TravelStream™ news feed for member traveese on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/traveese en-us Copyright ©2010 TravelPod.com Tue, 02 Dec 2008 10:10:45 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1228246920/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1228246920/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1228246920/tpod.html Tue, 02 Dec 2008 10:10:45 -0500 World Heartbeat - Travis takes on more geography in a cardiac pattern.

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London, England, United Kingdom

It's been quite awhile since I last wrote.  There have been many small happenings in that time.  The most obvious of these is that I'm no longer in Finland.  I've had plenty of time already to reflect on the place and my journey there, and it still feels like home, as if after the initial discomfort, I was able to uncover some nice things from the quiet, honest Finns.
The weeks before I left were rather hectic.  One rainy night I found my way to a recording studio in order to record some songs I had been working on while in Finland.  It was very spontaneous--I had the number of a guy, I called him, he asked me to come by in a couple of hours.  So that very night we recorded six songs with guitar and voice, and a few other rough sketches.  The recording turned out well enough that I decided to make some copies.  Discarding my initial idea to shoot CD jewel cases with a paintball gun and use the ensuing paint splatter as cover artwork, I went with a more natural design.  I dried leaves that I'd found around Helsinki, and affixed them to the front of brown envelopes (much cheaper than jewel cases or even CD sleeves).  I made fifteen, numbered them, and (mostly) gave them to people.  It was a good project to take up many hours before I left.  Some are still for sale at the Arkadia Oy bookshop.  
As I was finishing this project, I was also finishing my Finnish course at the university.  This went fairly well, although it's obvious to me that I've already started the long process of forgetting, and now have the inevitable frustration of foreign-language speakers in never being able to practice with anyone.
Katri and Vilma had a party just before I left, which was mostly a housewarming party for their apartment, and which was well-attended.  Afterward, we went to a bleak dance club in one of the Espoo centers, a fairly empty place with too much fake smoke and no personality.  At that point, of course, no one really minded...
Finally I left the apartment on Unioninkatu, with a celebratory drink of whiskey with Iris.  It's wonderful to have such nice things done for you, to have people welcome you in new places.  It always is.  It makes you want to return the favor tenfold.
On the day I left came the first snowstorm to southern Finland this year, a properly chaotic affair with very heavy winds and sharp, heavy snow.  (Apparently a total of about 15 inches).  My flight was delayed about three hours, with everyone sitting inside the plane, as they de-iced the aircraft twice and wiped away snow that had blown into the engines, but we got away fine and landed in London, where I was planning to stay for a couple of weeks.
(A side note--I had some significant problems at the border.  For anyone who's considering staying longer than 90 days in the Schengen area, my advice is definitely not to do so.  And for anyone who's considering entering the UK, my advice is to rigorously document your trip and remain calm when they try to bait you and make harsh accusations of various kinds.)
I've been to London before, and although I was excited about exploring it more, I wasn't terribly keen on actually being there.  Compared especially to Helsinki, London is an enormous, dirty, crumbling city full of stressed-out people.  It is also extraordinarily beautiful, both historically and aesthetically.  I've spent over a week now walking around London, sampling museums like the Tate Modern (and more to come) and occasionally spending time with Shannon, my friend from Chicago with whom I'm staying.  Shannon has been an amazing host and even held a Thanksgiving party last weekend, which produced so much food that the four of us here are still eating leftovers on Tuesday evening.  In these (theoretically) hard times, it's good to know we can be happy about the usual things--good food and good company, for starters.
As some readers may glean from this entry, I feel rather scattered these days.  I think this is a combination of some kind of culture shock, caffeine withdrawal, and the sense that I've had to somehow leave home by leaving Finland.  The only recourse, then, is...
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Savonlinna, Finland

Last weekend brought us to one final summer house, this one owned by Katri's father. I say one final summer house because there aren't any more to see, but also because there isn't any more time in which to see them.

The house is called Käpykallio, located near the lake-port town of Savonlinna. The town has been an important strategic point for centuries, because it lies at the narrowest and most passable point on Lake Saimaa, which is actually a group of lakes that stretch hundreds of kilometers from north to south in east Finland. Back when lake travel was the most efficient way to get from north to south (not only Helsinki but St. Petersburg as well), which was the case until about 150 years ago, Savonlinna was an important place to pass through. Now, roads are much faster, but the city retains lots of charm in its old center with wooden streetlights, in its cozy, well-kept islands, and in the large castle that sits in the middle of the channel.

The castle, Olavinlinna (Olaf's Castle), was built into the bedrock by the Swedes around 1475 and has since settled into its place as the home of innumerable tourists and a summer opera festival. It's fairly large, duly impressive, weathered, and iconic-looking. A lovely place, even in the dull blue-grey of evenings that come far too early in the day.

We drove about 60 kilometers to Enonkoski, a tiny town with one of everything, then hopped a ferry (there are only 21 remaining in Finland to cross the many lakes) and slunk down shrinking roads to the house. It's situated on the shore of a beautiful, glass-smooth lake with some swampy marshes and thick birch forests. Without their leaves, they look like big white bones sticking up from the ground, foreboding and strangely red at certain times of day. The bedrock is often visible above the earth, as well as large stones left by glaciers during the last Ice Age. All rocks are covered by various lichens and moss.

What's the quietest place you've ever been? I was once on a mountain in New Zealand that seemed to be absolutely silent. And so it was with this place, aside from the occasional distant buzz of machines harvesting trees. The trees would rustle once in awhile in the wind, but there was nothing else to make any sound. It was sublime.

So what does one do in such a tranquil place? We rowed the boat out and laid nets to trap fish in--whitefish, pike, and other small ones. This lake was shallow and unpopulated enough to allow nets, although they're usually forbidden in Finland. We ate, of course. There were only about five hours of sunlight, so we did what we could during the day. There were candles everwhere. Sauna was augmented by a quick swim in the lake, which was probably about 2 degrees Celsius--it was half-covered with ice. We played guitar in front of a fire and ate sausages. Simple pleasures, and a definite feeling of "Finnishness," were the order of the weekend.

