first-time traveller: destination Utrecht

I'm 16 years of age and on my first real trip to a foreign country.

My childhood trips to neighbouring Sweden and Norway with my parents don't really count. I've heard my friends talk about holidays around the Mediterranean and I'm wildly jealous. My longing for foreign travel awoke years ago, and steadily grows as I pore over the world atlas (a wonderful book). My wanderlust is not even hindered by planetary boundaries, because Star Trek makes even interstellar journeys seem possible. 

But my hunger for adventure is hobbled by the fact that I'm not at all an adventurous person.

My two best friends (equally inexperienced travellers) come up with the idea to join an arranged trip to a huge, international Christian youth conference. Conveniently, we can get on a chartered bus close to our home in Finland and it will take us all the way there and back. This is why my first real trip abroad goes to a place I've never heard of: Utrecht. It's in the Netherlands.

We get on the bus. It's filled with other young people going to the same conference, but they all speak Finnish. We're Swedish speakers with shaky language skills, so we nervously keep to ourselves. The trip takes three days, non-stop. One night we sleep in a cabin on the ferry to Sweden, one night we snooze in the bus.

I'm 16 and the whole world is new and unknown. Nearly everything is a first-time experience.

* Copenhagen: we stop for while on a dark December evening, just to walk around Stroget and all the neon lights. My first time in a country where I don't really understand the language spoken around me.

* Germany: it's night and I need sleep, but I wake up every now and then, just to peer in wonder at a dark landscape I can barely see through the mud-spattered bus window, and tell myself, "I'm in Germany!"

* Passport control (there are none between the Nordic countries): no need to exit the bus. Intimidating, burly men stomp down the aisle and frown at everyone's passport. Mine is brand new.

* Sleeping in your seat on a crowded bus: it's possible, when you're young and exhausted. I barely notice the various ferry rides between countries, or the shocking news of Ceausescu's fall.

* The youth conference: there are 10 000 participants, so it's more than ten times bigger than any event I've ever attended. Information packs and brochures are available in about ten different languages (including tiny ones such as Swedish and Finnish). There are people from almost every European country. There are food stands selling snacks from almost every European country. The facility is massively bigger than any building I've ever seen. The girls' accommodation area is an immense hall furnished with thousands of mattresses. For the main meetings, all 10 000 attendants crowd into the same hall. There's simultaneous interpretation into our own language. 

* Eating with thousands of others, brushing my teeth with dozens of others around the same (very long) sink, making friends from other countries, bonding around the fact that the hall is cold and the rented blankets smell of horses. And they all have the same faith as me - I'm used to being part of a small minority that is sneered at by my peers. During the days we attend Bible study, missions seminars, national meetings (with Finns) and language-group meetings (with Swedes). We spend the nights chatting, singing and dancing in crowds of strangers. A few of our friends from home are also there, older boys who are supposed to keep an eye on us, but they soon give up.

* The rest of the Netherlands: we venture out into Utrecht, to have Chinese food and check out the shops. We pay with guilders and try oliebollen. We do a brief tour of Amsterdam, walking among the canals and giggling in the Rijksmuseum until frowning security guards start following us around. Even the grey, damp December weather is novel to me, since I associate travel with summer and December with snow.

* Hamburg: a long stop where we try to do some shopping, but then everything closes early and we resort to people-watching and giggling at McDonald's.

* Sleeping on the bus floor on the way home, freezing cold, and being stepped on by people. 

I come home about a week later, exhausted and with a cough, in the first days of 1990. I haven't managed to see very much of Europe and the Netherlands, apart from what I've glimpsed through mud-streaked bus windows. 

But I've met the whole of Europe. I've done my first real foreign travelling. 

final report of summer 2025

A car with a locked wheel, mental mentor meeting, almost moving my mother into a care home, three weeks of full-time vacation, several weeks of half-time vacation, almost every weekend at the cottage, fetching a dead eagle from a deserted island and sending it by post, two magical boat trips to summer islands, a little family time, lots of alone time, pondering vocational singleness, a small but exquisite church concert, Midsummer celebration as usual, Kuddnäs and the history of Topelius, selling crêpes at a church conference, wheelchair excursions with my mother, grilling sausages on a rainy day, books, a heatwave so strong it melted glue in the bathroom, weariness and tears, road trip to Pensala and Purmo and a country fair in Jeppo, cottage renovations, funeral of a beloved aunt, Kristinestad with friends, garden cafés and the most gorgeous B&B I've ever stayed in, the Stundars museum, a month-long break from TV, Night of the Arts with yarn crafts and decadent red wine, my mother's last trip to her favourite place, end-of-summer celebration, hospital visits.

I am made of words & rivers & winds & wildflowers. 

I am part grief & part hope & all love.

