In the little summer cottage, freezing because summer is gone, I feed the fire with sticks and wrap myself in all the woollen things I can find. I make a mug of instant coffee. Then I power up my laptop and work for a couple of hours. The sea outside the window, the heat of the fire at my back. A job I actually enjoy (so rare in this world).
So I marvel at how lucky I am.
Then I worry a little bit. Because I always worry. But just a little, today.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Monday, September 29, 2014
taverns are no longer illicit, but
Much of this is still true:
"The Finns also have a bent for drink, even though there is no wine here whatsoever, except for illicit tavern keeping, which is harshly suppressed. But, all the way to St. Petersburg, the Finn will drink himself into forgetfulness, lose his money, horse, bridle, and return home poorer than a church rat."
Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin
Life's Little Things
(Saltykov-Shchedrin visited Finland in 1886)
"The Finns also have a bent for drink, even though there is no wine here whatsoever, except for illicit tavern keeping, which is harshly suppressed. But, all the way to St. Petersburg, the Finn will drink himself into forgetfulness, lose his money, horse, bridle, and return home poorer than a church rat."
Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin
Life's Little Things
(Saltykov-Shchedrin visited Finland in 1886)
Sunday, September 28, 2014
the not very relaxing summer in the spa
"I'm afraid we need you to pay for your room NOW, sir," I said in my coldest voice.
Actually, I didn't say "sir" because we don't do that here in Finland. That was one thing I knew, although the rest of the hotel business in Finland was still all new to me. Despite the fact that I had extensive experience of the hotel business in other countries, I was fairly sure there were things all the other receptionists knew and I was clueless about.
And it wasn't only because I had only ever done this job in English-speaking countries and now had to learn (quickly) to do it in both Finnish and Swedish. Being a hotel receptionist is never easy. For every new workplace, you have to learn how to manage bookings and payments and several different computer systems, know all the rooms, restaurant menus and members of staff, act as private secretary to the boss, and be able to provide information about everything from package deals to local tourist sites to where deliveries should be stored to evacuation plans in case of fire.
All this after just a few days of on-the-job training by other receptionists who are often too busy to show you how things are done properly.
At least boredom is seldom one of the challenges.
Things I was still clueless about in this spa hotel included regulations and laws for this business. In Finland, there are lots of laws about everything. I wouldn't have been surprised to find I was the first employee who had not gone to hotel management school, and sometimes suspected I wasn't really supposed to be behind that reception desk at all. But I had never lied about it, and yet there I was.
There were a number of other things I did not understand either, despite my many years in hotels. Such as why they told me I could leave the desk for my lunch break, but then frowned when I did just that instead of just gulping down a sandwich and a yogurt in the back office like the others did. Or how I was told, the only day I called in sick because I was knocked out cold by the flu, that there was nobody else available so I'd better get my sorry ass in to work anyway. Or how there was never anyone else available to do almost anything at all, meaning that I had to leave the reception desk unattended for ages to go and set up an extra bed in a guest's room.
Or how I wasn't told, until after I started working there, that it wasn't a full-time job but only a few hours a week.
Or why I had to stand on my feet for the entire shift, even if it was the full eight hours.
But one thing I did know was that you don't let a guest check out in the morning with only a vague promise to come back and pay the bill "some time later". That's why I fixed this particular gentleman with a threatening stare. Only when he promised on all that is holy to come back in a couple of hours, and gave me his business card, did I relent.
The other receptionist, who had not witnessed our little altercation, gave a little gasp when she found the card lying around. It was a flashy one, gold-embossed and decorated with a symbol that I later learned has been listed as one of the world's ugliest monuments, a golden horseshoe. It turned out that the man I had more or less accused of trying to skip out without paying was Finland's arguably most successful businessman who almost single-handedly created one of the country's most visited - and weirdest - tourist sites, Tuuri.
A man who also kept his promise and came back an hour later to pay his bill.
I still have his card as a souvenir of that clueless, feet-aching summer in the spa hotel.
Actually, I didn't say "sir" because we don't do that here in Finland. That was one thing I knew, although the rest of the hotel business in Finland was still all new to me. Despite the fact that I had extensive experience of the hotel business in other countries, I was fairly sure there were things all the other receptionists knew and I was clueless about.
