The other coast

353 kilometres later, William and I were finally on the other coast, eager to jump into the blue waves. Instead of the salt and sand of Tylösand yesterday, we had a bridge and the brackish waters of my childhood. 

In the afternoon, I borrowed my mother’s bike to deliver two autumn jackets that the kids had outgrown to the northern parts of the city. Riding through some of the richest and poorest neighbourhoods of Kalmar, I passed both the golf course with its expensive cars and downtrodden housing estates with warnings of police camera surveillance, reminding me of some of the contradictions that make up Sweden today, how we as a society have come to prioritize immediate private consumption over long-term social investments.

After delivering the jackets, I realized that I was in fact quite close to Kalmar’s only official naturist beach so I thought I should swing by for a first-time visit before heading back into town. Just like Dragonudden outside Umeå, the atmosphere was warm and welcoming, and it felt like the perfect counter-culture antidote to the cynicism of the rest of the ride.