As winter descends on Finland, a bit earlier and more dramatically than in most other places, people begin to comment on the shortened amount of sunlight. They hardly ever say the nights are getting longer, only that the days are getting shorter until Christmas. Perhaps this ray of hope is enough to last the long winter.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1225818480/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1225818480/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1225818480/tpod.html Tue, 04 Nov 2008 07:21:34 -0500 World Heartbeat - Travis takes on more geography in a cardiac pattern.

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Helsinki, Finland

Last weekend gave me some insights into some new parts of Finland, as well as some adventures. Friday night, Katri and I were looking for something to do when we came across a concert by a Finnish songwriter named J. Karjalainen.

J. Karjalainen used to write pop songs, and was apparently rather successful, but a few years ago he changed his focus from pop to folk music. He mined Finnish and American folk traditions and stories, and created many of his own, revolving around the character of Lännen-Jukka. Jukka is a Finnish name that was more popular back in the day, and Lännen-Jukka was the embodiment of the Finn who went west to America around 1900 or so, with only dim dreams in his pocket, labored and lived as a hobo in the freedom of obscurity, and perhaps returned to Finland with only music.

Without being an actual person, Lännen-Jukka has picked up many stories over the years, and J. Karjalainen fleshed out a biography in his liner notes and lyrics. On the album, he played a crude banjo that he claimed was given him by the old Lännen-Jukka after he returned to Finland. He sang Finnish-American folk tunes, mostly originals, in his deep, gruff voice--sang about a hobo's Christmas in Chicago, trying not to freeze--encounters with eager American girls--drinking songs--love and friends. The tunes are riveting and the lyrics, as revealed in the English translation of the liner notes, are extraordinary.

So after making this album, J. Karjalainen made another one, this time expanding on his themes and adding a fantastic accordion player--they are now called Paratiisin Pojat (the Paradise Boys). It was these two who played in the basement art gallery in a space about the size of a bedroom with no microphones on Friday night. The show was brilliant and sublime, lively and quite unique. The crowd was enthralled. The opening act was also very interesting--another former pop singer who played open-tuned desert blues-style slide guitar with a drummer from Gambia. In a great Halloween twist, this pop singer, as well as both Paradise Boys, looked just like Neil Young. Scaaaaaaryyyyy!!!!

On Saturday, I learned a bit about Russia. Finland and Russia have had a complex relationship, with Finland formerly being an autonomous region of Russia until its independence in 1918. That independence was gained through a devastating war that involved Germany supporting Finland against Russia, after which many Russian supporters were killed or interred in prison camps. Later, for a number of reasons, Finland sided with Germany in World War II and twice fought viciously against the Soviet Union. After World War II, Finland was forced to give up a large portion of its territory, including most of Karelia, the region that produced the stories in the Kalevala and much respected art and culture. To this day, some think Russia should give back Karelia, as the region's people are ethnically, culturally, and linguistically much closer to Finland than to Russia. All of which is to say that this region and its people have seen their share of strife over the last century.

We had driven straight east to the Russian border to visit Katri's other set of grandparents. These two live near Helsinki, but keep a summer house on Ukkosaari (Old Man's Island), on the Baltic Sea so close to Russia that you can see it. Both grandparents grew up on the farms close to their present home--Grandpa's childhood home was on the Finnish side when the territory was ceded, and Grandma's was on the Russian side. Country dirt roads are dotted with many farmhouses that are occupied by members of Katri's extended family. The border region is loosely defined, running along a stream but also encompassing a few farms on either side. In order to leave the road and enter a farm, one needs a special resident's pass.

As we soon found out, these backwoods areas feature a different sort of complexity than the official border crossings. In recent months, the Russian-Finnish borders have become famous for their congestion. Trucks can enter Finland relatively easily, but for trucks entering Russia, things have become absurd and nightmarish. Due to slow processing, widespread bribe collection, and the like, the line of trucks waiting to enter Russia from Finland stretches more than 20 km (12 miles) at any given time. The resources wasted on this are almost unimaginable, and certainly absurd. Unfortunately the border guards have little incentive to rectify this situation.

Aside from this current history lesson, we got down to the business of eating. Karelians are, contrary to most Finnish people, famous for their hospitality and gregariousness. So we spent all afternoon drinking glögg (served warm with a mix of berry juice, wine, brandy, and raisins and nuts), and red and white wine, and eating an endless stream of baked and raw whitefish (caught fresh that morning from the Baltic) with onions, rye bread, and whitefish roe, potatoes, cauliflower, a roast with vegetables, and homemade bread. Dessert included marzipan-raspberry cake, cookies of various kinds, coffee and cognac, and apple pie baked in the iron wood-fueled stove. Hospitality indeed...

Afterward we went to a dinner party in Espoo at a friend of Katri's. Barely surviving another meal, we walked off into the cold night, one of the first to frost over the car windows, and cozily drove through the cemeteries lit with candles on every grave to mark All Saints' Day. I don't know if it's because Espoo reminds me of Wisconsin, or because I liked Espoo itself, but it felt like home.
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Helsinki, Finland

Last weekend I had the privilege of seeing a rock concert. It got me thinking about Finnish music, which aside from the classical tradition has carved out some kind of reputation in the world by virtue of its darkness and isolated quirkiness.

I've encountered quite a few choral groups singing traditional folk songs in both Finnish and Sami (the language of the Sami people living in Lapland in the far north). Finland's relationships with Sweden, Germany, and Russia has allowed for exposure to the venerable music traditions in those places. In the early 1800s, Finnish scholars began compiling the Kalevala, the book of mythology of the various groups living in what is now north-eastern Finland and just across the border with Russia. The Kalevala has since become, as a book of collected stories, a central piece of Finnish cultural identity.

However valuable the book has become, the original presentation of these stories has since died out. Originally, and all the way up to the early 1800s, the stories were not written down but sung, or recited in heavily rhythmic ways by poets at gatherings that could last for days. Poets would essentially trade dueling stories, and whoever avoided becoming too tired, falling asleep, or getting too drunk earned lots of respect. They spoke from memory and heightened tension and drama through a fairly distinctive system of repeating lines and phrases. The rhythms of this speech are unusual and very musical.

