Magic made visible

Yesterday I was in Porvoo, a small coastal town in Souther Finland, founded in the 14th century. It is one of our biggest tourist attractions and I definitely understand why; the historical parts of the city are very beautiful and well-preserved (despite the city being burned down a few times, both by accident and on purpose); the church is one of Finland’s finest; the little villages around are very attractive as well as the nature just outside the city centre. To me Porvoo is much more than that – I spent there a lot of time as a child since my grandmother lives there and my family from her side is from that area. Grandmother’s place was basically my second home for a few years when my mother had a three-shift job in Helsinki. We still visit granny and the lovely Porvoo frequently and I’m always more than happy to go there.

Enough with the introduction.

Yesterday we spent most of the time walking around the old town, dropping by little shops and booths in the marketplace. Right next to the river running through the city there was a wonderful shop located in an old shed. It was something in between a museum and a second-hand shop and the things in there were fantastic: old furniture, paintings, tableware, books, everything. Many amazing things there were that caught my attention but one item I really fell in love with. It was a small painting that sort of seemed to be made of gypsum or something like that but I’m not sure – shamefully I know nothing about art nor materials used to create it. However, the surface of the painting was rough, three-dimensional-looking and very lively. In the picture there was a girl sitting in fetal position facing right, her head bowed, her face buried in her hands. It seemed as if she was sitting on water, her robe becoming one with the waves, her hair flying in the wind. The picture was white with the palest touch of blue in the water, slightest blush in her skin. How beautiful it was! It was utterly ethereal, delicate and enchanting, when I first saw it I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Had it been just a little cheaper I would have bought it without hesitation. Luckily the kind shop owner told me I could take a picture of it which I gladly did – a picture I won’t post here. It would feel unfair, not knowing who the artist was and so on. I’ve described that wonderful thing as well as I can and yet I feel I’ve said nothing at all. Perhaps that is the very core of beauty.

Ash and flow

Yesterday we (’we’ being my mother, my aunt and I) spent the entire day cleaning up the ruins of our summer house. Basically that meant sifting through a huge pile of coal and ash trying to separate all the metal, combustible waste and asbestos (it was an old house, thus the asbestos). In some very odd way I rather enjoyed the work; the weather was nice, the lake was beautiful and I didn’t even mind all the ash eating into my skin, clothes and lungs.  However, the best part of the day followed after the scouring. (Yes, I’m using the word ’scour’ intentionally.)

Swimming. That was the one thing that really made my day and actually was the very best thing about the whole summer thus far. Yesterday was the first time I’ve been to the lake this year and despite the sentimental undertone I swear there is no other lake like that one. There is something deeply soothing and enchanting about that place and it always gives me an extraordinary feeling I’ve never felt in any other place. I’m not really capable of explaining how I feel when rowing or swimming in that lake or just sitting on the rocks and looking over the water. It’s a weird mixture of happiness, tranquility, energy, wistfulness and something I have no word for.

I reached that feeling again yesterday evening as I was floating with my eyes closed and arms stretched, just listening to the water. All of a sudden I felt as if there were no thoughts left in my head, something that is really alien to me. I was either perfectly aware or not aware at all. (Even though the logical impossibility of that slightly annoys me; sometimes I have odd feelings that are complete opposites and yet precisely similar at the same time, I have no idea how to make that understandable. It sort of feels like having two things so far from each other that they actually start to seem close. I don’t know, I guess I’m not making any sense – and perhaps it’s not even necessary to.)

I think I'll add some pictures later once I manage to get them out of my camera (which not playing nicely with the computer at the moment).

Fear to fail

The text you’re about to read is neither more nor less than a pointless lamentation about things that don’t really matter. That is to say, I recommend you to find some other activity than reading my ramblings to spend this fabulous Sunday afternoon.

I have a bad habit of clinging to all kinds of things that tend to be essentially impossible or the very least improbable to ever happen in this beautiful universe of ours. Frankly there are not too many things I want; moneywise I have enough to get by and I’m happy with that, I don’t need more. When it comes to other things such as my inevitable future as a lonely wolf or a mad cat lady – well, that image grew roots in my nervous system so long ago that I accepted it and even learned to like it in some curious way. I don’t really care to bother my brain with such things. There are other things far more puzzling – and frustrating.

