not an abbreviation, as in:

There was an executive from FIFA, Who one day drank too much IPA. He signed a big contract With some sleazy, mafia act Instead of something local which was cheaper.

Still fizzing from afternoon beers, our first since this time last year, we stop to eat at the station's Mexican Restaurant. When in Sweden ... It’s perhaps telling that the restaurant has blatantly set up a barrier to prevent us sitting down at the only seats available. They should have known better. We climb over, under, and around the thing and plop ourselves down to enjoy our tasty tortillas in peace. Good practice for unexpected obstacles on the trail later.

There's a train to Alingsås every few minutes, so hard to miss. Our hotel is across town, deep in the suburbs and surprisingly far away from the latitude-longitude point on Pete's map. They must have built it in the wrong place by mistake. We have to clamber up a metal staircase, which is scarily see-through, to a surprisingly neat and tidy room. There's no breakfast, but a coffee machine on site. Pete can relax for one night at least.

We walk back into town for a beer. Initially, we are doubtful that the promised sports bar is open at all, but once inside we are able to crash the sort of night out that our parents might well have appreciated, in 1972. A well-behaved crowd of middle-aged cats are lapping up the Peoria Jazzband, Sweden’s unsmiling kings of Happy Jazz. The Sultans of Swing comes inevitably to mind. Cool evening, but none of us are as young as we used to be.

Day 2, tuesday: Alinsås - Tollered

With a spectacular fanfare, all too easily done after a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, we set off on the Gotaleden. Hurrah! After 150 metres on the road, we take our first pit stop at a bakery and order a smörgås for breakfast, only because we missed the (enormous) advert for the breakfast special with gröt and all sorts until we were sitting down. Pity. Some all sorts for breakfast would have been nice.

Inner man satisfied, we hit the road properly. We proudly photo the first few signposts, the way we do, but after a km or two we are disappointed that the trail is so poorly posted. We haven't seen any signs or waymarks for ages. When we check against the satnav this is because we have made a wrong turn already and are now kms off course, completely on the wrong side of the railway. Oh well. We shrug and continue, hoping to meet up with the trail again later in the day.

Adrian has done his calculations and reckons it’s a good idea to tie his heavy boots onto his rucksack and wear them that way, rather than on his poor feet. That way, if his walking shoes get wet or if he wants to give his tired tootsies a break in the evening, he can slip on his boots for a welcome change.

The first morning is a long stretch without a break. Did we really do 15 km before lunch? Amazing. We rest for a bit at the Mjörn lakeside, taking in the solitude of our chosen walk, before rounding a bonny wee outcrop, patting a cute wee pony, and climbing steeply off-piste up to the road.

Adrian has come without water, having expected a booze-fest on this supposedly most conveniently plotted of walking trails. We are indeed rarely beyond the sound or sight of the railway line, but that doesn't mean there is a station cafe behind every tree. They are harder to find.

The path diverts just before Norsund station, but we continue all the way onto the platform, where we hope to find a famed watering hole. Unfortunately we are disappointed by the person situated thereupon, who might be the station wifie, or possibly just a wifie, who explains that we’re too early. She suggests that we ring the bell and take pot luck with waking up the cook, or we could continue tramping in the wrong direction to the next eatery. Nah. We double back to the trail, round some more serene lakes (actually the same one, with different inlets), and on to nearby Ingared and a shoppie for much needed supplies. A pizza and grill place is there too, which Pete confirms is the Swedish default when it comes to roadside gastronomy, especially in the provinces.

Not long to Nääs Fabrik now. Especially not if you ignore the big loop of the official path which disappears into the skog and just stick to the river. A smirry rain briefly gets up the energy to greet the tired walker, just as we could do with a drop to drink.

	The hotel is upmarket and trendy, and surrounded by art and well-being studios. It's one of those very expensive places where everything is too pricey and arty to be comfortable or relaxing. You can't have both, apparently.
	The staff are friendly, while the decor is a strange mix of deck quoits, electronic birdsong muzak and pinball machines. Pete succumbs grimly to one of these, still fully clad from the trail. Adrian is at least grateful he doesn’t strip off first.
Meanwhile, our cheating ways on the road has given us time left over to slip into something more comfortable and relax. Its a walkers life.

Dinner at the Nääs is a big hit. Their Happy Baker lager comes from the brewery about 25 metres away. Adrian has a veggie meal with mushrooms and bulger wheat, Pete prefers Ox cheeks. Food is superb, life could be worse.

Day 3, wednesday: Tollered - Aspinäs

Up with the lark, its lilting muzak chirps happily overhead each time we pass over the hotel gangway. This was rather charming at first, but is quickly becoming more infuriating every time. Imagine working here every day! The big buffet breakfast is fab. Did I mention that Swedes do smörgåsbörd food really well?

Now we are back on the road. The first stretch of today's Gotaleden wanders over green hill and through leafy skog, and is quite wonderful. While the quality of the trail has been variable, this is a real highlight. We take the tradesmen’s entrance through the Nääs castle estate, which is wonderfully watery, so we are grateful for the wooden boardwalks, placed mostly where you need them.

The pretty lake in the centre soon gets short shift, when we discover the genuine* Roman amphitheatre tucked away round the back. Our attempt at the traditional double selfie is less successful than it could have been. With AI changing more of life every day, why can't we get a camera to focus properly? At least our close-up of the wooden step is rather nice. * if you use a wide definition of this word

We lunch at the railway station pub at Floda, where we both plump for fish n chips after they explain that everything else is only available in the evening. We round off the feast with another couple of non-descript beers. IPAs, creepers! Nae complaints though, it was fantastic, but we are half way through, and still no clear candidate for beer of the trip.

