The weather forecasts this week have been predicting a fine, sunny and windy weekend, so we had been making plans to go away sailing and take advantage of what could be one of the last fine spells for the year. Charts have been consulted and discussions about likely destinations have been a nightly feature over the last few days. And certainly, the days have been promising, with the last vestiges of golden leaves still glittering in the sunshine.



This is quite a change from earlier in the week when it was grey, wild and stormy, with waves coming in and crashing over the shoreline around Strandvägen.



We had planned a Friday getaway, returning on Monday which should have given us time to make a reasonable distance. It seemed perfect, so I really should have guessed that a large spanner would be thrown in the works. This in the form of a surprise when we went back to the apartment on Thursday evening (only so that Lars-Göran could put in a bid on some navigation software he saw being auctioned at Tradera). We discovered that the builders had given us the wrong working dates for our apartment. In some ways it was just as well that we DID go home as they are due to start building our bathroom, not on November 31 as we had been told, but on October 31. Yes, I know there is no such date as November 31, but I wasn’t thinking when we got the sheet. I simply glanced at it and noted they would be here at the end of November.

I do feel a little sorry for them as apparently the original blueprints for our apartment building that were lodged with the local building authorities in 1951 bear no resemblance to reality and it has been very time consuming for them to try and work out where the piping actually goes. Apparently, it started off okay in part A, but by the time they got to B and C, they were pretty much on their own. We live in part D and here it is even less like the blueprint. In fact, our apartment and the one across the landing from us do not even exist on the plans. Instead, the small hill on which our section of the building is built should have been blasted and levelled, with the entrance being on street level and consisting of two shops! You can see on the next picture, that the back entrance to the apartments in section D are up a dozen stairs (which also don’t exist on the plans).



In order to change the pipes on our bathroom without having to demolish half of the staircase to the cellar area (and wouldn’t you know that we are the only apartment affected like this) is to lay them directly through our klädkammare (a sort of box room or storage room). So we were required to spend Friday emptying everything out of our storage area and hallway and to cover everything in the kitchen and living room with plastic sheeting as well as tape plastic sheeting across all doorways leading to the hall. Not my idea of fun at all. Apparently we are going to lose about twelve inches in height in our box room, so they will put in a false ceiling and rebuild the fittings we have in there. The tentative finishing date for the bathroom and box room is December 9th, with the kitchen area having to wait until after the Christmas break.

We didn’t finish until late on Friday and we did consider simply motoring away a couple of nautical miles to a little bay for the night and continue in the morning, but somehow the inclination had disappeared, so we veged out on board for the evening, with a glass of wine and a good book.

In the morning we remembered that the Lions club annual autumn market was on in Nynäshamn. This is a well attended event, now in its 16th year, with proceeds this year going to help the earthquake victims in Pakistan. We had a good time there last year, so we wanted to try our luck with looking for some more books and perhaps a rug for the boat as the wooden floor is getting rather cold as the water temperature falls.

As we expected, town was jam packed with people.



There were a wide selection of stalls – second hand goods, clothing, handicrafts, food, Tivoli, bric-a-brac, plants, jewellery etc. Most stalls looked like they were doing a roaring trade and most of the locals were out in force. Lars-Göran took a few random crowd pictures, with the camera held high above his head. This one also by chance includes a shot of Kerstin (in the lilac coat) and Salvatore (sporting sunnies) from whom we purchased our apartment.



You can see that the sun is shining, lighting up the golden birch trees, but you can see by the way that people are dressed that it is still quite cold. The markets are quite large and extend along the commercial stretch of Centralgatan as well as along two of the cross streets. Up towards the library and theatre area, a sideshow and rides area had been set up which was packed with families. I looked in vain for a fairy-floss stall, but there was none, so I bought myself a couple of big, fat, freshly made liquorice straps instead.

Then it was on to the second-hand stall, where we made a beeline straight for the books.



You can see that Lars-Göran has snaffled a few already and tucked under his left arm, he has a trasmatta or rag-rug that was a bargain at 10kr ($2) and looks like it will be perfect for the boat. In the end, we managed to fill our shopping trolley with both Swedish and English books – ideal for the long dark months ahead. We also bought Lars-Göran a nice fully lined dark charcoal fleece jacket from one of the clothing stalls. I bought one for myself four years ago at the same stall and it is so cosy, warm and good that he had to have one for himself. All in all I’d say that it was a successful morning’s shopping with the money going to a good cause.

Now to see if we can salvage some of the weekend….

It is officially autumn now as the temperatures are consistently in single digits during the day and plummeting to below zero at nights. Each day we wake to see the piers and outer areas of the boat covered with a layer of frost. It is at this point that I say a big thankyou for good insulation and a great Reflex heating system that keeps us toasty warm no matter what mother nature throws at us.

