My boat trip turned out to be a criuse! I was so excited – I have always wanted to go on a cruise. MS Mariella had 10 floors, and the first person I saw was a man in a mustard yellow dressing gown heading off to the sauna. My cabin was right at the bottom next to the engine room, and I couldn’t help thinking of all the third class passengers who died on the Titanic. But I did have the cabin to myself, quite a luxury. To my disappointment the on board attractions (even the Swedish karaoke) lost their charm pretty quickly, but the views from the upper decks were beautiful.

We passed thousands and thousands of small Swedish islands, past endless forests and the occasional summer house. Where there was a small village or town, a faint mist hung over the roofs and the air was filled with the smell of wood fires.  Sunset was even lovlier, casting a warm glow over the forests and making even the black water seem warmer. Once the sun had gone down, things quickly got cold, and we passed bleak islands which were little more than crags of rock with skeletal trees, whose branches were filled with birds.  By the time it was dark, it was painfully cold, and there was just the slenderest of crescent moons in the night sky.

The next morning, I went above deck and found myself in a freezing Baltic sea mist so thick that half the ship had disappeared. I went down to spend the last of my krona on the only thing I could afford, a disappointing pot of yoghurt which looked slightly yellow and tasted off. I stood up to take it back, but thought better of it in case it was supposed to be a delicacy, which indeed it turned out to be. Viili is a Finnish type of fermented yoghurt, renowned for its slimy, gloopy texture. So I forced myself to eat it, and by the end was even slightly enjoying it.

Helsinki is a small city, but on a Sunday morning it could pass for a small seaside town. Walking around, I saw stalls selling reindeer kebabs and salmon burgers, though for a nation where people drink on average four cups of coffee a day, cafes are surprisigly hard to find; it seemed suspiciously quiet. The last few patches of snow were finally melting and the grass was just beginning to wake up.

Residential blocks were built not around gardens or parks, but around enormous rocks. In one of these rocks, a lovely church has been hewn. Outside the church were Santa souvenir shops for all the Lapland tourists.

Arriving at last at my eco-hostel, which was in an idyllic timber-housed suburb of Helsinki, I was surrounded by fairies and books on the mysteries of immortality.