And it wasn't only because I had only ever done this job in English-speaking countries and now had to learn (quickly) to do it in both Finnish and Swedish. Being a hotel receptionist is never easy. For every new workplace, you have to learn how to manage bookings and payments and several different computer systems, know all the rooms, restaurant menus and members of staff, act as private secretary to the boss, and be able to provide information about everything from package deals to local tourist sites to where deliveries should be stored to evacuation plans in case of fire.
All this after just a few days of on-the-job training by other receptionists who are often too busy to show you how things are done properly.
At least boredom is seldom one of the challenges.
Things I was still clueless about in this spa hotel included regulations and laws for this business. In Finland, there are lots of laws about everything. I wouldn't have been surprised to find I was the first employee who had not gone to hotel management school, and sometimes suspected I wasn't really supposed to be behind that reception desk at all. But I had never lied about it, and yet there I was.
There were a number of other things I did not understand either, despite my many years in hotels. Such as why they told me I could leave the desk for my lunch break, but then frowned when I did just that instead of just gulping down a sandwich and a yogurt in the back office like the others did. Or how I was told, the only day I called in sick because I was knocked out cold by the flu, that there was nobody else available so I'd better get my sorry ass in to work anyway. Or how there was never anyone else available to do almost anything at all, meaning that I had to leave the reception desk unattended for ages to go and set up an extra bed in a guest's room.
Or how I wasn't told, until after I started working there, that it wasn't a full-time job but only a few hours a week.
Or why I had to stand on my feet for the entire shift, even if it was the full eight hours.
But one thing I did know was that you don't let a guest check out in the morning with only a vague promise to come back and pay the bill "some time later". That's why I fixed this particular gentleman with a threatening stare. Only when he promised on all that is holy to come back in a couple of hours, and gave me his business card, did I relent.
The other receptionist, who had not witnessed our little altercation, gave a little gasp when she found the card lying around. It was a flashy one, gold-embossed and decorated with a symbol that I later learned has been listed as one of the world's ugliest monuments, a golden horseshoe. It turned out that the man I had more or less accused of trying to skip out without paying was Finland's arguably most successful businessman who almost single-handedly created one of the country's most visited - and weirdest - tourist sites, Tuuri.
A man who also kept his promise and came back an hour later to pay his bill.
I still have his card as a souvenir of that clueless, feet-aching summer in the spa hotel.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
tango, a thermos and a yellow card
A cold west wind. Layers of sweaters, leg warmers and mittens required.
"I didn't have time for coffee, so I brought a thermos. Want some? It's with cinnamon."
My sister and I sit in the ancient, rotting bleachers. Around us, a dismally grey neighbourhood where someone is playing Finnish tango music. On the field, a flash of neon pink shoes. Junior girls are playing a game of football.
A goal is disqualified by the referee because the ball slips out through a hole in the net. We sip coffee. Shout encouragement to the girl that plays centre-back, one of us. Say hello to a dog. Note the fact that even innocent-looking 14-year-old girls get yellow cards.
The right team wins and I hug a sweaty teenager. "It was HOPELESS in this wind, the ball went EVERYWHERE."
On Saturdays like these, I remember why I came back to Finland.
"I didn't have time for coffee, so I brought a thermos. Want some? It's with cinnamon."
My sister and I sit in the ancient, rotting bleachers. Around us, a dismally grey neighbourhood where someone is playing Finnish tango music. On the field, a flash of neon pink shoes. Junior girls are playing a game of football.
The right team wins and I hug a sweaty teenager. "It was HOPELESS in this wind, the ball went EVERYWHERE."
On Saturdays like these, I remember why I came back to Finland.
Monday, September 22, 2014
to scream behind a wall
Someone in the prison nearby is throwing a tantrum - screams of rage echo between red tile walls.
Sometimes at night I dream of throwing a tantrum.
Sometimes at night I dream of throwing a tantrum.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
in-love-fallings, part three
When I first fell in love with...
* kind and intelligent men: Coming to a new school after finally leaving the one where all the boys were evil-eyed bullies with acne, hurtful words and really scary stalking techniques. In the new classroom, the boys said things like "I think you're electrical" and "Then the evil witch took out her chainsaw". Instead of frozen with terror, I was warm with laughter.
