The Baltic Sea is often treated as a highway between capitals—a blue gap you fly over on the way to Tallinn or Stockholm. That is a mistake.
I am not a sailor, just a traveler who keeps getting on the ferries. Over time, I’ve collected these ten islands. Some are easy day trips; others feel like the edge of the map. Here is where to go when you are tired of the mainland and crave a bit of silence.
Ærø, Denmark: The Fairytale Trap
Ærøskøbing looks suspicious. It is almost too perfect. With its tiny doors, crooked windows, and old iron latches, it resembles a Hans Christian Andersen set design. Not the sanitized Disney version, but the original—with long shadows and secrets behind lace curtains.
Locals maintain the town exactly as it stood in the 1700s. Around 200 houses remain gently aged, not frozen. It feels like an open-air museum, except real people live inside—watching Netflix or adjusting model ships, often with no curtains at all. You are the exhibit as much as they are.
Few outside Denmark know Ærø exists, which preserves its charm. You arrive by ferry from Svendborg. It is beautiful, yes, but also just odd enough to stick in your memory.
A yellow hut for nets and naps. The boat might be older than the paint job.
Bornholm, Denmark: The Rough Cousin
Bornholm is where Denmark takes off its tie and puts on hiking boots. It smokes fish, burns wood, and ignores the forecast.
I stayed with a family whose roots here go back centuries. We ate every variation of fish imaginable. The living room was aggressively cold, yet no one rushed to add logs to the fire. This wasn’t neglect; it was a firm, local belief in “healthy indoor climates.”
The landscape matches the attitude: cliffs, pine forests, and a restless coastline. Then there are the round churches. White, solid, and slightly menacing. They look less like places of worship and more like fortresses—because that is exactly what they were.
Bornholm’s cliffs—rough, steep, and louder than you expect from flat Denmark.
Nylars Church. Built in the 12th century to host prayers and, if necessary, shoot arrows at invaders.
The Taste of the Islands
Food here isn’t about Michelin stars; it’s about calories for the cold.
- Åland pancakes: Dense, cardamom-heavy, and unapologetically square.
- Bornholm smoked herring: Soft, salty, eaten straight from the paper.
- Gotland saffron buns: Golden, dryish, best dipped in coffee.
- Utö Karjalanpiirakka: Rice pies served with egg butter. Very Finnish.
- Saaremaa beer: Herbal, cloudy, and brewed by people who know the sea.
Åland pancakes. Not fluffy, but substantial. Perfect fuel for a windy day.
Loistokari, Finland: Five Minutes of Rock
This might be the smallest inhabited island you will ever visit. It takes five minutes to walk the perimeter. It is just rock, a few wiry birch trees, and a house that has seen too much weather.
A lighthouse keeper once lived here with his wife and eleven children. Legend says parents tied the youngest to the wall with rope so they wouldn’t roll into the sea while sleeping. Standing on the slippery granite, you realize it wasn’t cruelty—it was survival.
I arrived on the S/S Ukko Pekka, a 1938 steamship from Turku. We ate smoked salmon and blood sausage at long communal tables while a nostalgic Finnish song played. Even the stoic types started singing.
S/S Ukko Pekka—still steaming through the archipelago like it’s 1938.
Åland Islands, Finland: The Archipelago of Silence
I have visited twice and walked hundreds of kilometres over bare rock and quiet roads.
Most visitors stop at Mariehamn, check out the maritime museum, buy a souvenir, and leave. They miss the point. The real Åland lies scattered across the smaller islands: Kökar, Källskär, and places where silence outweighs commerce.
You meet people here whose families return every weekend to chop wood, coax strawberries from stubborn soil, or make ceramics in windswept sheds. Everything moves at the pace of the ferry schedule. Time bends.
If you are ready to navigate this ferry network yourself, I’ve mapped it all out in my full Åland Islands Travel Guide.
A rare pause in Mariehamn. Eat the cake, then get out of town to find the real silence.
Utö, Finland: The Southernmost Edge
Utö is Finland’s southernmost inhabited island, and it feels like the edge of the map. A lighthouse (which doubles as a chapel), two hotels, one grocery shop, and miles of wind.
Utö has a complicated resume. It served as a pilot station for skilled seafarers and later as a military outpost. A corner of the island remains closed off, a reminder of its strategic value.
Reaching Utö takes five hours by free ferry from the mainland. It is not a quick day trip. You come here to get stuck, listen to the wind, and distance yourself from everything else.
Red cottages, blue sky, granite underfoot—the classic Utö color palette.
A proper welcome to Utö: local birdwatching, no binoculars required.
Saaremaa & Hiiumaa, Estonia: Wind and Orchids
I have visited Saaremaa ten times. Kuressaare offers the comforts—cafés, spas, a medieval castle. The rest of the island belongs to windmills, juniper groves, and an unbelievable number of birds. It is a quiet paradise for those who know where to look.
Hiiumaa is the wilder sibling. It has fewer people and more wind. I go there for the Kõpu lighthouse. Built in the 1530s, it is one of the oldest operating lighthouses in the world. Climbing it feels like ascending through history.
Kuressaare’s wild side—strength, mythology, and a bit of theatre.
Gotland, Sweden: Medieval Magic
Gotland swept me off my feet. Visby isn’t just a town; it is a dense, walled capsule of history that puts other medieval cities to shame.
I suspect I disappointed the woman I rented my room from. She was ready for pancakes and conversation. I was useless company—mostly sitting in silence, overwhelmed by the view, just repeating, “It is too beautiful.”
To escape the perfection, I drove north to see the raukar—alien, wind-carved stone sentries guarding the grey sea.
A practical note: In August, “Medieval Week” takes over the island. Book early if you want to join the festivities, or avoid it entirely if you prefer your cobblestones quiet. Just north lies Fårö, Ingmar Bergman’s home. It is bleak, stark, and utterly cinematic.
Visby from the ferry. Neat, red-roofed, and older than it looks.
Raukar. Nature’s abstract sculpture garden.
Lighthouses: The Baltic Giants
The Baltic Sea doesn’t do drama—except for its lighthouses. Nearly every island has one: weathered, watchful, often slightly absurd.
- Utö (Finland): Pink, white, also a chapel. Efficient.
- Sõrve (Saaremaa): Black, white, and ready for the end of the world.
- Kõpu (Hiiumaa): 1530s, still working, still magic.
Utö Lighthouse. It guides ships and hosts prayers.
Prangli & Naissaar: The Day Trippers
You don’t need to leave the city to find isolation. These islands near Tallinn make excellent escapes.
Prangli feels the most alive—70 residents, a school, and mushroom forests. I once watched a kid cycling with a loaf of bread under one arm and thought: this is the genuine article. I captured more of this unique atmosphere in my full story on Prangli.
Naissaar is a different beast. It holds Soviet-era bunkers and a lonely lighthouse. The pines here look twisted, as if they have learned to brace against the constant wind. I once ran into a group of wild boars on the path; they looked just as surprised as I was. Note: In July, you won’t be alone.
A quiet church on Prangli. Inside, you find wallpapered walls and unmatched charm.
Travel Notes
Baltic Sea Logistics: How to Make It Happen
The Verdict: These Baltic outposts aren’t flashy. Some don’t even have restaurants. But they offer something I never quite get enough of: the feeling of being far away and close at the same time. If you go, take your time. If you’ve already been—then you understand.
Ready to dig deeper? I have written detailed guides for specific regions. Plan your trip with my Tallinn, or navigate the Finnish archipelago with my full Åland Islands Travel Guide.