But while the recitation of the stories changed its form, the stories themselves inspired a strong wave of nationalism in the middle of the 1800s, a desire for a unified Finnish culture from among many disparate ethnic groups. To this end, certain figures became quite important. One was Jean Sibelius, the great composer who was successful in creating classical music that sounded "Finnish." While it's hard to say exactly what this entails, it allowed many of his compositions to become very popular and widely known, and to this day Sibelius is considered to some degree the father of modern Finnish music, as well as a respected figure in the history of classical music.

Jazz has touched the shores of Finland as well, spread by both the Western fascinations of the public and by traveling Baltic fisherman. Towns that are now quiet, like Hanko, were in the 1950s a strange mixture of musicians and seamen bringing jazz and other styles back from their travels. In the mid-Sixties, even John Coltrane and Eric Dolphy put on a still-remembered concert in Helsinki (I happen to have a recording, it's at the height of their modal/free jazz experiments together). Jazz now is fairly alive and well, although nowhere near Chicago caliber.

There are also a couple of less savory musical traditions, like Evergreen and Finnish tango. The latter is exactly what it sounds like--tangos, in the traditional Argentinian style, sung with Finnish lyrics. Unfortunately, for a variety of reasons, this music lacks the passion, tradition, and zazz that marks Argentinian tango. Evergreen music is similarly weird. It combines elements of folk, light pop, and "Nashville Sound"-style country to produce one tepid mixture of airy tunes. Evergreen also has a long tradition of translating the words to famous rock and pop songs into Finnish, a practice that was apparently quite popular until around the late Seventies. There, you'd get the melody of a great Beatles song, but without the instrumental and vocal prowess, production quality, or good lyrics (the translations were, I'm told, rarely direct).

Rock and roll came relatively late to Finland. In the late Sixties, singers were mostly into covering rockabilly tunes at high speed, again singing new and often racy lyrics in Finnish for the benefit of Finnish fans. By the mid-Seventies, amps were cranked and tastes were refined, especially through bands like the Hurriganes (not a misspelling). Their second album, "Roadrunner," is a classic in Finland, and its making tells a hilarious story. The band members were quite young, but had a following and wanted to record in English, a mix of rock 'n roll Fifties and early Sixties covers and originals. Unfortunately, the singer (who was also the drummer) knew not a word of English. They found a producer, Richard Stanley (a Brit who still lives in Finland), and with him they solved various language problems. On the English tracks, they actually wrote out all the lyrics phonetically so the singer could sing them properly--as in, sheets of paper reading, "ah eint gat no bisniss biin wit iu" and such. The album is almost universally admired here, even as people still love everything that came after (and before). The Hurriganes also spawned Finland's first guitar hero, Albert Järvinen--although no one I've talked to knows his actual first name. In the Eighties, Finland got hair and metal. The Nineties were forgettable, at least to me. Currently the New Wave of Finnish Heavy Metal (NWOFHM), led by bands like Circle, is still kicking around. Metal is quite popular and interesting here, from the truly innovative to the bleakest to the campiest (I heard Lordi is playing on Conan O'Brien tonight).

Still, relatively few bands come to Helsinki, at least ones I'm interested in seeing or don't find out about until after the show. Mostly people seem content to see DJs, Finnish acts, metal shows, or other musical styles that might be elsewhere considered sort of fringe. Venues and promotion are a bit different here. So I was excited to see some bands in a new venue that opened fairly recently in Helsinki.

The place is called Korjaamo, a combination disco, music club, and art space. It used to be part of a tram garage, but the city donated part of the space for use as such. Now it's a beautiful, industrial-like space with DJs spinning and shows. And hipsters. I hadn't seen many since I came to Finland, but I think I discovered where they all hang out. It was all here--outrageous fashion, moustaches, thick glasses. People seemed a bit introverted, but they were Finnish after all. Actually the place seemed a bit more inclusive then any similar place in America (not that there are many like this). The show itself, after getting underway two hours late, was really interesting. The first band was Islaja, a sort of ambient duo who used a lot of loops and operatic vocals, but who didn't even say the name of their band. The second (and last) band was TV-resistori, a little pop group of four with boy-girl joint singing, and a drummer who played on a suitcase and had no cymbals. It was extremely entertaining, and their songs were delicious.

On Thursday I'll add to the music of Helsinki as I'm playing a show at a bookstore in Helsinki. It's the first in a series of concerts there and I'll have an acoustic guitar, borrowed. Should be fun.
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Helsinki, Finland

Greetings all readers. In the roughly two weeks since I last wrote, just after the school shooting, Finland has incredibly made the world news again! This time, it was for Martti Ahtisaari, the former president of Finland, who was awarded the 2008 Nobel Peace Prize for his legacy of what various news outlets have called "cautious diplomacy," and if you look at photos of the man, you'll see exactly what they mean. For his part, the recipient celebrated in muted fashion. One of the Helsinki daily papers reported that, after hearing the news, Mr. Ahtisaari went to sauna, drank one beer with friends, and ate some sausage. The article received almost half a page in the paper, accompanied by photos of the actual sauna, of some sausages, and of the man himself.

Otherwise, things have happened briskly here. What I mean is, it's turned rather cool and brisk weather-wise, and also that things have been happening. Last week in Helsinki there was the annual herring festival, when all the fisherman and such from the west--Sweden, Åland, and western Finland--come to Helsinki for a week to sell their goods. The goods themselves are a delectible bunch. There are many varieties of pungent herring, combined with various kinds of mustard, garlic sauces, herbs, spices, and fruits. There are tiny fishes resembling sardines, which are fried whole and eaten whole, with garlic mayonnaise. There are many varieties of salmon, including a particularly delicious salmon pie with rice, eggs, and plenty of dill baked into a sweet or rye crust. There are various jams, jellies, and apples, which are in season. And there's black bread, made with molassas and very sweet, meant to be stored and eaten over the course of the long winter because it doesn't go bad. In fact, in previous ages the herring festival gave people of Helsinki the chance to stock up on such fish and bread for the winter. Now, this isn't so important, but the festival is still lively and features plenty of jolly, loud-voiced fisherman, as well as magicians, a crusty sailor singing sea ballads on his accordion, and plenty of gulls.