This is a busy time of the year for Lars-Göran as most of the boats come up on land for the winter months. Every Monday night for the last month he has been working for several hours helping to raise boats with the crane. It is cold, hard work and he comes home late and very tired. Last week he finished at 10.30pm and practically fell asleep over his dinner. This week it was more efficient and they were finished earlier, but the temperature was subzero which made working outside less than pleasant.



On Tuesday evening we were meant to go back to the apartment building for a couple of hours as we had a board meeting, but the weather was so wild and stormy that we made our apologies and stayed on the boat. This was just as well, because we had winds approaching 50 knots and while our boat escaped unscathed, another neighbouring boat broke away from its mooring and slammed repeatedly into the pier, sustaining some damage to both boat and pier.

The meeting apparently touched on the renovations, which are progressing slowly. The painters have FINALLY arrived at our apartment and should be finished by the end of the week. This was all supposed to have been done months ago and I’m not happy that they are painting the exterior of the windows when it is so bitterly cold. I wonder how long the paint will last. In addition, they have had to remove the sealing around doors and windows and the apartment itself is freezing cold. I’m expecting several penguins to take up residence any day now. There is no way that you can be in the apartment until the sealing is replaced.

When we were first told about the renovations, the proposed starting date was April, with work being finished by October or so. This suited us as we would be away sailing for a lot of that time and happy to live on the boat. But as spring wore on, the delays started and eventually it became apparent that work would not start until after the summer break.

We expected a start in August, but that didn’t happen either. Instead they began in late September and this means that in the coldest, darkest months of the year we are without a bathroom and the heating is going to be erratic as they need to work on the piping. We are luckier than many others in the apartments -–we have a boat to stay on. A couple of others are staying in their summer houses, a few younger ones have moved home to mum and dad while it is going on, but some poor people have nowhere else to be.

Still, it WILL be lovely to have a new bathroom especially. That 1950's one is really due for a facelift. And while very cold, the days are lovely and sunny, so it is not a real trial to be closer to nature. Mind you, in a months time I may be whining unashamedly.

It annoys me that at a time when I should be thinking of more weighty matters like the earthquake in Pakistan, the bird flu crisis, the outcome of the EU enquiry into labour laws, whether the apartment renovations will ever finish; in short, when I am trying to devote my brain power to these important issues but instead my brain is rebelling and has decided to devote its considerable efforts to singing "We're Off to See the Wizard" from The Wizard of Oz and especially that bit where Judy Garland does that whole because, because, because, because, BECAAAUUUUUSE... thing. I find myself humming it constantly and even silently singing that bit, then glancing guiltily around in case it may have slipped out loud. It’s driving me crazy and making me want to skip like Dorothy along the street.

Last week it was Doris Day’s Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - God I wasn’t even born when that song came out! Over summer, it was Tequila (and I even managed to infect Lars-Göran with that one). What is happening to me? Well, at least I haven’t sunk as low as Chitty, Chitty Bang Bang.... yet.....

Following on from the thoughts about friendship among expats, I also wanted to say that I have several good Swedish friends, despite the much repeated myth in some expat circles that Swedes are generally cold, closed, unfriendly and difficult to get to know. I’ve actually found the opposite to be true, with people being warm, welcoming and very accepting of me.

I think one reason is that I try and speak Swedish as much as possible to them and they feel more relaxed and confident in their own language. Again, there is the myth that “everybody in Sweden speaks English” which is patently untrue. I’ve met many people who could not speak any English, even quite young people who panic if you ask them anything in English. I’ve also met people who may have studied English at school, but have forgotten it all as they never used it in later life. I recognise that well. I studied French for five years in high school but I would be unable to hold any sort of conversation in French today, though I can read the subtitles on French films.

And even if some Swedes do speak English, why should they? They are after all in SWEDEN! I think it’s quite appropriate that they speak Swedish and highly arrogant of English speakers to expect that they need not bother to learn Swedish as the Swedes already understand English. I found it a burden to be a native English speaker as you just know that you can always ask in English if you have to (especially in the big cities), so there is less incentive to try and speak Swedish.

I hadn’t thought about this much before, but in the last couple of weeks I’ve been told on a few occasions by people here that I speak really good Swedish now. I don’t consider that I do, as I know I speak with a strong Australian accent and mix up the order of words, but nobody seems to mind. And yes, it was a bit scary to attempt to speak the language with a native speaker. I made many, many errors that I can laugh about today, but were mortifying at the time. Lars-Göran, however, found it all highly amusing! For example, I remember telling people I had a purple (lila) dog instead of a little (lilla) dog, that I was standing on a cow (ko) instead of a queue (kö), that the train was horny (kåt) instead of short (kort), sayng I wasn’t a whore (hora) instead of saying I couldn’t hear them (höra), telling them I went to Operan to see some testicles (balle) rather than the ballet (balett) and calling a cinnamon bun (kanelbulle) something I won’t translate (knullbulle), but believe me it ain’t the same thing at all!

