Taas kaikki kauniit muistot

Those of you who remember me as a teenager may recall my acute sense of not belonging there and my adamant vows of never returning to Finland once I had left. I still don't know if I could spend the rest of my life there, and at the moment it's not even an option I would seriously consider. But the older I get the more I miss it. Sometimes I miss my family dreadfully. I miss seeing my little niece grow up. I miss speaking and writing in Finnish (so why am I writing this in English? I have no idea). I miss the scent of cold, cold air, the kind that you can feel in your teeth. I miss the unpresumptious trees that watch over you as you wander in the forest. I miss seeing my mum cooking in the kitchen, always with a tiny sense of stress but always willing to stop and do a little dance with her eyes closed if a good song comes on in the radio.

I miss Finland especially at Christmas. Today is the first Advent, and in my family that means going through a little ceremony of listening to "Hoosianna" the first thing in the morning. Someone will light the first of the four candles that count the weeks until Christmas, and we sit in devotional silence until the song is over. Sometimes I feel awkward listening to the song in religious silence, but I still think it's a beautiful tradition. Listening to "Hoosianna" permits you to listen to Christmas carols for the next four weeks leading to Christmas, and the anticipation in the air helps you get through the weeks of darkness and exhaustion that prevail at the end of the year.

I don't think I have a favourite Christmas carol, but I am starting to like the very traditional Finnish ones with allusions to snow and darkness. "Taas kaikki kauniit muistot" is one of my dad's favourites along with "Me käymme joulun viettohon". The former is the recollection of an adult thinking back to his childhood, going to the Christmas church service early in the morning, clad in his best outfit, and sleepily placing their head on his mother's shoulder, probably didn't understand much of the sermon, but recalling those precious moments and the snowy fields and parks that no-one can take away from him.

Growing up, I thought the carol was too earnest and too slow. But today the song reflects my sentiments...thinking back to my childhood, treasuring those moments of Christmas with my family.

So, I'll shed a little tear, light a candle and listen to "Hoosianna" all day.

Kolme Haikua

I

Malta, aurinko:
rakkaani nukkuu yhä,
huokailen yksin.



II

Herääthän aamun
tuoksuun. Ihosi maistuu
pihlajapuulle.



III

Kirjoita minut
silmäripsiisi, sitten
itke minut pois.

Discovering Mario Benedetti

Following my previous post, I thought the following haiku by Mario Benedetti was appropriate:


Hay pocas cosas
tan ensordecedoras
como el silencio


Mario Benedetti: Rincón de Haikus,1999

Being woken up by the neighbours at 4.30 AM and other annoying things that I'll miss about Barcelona

Two sets of song lyrics have been playing in my head this week.

The first one:

Don't it always seem to go/that you don't know what you've got till it's gone.

Yes, "Big Yellow Taxi" by Joni Mitchell. NOT the Counting Crows version.



I'm leaving Barcelona temporarily, to do a Masters in Norwich, UK. Quite a change. Change is often necessary and usually good, but it can also be scary, especially if there haven't been too many drastic changes in your life for a while and you have become somewhat comfortable (and being comfortable can be a very good thing indeed).

And so, facing the slightly scary prospect of change of city, lifestyle, economic situation, social circle, work/study project and various other things that come with moving from one city to another, I find myself walking the streets of Barcelona with a different attitude and a certain notion of affection and tenderness for the city that I seldom feel. Noticing beauty in things that I hadn't paid attention to before, or re-discovering places in the city that I had forgotten about.

Now, Barcelona is a great place to be. Or can be. It's slightly schizophrenic with its hoards of quirky gems like obscure, ancient little statues in the alleyways of Barrio Gotico, anxiously waiting for be discovered by the passers-by, or its all sorts of smells rising from all sorts of sewers, or its Argentinian vegetarian restaurants with doors for tables and ghostly chairs for wall decorations.

It's a beautiful city, with sea and mountains and a pretty much perfect climate if you don't mind the humidity in the summer. It's full of history, art, music, entertainment, fashion, politics and activity.

But it is also full of tourists, nationalists, strange smells (a fact which I am aware I am mentioning for the second time), dog shit, lack of all things green, noise, noise, people pushing and shoving and spitting, and more noise.

The noise factor is one that affects me quite a bit, being a Northcountry girl. The time spent in various places much noisier than Finland throughout my life has not diminished my what I believe to be innate need for silence and privacy.

