I Biked 160 Miles Between 20,000 Islands—and Found Europe’s Most Peaceful Summer Adventure

It’s not a big entrance or an archway that welcomes you to the Archipelago Trail. It’s a peaceful road that leaves Turku, Finland’s old capital. This city is known for its cobbled streets and giant cinnamon buns. There’s also a salty harbor with a seaweed scent. I started my cycling trip by clipping into my pedals. I turned west and headed towards a series of islands that were connected via ferries, bridges and thick forest.

This trip wasn’t only about cycling—it was about finding a new rhythm. Each mile brought me closer to stillness as I passed sleepy villages and fragrant woodlands. Mirror-like lakes blurred water and sky. I had no idea that Europe’s most serene summer adventure lay in the southwest of FinlandIt is tucked away among 20,000 small islands. It was unfolding under my tires.

The first ferry arrived right on time—Finns are precise like that. The engine will be roaring at 11:59 if the timetable states 12:00. As we glided over the water, seagulls made lazily arcing wing movements above us. On one side a cottage in red perched on an island, with its wooden deck reaching into the sea, and a small vessel tied to its side. On the opposite side, a grandfather and grandson fished together from a flat, smooth rock. Their chairs and picnic basket were neatly placed beside them.

As the ferry approached the next shore the road wound through a birch wood. Wild blueberries glowed like ink drops on the moss. I pulled a bowl from my backpack and began picking. The berries were so sweet that I ate half of them, which stained my tongue a deep blue. Their flavor was wilder, sweeter than any supermarket version—bursting with sunshine and earthy tones.

Wanting to make sure I didn’t miss the ferry, I kept pedaling.

I stopped at a baker in Parainen, which was the first village along the trail. The walls of the building had the same mustardy yellow color as the afternoon sun. It smelled of cardamom inside. I ordered a black coffee and a fresh bun, then sat in the garden among the tables. I watched as kids colored in hearts, flowers and stars with chalk. I smiled.

It’s not just about traveling by bike—you begin to notice the little things. The way that light filters into the trees. Strawberry’s redness is a hundred shades. The soft thud as a leaf lands on a road that is marked by tires and footsteps.

I was intrigued by a streetsign written in both Finnish AND Swedish. In most of the archipelago’s regions, Swedish is the predominant language. Many people grow up only speaking Swedish. Finland has a long history of friendship with Sweden. Everything from the food labels to the school curricula reflects this. Finland has one of the world’s best education systems. It showed—everyone I met spoke excellent English, and I never had trouble getting directions or help.

As I approached Nauvo, I took a gravel road which hugged the coast. In fields that were flooded with sunlight, cows slept. I passed buzzing meadows and red barns. An elderly couple was enjoying licorice-flavored ice cream at an icecream stand. Licorice—especially the salty variety known as salmiakki—is a classic Finnish treat. The bold flavor is loved by many generations.

I locked my bike up and checked into an adorable wooden guesthouse whose doorframe was stamped with the date “1890.” The owner of the guesthouse offered me a turn in the sauna before dinner. Of course, I agreed. In FinlandThere are saunas everywhere. Finland actually has more saunas per capita than it does cars. They’re a part of everyday life here—a place to relax, recharge, and reconnect. A seaside is a part of everyday life in Finland. Nearly all households have one.

The sauna was right by the beach. The sauna was a 176 degrees and the air was thick with the smell of wood. After a few minutes, I walked down the dock barefoot and jumped into the Baltic Sea. The cool, clear water washed me. As I floated backwards, watching the sky turn tangerine, and as a few stars appeared, I gazed up. No one else was in sight—just sea, sky, and silence. The sun is still up well after midnight in the Nordic summer. It bathes the horizon in golden light without ever fully setting—only resting briefly before rising again around 4 a.m.

I was able to wake up the next day with my muscles softened from sea and sauna. For breakfast I had a traditional oat rhubarb porridge KiisseliIt’s a sweet fruit soup. It was then time to return to the trail.

Through Korppoo and Houtskär, I pedaled past wildflower-dotted fields and quiet cafes, where I refilled my bottle with fresh spring water straight from the tap. Never before have I tasted water that was so fresh and so mild.

Lunch was a smoked-salmon sandwich on fresh rye with dill and cucumber mayo. As a dessert, I purchased a box full of raspberries from a summer market. Finnish markets are refreshingly quiet—no chaos, no sales pitches. The people waited in line, placed their orders without any small talk, swiped their credit cards and continued. Here, cash is virtually non-existent.

On Iniö, I encountered an elderly lady who told me she’d lived on the island for 73 years. “Why leave?” “Why leave?” she asked. “Everything I like is here.” I was convinced.

The farther I traveled, the fewer times I looked at my phone’s navigation. It was like the road itself was watching me. The blue signs were pointing the way.

The night before, I had stayed at a quiet Airbnb. The air was warm and gentle, blowing gently through the windows. It filled the room with the smell of pine. They grilled sausages in the open air, with towels wrapped around their waists. Beers were also held. For my dinner, I tried something traditional—a Finnish summer soup with peas, cauliflower, and a creamy broth. It was comfort food in a bowl.

Birds were singing as mist rose slowly from the fields. Dew was still on the grass. From a distance, I was watching a deer as I ate breakfast outdoors, which consisted of barleybread, soft cheese, cherry tomato slices. No traffic, no people—just the hum of a distant boat engine. This was peace.

The Archipelago Trail consists of a 160 mile loop that begins and ends in Turku. It passes through many islands, most of which are unknown to the average person. It’s technically a loop, but it felt like each island was its own world. It’s not necessary to be a professional cyclist to complete the course. The roads are quiet, smooth and scenic. Your pace is up to you.

The trail is open to the public from June through August when ferries operate and islands are alive after an extended winter. Book early, July is the best month. The accommodation ranges from cozy guesthouses, to modern cabins that have private saunas and ocean views.

Bring a solid touring or gravel bicycle, cycling gear and a few snacks. You can also bring a swimsuit, windbreaker, sunscreen, sunglasses, a hat, water bottles, and a snack. You might not want to move, so keep trail mix in your pannier. If you forget something, no problem—Finnish supermarkets are among the best I’ve seen, stocked with everything from mosquito spray to protein bars.

What I realized while pedaling through those 20,000 islands is this: Slowness isn’t something you escape to—it’s something you return to. Its stillness is what draws you to the Finnish Archipelago Trail. You know, the kind that reminds us that less is more. Silence doesn’t need to be empty. Saunas and sea baths can be used to treat just about any problem.

As I drove back to Turku, I was still thinking about how such a poetic part of the world could be hidden from the majority of summer travelers. Parking lots are not crowded. Expect untouched nature to give you plenty of space. So, if you’re dreaming of a summer far from the noise, let the Baltic breeze carry you through the hidden paths of the Archipelago Trail—and discover what a Nordic summer is truly meant to feel like.