What really helped me to begin to speak Swedish was going to the government run Swedish classes. I had already been in Sweden for a while before I was eligible for classes (long, boring story), so I could in fact read a little and understand a bit of what was going on around me, but up to that point I had made no real effort to speak. After the hilarity my early efforts provoked, I was determined to only speak once my Swedish was grammatically perfect. Which meant that I’d have to be silent for at least ten years. Not really my style, is it?

What was so liberating about these classes was that everyone else there spoke Swedish as badly as I did, so I felt less self conscious and the native Swedish speakers there (my four teachers) were used to hearing mangled Swedish and didn’t bat an eyelid when I made howling errors. Within a few weeks I was much more confident and began to try out my new language with the people I met in town when I was out walking with the dog. I then progressed to talking in Swedish with shop assistants, people at the post office, library, friends and even Lars-Göran who speaks far more Swedish to me nowadays and seems more at ease in his native language.

Of course I still have problems getting my tongue around words like bekvämlighetsbefrämjande but I’m getting there.

I know that I shouldn’t giggle as the whole bird flu crisis is not a laughing matter, but I have to confess that when I saw on tonight’s news that a parrot had died in British quarantine, my first thought was “Is it a Norwegian Blue?”

I can just imagine the conversation when the bird was discovered:

Owner: “This parrot is dead”
Quarantine Inspector: “No it isn’t dead. It’s just resting. It’s tired and shagged out after a long squawk. Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue. Beautiful plumage....”

For those not fortunate enough to be brought up on a steady diet of British humour, this is part of the exchange from the wonderful Monty Python Dead Parrot Sketch. Priceless! So yes, I did laugh and check the calendar in case it was April 1st.

The whole bird flu scare is gaining momentum over here as more and more countries in Europe are turning up infected birds. We had a scare in Sweden today when some dead ducks were discovered in a river in central Sweden, but it turned out not to be the aggressive strain of the disease. The country is on high alert, though I suspect that the real crisis will occur in the spring as birds who have sensibly fled the approaching Swedish winter chill, make their return journey. Meanwhile, I’ve instructed my cockatiels Bruce and Sheila that they are not to consort with any wild birds. Not that it has stopped Lambi mixing with the local crows.



The glorious autumn weather that we have experienced over the last few weeks has been replaced by the more usual clouds, rain and icy winds. I guess it was too good to last. Yesterday when the barometer did a spectacular nose dive from 1035 to 990 in a short space of time, Lars-Göran went out and added more ropes to the boat for security. The weather forecast was for bleak conditions, with high, strong north winds and constant rain, even a possibility of snow (secret happy dance). But nothing really spectacular happened, though who would have know as we sat having breakfast on board in our warm, cosy salon.



My recent post about the Girls Night Out provoked some debate on the message board at AA about making friends among fellow Australians in a foreign country, with several people declaring that despite their efforts, they remain friendless after several years in their new country.

I wonder sometimes why my experience has been so different. I do have a number of Australians here as friends, but not as many as one might suppose. My feeling is that if you wouldn't have been friends with someone in Australia, why should simply sharing a nationality in Sweden make you more likely to be friends here? The thought of being thrown together on the basis of our nationality is a bit scary.

When I first moved here I did not even think about meeting other Australians. I was busy setting up my life and basically didn’t even wonder if there were others like me living in Sweden. I would say to Swedish friends who asked that if I had wanted to mix with Australians, I would have stayed in Australia. I was fortunate in that I did have the company of a lovely Adelaide couple who had been transferred to Stockholm for three years. We became close friends and are still in contact with them, even though they have now returned home. Their friendship was exactly what I needed and I was very content. Lars-Göran really liked their warmth, openness and humour and I think it was an important relationship as it gave him more insight into me and into Australians in general as he had never met anyone from Down Under before.

About eighteenth months into my stay, I suddenly became curious and did some research, finding the Australians Abroad website (which was an absolute godsend to me) as well as a group of Australians living in Stockholm - The Southern Cross Club. I made some great friends at AA and discovered that it was so good to have a support system of people who were in the same situation as me (albeit in other countries). We were all going through the process of learning a new language, adapting to a new culture and way of life, trying to find our way around in a foreign country, trying to find work in our field of expertise and living in a relationship with a partner from another culture. It made me feel less isolated and of course it was a relief to be to free speak my language with people who didn’t need me to explain cultural references and who shared my warped, rather black sense of humour.