* Finland: When I moved to another country. Not until then did I realise that in Finland, things are done well and on time, people are honest, the coffee is strong, equality is not just a word, and when winter arrives you find out if you are a real Viking or not. Finland is EXOTIC.
* autumn: At university, cycling around a beautiful city filled with autumn leaves and rowdy students. I sipped my coffee at a sidewalk café and scribbled in a new notebook, made excursions to the far ends of the city and discovered beautiful, empty beaches, felt in love with all the new things I was going to learn ( this was before the reality of studying crept in ) and tricked a foreign student into eating rowan berries.
* crosswords: In a foreign country, when my Australian boyfriend convinced me that my English was good enough to attempt the ( easier ) crossword in The Times.
* animals: At age 1, when my parents bought a fluffy poodle puppy. All through my childhood, watching my mother rescue wounded birds, lost cats and trapped spiders. When my older sister took me horse riding, mostly to annoy our parents. And at age 11, when I befriended a tiny girl in my class who took me on a spree in the neighbourhood, knocking on doors and asking strangers if we could walk their dogs.
* learning new things: Long after I left university. Probably when things stopped happening to me and I realised I needed to make things happen. Or when I discovered the powerful feeling of knowledge and the joy of not having to downplay my intelligence in order to fit it.
* short skirts: That crazy summer when I felt constantly intoxicated - my friend lent me a green and white skirt, much shorter than any I had previously ever worn, for a party night. Men fell at my feet, figuratively. Or a balmy summer evening in Cambridge, England, when I walked home after a night alone at the cinema - in a dreamy mood and wearing a short denim skirt. Six gorgeous, impressively dressed student boys fell at my feet, literally this time, in the middle of the street and sang me a song. I can't swear that it was the skirt that did it, but I have a weakness for denim skirts ever since.
* cafés: As a teenager, on frequent trips to visit my big sister in the city. We used to "go shopping" but always ended up doing our favourite thing, spending a lazy hour in some place with good coffee, sweet pastries and a good view of interesting people. Hanging out at cafés became my main pastime when I was at university and was supposed to be studying.
* the English language: Probably the first time I heard the word "mesmerized".
* kind and intelligent men: Coming to a new school after finally leaving the one where all the boys were evil-eyed bullies with acne, hurtful words and really scary stalking techniques. In the new classroom, the boys said things like "I think you're electrical" and "Then the evil witch took out her chainsaw". Instead of frozen with terror, I was warm with laughter.
* Finland: When I moved to another country. Not until then did I realise that in Finland, things are done well and on time, people are honest, the coffee is strong, equality is not just a word, and when winter arrives you find out if you are a real Viking or not. Finland is EXOTIC.
* autumn: At university, cycling around a beautiful city filled with autumn leaves and rowdy students. I sipped my coffee at a sidewalk café and scribbled in a new notebook, made excursions to the far ends of the city and discovered beautiful, empty beaches, felt in love with all the new things I was going to learn ( this was before the reality of studying crept in ) and tricked a foreign student into eating rowan berries.
* crosswords: In a foreign country, when my Australian boyfriend convinced me that my English was good enough to attempt the ( easier ) crossword in The Times.
* animals: At age 1, when my parents bought a fluffy poodle puppy. All through my childhood, watching my mother rescue wounded birds, lost cats and trapped spiders. When my older sister took me horse riding, mostly to annoy our parents. And at age 11, when I befriended a tiny girl in my class who took me on a spree in the neighbourhood, knocking on doors and asking strangers if we could walk their dogs.
* learning new things: Long after I left university. Probably when things stopped happening to me and I realised I needed to make things happen. Or when I discovered the powerful feeling of knowledge and the joy of not having to downplay my intelligence in order to fit it.
* short skirts: That crazy summer when I felt constantly intoxicated - my friend lent me a green and white skirt, much shorter than any I had previously ever worn, for a party night. Men fell at my feet, figuratively. Or a balmy summer evening in Cambridge, England, when I walked home after a night alone at the cinema - in a dreamy mood and wearing a short denim skirt. Six gorgeous, impressively dressed student boys fell at my feet, literally this time, in the middle of the street and sang me a song. I can't swear that it was the skirt that did it, but I have a weakness for denim skirts ever since.
