I first heard about the Te Araroa trail ten years ago, when I has just finished Lands End - John o Groats and was full of enthusiasm for what to do next - the Appalachian trail? The GR5 grand traverse des alpes? In the end I've chickened out / worked / been distracted by other stuff, and in the meantime Te Araroa has been developed from just a concept to an established and popular route, with circa 2000 people per year flocking to it's 3000km.
It has some lovely symmetry to LEJOG, in terms of distance, and location on the globe. That's all I really needed to know to be enticed to do it.
I have previously covered the north island while backpacking, but the south is all fresh, and obviously has a big reputation. I've tried to avoid looking at too many photos so as to preserve the sense of surprise, but have had to do some research in terms of logistics, as the route doesn't pass by many supermarkets, but does cross plenty of rivers.

Disembarking late in the afternoon into the charming town centre of Ystad, I set off east along the coast, dodging a heavy rain shower to be rewarded with rainbows spanning the glowing fields of crops, and startling a badger at the side of the road, the first time I can recall seeing one in the wild
Aimed for and arrived at a "lägerplats" hikers shelter to camp, adjacent to the beach which stretches for miles in a plenty of room for all kind of way. Sweden has "Allemansrätten", the right to roam and camp anywhere (within reason), but also, in common with Denmark, provides designated free campgrounds not accessible to vehicles, usually with a roofed but open sided shelter and a drop toilet. This one was already populated by a German couple from the ferry, a french chick cycling south, and a Chilean/ Argentinian holidaying around via public transport.

Next day followed the coast for a while, via some charming wooden fishing villages, strange rock formations and ancient carvings, before deciding that the tourist traffic was too much and turning to quieter roads inland.
Detoured to a village has which declared itself a republic, but disappointingly it seems just to be a publicity stunt for the local cafe.

It Rains here. heavily, persistently. Sometimes!
Now passing apple orchards, but there is a strong sweet fragrance in the air - fields of cherries.
Soon the forest and farmland becomes forest and lakes, lakes and forests, mixture of managed plantation destruction and tranquil spacious glades full of moss covered rocky outcrops and bilberries

Met a German bloke pulling a little cube shaped trailer, which would extend to be long enough to sleep in, a kind of bicycle caravan. Wouldn't fancy pulling it up hills though!
Also a family from the Pyrenees doing the Baltic route - allegedly the kids idea!

Lots of roadside signs - I should have catalogued the variety of different "slow! Don't run over the cat" (or children) signs. The other common site is "Loppis" (flea market), with households regularly setting out bric a brac tables.

Mainly I'm following small roads through the forest, which are often packed gravel, connecting the frequent homesteads, smallholdings and holiday houses, and sometimes forestry tracks of rougher, loose gravel, or worse, a sandy surface, which my heavy bike slips and slides in. I will take another look at a "bikepacking" setup in the future, might need to get another new bike though...

Occasionally amidst the forest appears a town (hopefully with a supermarket).
Glassworks town. Mining town. Ghost town. Basically, lots of "frontier" industry towns, some of which have died off.

Crane birds and deer, no elk though despite the roadside warning signs

Final camp, moss covered rock in forest, nice ending before succumbing to the outskirts of Stockholm, unavoidable motorway side routes and brutal tower blocks built under the million homes program, and then into the historic centre. I didn't know before this trip, being an ignorant English pleb, that Stockholm is on an archipelago, connected by many bridges and ferries, and not having had any wars for a while, the old centre is well preserved.

So a couple of days to fill before flying home, but first and most important is to secure a large cardboard box to get the bike onto the plane.
As on previous trips, a local cycle shop is happy to oblige, and the arlanda express airport train allows bike on board, which surprisingly is in contrast to most trains in sweden.

Back to sightseeing then: the Vasa flagship, salvaged in the sixties having embarrassingly sunk within the first km of its maiden voyage in the 17th century, the Swedish history museum, modern art gallery, some street art, the subway system where each station has its own art installation, the England vs Sweden women's Euros semi final (4-0), and a Viking themed film at the cinema.
The hostel also worth a mention, first one I've encountered with a) a no shoes policy and b) a sauna, which was greatly appreciated.

So, flying back to the UK, everything has gone like clockwork as far as Reading where i'm writing.

After a couple of days stop to visit Marta in Szczecin, an industrial city with a fascinating and turbulent history of changing hands and occupation, fabled to be criss crossed with underground tunnels, headed north again past the dockyards and wind turbine factory and into some nice nature reserves alongside the Oder river with a first sighting of families of wild boar, (but sadly no bison) and on up to the miles upon miles of sandy beach holiday resort coastline.

Back into Germany, and a cultural stop at Peenemunde "vengeance" weapons factory at, where the first rockets were developed (the doodlebug flying bomb and V2 rocket), and the museum attempts to celebrate the technological advancement whilst regretting the motivation and methods of achieving it.
Camped in the woods a couple of times to stay away from the busy coast, where rented e-bikes roam the forest paths between the beaches.
Passed by a recreation of a Viking outpost at Wolin, political hustings in Wolgast, and through the more charming Hanseatic town of Greifswald, though I was soon cursing as the bicycle path followed an ancient cobbled road for the next 10km.
Another little ferry to cross an inlet, another camp in the woods, passing the Nazi beach resort at Prora, and up to Sassnitz, to catch the catamaran ferry to Ystad, the shortest available crossing to Sweden

The weekend in Berlin was spent drinking copious amounts of beer and playing a football match, as Wandsworth Borough had flown out to play a summer friendly against a local team (THC Franziskaner) to the amusement of all.
I stayed for a couple of days extra sightseeing and bike repairing, but with sore feet from stomping round the city looking at things, it was nice to get back on the bike, especially as now has a full range of gears to choose from.
However, set off already late in the afternoon, so just a short stint to get out of the city and find somewhere to sleep - a nice little beach next to a lake, which when i subsequently read some signs turns out to be a nudist beach (FKK). No one else around though.
Next day, after an early pause to visit a decaying cold war era airfield com [...read the rest]

Bidding a fond farewell to Prague, headed north, through some industrial towns of soviet era concrete apartment blocks, and then just as I was hit a nice woodland track, something went badly wrong - the "other" bolt which holds on the front pannier rack sheared off. A clean break, flush on one side, but encouragingly slightly protruding on the other, if only I had some pliers to try and twist it out, but I dont, and its past closing time for most shops.

Fate had not deserted me though, as while I stood in the wood pondering, Veronica and Michael walked past, and having worked abroad and being fluent English speakers, immediately saved my bacon by revealing that the landlord of the nearby pub they were heading to had a garage full of tools and would be happy to help.
And so i [...read the rest]

Stage one was getting to Prague in time for a five a side football tournament this coming weekend.

Rewinding a little, Regensburg has a nice historic city centre, which apparently we deigned to not destroy int wars, although now it is under a smouldering pile of tour groups, fresh off their river cruise ships just like the ones you see on those TV ads.
Also, while the campsite was indeed for canoeists and cyclists only, they were having a birthday party for one of the members that went on until about 4am....
So I eschewed the worlds oldest hot dog takeaway and escaped as fast as possible on a disused and fortunately shady railway line, wiggling vaguely towards the Czech border.
Much relief to camp at a small site in the woods and get a quiet night - though the morning was anything bu [...read the rest]