From that I ventured out into joining in some of the events put on by the Australians in Stockholm and to actively helping out newcomers to Sweden. While I have several good expat friends here from Canada, England, South Africa and the US, I do find that it is the company of Australians that I most enjoy. It is music to my ears to hear that familiar accent because I know that at least with other Aussies we will have something in common and we understand certain things about each other. I don't have to listen to the “Oh my God, I love your accent. Can you say “heaps” for me. I just love the way you Aussies say “heaps” ” remarks (rolls eyes) nor answer all the dumb Australia questions and I can get up to date with what's happening in Australia and listen to people's stories about their travels etc.

However, I am quite selective and while I like to meet other expats, if we don't click then I am not that fussed anymore. One scary woman I met (not Australian I hasten to add) can’t seem to bear any solitude in her life. She frantically telephoned, emailed, SMSed me in an attempt to fill her calendar with dinners, fikas, cocktail parties, lunches, excursions to the city, summer get togethers as though she was panicked at the thought of the possibility of spending a quiet weekend home with her partner. Despite her activity, her illusion of being at the pulse of life here, she exudes an unmistakable air of loneliness and I always feel the urge to flee from her and her "good intentions" with stammered apologies, despite the fact that she feels hurt and resentful that I don’t go along with her efforts and confirm a gratitude to her that I simply don’t feel.

I guess I really don't care to spend hours on the telephone every single day, talking over things. I don't even need to meet up with people every week for coffee or whatever. But at certain times, I really do appreciate getting together like we did the other night for a huge gab fest, chatting away for hours about familiar things with a group of smart, independent and positive women. People who take Sweden for what it is, deal as well as they can with it and simply get on with making a life instead of living with one foot in “back home”.

Well, Västerhaninge, actually.

I read the other day that they are forecasting a cold winter in Sweden this year. I hope that means a lot of snow! Anyway, I needed to buy some new winter boots as mine are looking a little worn and not really up to the rigors of an industrial strength snowstorm. I looked at the two shoe shops in town, but didn’t like the selection, mostly consisting of fur covered monstrosities that would make me look as though I was wearing roadkill on my feet. I just wanted very ordinary, leather walking boots, with no fur, no dangling balls etc so that meant a trip to Vega. This involves either taking the train to Haninge and bus to Vega or perhaps the 860 express bus to Västerhaninge and the bus to Vega. The second option used to take about 10 minutes longer, but today I decided that was okay as the times fitted my schedule better than the once an hour train.

All I can conclude, is that “express” now means “slow as a wet week” in Sweden. I should have guessed when I saw that the bus company’s logo was a tortoise. Let me explain the dilemma. The bus used to take half an hour to travel from Nynäshamn to Västerhaninge along Väg 73, with a stop at Ösmo. Now, the route consists of stops at the following places (with the former stops in bold text): Nynäs Havsbad, Svandammsskolan, Nynäshamns station, Industrievägen, Malmtorget, Kullstaplan, Backluravägen, Sandtorp, Natviksvägen, Nynäs Gods, Kvarnvägen, Vattenverksvägen, Älgviken, Älgviksbron, Björsta, Älbylund, Älby, Älby indiustriområde, Källberga, Ösmorondellen, Nibble gård, Körundavägen, Ösmo centrum, Körundavägen, Nibble gård, Ösmo rondellen, Ösmo kyrkväg, Valla vägskäl, Ludviksberg, Ösmofors, Forsbro, Ogesta, Jursta, Björklida, Ekeby, Segersängs vägskäl, Hammersta, Landfjärden sodra, Landfjärden norra, Landberga, Sotholmen, Häringe grindar, Fredriksborg, Västnora, Östnora, Gryt, Näringsberg, Katrineberg, Kristinero, Berga gård, Fors, Ribbygaraget, Ribbylund, Ribby, Ribbyskolan, Västerhaninge station.

So we’ve gone from five stops, to fifty six stops. In other words, every blade of grass between here and VH has it’s own bus stop. Needless to say, it takes considerably longer now and in fact it would have been better to wait for the next train that arrived not long after we did!

And yes, I did get good boots, so the trip was not in vain. As I have small feet, I even managed to buy children’s boots – much cheaper than the adult version and Lars-Göran thinks they look cute.

On a brighter note, the gorgeous autumn weather continues with very cold nights, but sunny, crisp days full of colour. This morning, the pier was covered in ice, but by the time the sun came up, it started to disappear. Still, it is but a taste of what lies ahead over the next few months.



We had considered going out sailing, but left it a little late to make up our minds, so chose to walk along the beach road instead and enjoy the views across the water. It was really cold and fresh, with very little wind but fantastic blue skies, warm sunshine and rich colours.



The winds have been very strong over the last few days and while the trees are hanging on to their foilage as long as possible, I noticed that the water levels are very low around here, leaving a lot more of the beach area exposed.