Last weekend, I experienced three major Finnish traditions all rolled into one. I went to a summer house, attended a crab party, and went to a "real" sauna, all for the first time. Summer houses are important to Finnish people. Although as all real estate they're often quite expensive these days, it's an integral tradition for urban Finns to spend weekends, and in the summer longer periods, at a summer house owned by a family, shared by families, or rented. This particular house is located on an enormous multi-fingered lake near a small town called Heinola, a couple hours east of Helsinki. Driving down a winding road onto a long, unpaved track and down a very long driveway, we passed through typically Finnish birch forests and arrived at the homestead. There are a few buildings there, built on top of the exposed bedrock and mossy forest floor by sticking wooden posts into cement blocks on a fairly flat patch of ground, and then building over that. While there's often electricity, there is usually no running water, no heated water, and Finns seem to value performing basic tasks in a more naturalistic environment. This place had one water tap coming directly out of the lake, but drinking water came from other sources. Virtually everything is made of wood, and apparently things are frequently built by families themselves. In fact, it was for this reason that we were invited to the summer house in the first place--to help build a storage shed.

The summer house has been owned by Katri's family for around 40 years, and has been passed down through the family to various people. It's more or less a collective thing. There's one main house with a composting toilet and fireplace. There are a couple of tiny sleeping cabins with spartan bunks and space heaters. There's a dock and some nice wooden steps leading down to the dirt parking area. There are boats. And there's a sauna.

As I've mentioned, sauna is known as a very important part of Finnish life. When Finnish people have settled new places, they usually build a sauna first, before even a house. It provides heating, and can be used to wash, clean, and even as a sterile environment to give birth. But as with many such things it isn't fully understood until one really participates. Most Finnish people have a sauna in their bathroom, or down the hall, or in their apartment building, and there are also a number of public saunas. But these are mostly electric and considered not to be optimal. They don't usually resemble the pathetic saunas in the American hotels of my childhood, which no one knew how to heat up or which were frequently broken.

However, any Finnish person will tell you that the best time to go to sauna is at a summer house, preferably near a lake. These saunas are the old style, heated by wood from a fire in a stove (the smoke directed up and out, of course), with hot stones resting on the stovetop. This supposedly provides a much more comfortable environment than from electric heating. It's even better to use a certain type of wood for the benches and walls, because it doesn't get as hot. Until now, I hadn't experienced this "real" sauna.

But there we went, lit by a regrettably quick sunset over the glassy lake. The temperature approached, and probably passed, 90 degrees Celsius, and everyone is naked, of course. (Finnish people are quick to point out that theirs is the only real sauna, because they tend to take it naked, at 20 to 30 degrees hotter than, say, Swedes, Estonians, and Turks.) Someone pours water over the stones and steam rises into the air and a rush of wet, hot air envelops you. The goal then is to sweat, to loosen and soak dirt, grime, and excess skin. You can wash then, maybe pour water from a bucket over your head. In summer, people rub (or, sort of smack, apparently) themselves with birch branches, as the coarse leaves help clean, and there's some healthy element in the leaves themselves as well.

Then you go outside. The lake, of course, is right there, or perhaps a snowdrift to roll in. Water temperature was about 10 degrees Celsius, and we went in fairly quickly, the shock makes your blood rush and you gasp and can only stay in for thirty seconds or so, and then run back to the sauna. But it's effective in helping circulation, cleanliness, and gives you some kind of enormous adrenaline rush as well.

So after we did this a couple of times, the heat still rising off our skin, we returned to the house. I felt immeasurably refreshed, both relaxed and invigorated by the extreme temperature changes, the clean feeling, the afterglow of sauna. This "real" sauna was definitely better--the steam penetrated deeper and the air felt more moist, the temperature felt hotter, yet it was somehow more forgiving and didn't make me feel lightheaded at all like an electric sauna can.

In the house the preparations were under way for the crab party. In actuality, you eat crayfish, usually from Finland. Boiled, preferably alive. Everyone gets a small knife and you go to town cracking shells, sucking meat, and eating various side dishes with lots of dill and potatoes and such. It takes forever, and you don't actually eat too much. Luckily, the time is filled by discussing loudly and drinking obscene amounts of alcohol. Someday I'll talk about the Finnish drinking culture, but suffice to say everyone had their share. The night contained toasts to me; Mannerheim, the George Washington of Finland; Katri's grandfather. Later discussions included American politics; the possible homosexuality of Mannerheim (which was scorned as unimportant by everyone present); and Katri's grandfather's role in negotiating truces between rival Ethiopian tribes in order to build roads. Volume increased to feverish levels. One by one people dropped out. Things died down around 2 AM, with Katri's father playing lullabies on the guitar and Katri actually singing along (anyone who knows her should have their eyes raised at this point).

Needless to say, the shed didn't get built. They'll do it some other time, I guess.

Later that weekend, we moved out of Katri's grandparents' apartment in Helsinki into a student apartment in Espoo, shared with Katri's good friend Vilma. The apartment is in Olari, a neighborhood in Espoo known as the "West Side" by the Finnish hip-hop community, with some kind of reputation for being rough, although in truth the most annoying part about the place is the revving of mopeds by teenagers. It's a mixed bag, though, described colorfully by one as "families, students, and drug addicts." There are many trees and some rather nice-looking apartment buildings, as well as some uglier ones. Katri's apartment has plenty of space, a spacious kitchen and living room, and feels cozy. But there's not a whole lot to do out there. The closest cultural center is Iso Omena (literally, "Big Apple"), a large mall a few blocks away near the highway that has a new, well-lit library with no English books. Nearby, there's an American-themed restaurant called Chico's, a late-night pizzeria, and a supermarket that's not open on Sundays. (Actually, the law in Finland is that no above-ground supermarket above a certain size can be open on Sundays--smaller ones, usually independent, and certain chain stores that are technically located underground, however, are open.) Olari--mellow place.