My greatest – and probably silliest – fear is that I’ll never get things done. I tend to be slightly ambitious whether it is about studying or other things I wish to be good at. I hate to do things sloppily and superficially, whatever it is I’m doing I want to do it properly. The frustration arises when I realise that my mere will to do things well is not enough to actually make things happen. Perhaps the fear is first and foremost about not being good enough, something I really can’t stand. It’s not just about studying and learning; it’s also about certain silly dreams (or actually one particular dream) I’ve had since I was little and can’t let go despite being totally incapable of making them real. The very point is that the things I want are the kind of things that don’t depend on luck, circumstances or other variables. Therefore this rambling comes down to one conclusion I’m about to face once again:

I suck. Majorly. Again.

Did I make any sense? Guess I didn’t.

A few words about something much more fascinating than the self-pity-oriented whining above: last week I took a late night walk and enjoyed a wonderful, foggy midnight moment. The air was really fresh and clear and to my great pleasure I saw several bats flying back and forth, probably trying to find dinner (or perhaps it was breakfast for them). I find bats really cool and cute with their beautifully shaped wings and furry bodies, such fascinating creatures of the night they are.

I know the picture is crappy but believe me, it is a bat.

Midsummer's Eve

I’m not such a big fan of parties, holidays and festivals but I do love Midsummer’s Eve. In Finland it is celebrated around summer solstice and even though the Catholic church associated it with John the Baptist at the beginning of the 5th century the traditions originating from Finnish pagan mythology and folklore are much stronger. Midsummer (or juhannus, in Finnish) isn’t really concidered a Christian festivity at all. Personally I find the folklore­ related feast very fascinating since it includes all kinds of ancient beliefs and spells. I’ve listed some of my favorite traditions that in my opinion are wonderful ways to honour Finland’s nightless and magical summer (which is quite cold and rainy right now but never mind that).

(It's not a bonfire, just a campfire. Just for clarity's sake.)

1)    Midsummer bonfire Bonfires are lit all around Finland throughout Midsummer night. Originally their purpose was to repel malicious spirits but they’ve also been associated with heliotheism. Fire can be set on shores or beaches but the most beautiful ones are floating on water: a ferry laden with wood can be set on fire and then launched. Flaming beacons in the middle of a quiet, dim lake slowly getting veiled by nightly mist look like a myth made real.

2)    Midsummer magic Yes, there are still quite a lot of people in Finland who practice a little magic every Midsummer’s Eve ­– including me. To be honest the charms are just for fun and most of them are performed in order to avail romantic intentions. To me the purpose of the charms isn’t the very point; I try to keep the traditions alive for my part and the idea of wandering in the lovely smelling forests and meadows collecting flowers the same way people used to do centuries ago is very enchanting. On the other hand I think charms are after all quite useless at Midsummer’s Eve, the night that already is full of magic by its very nature. Not that I’d actually believe in magic, I concider myself rather rational (at least 364 days a year).

3)    Stories As I’ve mentioned earlier I’m deeply in love with Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Midsummer seems to be an endless source for stories about fairies and curious events ­– no wonder why. When it comes to Finnish literature my absolute favourite is Tove Jansson’s Moominsummer Madness (The Swedish and Finnish names are so much better though).

Those are a few of my favourite things about the night at hand. I was planning to not to complain about no longer having a summer house but I think I’ll do it anyway. I’d like to sit on the porch and stare over the darkening lake; I’d like to go for a late night swim when it’s so quiet you can hear the world breathing; I’d like to read or perhaps write something in a drifting boat. However, it doesn’t make any sense to ponder that now – the summer house burned down after being hit by a lightning and there is no way to remedy that.

I bet it was quite a bonfire.

Namárië!

It shouldn’t be such a surprise.

In fact, there is nothing surprising about it. It’s natural. It’s life.

And yet I find it hard to believe. Slightly curious it might be since we all know the rules. The real surprise is, methinks, that the rules applied to him too.

I’m literally afraid to write about Sir Christopher Lee and the sad news we received today. There are so many clichés that can hardly be avoided when writing about something like this and I’m aware that everything I’ve got to say seems lame and vacuous. Perhaps there is no way to write something great and extraordinary about someone who was so great and extraordinary himself.

There is no other actor whose work I adore as much as I adore Lee’s. Talent and intelligence of that caliber are and will remain without an equal. Lee had great skills both in film and in music and his linguistic capacity was far beyond impressive. His mere voice was enough to make me fall in love with a film or the character he played and should I choose one sound to be the last one I hear that would probably be it. Those 93 years were a lifetime of art, skill and wondrous work that I’m proud to witness whether by watching a film or listening to a song.

Sir Christopher, my hat is off to you and for both your work and your life I applaud you.

Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Namárië!