There were still a few birds around, mostly the few year round inhabitants of swans, gulls and the occasional duck, using the opportunity to take advantage of the late season food supplies and relatively mild weather. And the falling leaves continue to drift by the window - a cascade of red and gold.

May it never end.

On this day, twelve years ago in the northern Stockholm suburb of Sollentuna, a small, white, fluffy puppy was born. She was a pure pedigree Toy Poodle, with an illustrious parentage and a long, double-barrelled, hyphenated, upper class and totally unpronounceable name. She was first sold as a tiny new-born puppy to an elderly lady who kept her for two years, naming her something naff like Snowball (Snowball???) This elderly lady subsequently sold the little dog to a very excited twelve year old girl and her family who changed her name to the far more appropriate Lambi, grew out the awful “poodle-bimbo” hair-do and loved and cherished her completely.

It’s hard to believe that our little Lambi is twelve years old already. I’ve only been part of her life for the last five years, but in that time she has her left indelible paw prints on my heart (and on my good camel coloured suede jacket, too, but we won’t refer to that today). She is a bright, alert, sociable, intelligent and totally charming companion. She makes friends everywhere she goes and she has been one of the reasons that I’ve met so many people here in Nynäshamn. Everyone wants to stop and chat to her and by association, me. It has reached the stage that if I’m seen around town without my faithful, fluffy accessory people immediately ask me “Where’s Lambi? Is she okay?”

So Happy Birthday, Lambi! May you have many, many more. I know that people say that a dog year is equivalent to seven human years, making her 84 today, but I believe that it isn’t quite so cut and dried and depends on the size and breed of the dog. A twelve year old Labrador for example is a very elderly dog, whereas the miniature varieties seem to age more slowly. The vet told us that Lambi could live to be 16 to 18, so she has plenty of birthdays to celebrate in the future.



This is her, playing in the back garden on the weekend with her friend, Charlie, a four year old Australian Sheltie who lives in the same apartment block as we do.

Today is also my sister-in-law’s fiftieth birthday. This is an extra special birthday in Sweden. The birthdays falling on the decade (20, 30, 40 etc) are all considered something special, but fifty is THE big one. This is a little different in Australia where forty is the big birthday, along with the whole “Life begins at 40” idea. If one bothers to celebrate a birthday after 21,it would tend to be the 40th birthday, so it was a surprise to me when I saw my first fiftieth birthday celebration here in Sweden. I haven’t been able to discover why fifty is the magic day, but then again I have no idea why forty is so big in Australia.

Happy birthday, Mille! And thankyou for being so welcoming and open hearted to me when I came to Sweden.



For a fiftieth here, you tend to have an open house on the actual day, plus a really big invitation-only party (Mille will have hers on Saturday night) and invite lots and lots of people, including those you may not have seen for ages. Everyone makes a big fuss about you at work, at home with flowers, cards, telegrams, cake, nice speeches etc. Hey, even complete strangers may also spontaneously break into the Swedish birthday song for your fiftieth. This actually happened to an Australian friend here, who went to buy her monthly train pass and needed to show her ID as she was paying by Visa. The woman at the counter looked at her ID, declared loudly “Wow, it’s your fiftieth birthday today!” (just what you want a crowded railway station to hear) and started singing Ja må du leva much to her bemusement.

When Lars-Göran had his fiftieth birthday, I had only been in Sweden for a year, could hardly speak Swedish and was a little unsure of what to do, especially as his birthday falls in the middle of winter and he hates parties. But I really wanted to do the right thing and make a fuss for this traditionally special day. So, without telling him, I booked a table for his whole family and a selection of our best friends at the very exclusive Ulriksdals Wärdshus for a surprise Sunday lunch. The restaurant were really lovely and happy to make me a special cake in the shape of his favourite cartoon character Mumin and we had a memorable day that we still talk about today.



I also had his picture and a greeting printed in the daily paper, but forgot all about it. It was only when he came out in shock and showed it to me that I remembered sending it in the month before. He immediately suspected his brother as he thought I didn't know enough Swedish to have arranged it myself. I'm not sure he's forgiven me yet for that. *grin*

What about me? I think of my own age, forty eight (forty-eight!) with a tinge of anxiety. As a girl, I had been unable to imagine even being twenty one. In my early twenties, I’d been unable to imagine being thirty. In my thirties, forty had seemed the absolute terminal point – as for fifty, that was way beyond terminal. We discussed age on Saturday night when we saw Olivia Newton-John being interviewed by Parky and I said she looked pretty good considering she must be pushing sixty and L-G admitted that he now didn't consider sixty to be that old.