This week, we're back in the grandparents' place, for which I'm grateful. I'm preparing for a show at an international bookstore, the first in what may become a series of concerts there. I have a Finnish exam on Wednesday. Life continues. Hope all is well...
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Helsinki, Finland

Hello everyone. It's been awhile since I last wrote--at least a couple of weeks. During that time, things have happened. There was a school shooting in western Finland a week ago which made the news worldwide. There was the first American presidential debate, which I gather swayed the opinions of no one. I even wrote a rather vitriolic blog entry on this very page in response to both events, only to have it erased somehow. (Disclaimer--after writing this entry, I realize it's become vitriolic, political, and long. You don't have to read it all.) Now I've calmed down a bit, but had to write in response to the strangest news yet.

The Milwaukee Brewers made the playoffs?

I don't even really know how to respond to this, being only the fairest-weather fan of our beloved slow sport. But as a cultural event, it's pretty fantastic. I can only imagine how my friends' parents are celebrating.

Finland is typically mellow. It's starting to get cold, hovering around 10 degrees Celsius. I go to Finnish classes and hang out with a few of the students in the afternoon--my closest friend is a guy from Buenos Aires who speaks no English. Weekends are spent outside the city. We went to Porvoo, the old port city with its wooden old town and a church that's been destroyed and rebuilt five times. We spent another weekend day in Kouvola, in the east of Finland near Russia, a small city where Katri's aunt was celebrating her birthday with her husband. There we ate at a great Spanish restaurant called Olé!

This past weekend we went to an inspiring art exhibit at the Design Museum on the concept known as Fennofolk. This term doesn't describe a cohesive movement, but instead describes the characteristics and concerns shared by many young (under 40) Finnish artists, designers, and musicians working today. They're concerned with what it means to be Finnish in their rapidly changing society, and with the difficult issues of environmentalism and artistic value that artists face nowadays. The description isn't too useful, but the actual work was beautiful, diverse, occasionally funny, and just interesting.

Katri and I also went into the forest to pick mushrooms, which we've done a few times and which virtually everyone does in their free time here. The quietness and monotony of life here, even in the face of usual city stuff, is striking, and reminds one to contemplate what is truly important in one's life. I have learned a lot about daily life that, watching Finnish people, I know I can put into practice anywhere, and if I can't, I shouldn't be in that place.

Of course, not everything is rosy. The school shooting, which left 11 dead, was tragic, but the news coverage hasn't been overwhelming. There's been some talk of making the gun laws stronger. It's true that many people own guns here--something like 1.5 million guns registered to less than 6 million people, so one in any four people, regardless of age, has a gun. However, I think Finnish people are responsible in their use and as a rule view guns as useful for hunting and basic sustenance, something that was necessary for the survival of everyone in the poor agrarian society that only began to urbanize maybe 60 years ago.

Something that this episode points out needs to be addressed is mental health care. The system in Finland is paid for in part by the government, but people here have to pay increasing portions of health care costs. The strain is quite obvious, according to many I've talked to, on the mental health system. I've heard many stories of people who aren't able to get prompt treatment, who are treated only in the most extreme cases, and who are generally given inadequate treatment. There's not enough money to make the system work, and clinics are short-staffed. Given the famous stoicism of Finns, it's clear that when a Finnish person goes to a mental health clinic, he is really in need of help. But it often doesn't come, particularly for young people. The shooter himself sought help a few months ago, but was only given tranquilizers. Some think the money doesn't come because young people aren't a comparatively active voting block, and their needs aren't addressed as a result. But it's clear that something needs to be improved in the overworked and under-effective system.

After some 20 months of holding out, I'm finally starting to pay attention to the American Election. It's like watching a movie in which a woman is tied to some train tracks, and the hero has to arrive in time to save her and you're not sure if he will or not. I think the choice is obvious, for Obama's strengths and McCain/Palin's weaknesses. The complaints directed at Obama's restraint are missing the point. In 2000, I was eating dinner at my then-girlfriend's parents' house. Her mother mentioned she would vote for George W. Bush, and I asked why. She said, "well, Gore is just so boring." I think that, regardless of political orientation, people have a responsibility to keep that kind of logic out of the world of the Election.

In response to the credit crisis, bank meltdown, government takeover being perpetuated at the moment, I think some guy put it best somewhere in the New York Times website that the government has figured out how to "publicize the debt and privatize the profits." It could, I suppose, be a lot worse, but it could also get a lot worse. It's hard to figure out what exactly is happening, and everyone, it seems, has an equally valid but generalized take on what's going on. In Finland the official news outlet is calling the situation "Roskapankki," which literally means "trash bank." Pondering this cartoonish image, I have acknowledged the many aspects of our credit crisis that are truly absurd--the political posturing, the blaming, the enormous amounts of money involved, the inability on the part of anyone to put things in non-economist terms, and so on.

In my more recent wisdom, I've tried to be more impartial in my criticism of various world happenings, to really try to understand what people are thinking when they implement an idea that I think is wrong. In the case of the money storm, I wanted to blame Bush, Republicans, deregulation fiends, etc. I still do blame these people, validly or not, as they are crooks. But in a moment of benevolence, I realized it's not fair to throw away the ideas that led us here. Deregulation and lack of oversight might not have worked this time, but that doesn't mean they won't ever work and that we should throw them out categorically. If I did that, then I would not be justified to claim, as I am wont to do, that just because Communism failed once or twice doesn't mean someone shouldn't try it again. So instead I'll restrain myself and not lay into the irresponsible ideas that have led us into this mess, and denounce the people who put them into effect. Maybe I'll be a model of judicious restraint to the next ignorant American who sneers that Obama is a Communist, a model for giving such ideas another chance. Maybe then that person will realize that the actions of the government have transformed the US into a socialist country. But I'm not certain such an exchange would occur. Socialism is motivated to oversee markets and services for the good of the people, so that they don't get screwed. It remains to be seen whether these are the intentions of the government, to try to pay people back for what they've lost, or to ensure that it's only those at the top who remain happy. Given the rhetoric being used lately, I'm not optimisic.

