Past forward mode

Nearly 20 years ago, during a long bicycle trip through Europe, I chanced upon a small coastal town.

I was about 25 miles southeast of Stockholm, going north from Copenhagen to meet a friend.

I remember a cobalt blue bay with small islands dotting the horizon, a ragged shoreline and a few simple yet stately cottages.

As I looked for a place to rest, I saw an inconspicuous sign featuring a drawing of a house and a single word beneath it: Vandrarhem.

I had unwittingly ridden to the door of a waterfront youth hostel. The decision had been: My friend would have to wait a couple of days.

I had stumbled upon Dalaro, gateway to the Stockholm archipelago, historical defender of the Crown from Russians. I've since remembered it as one of my favourite spots.

Back again

So when my brother and sister-in-law asked if I could join them for a vacation in Sweden, how could I say no? A few weeks later, I was back in the land of cloudberries and cardamom buns, lolling on the deck of their rented house, watching as the near-midnight Sun performed a slow-motion light show across the darkening bay.

Dalaro had changed. Sure enough, in the centre of town was a newish bakery, with warm cinnamon rolls, wood tables, fancy sandwiches and something called Dalaro bread.

To my brother and me, this was a major development. The modern conveniences and contrivances had come, if only in an understated Swedish sense.

There were boutiques and at least one art gallery, though it never seemed to be open.

I knew the youth hostel must be gone. It didn't make sense that a $15 (Dh55)-a-night refuge for the young would command such prime property.

What mattered was the enduring calm of the town, the saturated golds and iron-reds of the houses and the magnificent archipelago.

Sure, there were a few showy houses in Dalaro now and I noticed more Crocs-clad feet than the traditional Swedish clogs. But none of the stuff that counted had changed.

One morning, we boarded a ferry for Orno, a 20-minute hop from Dalaro. Layer upon layer of isles and outcroppings began to reveal themselves. There are more than 24,000, the majority uninhabited.

My brother and sister-in-law, Judy, rolled off the boat on their bicycles, ready to cross the island on a narrow road.

We stopped at a farm so I could rent a bicycle, which seemed better suited for a teenage girl.

It was the farmer who surprised us. Arriving in his truck, he chatted on his cellphone and we soon realised he didn't speak English — rare in Sweden.

We rode past sheep, horses and wildflowers.

Advertisements at the harbourside café touted faster internet connections.

This jumble of scenes and signals may have appeared contradictory but seemed quite happy together.

Back in Dalaro, walking home one day along the harbour, Judy pointed to another newish landmark, the vaflestuga — a shack more than 100 years old, all wide planks of weathered wood.

What was new was the vafle part: Belgian-style waffles, with bowls of cream and fruit preserves set out on the counter.

As we strolled out, a little fatter and happier, I got so preoccupied watching a shipping boat I almost missed the small sign along the walkway, one door down from the waffle shack. It showed a house with one word beneath it:
Vandrarhem. The hostel lived — right where it always was.

For a country of nine million people, Sweden had managed to both prosper and stick to its principles.

Next morning, I went out to boost the economic prospects of the bakery — the waffle shack next to the hostel would have to wait.

Go there ... Dalaro

From the UAE

Stockholm is the nearest international airport to Dalaro.

From Dubai

Turkish Airlines flies daily via Istanbul.

Fare from Dh3,200

Swiss Air flies daily via Zurich.

Fare from Dh3,270

Austrian Airlines flies daily via Vienna.

Fare from Dh3,500

— Information courtesy: The Holiday Lounge by Dnata. Tel: 04-4298576

Where to stay

Lodgings are scarce in Dalaro. It's best to base yourself in Stockholm.