A Nordic country with a considerable chunk of its real estate above the Arctic Circle may not suggest miles of white sand beaches baking in the summer sun, but Sweden's southernmost province, Skane, provides just that. The first place in Sweden to thaw out at the end of the last Ice Age, Skane (pronounced SKOH-nah) - with its low-20°C summer temperatures - has been drawing Swedes ever since sea bathing became chic more than a century ago.
These days, ask a local to name his favorite beach, and he'll end up naming several - each with a qualifying sobriquet: the Swedish Riviera, say, or the Hamptons of Sweden, or the local Provence, Ibiza and the even less likely Phuket. The beaches are all about an hour's drive in various directions from Malmo and just a bit farther from central Copenhagen across the Oresund Fixed Link, the road and rail connection between Sweden and Denmark. Discount air service to Malmo from cities across Europe makes for easy exploration when the Mediterranean overflows with summer crowds.
The resort of Bastad has recently found the confidence to forgo international comparisons and just call a Swede a Swede. Home to the Swedish Open tennis tournament every July, tiny Bastad has an outsize reputation as a party town and has been a must-do destination for the Swedish elite for over a century.
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With its red and white clapboard houses sheltered in the north-facing crook of the hilly Bjare peninsula about 112km north of Malmo, Bastad may at first look a dead ringer for Jessica Fletcher's Cabot Cove on Murder She Wrote. But take a seat at one of the communal tables at the rocking Pepe's Bodega and the vibe is decidedly more MTV's Spring Break in Cancun.
The social nexus of Bastad, Pepe's serves food (US$70 lobster pizza anyone?) and drinks, but also serves as the conduit to an upstairs disco, the Loft, which stays packed until 3am. The tennis courts, the beach and the marina are all about 10 steps away.
"Other beaches farther south may be prettier, but this is definitely the most fun," said Filippa Jernbeck, in from Stockholm like much of the well-toned, well-tanned and decidedly well-fixed crew crowding the tables around her in early July. From across the table, Jernbeck's friend gave a polite socialite's wave as she talked on a cell phone.
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My companion, Roger, and I had to take Jernbeck's word about the beach, because the rain that had flooded northern England had arrived in Bastad and our beach day got rained out. Pepe's, however, was fuller than ever.
We moved on to Torekov, driving about 16km west through picturesque potato fields and golf courses - there's a total of 117 holes in that relatively short stretch. The Torekov Hotel, which has a spa, had just expanded, and we were drawn by the prospect of proper fitness facilities to help sweat out the high-end pizza.
Exclusive comfort
Torekov - even tinier than Bastad - seems to cherish its distance from the latter's rowdy rich, though local taxis seem to do quite well making runs between Pepe's and Swensen's Krog, a restaurant in Torekov. Daytime ferries head in the other direction toward the small island of Hallands Vadero, a tranquil nature preserve just offshore.
Even without a Swedish Lizzie Grubman incident to draw attention to the class distinctions that can rise with the mercury in such exclusive resort towns, it seems that egalitarian Scandinavia has a few of its own summer rites, rituals and locals-only codes of behavior. A daily swim in the sea is de rigueur in towns like Torekov, and it's tacitly understood that those who mosey down to the sea for their brisk morning swim in their bathrobes are those fortunate enough to own a house in town.
Osterlen is a region on the southeast coast of Skane, east of Ystad, where the agrarian landscape often draws comparisons with Tuscany. Acres of blond wheat stretch right to the edges of some of the country's finest beaches with powdery sand "as soft as potato flour," according to one resident.
The rolling dunes and broad beach at Sandhammaren provide ample space for the frolicking families who come to swim, sun or build castles in the sand. A 19th-century red steel lighthouse peers above the pines where a few snack bars and public restrooms have been conveniently placed.