* cafés: As a teenager, on frequent trips to visit my big sister in the city. We used to "go shopping" but always ended up doing our favourite thing, spending a lazy hour in some place with good coffee, sweet pastries and a good view of interesting people. Hanging out at cafés became my main pastime when I was at university and was supposed to be studying.
* the English language: Probably the first time I heard the word "mesmerized".
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
on a wintry, post-Soviet beach
At the end of the last millennium:
I'm in a hotel bed, drinking Coke and watching Back to the Future 3, dubbed into Estonian. Not what I expected of a Friday evening.
I was sent to Estonia to help out at an international Methodist conference. A young student of English, I was supposed to interpret the proceedings into Swedish for the benefit of Swedish participants. I wasn't actually a Methodist myself and could not understand why people would come together for something like this.
But, hey, a paid trip to Estonia! Who would say no?
Pärnu is a famous resort city of Estonia. At the time, it still had a post-Soviet look of dilapidation. I found it desperately romantic, like something out of an old spy movie. Weak street lights, far apart, barely managed to illluminate dark wintry streets and ancient houses falling apart. Very broad streets at that, Soviet-style. A once-grand stadion where I could still, at least in my overactive imagination, see a larger-than-life statue of Lenin. Dreary shops with half-empty shelves. The antique tea rooms of an old hotel where we sipped our strong tea out of delicate china cups. Jungle-like back yards where snarling dobermanns guarded junk like old tractors - and even a real, rust-spotted fighter aircraft. Telephone lines hanging so low you had to duck under them. And, in stark contrast, streets crammed with shiny new BMWs and Mercedes.
Typical Estonia in the 1990s.
I struggled valiantly through the difficult interpretation at the conference and hung out with some new-found friends there, like my fellow Finn whom I followed around loyally since I was too scared to venture far on my own. Luckily, he was of the gentlemanly type who looked after me and made sure I got home safe to my hotel.
The hotel was magnificent - or had been once. When I opened my balcony door, I was right on the mile-long beach, facing the endless horizon of the Gulf of Riga. Since it was February, the beach was completely empty. The Gulf was frozen over and far away I could see people walking on the ice, even driving cars on it.
The winter evenings were quiet, the room chilly. I curled up in the bed, drank my Coke, tried to prepare the following day's interpretation and watched incomprehensible Estonian TV. I felt a bit lost and quite a bit happy.
I'm in a hotel bed, drinking Coke and watching Back to the Future 3, dubbed into Estonian. Not what I expected of a Friday evening.
I was sent to Estonia to help out at an international Methodist conference. A young student of English, I was supposed to interpret the proceedings into Swedish for the benefit of Swedish participants. I wasn't actually a Methodist myself and could not understand why people would come together for something like this.
But, hey, a paid trip to Estonia! Who would say no?
Pärnu is a famous resort city of Estonia. At the time, it still had a post-Soviet look of dilapidation. I found it desperately romantic, like something out of an old spy movie. Weak street lights, far apart, barely managed to illluminate dark wintry streets and ancient houses falling apart. Very broad streets at that, Soviet-style. A once-grand stadion where I could still, at least in my overactive imagination, see a larger-than-life statue of Lenin. Dreary shops with half-empty shelves. The antique tea rooms of an old hotel where we sipped our strong tea out of delicate china cups. Jungle-like back yards where snarling dobermanns guarded junk like old tractors - and even a real, rust-spotted fighter aircraft. Telephone lines hanging so low you had to duck under them. And, in stark contrast, streets crammed with shiny new BMWs and Mercedes.
Typical Estonia in the 1990s.
I struggled valiantly through the difficult interpretation at the conference and hung out with some new-found friends there, like my fellow Finn whom I followed around loyally since I was too scared to venture far on my own. Luckily, he was of the gentlemanly type who looked after me and made sure I got home safe to my hotel.
The hotel was magnificent - or had been once. When I opened my balcony door, I was right on the mile-long beach, facing the endless horizon of the Gulf of Riga. Since it was February, the beach was completely empty. The Gulf was frozen over and far away I could see people walking on the ice, even driving cars on it.