(Victoria Erickson)

guiding lights along the coast of autumn

Sleeping in peaceful, dark rooms. Books. Vanilla milkshakes. Candles. Women who know God. A weekend in a foreign city. Church windows. A little wine. Walks among birds and the smell of leaves. Celebrations. Star Trek. Making  music. Love.

fridge findings, five years later

Time for the only fun (or at least vaguely interesting) thing to do when you're the only one left in the office and everyone else is on summer vacation: exploring the contents of the staff fridge.

1 protein pudding (chocolate flavoured)

1 punnet of strawberries (25% remaining) 

1 punnet of cherries (50% remaining)

truffle sweets

17 mini-bottles of mineral water (strawberry-rhubarb flavoured)

organic dates

3 mini-bottles of soft drinks

3 mini-cartons of milk

1 tube of tuna spread

1 ice pack

chili sauce

ketchup

mustard

eye drops

The problem with our staff fridge: it's impossible to know what's private, what's free for the taking, and what's private but won't be missed if you take it. And what's been open for months and will kill you if you take it.

how to sneak up on a whooping swan

How to sneak up on a whooping swan, send a dead eagle through the mail, watch an almost entire match of women's football: things I've learned this summer.

How to enjoy extreme heat, structure a holiday well so it doesn't end in tears, handle a boat: things I've still not learned this summer.

final report of spring 2025

Party season with lots of cake, a horrible flu, hiking among quiet lakes, a trip to Jeppis, several museums, a joyful Easter lunch, a Sunday morning in a country church, elation over our very own boy band KAJ in the Eurovision, balcony sun, subtitling annoying children's shows and testing AI translation, studying attitude and flow, afternoon tea, a choral concert straight out of heaven, a big-band jazz concert I endured, combing my hair differently, wondering if setting goals is against my faith, meeting a roebuck, hearing a wolf pack howl, singing in three languages, a Star Trek binge, a Turku weekend with history and sun and my favourite castle and my favourite people.

Edit: the wolf pack might have been a husky pack. But I won't let the truth stand in the way of a good story.

shallow little thoughts I've had lately

Perceived absence of love equals presence of fear. 

Critical thinking, a love of science and facts: these can co-exist peacefully and creatively with a deep fascination for the Bible.

I seem to have outgrown my daddy issues and this is negatively affecting my creativity and sleep.

I have acquired a recent aversion to setting goals.

In every situation: take a deep breath, then listen carefully.

Olives, figs or cashews will energize any boring dish.

When I was younger, I used to wish May 21st was my birthday. I felt that would make me a nearly magical creature. I have no idea why. 

hikes with wolves

I went hiking in the forest, alone. 

It was a ridiculously pretty spring day, you know the kind. The sun smiles over quiet little lakes where birds play in the water, blackbirds and robins serenade each other, the cutest little flowers sprout everywhere, an enticing path winds among ancient trees. Not another human being for miles. The breeze in the pines the only background noise.

I spent a good part of the hike worrying. Mostly about being eaten. I made a mental list of dangerous beasts I was most likely to encounter. Bear, extremely unlikely. Wolf, highly unlikely but not out of the question. Elk, quite possibly, but not likely to eat me. Adder, fairly possible and likely to at least take a bite out of me.

I had almost convinced myself to stop worrying and just enjoy the day when I heard, at a distance, a wolf pack howling. Seriously, a wolf pack. 

Or a bunch of huskies in the nearest village, I told myself hastily. It's just that, according to the map, there was only deep forest in the direction of the noise. I have never seen a wolf in the wild, but some people around here have. Nobody seems to ever hear them howl.

I froze. Considered the likelihood of being eaten again. Then I realised I had suddenly stopped worrying. I was absolutely, overwhelmingly thrilled by the fact that I was - just maybe - listening to ... wild wolves howling.

song is the theme of the month

May projects: take hundreds of walks in the woods, smell the flowers, sing with the birds, sing with a choir, watch Eurovision Song Contest, throw a party, go to one of my favourite cities, go to my favourite cabin in the woods, try to postpone my usual summer breakdown.

give my inner child a sugar-free morceau de gâteau

April projects: enjoy Easter, spend no money at all, learn French, let go of worrying, do fun stuff (without spending money), deal with my inner child, celebrate my birthday, get serious about sugar, buy a laptop (preferably without spending money).

Piece of cake. (For my birthday - not sugarfree!)

final report from winter 2025

Mild winter, extreme translation-related stress, course weekends, a gleaming Christmas with a fragrant Christmas tree, lots of time curled up with a book, existential anxiety, choir practice, eight-hour industry work weeks, kind-of poverty.

