Island Traditional Practices: Swedish Seaweed Harvesting and Midsummer Festivities Reignite My Heritage Connection
Hunker down on a wooden bench, legs crossed, notepad cradled tight against my chest. I'm attending an offbeat philosophy seminar, the sun gleaming off the nearby sea, a fresh breeze brushing against my skin. Welcome to Vrångö, a petite yet breathtaking archipelago island teetering on the edge of Sweden's 30,000 isles.
As the warm sun sets, casting a golden glow upon the tranquil sea, its rays literally dance off millennia-old, round rock formations. It's not a lecture on Socratic philosophy dishes being served here, but seaweed - glossy deep purple, emerald green, matte black - piled high on a gleaming silver plate. Karolina Martinson, also known as 'Algblomman' or 'seaweed bloom' in Swedish, is the plate's proud bearer.
Seaweed safaris in Swedish island paradises
Fish and seafood are as intricate elements of Swedish culture as they are in their diets. Festivals take the form of crayfish feasts, enjoyed by loved ones around a fire, or breakfast spreads of pickled fish and salmon roe. Yet, as marine fish populations dwindle due to climate change and water pollution (particularly problematic in the Baltic and North Sea), some like Karolina turn to the nearby shore for their next meal.
"Hop into a wetsuit, grab your clipping tools, and your net, and jump into a kayak to harvest seaweed", explains Karolina, a seasoned guide leading seaweed safaris across Vrångö and neighboring island Styrsö. Guests learn how to forage the best seaweed for their supper, culminating in preparing a scrumptious seaweed-based meal.
Back in my home, Sicily, adaptability has long been the norm. Whitebait fritters made with fish too small to be valuable, handed out for free by fishermen, are one of my cherished childhood memories. Some 2,300 km away, Vrångö becomes the unlikely bridge between my gastronomic passion and the ancient traditions of island sustenance I had long forgotten.
Back to basics: Reclaiming our ancestral seaweed diets
Karolina's fervor for interconnectedness parallels that of the wider island. Vrångö counts just 241 residents, and the strong sense of community is evident from day one. Island owners Andreas and Jennie Wijk deliver a basket filled with fresh fruits, cheese, and home-baked bread to my waterfront room - no seaweed, not yet.
Move 25 years back, and Karolina asked local residents about traditional seaweed consumption methods in the archipelago. "Eating seaweed? It's never gotten that bad", they laughed. They regarded seaweed as an odorous, troublesome nuisance that plagued their boats, best removed from the shore. Just like in Sicily, islanders used seaweed as a nutrient-rich food source, feeding it to cattle and enriching soil, but eating it was a forgotten practice.
Karolina's personal crusade to elevate the discarded - whether food, materials, or people - dates back to her days as an artist dabbling in upcycled materials, then her stint with social enterprises helping disenfranchised groups, like incarcerated women and those battling mental health issues. "My life's thread is seeking out and salvaging that which gets tossed away", she admits.
A Swedish summer like never before: Kräftskiva and countless fikas
Memories of home commence resurfacing as Andreas drops crayfish into a simmering pot, filling the harbor with dill and beer-infused steam. Despite our divergent cooking techniques, the camaraderie surrounding the crayfish feast evokes memories of my childhood, watching my uncle prepare fresh fish.
Soon enough, the plates are stacked high with seafood, from crayfish to smoked shrimp and salmon roe, all washed down with bubbly and flowing conversation. The party afterwards at Hamnkrogen Lotsen, Jennie and Andreas' restaurant nestled along the harbor, harks back to pirate days, with descendant pirates no less.
My tan glows beneath the sun, and the floating sauna fades, but the connections to my native home don't end in Vrångö. Alingsås, my next destination, is a Swedish town still known for its fika tradition since the 1800s. A coffee break enjoyed by women working at a mill, fika has since become a common household custom. "It's incredibly democratic", explains Fika tour guide Kersti Westin. "From royalty to the lowest-paid worker, everyone partakes in fika."
No longer hankering for home, I embrace Swedish fika culture wholeheartedly, vowing to mix the tradition with my Sicilian love for coffee once back in blighty.
The writer was a guest of Intrepid, which offers a 7-day Taste of Scandinavia trip or a 15-day Scandinavian Explorer covering Norway, Sweden, and Finland.
Links:
[1] "Sweden's edible seaweed safaris: A journey back to our roots" - Accessible link
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At Karolina's seaweed safari event in Vrångö and Styrsö, guests can participate in harvesting seaweed from the shore, learn about its culinary use, and even prepare a delicious seaweed-based meal as a part of their food-and-drink experience. The practice of eating seaweed was once common in Vra