Still burping from lunch, we take a spontaneous decision to pop into Floda’s outdoor centre, where a constellation of beautiful, young people are engaged in sweaty, sporting activity, reminiscent of an Olivia Newton-John video. Sadly, only one of the adjectives in the set {beautiful, young, sweaty, sporting} apply to us. Feeling out of place, we beat a quick retreat, shaking off a smiling sales lassie trying to flog us overpriced walking gear.

Back down to earth, we mostly follow the river through the afternoon. We are deep in beaver country now, and evidence of rabid rodent activity is everywhere.

This view, admittedly taken at the Göteborg Natural History Museum a week later, shows the sort of scene evident in every direction, here on the Gotaleden. While ...

... at least these fotos are genuine.

Lerum whispers softly in our ears, enticing us to linger for a wee refreshment. A restaurant owner sadly shakes her head when she thinks we are eying up the tepid remains of the lunch buffet, but smiles happily and welcomes us in when we beg her for just beer. We sit down somewhere, only to be quickly shoo’ed on to somewhere else, enabling her to hoover up behind us. Embarrassingly, the debris is mostly our ain affa muddy footprints, so we can't complain.

Thence a mere hirple along the water to Aspinäs Herrgård. The water has changed its name, it is now called Aspen lake, probably after the Herrgård, and it all looks very beautiful under a setting sun. It looked shorter on the map, but the stegometer claims this stage is longer than yesterday’s by just a steg or two. Isn't technology great?

The manor is an old, wooden, genteel, Swedish estate. Adrian learns, on reading a booky wooky in the drawing roomy woomy, that its most famous previous owner was actually one Arthur Edward Seaton, who hails from our own, tartan-hued, neck of the woods. It's a very comfortable and relaxing, less expensive than the Fabrik, and we both prefer it. It's hobsons choice again for dinner so we both have lamb with potatoes. I think beer might have been involved as well.

Day 4, thursday: Aspinäs - Göteborg

Another superb spread for breakfast with a fine view of the lake. Just how many accessories can fit into a single breakfast roll? We both imagine that we have another gentle 5 km along the loch to Poppels Byggeri for lunch, so we hang about and don't leave too early. You don't want to shoot your bolt. However, it turns out that what we have is 3 hours hard walking, up and down countless contour lines, through thick skog, off piste, grabbing hold of mountaineering ropes, cutting our way through trees, to battle through to our goal at Jonsered. Phew, who saw that coming?

The Gotaleden has been a strange mix. Generally, pub walks can meander about, but long distance trails should be purposeful, moving you from A to B each day. This has been neither one thing nor the other. For a long distance trail it has innumerable extra loops, diversions, climbs and descents. Some stretches have been pretty, but many sections have been rather unnecessary. I can't help thinking that as a long distance trail it is a good first draft, but badly needs another edit or two.

Poppels Bryggeri is a cracker. The beer is superb, not that you need us to tell you that. Certainly good enough to win the Beer of the Trip accolade after just one sitting.

Adrian has a couple of big ones while Pete chooses ...

... four little ones.

For lunch it's another hobsons choice meal - chicken - which is excellent. Lots of photo ops.

Challenging as the morning was, the official trail offers the same again in the afternoon, but around 3 times as long, in the same tortuous meander. It gets the raspberry and instead we take a gentle pull along the river to Partille, whence we catch the train to Göteborg.

Our final accommodation, ...

... the Viking Pirate Ship, ...

is in the sea, at the harbour, looking magnificently boaty. Yo ho ho! Check-in is a ridiculous scrabble against IT to try and defeat the system and get us a key. The IT expert happened to be on hand, which was lucky, although mysterious that he doesn't solve the problems, if he is an expert. It's hard to believe they do this every day!

The cabin is fine, with the added bonus that everything is wonderfully askew: tables, chairs, pictures on the wall. Even the beds are asquint. Toilets and showers are communal, and only accessible if you remember the card. The IT gods only bestowed one of those upon us.

Out we go again to the Indian Bistro for evening meal, another Strides tradition. Great food, great Indian beers. This one is in Sweden, but it could be anywhere. After we leave the restaurant it's straight back to the boat. Somehow the midnight pubs of Luxemburg and Sandefjörd are less attractive, twenty years on. Isn't it great getting old?

We both sleep on our left side. Turning over to the right would mean falling out of bed. I sleepily contemplate, as I nod off, that my wife would probably complain about that sort of thing.

Day 5, friday: museums and travel

Breakfast is another great buffet. The country that came up with the word smörgåsbörd certainly lives up to its reputation. Museums are hard to come by at 10am on Långfredag ...

so we wander about the streets of Göteborg,

take foolish fotos of the statues,

and make random fools of ourselves.

Then its back to the Metropolitan to finish where we started.

Pete has only a replacement bus offered to Gamlestan, so he just walks instead. The walking path rejoins the main road across a motorway junction from the station. He can see it, but cannot reach it. He's tired and hungry, why must life be so difficult? Eventually he finds a subway, not to mention a subway, and the train home.

Adrian’s journey to Copenhagen airport is also convoluted. His replacement bus is a long slog from Kungsbacka to Halmstad, so walking is not an option. The madness of not getting a direct return flight from Göteborg starts to sink in, especially when he finds himself sitting on the wrong coach, nearly ending up on a one-way trip to Lappland.

Memories of awkward trips home soon fade. Already we are planning the next one. It's been another cracker.