Well, I’m not turning fifty for over another year, but I’ve managed to convince Lars-Göran that we don’t make a fuss of fifty in Australia, so it’s inappropriate for me to bother over here. I also told a small white lie and said I’d had a big fortieth birthday party. Which of course is not true as I loathe parties in my honour and any kind of fuss about me more than he does. And as my birthday is on the very awkward January 1st, I’m pretty sure I’ll be quite safe. Just in case, I may hibernate on January 1st, 2007.

I know, I know, it sounds like a Christmas carol. But don't worry, it's too early even for me to start introducing the dreaded "C" season. It refers instead to this Mary and her new son. I bet the Australian women's glossy magazines are falling over themselves to get the pictorial scoop. I saw the Danish Crown Prince on the news last night and he looked like most first time dads - he simply couldn't wipe the big grin from his face. I hope that everything goes really well for them.

Meanwhile, here in Sweden, it was freezing cold when I woke up this morning. The mercury has hit below zero again and with the strong icy winds we had overnight, it was decidedly chilly onboard when I poked my head out of the covers. I had a brief tug of war for the quilt with Lambi. She won. She might only weigh three and a half kilos, but it feels like three and a half tons when she is determined to hang on to the warmth of the quilt.

The mist is also thick in the air today and is blocking my view of the harbour as it has for most of the week. I just love misty mornings and we have had a lot of them lately - more than I can remember from previous uears here. So, now I'm anxiously waiting for the snow. Oh, it’s still far too early for it at my latitude, but soon... it won't be long now. The deciduous trees continue to delight with the changing colours and everything around town looks really beautiful.



We didn't get to sail this weekend because it is the annual autumn clean-up that we have every year. The usual very few suspects turned up again. We had considered giving it a miss this year as we are actually living on the boat at the moment while the house renovations are taking place (thus the scarce updates as I have no internet access there). But as Lars-Göran sits on the board for the body corporate, it would look bad if we didn't make an effort to be there.

Well, time to resume testing on my theory of telekenetic domesticity. I'm undertaking a very unscientific study to see how long one must 'think' about washing dishes while concentrating on a stack of dirty pots and pans before the dishes actually move and clean themselves. It has already passed the 24 hour period with no results, but I have a good feeling about today.

Anyone who lives and sails in the northern latitudes knows that the change of seasons is a double-edged sword. The ever-changing seasons renew and refresh us with their diverse weather patterns and climatic variety, but the fly in the ointment is winter, the one season which restricts our time on the water and drives us to the warm hearth instead.

On the first sail of the year in early spring, the whole sailing season stretches forth in a kind of timeless, hazy, vision in my mind - there's no end in sight; the season is just beginning. Not so, with autumn sailing.

Autumn's crisp, invigorating weather is a welcome change from the heat of summer, but with it comes the melancholy reality that the sailing season is nearly over. Many boats are already coming up on land, including this rather unique looking Ljungströmkryssare, which looks a little like a submarine emerging from the depths.



But autumn sailing can be extraordinarily pleasant. The water is still relatively warm, (at least compared to spring's icewater). The trees are not bare as in early spring, and offer the grandest vistas along the shoreline when the leaves change colour. The lowering angle of the sun casts an especially pleasant light, and, perhaps best of all, the weather is invigorating, with a hint of leftover summer but with a certain snappiness that makes a woolly jumper feel especially good. It is my favourite season.



We had decided to go away for a three-day weekend, but Lars-Göran got a call late on Thursday from our local metal workshop to say that the stainless steel pole for the wind generator we had left there for modifications was ready. This meant a trip to pick it up and some hours to fit it to the boat on Friday. Still, it was a beautiful day!



And our boat finally looks almost normal with only the one wind generator (I bet that makes you happy, Ian!).



Okay, so we stayed at the pier overnight ready for an early start on Saturday morning, only to be greeted with zero wind and and a dense fog that was hanging on in the east like a great grey bank of wet wool. The picture Lars-Göran took was very Casablanca-like with the strong grey, grainy colour but it is a completely untouched shot as it was exactly what we saw as we gazed across the water. And see what I mean about the extraordinary light?



We waited for wind, but none came and we were not entranced with the idea of driving by engine somewhere or tacking at 2 knots all day, so we spent our Saturday walking along the beautiful coastal road near the boat club and also chatting to friends who were masting off and preparing their boats for the winter season. We have been away so much this season that it is one of the first opportunities we have had to talk to others about where they had spent their summer.

On Sunday, it was warm(ish), a little hazy, but we had wind, so we took off with the island of Rånö in mind as a goal. This is also one of those islands that we have sailed past many times, but never stopped there. I had read a little about the bay in the north west (Rånöhamn) and it seemed as though it was worth a visit.

Again the autumn colours on the shore are still amazing with the golden tones of birch and beech trees, with all of this colour accented by the dark textures of the evergreen spruce and the beautiful red cottages.