Path of the Faëries

Should I be forced to choose one from among hundreds of enchanting mythological creatures my choice would be fairies.

I’m – always have been – deeply fascinated by fairies (or faëries, an old-fashioned spelling I really like). I find especially the British fairy folklore very interesting whether talking about ancient, Celtic-inspired and Arthurian myths or the later Elizabethan version popularized by William Shakespeare. In my case the Arthurian legends are yet to be explored but the overview seems wonderful. I’m more familiar with the Shakespearean version, especially the one presented in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, a play I truly adore. I think that piece of art is the very reason I began this text in the first place – the nights are getting brighter and warmer here in the north and that always makes me think about Puck, Titania and all those poor mortals.

Since I’m writing about fairies I feel forced to say something about J.R.R. Tolkien; he’s works after all are the ones that made me fall in love with elves and fairies in the first place. In my opinion the elves in The Lord of the Rings are quite different from the ones presented for instance in The Book of Lost Tales vol. I & II.  The elves in The Book of Lost Tales are a diminutive race, merely a shadow of the mighty folk they once were whereas in The Lord of the Rings they’re still a great and graceful yet fading people. Every once in a while I find myself 

nearly panicking when I realize how much there is to learn about elves in Tolkienian mythology only – not to even mention all the stuff I should read about British folklore in general! I’ll never be able to learn as much as I’d love to (especially since I’ve got some actual studying to do, too).

Why am I even writing this? There are others who have expressed the otherworldly beauty of faëries the way they deserve:

A king there was in days of old:

ere Men yet walked upon the mould
his power was reared in caverns' shade,
his hand was over glen and glade.
Of leaves his crown, his mantle green,
his silver lances long and keen;
the starlight in his shield was caught,
ere moon was made or sun was wrought.

                             J.R.R. Tolkien: The Lay of Leithian

PUCK
Fairy king, attend, and mark:
I do hear the morning lark.

OBERON
Then, my queen, in silence sad,
Trip we after the night's shade:
We the globe can compass soon,
Swifter than the wandering moon.

TITANIA

Come, my lord, and in our flight
Tell me how it came this night
That I sleeping here was found
With these mortals on the ground.

                             William Shakespeare: A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Svalbard

I’ve always been fascinated by H.C. Andersen’s story Snow Queen – the story is enchanting and the Snow Queen herself is a very puzzling character. One Saturday morning in January I was searching information about the story (I don’t even quite remember what it was I wanted to know) when I ran into an article according to which Snow Queen lived in Svalbard; this is what Andersen himself claimed. I googled Svalbard to see some pictures and half an hour later I booked flights. That’s where I was earlier this week, in a settlement called Longyearbyen, 78°13’ parallel north.

At the moment I’m slightly too confused to say anything about the days I spent there. The place was simply surreal, very plain and barren but uncommonly beautiful and dreamlike. Perhaps I’ll write more about that later, now I’m still trying to organize my thoughts about that otherworldly place.

A couple of things most on my mind right now:

1) Nature. It’s unbelievable. The temperature was -7°C and the sun was ridiculously bright. The light blue Greenland Sea seemed magical being surrounded by white mountains; the plane’s windows were covered in ice crystals when we were landing; the landscapes made me run out of words the first minute I saw them and still do. And no, I didn't see polar bears. It was still worth it.

2) Norwegians are nice. One thing that makes travelling alone so cool is that it’s much easier to start conversations with strangers. I chatted with a really nice Norwegian family (and the wonderful thing is that they kept on being nice after they heard I was Finnish which is quite surprising after the hockey game on Monday). Also, one night when I went to the lobby of the hostel I was staying in to have a cup of tea the kind receptionist told me I could have it for free if I didn’t tell anyone. How nice is that? Then again at Oslo airport I was trying to get rid of my Norwegian coins and went to a café. However, I had one crown too little and the wonderful waitress took the missing coin from their tip box. I really hope we here in Finland will be able to give travelers and tourists as nice experiences as the ones I got in Norway. I want to believe it’s possible if we just step up and stop being so grumpy.

3) Safety. In Svalbard people really respect each other’s space and property. In a place like that it’s easy to trust which is something I really value.

4) Library. It’s probably odd that I spent some time in Longyearbyen Library since I don’t know Norwegian (written Norwegian is surprisingly understandable if you speak Swedish, though). As I’ve brought up several times I love books and feel at home when I’m surrounded by them. To me visiting the library was more than natural. The Norwegian editions of J.R.R. Tolkien’s and C.S. Lewis’ books seem very beautiful.