Marstrand town, a place of around 1,500 inhabitants, extends along both sides of the water. On the drive up from Gothenburg, I had absolutely no idea what to expect. I’d been given a personal introduction to a retired Swedish businessman, Ebbe, who had kindly invited to show me around. His enviable summer home on the mainland turned out to have an unimpeded postcard-perfect view of the harbor, a patch of cobalt blue, sprinkled with craft of every kind, surrounded by white-walled, red-roofed houses. After chatting on his terrace for a while, my host suggested a stroll into town, followed by lunch and a glass of wine at one of the numerous quayside restaurants. We waited for the ferry across to the island surrounded by a suntanned crowd, the kind of cheerful, friendly, good-looking people who can be found in sailing ports from Newport, Rhode Island, to Sydney, Australia. It was a perfect summer day, with a cloudless sky, a light breeze and a temperature in the low 70s. A significant proportion of the craft tied up to the jetties were flying German and Norwegian flags, giving the place an agreeably international atmosphere.