The winter evenings were quiet, the room chilly. I curled up in the bed, drank my Coke, tried to prepare the following day's interpretation and watched incomprehensible Estonian TV. I felt a bit lost and quite a bit happy.
Friday, September 12, 2014
to boldly go
I have never gotten over the feeling that a trip somewhere, even if it's just to the next city, is an event of immeasurable significance.
Maybe because travelling has always to me seemed like the meaning of life. Even when I spend long months perfectly content in my home town, fondly remembering the complicated, adventurous journeys of my youth and sighing in relief at not having to experience all that uncertainty, discomfort and homesickness right now.
Still, I measure my life in the journeys I've made, and display them as proof to myself that I'm not wasting my years.
And on a trip to a place where I've never been before, I hungrily devour with all my senses the new experiences and new landscapes that open up before me. I don't necessarily need activities. I just need to see, observe, learn about, and be in the new place. To others, I seem a bit obsessed and manic in a foreign city - not conditions people usually associate with me.
Yesterday, I took a day trip across the pond to Sweden, to Umeå city. I spent four hours there, not doing anything terribly exciting. And yet, I know I will count this trip as one of the signifying events of this year.
Maybe I just need to get out more.
But I cherish the ability to marvel. The joy that I felt, being somewhere else.
Maybe because travelling has always to me seemed like the meaning of life. Even when I spend long months perfectly content in my home town, fondly remembering the complicated, adventurous journeys of my youth and sighing in relief at not having to experience all that uncertainty, discomfort and homesickness right now.
Still, I measure my life in the journeys I've made, and display them as proof to myself that I'm not wasting my years.
And on a trip to a place where I've never been before, I hungrily devour with all my senses the new experiences and new landscapes that open up before me. I don't necessarily need activities. I just need to see, observe, learn about, and be in the new place. To others, I seem a bit obsessed and manic in a foreign city - not conditions people usually associate with me.
Yesterday, I took a day trip across the pond to Sweden, to Umeå city. I spent four hours there, not doing anything terribly exciting. And yet, I know I will count this trip as one of the signifying events of this year.
Maybe I just need to get out more.
But I cherish the ability to marvel. The joy that I felt, being somewhere else.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
still ditzy, apparently
Opening my door to a damp September day.
I have already read a Bible verse, some English grammar, the IKEA catalogue and several pages of a thick novel. I have planned an interpreter schedule, doubted myself and eaten a lot of yogurt. I have bookmarked blogs by ditzy literature students who are discovering life in the city where I used to be ditzy and discovering life.
Tonight, a free ticket to the theatre. Tomorrow, a day trip to Sweden.
This picture has no connection to the actual contents of this entry. But it's a picture of a rowan tree and I love rowan trees. The berries are ripe at this time of the year and I always have the strange compulsion to eat one. The taste is face-twistingly horrible, but it's the taste of September.
I have already read a Bible verse, some English grammar, the IKEA catalogue and several pages of a thick novel. I have planned an interpreter schedule, doubted myself and eaten a lot of yogurt. I have bookmarked blogs by ditzy literature students who are discovering life in the city where I used to be ditzy and discovering life.
Tonight, a free ticket to the theatre. Tomorrow, a day trip to Sweden.
Tuesday, September 09, 2014
spellbound at the bank
Bank tellers are for the most part coolly efficient. This one wasn't.
She took her time telling me that the answer to my question was no, I couldn't do the currency exchange I wanted. Oblivious to my frustration and stress, she then fixed me with a dreaming look and told me of a grandchild who had gone to Norway, and how last month a customer had asked for Scottish pound notes, and how strange it is, this apparently cashfree society we are heading towards.
I had been gathering up my shopping bags to leave quickly in a frustrated huff. But her slow, soft-spoken ramblings were hypnotic. I remained there, staring at her in fascination. Before I knew it, I heard myself talking to her about the peculiarities of my recent travels.
When I left the bank, without the foreign currency I wanted, my frustration and stress had vanished. Who was she? Luna Lovegood in middle age? They should use her as one of those people who talk down terrorists with their finger on the trigger.
