This blue marble

– and yet it spins


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Sibelius in the sunset

SibeliusWhen the September sun lay low over the wheat fields we drove into town for a moment of music. As the last light wandered across the window, the church filled with crisp snow falling, bears and wolves wandering in deep pine forests, Nordic mythical beings dancing, and always, always an ominous backdrop layered under a wistful allure.

Many composers painted feelings. Jean Sibelius covered the canvas with nature landscapes. Sitting in the church pew I wondered whether Sibelius was a painter or a composer. Perhaps he saw tones where painters saw colors. Perhaps he was the most skilled painter, able to do what canvas painters never could: a bear illustrated by sound will ultimately conjure an image of a live, moving bear in our minds.

While dusk overtook the sunset, the double basses unleashed the bear’s heavy walk in the woods, followed by the celloes that sketched a fox trotting over the grass. And then the creatures were gone, overtaken by the wind in the pine trees, and my contemplations of the sinister undertow and what the inner world of Sibelius must have contained.

(Loviisa, Finland; September 2014)


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Modern paradox

HirvihaaraThe manor had seen war, and hosted wounded soldiers. It had survived a siege and arrest of a rebel after being stripped of its handsome garden statuettes. When nobody cared about the past, and the future was spearheaded by the Olympics, somebody had the grand idea of clearing the Helsinki streets of drunkards and shooing them into the manor. Out of sight is out of mind, except for the house that diligently cared for them for forty years.

Two decades later the house cares for those who wish to escape, or gather, or simply breathe. Opening the creaking door I discovered a room more like a salon. Oh! the oriental rugs, the heavy chinz, the enormous crystal chandelier! And yet, how newly it all had been restored. Sinking down on the downy bed I stared out of the window, over the lawn towards the stream floating by. Garrison, hospital, drunk ward – in the storm of progress the appreciation of the past is often waved away. When space was the new tomorrow in the 1960s, all hardwood floors were covered with linoleum and everything that reminded of days gone by was swiftly cleared away.

Time, as we perceive it, only moves forward, but there is a major change in the third-millennial minds compared to the Atomic Age. We preserve traditions, restore old houses, and attempt to return to nature and pure values. I could not help but wonder: in this ever-accelerating world of ours, where technology races alongside science and our greedy minds, when, and how, did we end up appreciating the past, legacy, and crystal chandeliers?

(Hirvihaara manor, Mäntsälä, Finland; September 2014)


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Random encounters in Gothenburg

Hotelpost-2Each morning as I stepped down into the hotel lobby, this rhino was dolefully observing the guests from a different spot. Perhaps the hotel houses elves cart the poor thing around the halls at night?

Never do I leave Gothenburg without a cinnamon roll the size of a pizza plate from Café Husaren. And this time also a  gigantic chocolate meringue that barely fit into a lunch salad box. Until next time, when I intend to sample the EP-sized chocolate cookie.Husaren-2 (Gothenburg, Sweden; August 2014)


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Happiness

Crete-9The light in the Mediterranean is unique. In contrast to many tropical landscapes where sunlight blends with humidity or dust into a soft haze, the Mediterranean sky is as neverending blue as the sea. There is sharp contrast between the rugged rocks and the fluffy green pines, and the white houses and the pink oleanders. Yet what draws painters and dreamers is the blazing sunlight that bounces off every surface, enveloping every object and surface in a soft gleam like watching the world through a camera obscura.

Crete-6Lapping up the mid-morning sunlight I thought of the painters and dreamers who came to the Mediterranean to seek happiness. I thought of the Greek who seem to live longer than most people, allegedly due to olive oil, yoghurt, and happiness. I thought of people who change professions, relationships, and countries in pursuit of happiness without ever searching inside themselves first. And I asked myself whether happiness really can be found by rearranging the external factors in our lives? By attaching happiness to the environment it will be brought by and whisked away by circumstances beyond our control. Perfect happiness will be followed by equal amount of loss and grief, such is the law of our world.

Before the sun slowed my thought I asked myself if the definition of happiness did not contain a fleeting, temporal component, and perhaps I was better off seeking something else altogether? Maybe leaving the shoes by the door and stepping inside would be a good first move?

Crete-4(Agios Pavlos, Crete, Greece; August 2014)


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Hot hot hot

CreteviewToday is so hot you can smell thyme, sage, and pine needles in the air. Car tires exude fumes of rubber. Wine in a glass is too warm in ten minutes. Even the fish in the rocky pools float around languorously.

Triopetra-2(Triopetra beach, Crete, Greece; August 2014)


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Searching for the waterfalls

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We hopped off the boat at a lush palm beach. A stream ran through the beach sand, down into the ocean. The water was cold and fish darted around dodging our bare feet as we crossed. We followed the stream up into a leafy forest where it widened into a little river. The water was green, as if the bottom was covered in emerald sand.

Clambering upward along the path we passed a few quiet pools where fish swam in circles. Our voices echoed off the walls. And then we hit a cliff and had to turn back. I switched into water shoes and we waded into the river, continuing our way through the water.

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Finally we reached the soft boulders, moulded pillow-like by tons and tons of water rushing down the gorge from the peaks above. Cold mountain water gushed down the rock pile, cascading in white foamy little waterfalls. The only way up was bouldering. In bikinis. Some of us were over 60 years old. All of us were ashtanga yogis so agility and strength was no issue.

We climbed the rocks and swam across the pools like children. I tore my bikini bottoms on the rocks while sliding down a cascade of water and stone. Some of us disappeared up the gorge for well over half an hour, while others floated down among the little fish in the cold clear water. In the middle of the boulders and cascades we met a group of gray-haired German backpackers who had hiked down following the river, all the way from the spring up above. They were swimming with shoes and backpacks, tumbling down into the water from the boulders, cackling with laughter, and not fearing hurting themselves.

And I could not help but wonder who sets the behavioral codes for those of us middle-aged and older? Who said proper grownups should not climb or be daredevils? Who said you must believe that you will hurt yourself if you climb a pile of slippery rocks when you are over sixty? And why is it that only a few of us care so little about societal limits that they stay strong and curious instead?

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(Preveli Gorge, Crete, Greece; August 2014)