I realize this entry is also turning vitriolic, so I'll be done soon, but I hope everyone remembers all the frustration they feel at all the ways people have been taken advantage of, lied to, and left to fend for themselves over the past eight years. I hope all the people who now are just starting to smell a rat, who may have had all the faith in the world in all the rich white men who are in control, remember that feeling and act on it in the future. I hope that as we climb out of the debt-hole that's been created, citizens can come together somehow, if not ideologically than through the shared experience of having gone through this, like some gloryless war.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1220635440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1220635440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1220635440/tpod.html Fri, 05 Sep 2008 07:52:41 -0400 World Heartbeat - Travis takes on more geography in a cardiac pattern.

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Helsinki, Finland

Hyvää päivää everyone. This has been a momentous week for me, and I haven't even started Finnish classes yet. Read on for more...

I bought a bicycle! This was suggested to me first by the many bike lanes weaving through Helsinki's center, and secondly by Ian, the owner of an English-language bookstore I've visited a few times. (Arkadia Oy, it's a great place.) I went looking for one and didn't have any luck until a mechanic in a shop sold me one of his own, a gently used black Kombi. He was nice to do it, too, a guy named Guy whose Finnish parents were both diplomats in the US. They met at the United Nations, had two sets of twins, and now Guy has an American passport, although he doesn't use it much.

The bike, to an American, is definitely funny-looking. Like many bikes here, it has only a V-shaped frame, lacking the bar connecting the handlebars and the seat stem. In the US, this means "girls' bike," but that distinction doesn't apply here. The bike has very high, wide handlebars and the rider sits upright on a gently springy, large seat. A bell adorns the handlebars, but nothing else. You see, this is a very basic machine meant for low-speed city riding, so it has only back-pedal brakes. One gear, a plastic chain cover, a kickstand, metal fenders, and an extremely low gear ratio--it's usually faster to coast, it seems. The funniest thing about this bike, though, is that it has very small, fat tires, probably 14 inches in diameter. These bikes are starting to be used in the US, mostly as folding models I think, but they're still really funny-looking. This one runs very smoothly, though, and it's certainly worth having in the small city.

I rode the bike all over the city yesterday, mostly up and down hills visiting the different districts in Helsinki. Here, it was useful to use such a ridiculously low gear. The funniest thing I noticed during this ride was how small the city is--it seemed like no time at all until I was at the edges of my map, then cruised for about 10 minutes at most back to the other side of the city! I love it! No more 90-minute rides to get home like in Chicago. I went first to Puu-Vallila. It's a tiny place, about a dozen blocks in a little triangle, full of very old, traditional wooden houses painted in faded pastel colors. It's a relic from the previous incarnation of Helsinki, one of wooden houses and narrow streets and backyards full of trees and hanging swings, not the newer Helsinki of 6-story concrete apartment houses with small windows. There are even little old cars there. Apparently the neighborhood was to be torn down during the rush to urbanization in the 1970s, but a filmmaker made a film that was set in the place, and suddenly people realized how great it was and now it's like Wicker Park. So it goes. Much of Helsinki seems to have been lost this way, and it's incredible to think that only 60 years ago, the whole country was pretty much a rural farming society. The growth of technology and industrialization happened here extremely quickly, and extremely recently. Katri's parents, who seem so at ease with the extremely modern Finnish lifestyle, were born into a rural society, which mystifies me. They must have seen so many changes so quickly!

I rode on over some of the new freeway networks linking Helsinki to its surrounding towns (Espoo, Vantaa, and Kauniainen). These were, unfortunately, typically faceless, although clean and new. I found myself passing the soccer stadium and Olympic stadium (now home of the Finnish Sports Museum, quite interesting). There the national team was practicing, and I watched for a bit. They reminded me of my high school team, and had an American coach. That's not really a dig at their team, but Finland isn't exactly known for its soccer tradition. There are maybe two or three players in the European leagues. On the other hand, hockey season starts in a couple of weeks...

Finally--I use this word relatively, as it took about three minutes pedaling furiously in first gear to get there from the soccer stadium--I ended up in Töölö, a mellowly bohemian district just past the city center. Töölö is home to the Sibelius Academy, a famous music school known for the quality of its students and its staunchly traditional philosophy. As such, the area is dotted with cafes full of studious young people whose set, I realized with a twinge of sadness, I was no longer a part of. Töölö is also home to: a number of boutiques and restaurants--the Temppeliaukirkko, a church that was carved into a hunk of rock and looks like a spaceship from the outside--Arkadia Oy bookstore--and Sibelius Park, home of the beautiful Sibelius Monument. Aside from students, a lot of young-looking families and classical musicians live in the area, academics and such. This is probably where I would like to live if I had the choice.

All in all, then, I made a pretty good dent in exploring the city, bigger than I had previously made.

The other highlight of the week was the aforementioned symphony concert, the first of the fall season, performed by the Radio Symphony Orchestra (Radion sinfoniaorkesteri--the most loan words in one place in Finnish!). Finlandia Hall, the home of the concert, was nice. I'm not the biggest fan of Modernist architecture, but the hall itself was nice and small and sounded pretty good. The orchestra performed pieces from Tchaikovsky's ballet "The Sleeping Beauty," Rachmaninov's 2nd piano concerto featuring a fantastic pianist who sort of outclassed the orchestra themselves, Prokofiev's tumultuous 5th symphony, and then Tchaikovsky's "Souvenir de Florence," a sextet for strings written in a sort of Baroque style that was incredibly rich and passionate. All in all it was a great night of music, and always a highlight of any week.

More soon...as always. What's up with you all?
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1220371500/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1220371500/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1220371500/tpod.html Tue, 02 Sep 2008 05:06:34 -0400 World Heartbeat - Travis takes on more geography in a cardiac pattern.

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Helsinki, Finland

Over the past week or two, I've started the Quixotic task of learning Finnish. As I've mentioned, this is a hard and very different language from English, Spanish, and indeed all the Indo-European languages. Looking back over this entry, I see that it's basically a Finnish lesson in a way. So read on if you want some weird facts about a weird language.

The Finnish people call themselves Suomalainen, and they call the country Suomi. Where did the name Finland come from then? I have heard a few theories.

