Week 4: Heinola to Mäntyharju
May 28, 2003
A Finn told me: “What a naive bloke you are! You write “society claims to be ‘in touch’ with nature. Society being what? As far as I see, societies are not in position of claiming such a thing. The establishement perhaps is, or the official representatives are. But if you listen to many individuals, you’ll see. Lapps were in touch with nature. Inuits were. African tribes were. Agricultural tradition of the north was. But they were not aware of it. As soon as the Lapps and the Inuits were given a snow scooter and fuel they started using it. As soon as the tribes were given AK47’s they grabbed them. As soon as the farmers were given chemical fertilizers and machines they started using them.
“You must also be aware of the “scene of official idealism” that predomiates here as in any ‘developed’ society.
“The fact is that the majority of Finns are cannon fodder as anywhere else. One should not pretend anything else. Our luck is that our climate and relative isolation has prevented us to be too many for the size of the country. You will definitely find places of total purity in terms of noise pollution furter up north. Well, the airplanes, of course.
“Yes I agree, you’ll be likely to encounter kindness. But be aware, we are the most violent and unpredictable people when drunk. And in the countryside many do not have much else to do than to drink. Fortunately the violence is aimed at drinking pals, and relatives, and family, more often than not. Well unfortunately, I’m also a pessimist. We are heading for a disaster – nothing will be done. Its the greed.
“My light of hope is that I believe in a divine intervention.”
———-
I walked too far to reach Sonannen. My body ached and I was overly hungry and I became upset as I set camp. I was lonely, homesick and in pain. The lake was clear like a window and golden with the dying sunlight. Terns hovered low over the water. A sedge warbler scratched and scolded. I tried to take it in. I tried to appreciate. But I couldn’t. Instead, I lit a fire, ate and focused on a book about a guy who walked across Alaska. I wanted to block out the entire experience just for one night.
I nearly succeded, and when I slept, I slept hard and deep and woke late, stumbling through the morning packing ritual in a daze. It was a new day and when I began, I was thrilled to be waking.
Ahvenisto was like an east European shtetl. One large gravel road interesected four smaller roads. The intersection itself was large and square and hemmed by brightly painted wooden houses hidden among sprawling birch. Past the interesection, a roughly built construction served as café / restaurant / hardware store / bar / grocery. The shelves were piled randomly with goods. The Pringles cans were topped in a layer of dust and the whole place felt like grease. One man sat, reading the newspaper.
“Terve.” I said.
“Perkele.” He was shrouded in a cloud of cigarette smoke. He drank coffee black like tar. He groaned and hissed and shouted obsceneties to the kitchen. A large woman dressed like a Soviet nurse appeared and greeted me with a smile. I ordered a meat pie with sausage (the healthiest thing on the menu) and I asked her to make it fresh. I could see that what was behind the glass had been there for many days.
Outside it was hot and humid and there was constant bustle. The library bus came and was overwhelmed by eager readers of all ages. Cars full of recyclables stopped to unload at the bins and children, clean and neatly dressed, crowded about eating ice-cream. Across the road, an elderly woman in a floral print head scarf tended an impressive garden of flowers. When my food came, the Soviet nurse warned me that it was very hot – she had just made it. But it was luke-warm and stale and rumbled in my belly all afternoon.
In the afternoon I was weary and my arms were sunburned. I walked a stretch of road littered with dead snakes. They were twisted and bloody and thier bodies broken. Some had been killed by cars. The death of many others was inexplicable, but they lay in the heat, rotting. I passed out of that area and there were no more dead snakes, but a field-fare had been hit by a car and its feathers floated north, like cotton.
Then I wanted to stop. I came to an old school where a young man was raking leaves. He was heavy and wore a thick gotee. He said “mine too.” When I explained that my Finnish was not so good. But he spoke no English, nor any other language. He smiled. I asked if I could put my tent in the school yard.
“No. But listen. Just 300 meters down the road is a perfect spot. Right on the shore of a lake. The ground is flat, there is a grill and a swimming dock. It’s really nice.”
I went on, but his “perfect place” was littered with human shit decorated in toilet paper. There were beer bottles in the water and plastic in the bushes. It turned my stomach and felt wrong. Dangerous even. I walked from there dissapointed and hustled down the road.
Then I came to an old bridge. It was evening and a storm was building to the west. The wind came cold and bitter from Lake Juolasvesi and I shivered as it hit my sweat. Tucked between a low hill and a narrow bay was, perhaps, the most beautiful piece of land I had seen in Finland.
It was a many sided chunk about 1 hectare in in size. A small grassy field and a well-ordered vegetable garden were divided by the dirt drive. The hill slope was forested in well-spaced birch and pine and a small square house sat near the shore. The land had about 60 meters of shoreline, most of it forested. But a large wooden sauna hung out over the water and a swimming dock jutted another three meters into the bay. To the west, the lake spread as far as the eye could see. There were islands of black spruce among the blue. The wind had whipped the waters white and frothy and a canoe sought refuge behind a low rock. A middle-aged couple were spreading a cover over the garden.
“Excuse me. Is it possible to put my tent here for the night?”
“Why do you speak Finnish like that?”
“I’m an American.”
“Uh-huh.” She was short and round. Her hair was clipped short and was not yet entirely gray. Her face was entirely forgetable except for the smile: narrow, soft and friendly. Her husband was taller and very handsome. His baseball cap was crooked and he stuttered as he spoke. He wore the same smile.
“Of course you can. But….” I explained my walk. He nodded approvingly. She said “So, your wife is home working to support you. Typical. I do the same when he goes fishing. Put your tent here in the field.” They lit the sauna for me but had to leave. “We live two kilometers that way. This is just our hobby. Sleep well and have a good trip!”
“Wait. Ummmm….” And I offered to buy the piece of land. Silence.
“Well, no.” He laughed. “We wouldn’t want to sell it.” It was probobly a good thing since I have no money to my name. But I had fallen in love. I gave them my phone number, my email, mom’s number and address, and my dad’s number. I asked them to call me if they ever changed thier mind. Then they were gone.
The storm came up hard, filling the bay with leaves and pollen and foam. I came from the sauna but I was too afraid to swim in the rough waters. I dipped water from a bucket then poured it over me, then I went back to the heat. When the rain came it came solid and dark. The drops were large and very cold. I hid in my tent until it ended and then clouds began to clear. Then sun went deep red and I could stare right into it. It set at 10:19pm, framed by a purple anvil to the south and a black shoreline. The lake was smooth and like quicksilver and drops fell from the trees into the water. The swallows came out to feed and play.
Friday, May 30th I was in Ristiina. Again I hid from the rain, but this time in a perfectly empty youth hostel. I drank beer to numb my feet. The sauna was dark and warm and it asked nothing of me – and for that I was grateful.
When I came out in my towel to watch the rain fall on Yövesi, a pheasant and an oversized snipe stood in the grass of a crumbling parking lot. They stood like garden ornaments and watched me through the door glass. None of us moved. Later, from inside the sauna, I could hear the pheasant cackle. It was great to be indoors.
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