The wind gradually built up, the sky was a piercing blue as was the water and we enjoyed the peace of having the biggest fjärd in the Stockholm archipelago to ourselves. Even the cormorants who usually colonise the bare rocks leading out of Nynäshamn seem to have made for warmer shores. I bet the local fishermen are happy about that.



As the wind strengthened, we reefed in more and more foresail until we were coasting along at 5.5 knots with a tiny sail up. Gale force winds were forecast for later, but when we were nearly at our goal, the gale hit us. However, Lars-Göran had the boat well under control and with very little problem we slid between the cliffs and into a well protected, idyllic bay. The days may be shortening and the nights are starting to chill down, but the autumn colours are stunning. Here the birch trees are thickly speckled with yellow and the grasses are now in astonishing shades of rusty orange and golden brown.



There is a family who lives on the island all year round. The island has had a long and varied history, dating from the middle ages. It was used as a warning outpost, then burned to the ground by the Russians in 1719, bought for mining in the eighteenth century, then sold to be used as hunting grounds and finally purchased after the second world war by Stockholm City. The island was not really used for anything much after that until the 1980's when a local family decided to lease it and try to set up a small farm, fishing and tourist concern here. As you can imagine, the place was very neglected and overgrown, but the rent was cheap. The family spent a lot of their own money and several years of hard work to open up the pastures, clear the land, set up the fish farm, restaurant etc, only to have their landlords come and take a look and propose to hike up the rent as the place now looked so good!



How typical. But fortunately for them, the island group was turned over to the archipelago foundation who were much more in tune with the family's aims and ambitions, so they were able to stay on here in this beautiful setting and continue their work.

The morning dawned really warm and clear and the view from our little protected bay out on to the main fairway was beautiful, peaceful and calm.



We sailed around the bay and a short way along the channel between Rånö and the small island of Ängsholmen which was a golden and brown colour in the warm autumn morning light. We really must come back and explore this area more thoroughly when we have a longer time to spend here.



We said our farewell to the island as we eased out through the high cliffs that protect the bay. We were grateful for the protection last night as the southerly winds really whipped up a strong gale and we heard that search and rescue were called out to an island north of here to rescue a party out on a seal safari that had capsized, lost their boat and become stranded on a rocky outcrop for seven hours in the cold, dark and windy conditions.



We had much calmer weather for the homeward journey and had a rapid and smooth sail back to our pier spot - all ready for the new working week and the dream of where we can go next weekend. This beautiful Indian summer warmth is forecast to continue for the rest of the week and while it makes me happy, I still feel as though we are in a dream world and living a little on borrowed time. When summer blows one last warm breath across an autumn day, it's time to finish those outdoor chores and have a little fun before winter comes to stay.

The Girls Night Out last night was a blast. There were over thirty chattering, bubbling women there and I think that everyone had a marvellous time together. From my point of view, I loved the opportunity to get together with some old friends, some more recent friends, some people that I've only ever known via emails (lovely to finally meet you Helen and Karen!) and to meet some new people, all in a fun and relaxing environment.

I had been racing around all day like a blue arsed fly and it was a tight squeeze to get to the venue on time. Well, I was a little late, but not really excessively so. Still, by the time I arrived at Spirit of Oz in Vasastan, the tiny shop was jammed full of laughing, happy women.



I said a quick hello to those I knew and we all caught up with the inevitable "How was your summer?" questions. The noise level inside was incredible - we likened it to the noise of a flock of galahs at a waterhole. But it was a happy, joyful noise. We all looked around at the funky bags on display and several people bought bags and accessories. It is a lovely, bright, colourful shop and Rob is really helpful, so if you are looking for something a little different for yourself or as a gift (and isn't Christmas coming upon us like a speeding freight train!) you should take a look at the shop on Gästrikegatan 16 (just around the corner from St Eriksplan T-bana).



I fought my way through the throng, deposited my coat in the back room, grabbed a glass of Aussie wine (kindly supplied by Mark from The Australian Wine Club) and stood talking to various people. It didn't go all smoothly for me, though, as I had another of my (not so) funny moments. I've had a couple of these lately and these cause me some concern. While talking to Chrissy and Ruth, I suddenly began to see dark spots before my eyes and to feel that there was no oxygen in the room. I thought it must be because I'd been running around all day and not eaten since breakfast. Here it was 7.30pm and I was drinking wine on an empty stomach, in a crowded, noisy room. Perhaps, in retrospect, not the smartest thing I've ever done.