According to one, it came from the Vikings living in Sweden a few centuries ago. The Vikings at this time raided their neighbors habitually. When they came to Finland, they were perplexed to find that there were hardly any men around, only women. The men were out hunting and gathering, as the local people had lived for centuries. But they left the villages to be run day-to-day by the women. The Vikings began calling this place Kven-land, "kven" meaning "woman" in Swedish--the Land of Women. This was morphed into our current Finland.

Another theory comes from French, in which "Fin" means "end." Hence, Finland would be, literally, End-land, the end of the world. A couple Finns chuckled to hear that their country was thought of as such.

In part because of their insulated location and language, the Finnish people have retained what appears to me to be a strong sense of history and identity. What's interesting is that because the language has stayed put for so long, many of the words are still geographic and cultural indicators, reminding the learner of the past and the particular aspects of the country.

Typical is German, which in Finnish is "saksa," referring to the Saxons who were in that place centuries ago. Although other countries in Finnish are mostly intelligible in English, some are very strange. Estonia is Viro, Russia is Venäjä. What do these mean? I don't know.

All months in Finnish end with "kuu," which means moon, a reminder of the lunar cycle. Some (but not all) of the names for the months refer to things that might occur in those months. May is toukokuu, where "touko" is the word for sowing in spring. June is kesäkuu, where "kesä" is summer. December is joulukuu, where "joulu" is Christmas.

There are also groups of words that are joined by a common stem and combined to form different, but related, concepts. "Palo" means fire, and it joins many fire-related concepts...
paloasema- fire station
palohaava- scald, burn
paloharjoitus- fire drill
palohälytys- fire alarm
palokunta- fire department
paloposti- fire hydrant
palomies AND palosotilas- fireman
palovamma- burn

This occurs in English, of course, through using two-word descriptions, but it seems somewhat clearer in Finnish. There are loan words, of course, from Slavic languages, Russian, German, Swedish, but there's still this sense of purity to the words. Now if only I could get around to learning them all...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1220361600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1220361600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1220361600/tpod.html Tue, 02 Sep 2008 05:01:51 -0400 World Heartbeat - Travis takes on more geography in a cardiac pattern.

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Tallinn, Estonia

I became more Finnish over the past week or so as Katri and I are house-sitting for her grandparents in the center of Helsinki. First, my coffee intake is way up. Finnish people drink about a million tons of coffee per person per year, and it's starting to rub off on me. It's a pleasant thing, a central part of welcoming someone into your home, eating, or waking up. Everyone has strong opinions on how to prepare coffee, although it's usually done in a percolator as you'd see in an American kitchen. For example, Katri's grandfather fills the machine completely to the top, then fills the filter completely to the top, resulting in an ungodly strong concoction that gives him his insane energy.

At 74, Markku recently retired from his job as a civil engineer. For most of his career, he's traveled back and forth between Helsinki and Ethiopia, working as a consultant to various entities who have developed the infrastructure there. Although he's technically retired, this is definitely not the case in practice. He still flies to Ethiopia it seems like every month to supervise, advise, and check up on projects. During the day, he's constantly on Skype talking to people in Finnish, Amharic, or English, and seems literally propelled around the apartment. He's liable to approach you and engage you in some impromptu examination of tennis (we've watched a lot of the U.S. Open), philosophy (he said excitedly last night, "the only real question, for which there is no answer, is 'why is anything?'"), or the problems inherent in instruction manuals. Last night, seeking to relax at about 11, I made some tea and asked if he wanted some, and he pointedly said, "I...drink...coffee." Then he pulled out a book (in Finnish) about astrophysics and asked if I knew anything about it. I don't.

Second, last weekend I went on my first Tallinn cruise. For the last few generations, it's been popular to go on overnight cruises to Tallinn in Estonia, drawn by an easy escape, cheap booze and cigarettes, and excess glitz. You leave in the afternoon, the cruise ship makes the 3-hour trip to Tallinn, docks, you spend the night on the ship, go to town the next morning, and return. Fun for all ages, a duty-free shop on the boat, the blandest of live entertainment. Even though Estonia has recently become a bit more expensive due in part to its entry into the EU, the cruises are popular still. This one was in honor of Katri's sister Sirkku, aged 24, who a couple of years ago married a nice young man from Janesville, Wisconsin. Finally, 21 months later, her papers are in order (let that be a cautionary tale to anyone wanting to come to the USA!), and she's leaving for good this week to live in Janesville and work for the newspaper and drive her new Mini Cooper. So we gathered about a dozen of her friends to reminisce and the like. While of course the cruises traditionally involve heavy drinking, everyone had a great time as they confirmed the Finnish scale of speaking English--after one drink, a Finn says nothing. After two, he opens his mouth. After three, he might introduce himself. After five, he says a sentence. And so on. Finnish people are well-known to be shy about speaking English, and it is hilarious how they open up gradually while drinking. Everyone was really nice, though, and entertaining. The next day, we explored more thoroughly the old part of Tallinn, which is beautiful and narrow and full of medieval walls and bricks. Helsinki was developed to compete with Tallinn as a regional port city, but, in Sirkku's words, "it didn't work out." So Helsinki still has the mellowness that makes it so charming, which is disappearing from Tallinn in a weird way.

And finally, we haven't been to sauna in over a week and my skin is crawling. I think I'm addicted, or at least sweetly infatuated, with sauna. More on that later.

Tomorrow Markku leaves again for Ethiopia, and Katri and I are going to the opening night of the Helsinki Radio Symphony, performing in Finlandia Hall. The building was designed in the 1960s by the Finnish architect Alvar Aalto, famous for a number of buildings as well as for his sculpture/flowerpot/ashtray, an hilariously iconic piece of glass that has been reproduced in almost every Finnish home and which resembles something from a Far Side comic. I'm sure you all will recognize it by going here. Next week I start a Finnish course at the university, which should be interesting, and it will get me out of bed earlier. It's still raining most days here, and getting colder, down into the upper 40s at night (8 or 9 degrees Celsius). It's raining now, in fact.

What are you all up to? I'm thinking of everyone and hoping all is well. Take care.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1219648080/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1219648080/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/traveese/2/1219648080/tpod.html Mon, 25 Aug 2008 04:22:37 -0400 World Heartbeat - Travis takes on more geography in a cardiac pattern.