She took her time telling me that the answer to my question was no, I couldn't do the currency exchange I wanted. Oblivious to my frustration and stress, she then fixed me with a dreaming look and told me of a grandchild who had gone to Norway, and how last month a customer had asked for Scottish pound notes, and how strange it is, this apparently cashfree society we are heading towards.
I had been gathering up my shopping bags to leave quickly in a frustrated huff. But her slow, soft-spoken ramblings were hypnotic. I remained there, staring at her in fascination. Before I knew it, I heard myself talking to her about the peculiarities of my recent travels.
When I left the bank, without the foreign currency I wanted, my frustration and stress had vanished. Who was she? Luna Lovegood in middle age? They should use her as one of those people who talk down terrorists with their finger on the trigger.
Sunday, September 07, 2014
commerce under the rowan tree
A friend, and a pop-up flea-market in one of the more picturesque parts of town.
I was more fascinated with the architecture and the fact that normally reticent Finns always seem to become so friendly and chatty on occasions like this. But yes, I bought a Russian dictionary and feasted on homemade chocolate cake in the shade of a rowan tree.
There was also time to contemplate life in the company of some excellent spring rolls in a corner of the busy market square.
We sold the Russian dictionary onward ( over the phone ) before we had even paid for it.
Overheard:
"Walk one metre ahead of me at all times! One metre! One metre!"
"Is the dog for sale?"
"You are not allowed to strangle me."
"That is rather manipulative."
"That's some nice crockery you're selling there. - Yes, but I wouldn't buy it myself."
I was more fascinated with the architecture and the fact that normally reticent Finns always seem to become so friendly and chatty on occasions like this. But yes, I bought a Russian dictionary and feasted on homemade chocolate cake in the shade of a rowan tree.
We sold the Russian dictionary onward ( over the phone ) before we had even paid for it.
Overheard:
"Walk one metre ahead of me at all times! One metre! One metre!"
"Is the dog for sale?"
"You are not allowed to strangle me."
"That is rather manipulative."
"That's some nice crockery you're selling there. - Yes, but I wouldn't buy it myself."
Saturday, September 06, 2014
Friday, September 05, 2014
not something you do every day
Called the janitorial service and told them that my wall is really hot.
Thursday, September 04, 2014
inexplicably unfixable stuff and apple sauce
* Dream last night: Was desperately hungry and stole bananas from a closed supermarket. The police came and pointed guns at me.
* Breakfast: = Lunch, because it actually was that time when I got around to thinking about food. Had salad with my sister, and told her I had decided that when I get old I want my wheeled walking aid to be of a cool vintage model, meaning that I should actually buy it now to ensure that it is sufficiently vintage by the time I need it. Received no understanding from her. She laughed.
* Work: Not much done today. Some translation stuff, from some language to some other language, or something.
* Visit to the car repair shop: A bewildered mechanic ( mechanics are always bewildered after being confronted with my fickle French car ) told me one of the indicators was inexplicably unfixable and that he needed to "do some research". I drove home and all indicators worked fine.
* Well-deserved evening rest on the sofa: Interrupted by my mother who needed her window washing equipment that I borrowed three months ago and still have not used. Took the equipment to her house. My reward: I got to help her make apple sauce. I don't even like apple sauce.
* Breakfast: = Lunch, because it actually was that time when I got around to thinking about food. Had salad with my sister, and told her I had decided that when I get old I want my wheeled walking aid to be of a cool vintage model, meaning that I should actually buy it now to ensure that it is sufficiently vintage by the time I need it. Received no understanding from her. She laughed.
* Work: Not much done today. Some translation stuff, from some language to some other language, or something.
* Visit to the car repair shop: A bewildered mechanic ( mechanics are always bewildered after being confronted with my fickle French car ) told me one of the indicators was inexplicably unfixable and that he needed to "do some research". I drove home and all indicators worked fine.
* Well-deserved evening rest on the sofa: Interrupted by my mother who needed her window washing equipment that I borrowed three months ago and still have not used. Took the equipment to her house. My reward: I got to help her make apple sauce. I don't even like apple sauce.
Wednesday, September 03, 2014
in-love-fallings, part two
When I first fell in love with ...