I thought I was about to pass out, so I tried to sneak quietly to the doorway, hoping to slip outside and get a breath of fresh air. But Beth, a really kind and caring friend saw that I was turning white and vaguely green, so she stayed with me as I sat by the open doorway. I was trying to tell her that I was fine (not wanting to make a fuss and all that), but she was smart enough to see that I was anything but fine! It took me about 15 minutes or so to recover enough to be able to stand and another 5 or 10 minutes before I felt well enough to go on to the restaurant for dinner. In the next picture, you can see me (the only one sitting!) by the door, with Beth hovering around the door making sure I'm okay. You also get an idea of how many of us were jammed into the tiny shop!



One funny moment, and so typical of the spirit of the evening, occurred when one of the girl's patrners turned up to pick up the baby on his way home from work. As this rather young, handsome man entered the shop, someone yelled "Yippee! The stripper is here!" and we all cheered (much to his embarrassment). Rob asked him if he couldn't just take off a few layers to please the ladies, but sadly, it was not to be. I wonder what he thought of it all?

Soon we were setting off for the short walk down the road to the restaurant. I had no idea how hard it was to book a restaurant for the night. The idea was to get one close to the shop where we had the pre-dinner drinks. However, poor Kylie (who did a super-human job of organising all of this) could not get a restaurant to take a group so big. Can you believe that they didn't want thirty guaranteed customers? I was shocked. In the end, it was only the Dining Club that said okay as long as we pre-ordered our main course.

We had a great time there and I was delighted with my meal - a galantine of eggplant, zucchini, roasted capsicum and pecorino cheese with a rich mushroom sauce. The menu choices were very classy and everyone I spoke to thought the food was fabulous. Here you can see a few of us, with the super-efficient and smiling organiser, Kylie, on the right.



I sat at a table with Beth, Jacinta and Ulla and you can see us here - well, I'm partially hidden behind someone else. Can you tell that I hate having my picture taken?



The company was perfect. There are certain people who light up a room when entering it. They are smart, fun loving and genuine and these are the kind of people I respond to and enjoy being around. All of the people I sat at dinner with are people with such positive energy, who despite setbacks and teething problems still manage to smile. I really do try to be a nice person though sometimes I am obliged to interact with expats who make it very, very hard for me to be nice. They are negative, pessimistic and really don't try to see Sweden as a country with possibilites. Thankfully, the Australians I interact with over here are not in that "downer" group and a night like this, celebrating friendship and being together as women is a real tonic for me.

I returned home in the wee hours, tired but very content and so looking forward to the next dinner in November.

That charming line was addressed to me by my darling husband. Oh, the language of love! He was not thinking that I had transformed into a nocturnal flying mammal, but rather that I had red eyes. Do bats really have red eyes or only on Hollywood vampire movies? Whatever, I do have red eyes at the moment, but I'm not sure if it is some kind of allergy or if it may be related to an old eye injury that sometimes gives me trouble. So I guess I'll be using my eye drops to avoid any future blunt comments from Mr Swede.

On another note, some people have asked about where I live and while I was looking for English information, I discovered that there was an entry in an online encyclopedia. I did not think that my little town was was worth having its own Wikpedia entry. But what appalling grammar..... Still, there is some information there for those who are interested.

The chill today reminds me that this year seems to have flown by. I wonder if others feel the same or is it just me. Does time go faster as you get older? It certainly seems to. Is it really October already?

Today it is sunny and bright again and this is forecast to continue until next week at least, so I think this calls for another sailing trip again this weekend. This afternoon we went down to the harbour and I saw that they had (finally) put up a sign pointing to the new location of the tourist bureau. Though Lambi and I found the direction a little confusing.



Is it really up a tree as the sign indicates? We couldn't see it. The office used to be located at the old railway station building. It is in a very central spot, directly at the main gateway to the town from road, rail, boat or ferry. But in their "wisdom", the council decided to combine it with the guest harbour office and now nobody can find it. Especially as the road sign points up to the tree tops. When the move was mooted, it was opposed by everyone in the town, including those working in the tourist office and guest harbour. Petitions were signed by many buisnesses and residents, but to no avail. The council declared that the guest harbour was ideal as it had room for 200 boats, and each boat had four people aboard, which meant that 800 people a day would be visiting the office just from those visiting boats.

I'm not too sure where he pulled those figures from, though I can make a pretty shrewd guess. There are 200 boats in our guest harbour on one or two weeks a year and many boats have couples or even lone sailors aboard. In July, there are quite a lot there, but there has been nobody moored here for weeks. So I'd be really interested in seeing how many of those potential 292,000 boat visitors materialised. Typical polly waffle as we would say.

Today the autumn colours were particularly striking, especially on Strandvagen.



It brought to mind one of my favourite poems at school.



Tomorrow night I'm off to have dinner and a good gasbag with some of the other Aussie women in Stockholm and Lars-Göran will be able to give his poor ears a rest.

I wonder where we'll sail this weekend?

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.