Along the coast
It's worth visiting nearby Kaseberga, to see the Ales Stenar, the "Swedish Stonehenge." A millennium ago, 59 massive stones were arranged here high on a bluff in the form a giant ship - some 67m long - that might be a Viking tomb or perhaps a solar clock. Visitors tend to touch the nearest rock, pose for a picture and then head off to marvel at the pristine seacoast below. Riding the prevailing southern winds, hang gliders and parasailors get an even better view as they circle and weave overhead.
After our days of staring at the sea, Osterlen's interior vistas, dotted with farms, castles and cottages - all shaded by towering beech trees - were too stunning to ignore. So we decided to check into Borregarden, a stylishly renovated farmhouse B&B just outside Borrby, a few miles from the sea. The owners, Egon Palmgren and Simon Ruud, were full of recommendations for everything from secluded beaches to local art galleries and restaurants.
For dinner, they directed us to Ingelstorp, a popular place in the town of that name. If a town is going to have only one restaurant, it ought to be like Ingelstorp: effortlessly chic and simple with straightforward summer fare like tender fish cakes served with prawns, roasted potatoes and fresh peas, all infused with a delicate buttery taste.
The next day, we headed west along the southern coast, stopping at a quaint fishing port here or a pristine nature preserve there, but without really getting our feet wet. After the chic and rustic charms of Bjare and Osterlen, we were not much for sampling the honky-tonk version of the Swedish seaside, which the rockier coast and large-scale ferry ports of Ystad and Trelleborg seem to have bestowed on the south-facing shores.
This abbreviated tour got us to the Falsterbo peninsula, Sweden's southwestern corner, in time to catch a bit of late afternoon sun (OK, it was 8pm but the summer sunset was still more than two hours off). Perhaps the top contenders for the "Swedish Hamptons" title, Falsterbo and neighboring Skanor, are quite simply what beaches and beach towns are supposed to be.
The miles of broad white sand beaches there are dotted with tiny pastel-painted beach huts, holdovers from the days when changing clothes in public was a punishable offense. The gentle slope of the beach means you can walk "almost over to Copenhagen without getting your hair wet," one local said, adding that she preferred the more rapid immersion provided by the long piers that hover above the gently lapping waves.
Off the sand, the tree-shaded lanes have just the right mix of lively cafes, art galleries and ice cream parlors. With their steeply pitched roofs and eyebrow dormer windows, the unpretentious 18th-century houses look like descendants of the traditional Viking longhouses. Fully rigged model schooners and clipper ships can be seen in many parlor windows.
For about 700 years until the mid-17th century, the Danes controlled Skane, a little fishtail-shaped peninsula that was once an important herring and produce market. Today, the idyllic towns sell understated Swedish chic to summer visitors.
high and low season
"Once the tennis is over in Bastad, the whole celebrity and Stockholm social scene moves down here for the Falsterbo Horse Show," said Catherine Ljungh of the Galleri Palm, around the corner from the buzzing sidewalk scene at the Kust Cafe in Falsterbo. "But then they head off to St. Tropez or wherever, and this is just a perfect summer town: the beach, barbecues, golf, families getting together."
A regular visitor agreed.
"Whoever oversaw the transition from fishing community to summer resort in the early 20th century certainly got it right," said Pierre Pelham of Mobile, Alabama, who with his wife, Eva, whose family is from Skane, spends the better part of every summer there. "If you head east of here along the coast, it's nothing but congestion."
Those looking for a happier kind of congestion should hit the dance floor at Badhytten, a flash point of youthful exuberance at the Skanor marina, a safe distance from the quiet village streets. This two-story club offers various scenes, from civilized cocktailing to frat-party rowdy. The terrace was a roiling sea of shoulder-length blond hair, spilling drinks and young women being picked up (literally).
The men wore tiny polo shirts that looked as if they'd been sewn on to their buff torsos. The women wore breezy backless linen dresses that might not have been sewn at all. It was like an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog brought to life and fueled by Absolut.
Tranquility was restored on the stroll back to town around 2am as the Swedish summer night worked its magic. A full moon hung low on the horizon to the south, while up north, the flame-colored sky showed that the sun had no intention of saying goodnight.
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