New experiences: an overnight stay alone in an empty hotel in a blizzard, distributing Christmas packages to the poor, acting as private interpreter for an ambassador.

one to forget

A winter of worries - work, health, money. Apart from a gleaming Christmas and a few fascinating course weekends, I'd rather forget most of it.

But mountains have been moved for me. It's time to live, listen to the birds, and write sometimes.

interrupted thoughts

I have washed puppy pee from my jeans and sang I see a red door and I want it painted black...

Science and princes with ancient table manners, glamorous dresses and food ...

A yellow light flashing, a steel door gliding open by itself. Shouted loudly come out and play ...

Oh ye'll take the high road and I'll take the low road
and I'll be in Scotland a'fore ye

I cry for the loss of love when what I really mean is the loss of warmth. Love is found in the sun. Late bloomer, they said once. What about never-bloomer?

I'm already in eternity, just a few more bumps in the road before heaven opens up.

Clutching a double-shot cappuccino like a lifeline, trying to focus on a book. Listening to the Eastern-European guys ...

A gentle hand steadied me.

... on a quest for God's love and an easy breath.

... obliquely through the dandelion clocks around us ... 

Pandemic restrictions have been lifted and I can go to church again, if I want. I don't know if I want. 

"Let's go to France this summer and explore castles and drink red wine," a friend said. 

December is another planet than June.

They say there might not be enough electricity this winter, and is there a good way to finish this blog entry? No, there isn't.

There was a woman, once. This is not my story.

living with fire, or the times I nearly died

I have managed to set my hair on fire twice. (Must have had some fun parties!)

As a kid: nearly drowned once, was chased by a pedophile another time.

As a carefree student travelling by bicycle in every kind of weather: close encounters with moving cars at least three times, with the ground a few more.

I was hit by a bus while walking, and survived. 

Thank you, God.

the snow-how of a Finn

Winter weather clues in the morning:

A cool bedroom: it's been a cold night. Slightly too warm: milder weather. A soft, blueish light: snow on the ground. The rumbling of snowplows or an eerie silence outside: lots of new snow. The sound of someone scraping ice off their car: frost. A bright light with the sky high as a cathedral outside my window: very cold. The sound of dripping wetness: thaw. Noisy crackling under the wheels of passing cars: thawed snow that has frozen over again. Dirty yellow air: a blizzard approaching.

what is required in compensation for January

This month has heaped miseries upon me. What I long for right now:

Joy, peace, Christmas, chocolate, the good old days when I curled up on the couch and wrote, my father, dinner with friends, dogs, childhood, weeks of rest surrounded by books, easy health, a feeling of invincibility, God, my university days, fastlagsbullar with lots of cream, the feeling of falling in love, the smell of turf smoke in an Irish village on a winter's day, birdsong.

2024: the year of song, struggle and Spanish tales

2024 was the year I only just dragged my business through another crisis year, launched my skills on a foreign market, started training my mind for new trade. 

I found a new gym and a real choir - and found my voice, after decades of silence. I took up volleyball again, against better judgment and wobbly knees. I gave up cheese and took strict control over my money.

The winter was six months long and everyone important to me seemed to suffer from serious illness. There was constant struggle and worry for a 90-year-old with broken bones, dementia and loneliness. She didn't really feel like my mother anymore. The spring was a bit easier, summer peaceful. Work and money ran out in the autumn, bringing stress along with new challenges and a new direction.

It was the year I read 137 books and (according to Spotify) listened to royalcore concert band classical and academic strut pop, once for a whole day straight. I rediscovered my love for the Swedish language.

Highlights:

* New Year with friends, pizza and prosecco.

* Graffiti art exibition in an abandoned warehouse in freezing cold - a ghost town and fairytale in one. The kind of art I enjoy. Wandered around wearing double-layer wool and winter boots. Spooky funfair games, broken dolls, fairy lights in discarded boots, monsters, urinals and everything spray-painted.

* Joining a choir, a version of the one I lived in and loved 30 years ago. Loved this one too. Good for the soul and the soul voice.

* Funeral of a beloved aunt, among many other beloved aunts and uncles. My sister and I attended, feeling newly orphaned. The old and wise took us in, embraced us in their love. A church with ancient avenging angels in the ceiling, coffee in venerable poet Topelius' home.

* Age signs: christening of my second grand-niece, laser treatment of my eye, my first ever permanent medication.

* Helsinki weekend with friends, wine, Finnish pentecostals, great food, a twilight walk in icy Eira, the National Library, hunt for the most atmospheric café.

* "Rainbow mass" that I attended out of curiosity.

* Last evening in the town's only (almost) real Irish pub before it closed for renovation. Joyful dancing with a friend, meaningful conversation with my brother.

* Deepening crisis in the garment industry, losing customers and suppliers, not amenably.