* travelling: Probably the first time my parents put me in our little Saab 96 and took me somewhere, like the sweet villages of Sweden and the awe-inspiring fjords of Norway. It was certainly cemented when I got to travel on those huge, exciting ferries to Sweden - I ran around exploring every nook and cranny, except the playroom because there were other kids there.
* books: Probably before I was even born. Can I even imagine a time when I didn't love books? No.
* beautiful rooms: That summer I stayed in a dark room, with a room-mate who sometimes seemed to hate me. I was temporarily accommodated in another room, alone, one where bright daylight fell over a bed with white sheets and made the room glow. I lay on that bed, reading a travel magazine with pictures of luxurious beach villas and safari lodges, and felt myself come alive again.
* hotels: When I handed in my last essay at university, packed up my stuff and took off for the Emerald Isle. At the end of a winding road, in a hidden valley, I arrived at a messy, weird and wonderful little hotel where strange things always seemed to happen. I realised then that I had always been looking for a world that never sleeps. And this was it. I made my home in an attic room and didn't leave for four years.
* dancing: Long before I discovered the joys of clubbing, as part of an amateur dance troupe trying to change the world. The actual dancing was hard work but the boys in the troupe were beautiful, athletic and loveable creatures who kissed me, threw me over their shoulder, carried my bags. The other girls hugged me and lent me their make-up. We toured in schools, performed to sneering teenagers, stayed in bohemian flats, rehearsed on the sun terrace of a ferry and dressed as clowns on a dusty country road in Estonia. We also had some priceless inside jokes, like the one about dropping God on the floor and making the TV news.
* dancing, again: On dancefloors in rural Ireland, sometimes drunk but mostly too busy dancing to do much drinking. There it was, the dizzy feeling of being free of everything, spinning through outer space, glimpsing the face of God. It was worth the mortal danger of travelling home in a crowded mini-van driven by someone who was probably drunk, at breakneck speed on dark, winding roads. I learned to let go.
* travelling: Probably the first time my parents put me in our little Saab 96 and took me somewhere, like the sweet villages of Sweden and the awe-inspiring fjords of Norway. It was certainly cemented when I got to travel on those huge, exciting ferries to Sweden - I ran around exploring every nook and cranny, except the playroom because there were other kids there.
* books: Probably before I was even born. Can I even imagine a time when I didn't love books? No.
* beautiful rooms: That summer I stayed in a dark room, with a room-mate who sometimes seemed to hate me. I was temporarily accommodated in another room, alone, one where bright daylight fell over a bed with white sheets and made the room glow. I lay on that bed, reading a travel magazine with pictures of luxurious beach villas and safari lodges, and felt myself come alive again.
* hotels: When I handed in my last essay at university, packed up my stuff and took off for the Emerald Isle. At the end of a winding road, in a hidden valley, I arrived at a messy, weird and wonderful little hotel where strange things always seemed to happen. I realised then that I had always been looking for a world that never sleeps. And this was it. I made my home in an attic room and didn't leave for four years.
* dancing: Long before I discovered the joys of clubbing, as part of an amateur dance troupe trying to change the world. The actual dancing was hard work but the boys in the troupe were beautiful, athletic and loveable creatures who kissed me, threw me over their shoulder, carried my bags. The other girls hugged me and lent me their make-up. We toured in schools, performed to sneering teenagers, stayed in bohemian flats, rehearsed on the sun terrace of a ferry and dressed as clowns on a dusty country road in Estonia. We also had some priceless inside jokes, like the one about dropping God on the floor and making the TV news.
* dancing, again: On dancefloors in rural Ireland, sometimes drunk but mostly too busy dancing to do much drinking. There it was, the dizzy feeling of being free of everything, spinning through outer space, glimpsing the face of God. It was worth the mortal danger of travelling home in a crowded mini-van driven by someone who was probably drunk, at breakneck speed on dark, winding roads. I learned to let go.
Monday, September 01, 2014
rage against the dying of the light
First of September and I had to be dragged kicking and screaming - almost literally - from the summer cottage because it really is a bit too cold and too dark to stay there overnight now and people say I have to work.
Mad with melancholy and there's a long, long, LONG winter ahead.
Mad with melancholy and there's a long, long, LONG winter ahead.
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| Bonfire celebration at summer's end |
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