Another Monday, where do the weeks go? It seems like only yesterday when it was summer, the gardens were ablaze with masses of bright blooms and our doors and windows were open wide. Now here we are with Christmas only a few weeks away.

So, how did I spend my weekend? In our quest to avoid being home when the workmen were in our apartment, we sailed the 25Nm to the town of Trosa. The name of this town always brings a smile to my face, because the word trosa in Swedish means women's undies. Can you imagine a town being called Underpants? I thought that there MUST be another meaning, but Lars-Göran swears that there is no other meaning, which makes me wonder what they were thinking when they named the town. And as I am somewhat of an underwear nazi who insists on the matching bras and knickers combo, I feel that there ought to be a town called Behå as well.

We set off in cold but sunny autumn weather. It was a slow and somewhat frustrating start and a couple of hours into the trip, we contemplated stopping at nearby Landsort instead after the winds died. But the weather gods took pity on us and as we rounded the archipelago north of Öja, the winds reappeared and we happily continued. Not that ALL of the crew was alert...



I think she is guarding the entrance to the galley where the biscuits are kept. She only appears to be snoozing, but in fact is a highly trained killer guard dog in a cunning disguise. Just try and sneak a biscuit and see how quickly she is on full alert.

We were well rugged up for the chilly weather, but the blue skies and lovely autumn colours on the islands we passed made the journey very special. Many boats are already up on land here, so we are very fortunate to be able to see this landscape first hand and despite the cold, it is well worth the effort.



After a five hour journey - all of it by sail - we anchored in a small bay near the township. The guest harbour charges to moor overnight, so we thought it better to save that money and enjoy the peace and quiet of the nearby island.

The night time air has a real apple-crisp chillness to it. It was a very cold, frosty night with the local temperature dipping to zero for the first time this season. How fortunate that we have a fantastic reflex heating system onboard, so we were all toasty warm and dry at 22C. We only need light summer clothes inside the boat and while some would argue that we are being soft wusses, we really only keep the heat so high for the bird's sake. Well, that's our story and we are sticking to it.

In the morning when I look out, the world is white as a thick fog has swept in overnight. However, once the sun comes up, the mist disperses, leaving a pretty autumn day.



To the north west of our mooring spot, the castle of Tureholm appears out of the morning mist. A little earlier, an enormous flock of ducks flew overhead. It was such a large group that it took several minutes for them all to pass by and once they were gone, an eerie silence fell over the bay. One of the most telling signs of autumn coming is the ducks and geese flying south. As I watched their V formation, I started thinking about how much energy it saves to fly like that versus flying alone (I've seen figures on that before, and I seem to remember that it's a huge amount).



But there was no time for contemplating that as we made our way along the last stretch of marked waterway and into the small stream that runs through the town of Trosa. There were a surprising number of sailing boats moored there as we glided past in the early morning sunshine.



We continued past the main guest harbour and into town, choosing to moor right in the middle of the township. As you can see, it is a glorious autumn day with the trees draped in all their rich, vibrant colours reflecting in the tranquil waters and the town is very peaceful and very picturesque.



The sun is shining, the air is warm and everything smells fresh. As summer fades, I find that the sky takes on a deeper blue. We both find it difficult to stay indoors on such a splendid autumn day. The great American writer Nathaniel Hawthorne felt the same way: "I cannot endure to waste anything as precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house," he said. "So I spend almost all the daylight hours in the open air." I couldn't agree more - especially when we can feast our eyes on beauty like this.



Wandering further up the canal, past the gorgeous wooden homes lining the shore, we marvel at all of the trees dyed in magnificent autumn colors - I particularly liked that golden, clear yellow ash tree and the brilliant red maple up ahead.



I have watched and seen that in the space of a few days the colours can go from muted tones to firey reds and yellows. The colour spectacle is truly beautiful. I didn't see the change of seasons when I was growing up, so seeing the colours of autumn is quite special to me. Most of the time we take for granted just how beautiful this natural transformation can be. And what a fantastic natural, colourful carpet they make.



A couple of kilometres further along the canal we came to the old mill and a small waterfall. This goes some of the way to answering my query about how there was a strong current in the canal. I had expected it to be a stagnating stream, but with the waterfall, the water is kept moving and fresh.



On the way back, I saw these skvallerspegel (literally gossip mirror) that you can sometimes find in older homes set right on the street. They are two mirrors, set on the window frame in such a way that those inside can see what is happening out in the street. I think I could use one of those!



After a wander around town, we got a few postcards, some pistachio rolls and returned to the boat where we sat in the cockpit with the tent up in the sunshine, sipping our coffee and enjoying the afternoon parade of curious passers-by. We had shifted the boat to the main guest harbour and it seemed that our little birds, happily chirping away in the sunshine were the most popular tourist sight for the afternoon. I read in some tourist blurb we had picked up at the tourist bureau that the bridge you see pictured next to our boat is called The Bridge of Sighs (suckarnas bro), apparently named because of the girls sighing there when their summer loves left them by steamship!



That sounds like a load of crap to me, partly because this is not where the original harbour was anyway and that the bridge is the same little wooden structure as you see all over town. Sounds like tourist spin, doesn't it? And having been to Ponte dei Sospiri in Venice as well as those at Oxford and Cambridge, this one made me laugh.

We went back to our bay for the night as the guest harbour wanted to charge us for being tied up there, despite the fact that both their website and the coastal guide say they are closed for the season. But next morning we are back in the same spot and we go on another extended exploration of the town, which includes the old church.



This building and the accompanying wooden bell tower was the only building left standing after the Russian raids here in 1719. The rest of the town was reduced to ashes. Today, it is peaceful and the view from the memorial park is of soft, golden morning light and dewdrops shimmering.

We met a couple of British guys out for some day sailing who were devastated that one of them dropped the bag containing a litre bottle of vodka, which was busy seeping over the pier when we saw them. I made sympathetic noises, but had to laugh at them as they declared they didn't have enough to drink, now. Guys, that is a WHOLE SLAB of beer you are carrying!

It has been quite a reviving weekend, before a busy week ahead and I am grateful that we get the chance to grab these stolen moments.