* Discovery, by my dentist, of my first ever tooth cavity since the late Eighties.

* Choir weekend with hundreds of singers, two fun concerts and an unexpected icecream break in the snow.

* Sand from the Sahara that rained down on my car.

* Trip to Larsmo to look at a boat and a spring flood. Played a car game that involved heavy accents and collision avoidance.

* South African evening with rusk, lots of interesting facts and the sales price of giraffes.

* Trip of the year, a week in Spain: the Alhambra, tapas, history, sun, swifts and oranges, and a decadent life.

* Birthday: a gorgeous Andalusian dawn with both sun and moon, a champagne party on a plane with a view over Atlantic sand dunes, a good friend and Washington Irving's fairytales, a dinner eaten standing up on a train going 170 kph.

* My first book fair: history, crime fiction, fantasy, and recruiting a published author to our book club.

* Two funerals in one day, involving many tears and the bishop of Burma.

* Dinner with cousins, aunts and uncles - lots of love, home and belonging. Much needed.

* Barbecue and angling lessons on a summer's eve. The fish didn't bite, fortunately.

* Picnics and brunches with praying women, easing this year's feelings of loneliness.

* Massive air show with fighter jets, tanker aircraft and serious-looking helicopters. None of them crashed, despite their complicated maneuvers and my predictions, but I was almost killed by the shuttle bus to the car park.

* Luxury brunch with best friend, under some stuffed deer heads. It started with mimosas and ended with a chocolate fountain.

* Midsummer with the Midsummer people, some old-new additions and a very pregnant cat. Sometimes it's a wonderful feeling to be surrounded by people who all went to the same school at the same time and know the same things.

* Various road trips with mother - a favourite pastime for us both. (I made it my summer project to visit as many summer cafés as possible.) Other trips, with various people, saw Kaskö and the famous greenhouse restaurant, Kokkola and a summer yardsale in the idyllic old town, and phenomena such as old church ladies, honeybeer and the only British warship ever lost to the enemy (i.e. the Finns, who probably were as surprised by this as the Brits).

* Bubbles, good food and sangria nightlife by the seafront, with my industrial cohorts K & K.

* Guided cemetery tours: this summer's educational project (alongside reading Leo Tolstoy's shortest novel, very short indeed). Learned, among many other things, that ghosts of musicians like to play Mozart's "Sleigh Ride" and that my home town has many interesting characters.

* A day spent sipping various drinks at various sidewalk cafés with various people - perfection!

* The Olympics in Paris: watching weird sports on a laptop in the wilderness cottage.

* Night of the Arts: a viking ship, tacos, secret orders, rich red wine and the usual magnificent chaos.

* Unusual nature observations: two hares in a boxing match, a baby cuckoo, egrets.

* Close encounter with a venomous snake: almost picked it up with my bare hands. Not on purpose.

* A fight lost against AI (bad AI-generated subtitling): also lost a lot of work, and a lot of work motivation, as a result.

* Fourth funeral of the year, this time finding family love among my mother's cousins.

* Dramatic end to the summer cottage season: after a long, lonely but wonderful summer, I came home in September by bus, my car by tow truck. I decided then that summer was definitely over.

* Mental trainer course: new career I suddenly decided to embark on, maybe. Fascinating subject, weekends with fascinating people, a lot of soul searching.

* Rock gig at the jazz club.

* Exploration of the very small town of Vörå - a mountain, fake Roman ruins, runes.

* A garage roof project I was called in to help with: complicated and kind of fun, with teenagers and single ladies and a darkening evening.

* Battle against cholesterol and against doctors who disagreed about my cholesterol. 

* Battle against subtitling software, extremely demoralizing.

* Tampere weekend with sister: cafés, chasing famous donuts, a museum, Indian food, cozy evenings with cozy crime series, pear truffles from the best chocolate shop in the world.

* African birthday celebration in a blizzard, with power cuts and a pro cake.

* Software license, extremely expensive, bought from a nice Danish lady to kickstart my new career as a subtitler for Swedish TV.

* A night in a horror movie setting: me and a friend all alone in an unstaffed hotel, in the middle of nowhere, in a blizzard. I slept peacefully.

* Volunteering for a charity project: taking food and Christmas presents to suffering families, receiving beautiful smiles in return. Also found my way blocked by a gigantic horse.

* Christmas days: family celebration of the coziest kind, a dinner with former Afghan missionaries and TV producers, a brunch with firefighters and bohemians, and a trip to the last outpost on the Ostrobothnian plains where an eerie purple light shines over snow and traditional hymns are combined with mulled wine around a fire pit.

* New Year's Eve: my sister, a church service, a water/fire show and (the best part) a café. At midnight, I watched the fireworks alone and cried. 

A difficult year is over.