In praise of the quiet and the small. We live in a world where over half of mankind live in cities. This is set to increase to 70% by 2050. It seems fewer of us nowadays know what it is like to live in small, quiet communities.

Recently my wife and I spent some weeks in a little island off Sweden’s west coast. I have blogged about a previous visit to Åstol before. Then I shared something of its rich fishing heritage. Also the Christian revivals that punctuate its history. This time our stay was for longer and experienced a little of what it is like to live there today. Arriving in early spring was a time when there were few visitors. What would it be like living on a small island with no cars?

There are some sounds that form a gentle yet consistent backdrop to life on Åstol. The first was birdsong. Seagulls were ever present yet even their squawking and screeching did not particularly disturb. Any occasional annoyance was more than compensated by the chorus of spring birds that were arriving.

Of course being on an island of only half a square kilometre you are never far from either the lapping or the crashing of waves. All these sounds are natural. Something to value given that most of us live with the stress of urban sound pollution. Yes, even Åstol has the sounds of engines as small boats get their outings. Yet the sounds seem much gentler than the mechanical noises of the city.

Another type of sound was the much quieter murmur of human conversation. Couples walking the paths nearby could be heard even inside the house. Not intrusive, just the impression that people were passing. With houses packed together and small paths in between you are never far from others.

Being surrounded by the sea gives opportunity to appreciate distant views. On Åstol when the sky is clear the sunsets are a wonder to behold. The beauty is enhanced as the setting sun lights up the islands that string the western horizon. Yet the sun is not always shining. We were just visitors and at one time had 3 days of light snow and bitter winds. For us urban dwellers it felt confining with nowhere to walk to. No vehicle to jump into and escape. It was a sharp contrast to the idyllic surroundings on a sunny day. Perhaps it’s how you manage the weather as much as anything else that determines whether one has the resourcefulness and resilience to stay longer-term.

It was a privilege to sense a little of community life on the island. With only about 50 or so houses regularly inhabited everyone knows everyone. Our stay outside of the tourist season was noticed as we met people wondering who we were! The island’s only shop is possibly the main place where people bump into each other. One man told us it takes 30 mins. to go shopping. As nowhere is more than 2-300 metres from the grocer’s one might wonder what takes so much time! Meeting and talking with people. 

The ferry Hakefjord and its Åstol harbour terminal does what such resources do for any inhabited island. An umbilical cord to the big world outside. Delivering all the goods and services that enable inhabitants to enjoy all modern amenities. Yet separated by 2km of water from the mainland. The noise and clamour of the outside world is kept at a distance. Sheltering and enveloping you in the world that is Åstol. Community life ebbs and flows as friends and family meet and depart on the quayside. And on the short 10-20 minute ride residents catch up on each other’s news. 

As spring becomes more assertive the activity down at the harbour picks up. Men start cleaning and polishing their boats. Repairing the effects of winter winds and storms. More signs of life in the sheds filled with fishing and boat gear (’sjöboder) that fringe the harbour. An artist opens a temporary gallery and the island’s smokehouse also opens in time for Easter. Åstol cafe, ran by one of the churches, will also soon open its doors. As the place gets invaded by tourists and day visitors over the coming weeks those that are resident have to adapt. 

It was time for us to say goodbye. Not to anyone in particular though all we met were friendly. No, it was to the collective presence of a place that is both endearing and demanding. I had learnt a little of the self reliance needed to live on Åstol. Of being surrounded by the sea where you just can’t ’get away’. Of the wisdom in accepting a slower pace of life. Of valuing everyday conversation. Of making the most of the weather whatever it may be. Of the very human need for both a solitary and a communal existence. Come to think of it I can strive to live like that in the city as well. 

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