45. There was a narrow path beside the boat houses, through the pine forest and up the hill. There it was, the whiteish mansion that I saw from the seaside. The door was open and I came into an entrance hall. I shouted Hello! a couple of times but nobody answered. Nobody at home, I guessed. There were lots of pictures on the walls, one of them was a colourful photo of a fishermen's village nearby, red wooden houses, built in the traditional Swedish way.