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Haapsalu, Estonia

Katri and I spent a couple of days last week in Estonia, just across a narrow portion of the Baltic Sea from Helsinki. It was a brief glimpse into what, for me, was a pretty unusual place.

Estonia and Finland share a complicated, yet mostly placid, relationship. The main connection between the two places is the language--Estonian is similar to Finnish, at times mutually intelligible, and this coupled with the proximity between the countries makes for plenty of interaction. However, while Finland managed to deliver itself from the jaws of the Soviet Union and into those of Western Europe, Estonia remained geographically and culturally attached until fairly recently (and then was fortunate to gain its independence fairly easily). In the meantime, Estonia remains connected to Finland by the ferry that shuttles back and forth between the two capitals, Helsinki and Tallinn. It's pretty much understood that many, many Finnish people go to Tallinn to buy cheap booze and cigarettes, act like pompous jerks, and eat big meals before returning to Finland. Estonians...I'm not sure what they do in Finland, especially now that Estonia is an EU member. But the ferries and the Tallinn exploits are well known and embarrassing to some.

Anyway, we found ourselves on this ferry, which takes about an hour or two across the shallow and dark Baltic, whose waters are famously un-salty. We arrived in Tallinn and I saw two strange features--first, the Old Town is extremely old, and looks it. Helsinki is very modern, and more modern than most European cities, by comparison. Katri says that this is mostly because Finland was, until the last 150 years or so, a rural peasant society, and so there was little in the way of very old metropolitan centers to exist at all. The other thing that's weird about Tallinn is that it's one of those places that's falling all over itself to show everyone how Westernized it is. This means infrastructure--new roads, tall skyscrapers (much taller than in Helsinki), flashy malls, and higher prices. It means glitz and glamour everywhere, an infusion of products, a cornucopia of things for everyone to see and take part in. The young people have embraced this wholly, especially the girls, who seem to invariably wear pounds of makeup and shockingly short skirts (even for me). Something I really like about Helsinki, and Finland in general, is that it seems to retain more class even as it modernizes. There's a shamelessness that is obvious in the fashions, the copying of American logic and mall layouts, and the lame music that makes it seem like this place wants to forget its old culture, and has not considered the consequences of taking on this new one. In Finland, however, things are more measured and the sense of "Finnishness" is still emphasized somehow, even if not specifically.

Outside of Tallinn, however, Estonia is much more old-world. For instance, the 100-kilometer bus ride to Haapsalu took about two hours, and the last 20 km were on unpaved roads. The only thing I knew about the town is that it's famous for the Ghost of the White Lady. Back in the day, while they were building the round towers on the cathedral, there were monks studying in the dark depths of the castle. Though women were similarly studying, they were banned from the men-only monastery on penalty of death. Somehow, though, one of these women managed to fall in love with one of the monks. She was disguised and brought in a few times until they were found out, and she was entombed in the tower, which was still under construction. Hundreds of years later, on certain moonlit nights, her white ghost can be seen in the window, still pining for her love. There's a festival to celebrate her each August. Fortunately, on the sign that explains the legend, there's also a part that explains exactly how the refracted light against the convex window can produce a shadow at a certain angle that resembles a white lady. Hence the mystery is solved, as clean as if they'd pulled a mask off of someone's head. But there's more...

Haapsalu is an old place. Its main centerpiece is an Episcopal castle and dome church that were built around 1279, and were renovated extensively after a fire around 1688. The town has changed hands between German, Swedish, and Russian forces throughout the years, and was once a provincial religious center, but now has settled into its status of the last 150 years or so as a resort town. As such, it is extremely peaceful, even sleepy, situated on some marshes flowing in from the Baltic that are home to gulls, swans, and other beautiful birds. It's the sort of place that bustles with Finnish and Estonian families in the summer, but dies out at other times, save for some light industry and the occasional wedding at the Kuursaal, a beautiful wooden meeting house and resaurant with a bandstand, built around 1900, that sits on the water along the Promenade. This Promenade starts with the Africa Beach, which used to have wooden sculptures of exotic animals but now has only a few pieces of playground equipment. It ends with the Tchaikovsky Bench, a park bench dedicated to the composer, who once spent a summer in Haapsalu. Among all this are tiny, low houses made of wood and roofed in corrugated iron, cottages lining narrow streets.

Fortunately, Katri and I got to stay in one of these homes in the old town, as it is owned in part by her grandparents. This particular two-story building, perched on one of the corners of a five-way intersection with no signs, was made just before 1900. Photographs from that period show it to be a pharmacy, with a sign in Russian and German. During World War II, Russian soldiers stayed in the house and supposedly used it as a brothel. Since the 1980s, it has been renovated to resemble more its original state, and to be stronger of course. This means wood paneling on the outside second floor, and exposed concrete on the ground floor. Creaky stairs lead up to the wide hallway on the second floor, carpeted and decorated with the sort of careless functionality that signifies a seasonal home. Everything is a bit mismatched, but nice. Furniture was donated by various family members over the years. It works. There is a large common room with a few card tables, bookshelves, a small balcony overlooking the intersection, and a staticky radio (although, strangely, the house has a wireless internet connection as well). The kitchen and bedrooms all feature enormous black iron stoves that were maybe used to heat the place at one point (possibly still today). The ceilings are high and the floors creak. There are four or five rooms on top, less on the bottom. In fact, the people who live on the ground level are preparing to open a cafe there in the next few weeks. The fellow residents of this house are a colorful bunch--Eero, Katri's great-uncle, a scruffy man with dirty pants and morbid wit who poured me Russian vodka--his friendly, manic-depressive wife--a Russian with a dog whose face was disfigured in a car accident when it was young, and who also has a recurring sore of some kind on its nose that smells godawful, which the Russian can't bear to leave at home when he comes to Haapsalu.

Although we spent most of our one day in town exploring, the house in Haapsalu was as deeply etched in my memory as the town was. The town itself is gorgeous and of a manageable size, and there's plenty of available real estate, some little houses up for cheap. All in all, this was a great place to do nothing, and to see only the memories that have accumulated in this little place for centuries.
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