In addition to the usual sense of loss, leaving new friends behind, I always have something of a guilty conscience about leaving. There is so much left undone. The museums unvisited, the sights unseen, they weigh on me. And of course, everyone I meet has new suggestions of must-see places: "You are here, why not go to Copenhagen?" Why not, indeed, but Copenhagen could be multiplied indefinitely, and I still have only one life.

Finally I reached Arholma, the island that was my point of departure for crossing the Åland Sea to Mariehamn. Arholma is a small island, reminding me of Chebeague, even to the old Coastal Defense Battery on the northeast end. The Swedes are great miners, and have a fondness for underground forts. The granite ledge under the guns is honeycombed with passages, sleeping and eating quarters in addition to ammunition storage.

Most of Arholma is farmland, and something like a quarter of it is part of a nature preserve. It is served by a small ferry that runs from the mainland several times a day. The cruising guides recommend a yacht harbor on the east side of the island, but I was very happy where I was, altogether a very nice and quiet place.

We had actually been in Mariehamn once before, years ago, when a Naval Architects' conference sent us overnight on a cruise ferry from Helsinki to Stockholm and back. In the middle of the night, we stopped very briefly, and I later learned why.

Mariehamn was also the home port of the Ericson fleet, the last fleet of square-riggers that carried grain from Australia around Cape Horn to Europe. Our berth was just astern of the last of these ships, Pommern, now a museum exhibit.

I walked around, enjoying the traditional landscape, and had a good dinner at Birgitta's Degerby Mat & Café.

The next day I waited until the market opened and bought bread, then headed out, past the fish farm at Tilludden and northeast, to where there is a reasonable route through the islands to the eastward.

One had an interesting anecdote to tell, another connection to the Cold War; it seems that the original hot line from the Kremlin to the White House runs via Jungfruskär, where there is an amplifying station in a small hut, and when he worked for the telephone company he had been sent to service this unit.

As we left Jungfruskär, however, we lost the good weather. The sky turned gray and sullen, and a little chop developed as we crossed the stretch of open water called the Skiftet.

We had two alternate harbors picked out in case the weather was too uncomfortable, but in the end we went on to our planned destination, Kasnäs, at the Swedish-speaking southwest corner of Finland.

I also enjoyed watching the goings-on in the harbor. As I left the restaurant after dinner,there was a Finnish Navy patrol boat in for fuel, and later in the evening a serious naval vessel came in to spend the night next to the ferry landing.

The next morning we headed east in 25 to 30 knots of southwest wind, with about a 1-meter chop in the open areas, not terrible, but not very nice either.

Off Leharu, it started to rain, the visibility decreased, and I made a quick decision.

The next morning was foggy, and when I tried to leave, at about 08:30, I soon found that the visibility was just about zero, so I returned. I tried again at 10:30, when the fog had scaled quite a bit, but soon found that outside it was still socked in, so I again returned.

About 16:00, the visibility improved to 1/2 mile or so, so I secured the sound signal and headed through the outlying islands into Helsinki Harbor. By 18:00, I was alongside at the Nylandska Jacht Klub, the oldest and most prestigious yacht club in Finland, with an ornate Victorian clubhouse on its own island.

The yacht club has a very fancy and expensive restaurant, but in the members' dining room next door there is always a good menu that is perhaps a third of the price, and the next night, Ilie (who had arranged our stay at the club), his wife Marta, Simo, Sisko, and I all had dinner there.

We went first to the house of Pekka Halonen, a painter of the 19th and 20th centuries, whose work played a very important role in the development of Finnish identity. The house was built to his own design, and is centered on a two-story studio, with bedrooms on the second floor overlooking the studio. We also visited the traditional house of Alexis Kivi, the first novelist to write in Finnish and still considered one of the greatest Finnish writers.

Finland is such a fixture in the world now, famous for design, precision manufacturing, wood products, that it is sometimes hard to remember that she only became independent in 1917, after the Russian revolution. The territory that is now Finland was part of the vast Swedish Empire from the 16th century until it was annexed by Russia during the Napoleonic Wars. Finland was invaded by Russia again in 1939, just after the beginning of the Second World War, and although the invasion was eventually repulsed, she was forced to cede some territory to Russia by the victorious allies.