I think anyone would be annoyed by being woken up at 4:30 AM by a group of boisterous young men filling up their water bottles from the fountain in my square and making their motorcycle or moped engines scream in order to see who was the one who really had the biggest private parts. So imagine my reaction. I only wish I could have come up with the perfect line to shout down from my window, but my brain seems to work very little in the wee hours of the morning, and so I simply muttered angrily to myself and ended up waking up Juan Pablo in the process.

The thing is, despite the recurring agony I feel when I think that there is just too much unnecessary shouting and general racket going on, I quite like it too. Call me a masochist, but I find it slightly endearing that my flatmates can't control the volume of their voices as they tell about their Friday night out while slurping up their Saturday breakfast cereal. Or that the garbage truck roars in to pick up its goodies right outside my window at 2:00 AM on the dot. I enjoy the animated conversations that I witness, with people flapping their arms about with exaggerated movements and the people at the table next to yours having a shouting competition because, truth be told, in this country you have to shout in order to be heard.

So, yes, I will miss all the racket when I'm in the UK. Who knows, maybe I will be the one people turn to give dirty looks to for speaking too loud.

There are a number of other infuriating things that I will definitely miss during my time away. For example, getting incredibly merry after just one G&T just because in Spain nobody bothers with measuring the amount of alchol poured into a cocktail. Which, in fact, is not an infuriating thing at all, but in fact a wonderful thing. Will I have to gulp down three overpriced vodka&cranberries before feeling even a little bit intoxicated?

Anyway, back to the list of infuriating things that I'll miss:

-Excessive noise and constant shouting matches
-People being late (or, more diplomatically, having a flexible timetable)
-People jumping the queue - just kidding! This one I will NOT miss at all.
-Dust and general dirt
-Unprecedented concerts disturbing my Saturday siesta (actually, if the music's alright I quite enjoy it)
-People blasting salsa out on to the square on a Sunday (which, again, at the end of the day isn't very infuriating at all)
-The gypsies from Plaza de John Lennon migrating up to my plaza at midnight for a spontaneous flamenco session
-The piercing sound of the traditonal Catalan "trumpet" (the name of which I have forgotten) that accompanies the castellets (human castles).

*Sigh*

Moving on...

The second song lyrics that has been on repeat in my mind are from "Like A Rolling Stone" by Bob Dylan:

When you got nothing/you got nothing to lose.



Well said, Bob, and well sung, with that dry, dying voice of yours. He may be overrated, but Bob has proved to be a good companion in times of change (and no, I am not referring to "The times they are a-changing" in any way). When I moved to California, Bob Dylan and Nick Drake were pretty much all I listened to during the first month.

Much to my shame and possibly to your dismay, after such a long ramble that sprouted from those Joni Mitchell lyrics, and reflections on the noise factor, I have forgotten why exactly I wanted to mention "Like a rolling stone" in this post.

So, I will leave you with this sample of the annoying but oh-so-delightful music which I referred to in my list...

Sardegna May 2009

Narrow roads winding up and down coastal hills, old women dressed in black, bad Italian radio stations, wine, hungover walks to the supermarket, the sea, pizza, chats with Charlie...

Despedida - Celso Machado

On Running and Writing

"Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. Say you're running and you start to think Man this hurts, I can't take it anymore. The hurt part is an unavoidable reality, but whether or not you can stand any more is up to the runner himself. This pretty much sums up the most important aspect of marathon running." (Foreword)

"In the novelist's profession...there is no winning or losing...What's crucial is whether your writing attains the standards you have set for yourself. Failure to reach that bar is not something you can easily explain away...In this sense, writing novels and running full marathons are very much alike. Basically a writer has a quiet, inner motivation, and doesn't seek validation in the outwardly visible." (Chapter 1)

"I'm struck by how...you really need to prioritize in life, figuring out in what order you should divide up your time and energy. If you don't get that sort of system set by a certain age, you'll lack focus and your life will be out of balance." (Chapter 2)

"Most of what I know about writing I have learned through running every day. These are practical, physical lessons. How much can I push myself? How much rest is appropriate - and how much is too much? How far can I take something and still keep it decent and consistent? When does it become narrow-minded and inflexible? How much should I be aware of the world outside, and how much should I focus on my inner world? To what extent should I be confident in my abilities, and when should I start doubting myself?" (Chapter 4)

"Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that's the essence of running, and a metaphor for life - and for me, for writing as well." (Chapter 4)

-What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami