Is this really the first impression they want to make?
“Dear Passenger,
As an erroneous impression has seemingly been created by reports regarding maintenance of aircraft, in the wake of an incident involving a leased aircraft in our fleet, I would like to take a few minutes of your time to apprise you of the factual position. Of the 25 leased aircraft in our fleet, one aircraft was unfortunately involved in three incidents of tyre bursts at take-off...reports tended to give an impression that there was something amiss in the maintenance of our aircraft. This is just not the case.”
Haven’t read the reports they’re referring to, but suddenly not feeling so good about the 10 hour flight that lies ahead.
Monday, May 15, 2006
back in india
"I yank my hand from his, pick up my backpack and storm towards the plane. He yells after me, 'You, madam, you come back to India, you come for love, you love it, you love us again.' I break into a run, push onto the plane and sink into my seat. As we take off I give smog-swirled New Delhi the finger. 'Goodbye and good riddance, India, I hate you and I'm never, never, ever coming back." Holy Cow, Sarah Macdonald.
The first time I travelled to India, I hated it. Absolutely hated it. I was sad that I’d disrupted my life to come to this dirty, brown country where young boys begged me for ‘just one kiss on my penis’ and each day was conducted within the framework of knowing that I was being ripped off. I hated the pollution. I hated the way children, women and animals were treated. I hated the chaos. Then, as my trip wore on, my perspective changed and I realized that what I really hated about India was myself.
I remember the moment when I decided that the reason I was brought to India was to discover that I didn’t like myself very much. Watching the sun set over the ghats in Pushkar, I realized that this judgemental, complaining, negative person wasn’t at all the person I wanted to be and I resolved that the lesson I would take from India was to shut up, stop complaining and just see things. As simple as it sounds, it marked an epiphany for me. After that, I loved India. Loved it then and love it now.
India acts as a mirror. It’s one thing to be flexible, tolerant, and open- minded from the comfortable structure provided by home; to pretend I’m not attached to material needs when my car sits parked outside and I try to decide what to wear to work that morning; to think that I’m patient when interactions with people in my community can be measured in seconds. India challenges all of these notions. That first trip I learned that it’s possible to accept things without endorsing them, that to accept that something doesn’t mean I agree with it, it just means that it is what it is. It was a very necessary lesson at that point in my life.
The passage below is from the end of my journal from that first India trip. This time, I have two months to see what kinds of lessons find their way to me.
Have I been ‘beaten down’ as I once wrote I’d have to be in order to accept things here? Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just experienced the surprises, thrown my hysterical fits to no avail,and simply know what to expect. I don’t think it’s resignation but, rather, acceptance. Maybe that’s the difference. I accept India. I don’t know that I like it any better but I stopped fighting it and was able to enjoy it. India is what it is - that’s that. India, August 2000
The first time I travelled to India, I hated it. Absolutely hated it. I was sad that I’d disrupted my life to come to this dirty, brown country where young boys begged me for ‘just one kiss on my penis’ and each day was conducted within the framework of knowing that I was being ripped off. I hated the pollution. I hated the way children, women and animals were treated. I hated the chaos. Then, as my trip wore on, my perspective changed and I realized that what I really hated about India was myself.
I remember the moment when I decided that the reason I was brought to India was to discover that I didn’t like myself very much. Watching the sun set over the ghats in Pushkar, I realized that this judgemental, complaining, negative person wasn’t at all the person I wanted to be and I resolved that the lesson I would take from India was to shut up, stop complaining and just see things. As simple as it sounds, it marked an epiphany for me. After that, I loved India. Loved it then and love it now.
India acts as a mirror. It’s one thing to be flexible, tolerant, and open- minded from the comfortable structure provided by home; to pretend I’m not attached to material needs when my car sits parked outside and I try to decide what to wear to work that morning; to think that I’m patient when interactions with people in my community can be measured in seconds. India challenges all of these notions. That first trip I learned that it’s possible to accept things without endorsing them, that to accept that something doesn’t mean I agree with it, it just means that it is what it is. It was a very necessary lesson at that point in my life.
The passage below is from the end of my journal from that first India trip. This time, I have two months to see what kinds of lessons find their way to me.
Have I been ‘beaten down’ as I once wrote I’d have to be in order to accept things here? Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just experienced the surprises, thrown my hysterical fits to no avail,and simply know what to expect. I don’t think it’s resignation but, rather, acceptance. Maybe that’s the difference. I accept India. I don’t know that I like it any better but I stopped fighting it and was able to enjoy it. India is what it is - that’s that. India, August 2000
Sunday, May 7, 2006
freakin' finland
I'm cold approximately 11.5 months out of every year so, if you've spent any time with me outside of that brief, glorious period when the weather is juuust right, you've probably heard me complain that "It's freakin' Baltic in here". I never really gave it much thought, its something my sister used to say that caught my fancy and seemed to sum up just how terribly, horribly, uncomfortably cold I was. Then I went to the Baltics.
Turns out, the Baltics aren't so Baltic after all. In fact, I owe them a very big apology because the Baltics were downright balmy, particularly compared to the Helsinki weather I'd left behind. For several days I roamed Tallin and Riga, face turned up to the sun, with jokes of changing my favourite 'holy crap it's cold phrase' from "It's Baltic in here" to "It's Finland in here" running through my mind. Then I returned to Helsinki.
What a difference a week can make. I've returned to a whole new city. I left a city still wrapped in scarves with just hints of green here and there and returned to sandles, beach chairs on patios, and riots of flowers in full bloom complementing trees that have suddenly turned green. It's gorgeous and it's warm. It seems my time of juuust right weather has finally arrived.
As an aside: I'm staying near the park that houses the Sibelius Monument and I have yet to visit it without my arrival coinciding with that of a tourbus damning me to enjoy the view among hoards of other, noiser, tourists. Today, of course, I arrived at the same time as a tourbus but it was the strangest thing; instead of making a beeline for the monument like most groups, everyone disembarked from the bus and headed straight for a mallard duck, cameras clicking madly. We stood there, Sibelius Monument ignored to the side, tourists staring at the duck, duck staring at me, me gaping at the whole scene and I mentally shrugged my shoulders while addressing the duck: "Hey, don't look at me - I don't get it either".
I remain yours from not-so-baltic-finland, r.
Turns out, the Baltics aren't so Baltic after all. In fact, I owe them a very big apology because the Baltics were downright balmy, particularly compared to the Helsinki weather I'd left behind. For several days I roamed Tallin and Riga, face turned up to the sun, with jokes of changing my favourite 'holy crap it's cold phrase' from "It's Baltic in here" to "It's Finland in here" running through my mind. Then I returned to Helsinki.
What a difference a week can make. I've returned to a whole new city. I left a city still wrapped in scarves with just hints of green here and there and returned to sandles, beach chairs on patios, and riots of flowers in full bloom complementing trees that have suddenly turned green. It's gorgeous and it's warm. It seems my time of juuust right weather has finally arrived.
As an aside: I'm staying near the park that houses the Sibelius Monument and I have yet to visit it without my arrival coinciding with that of a tourbus damning me to enjoy the view among hoards of other, noiser, tourists. Today, of course, I arrived at the same time as a tourbus but it was the strangest thing; instead of making a beeline for the monument like most groups, everyone disembarked from the bus and headed straight for a mallard duck, cameras clicking madly. We stood there, Sibelius Monument ignored to the side, tourists staring at the duck, duck staring at me, me gaping at the whole scene and I mentally shrugged my shoulders while addressing the duck: "Hey, don't look at me - I don't get it either".
I remain yours from not-so-baltic-finland, r.
Saturday, May 6, 2006
riga, latvia
Sometimes when you'’re travelling you just have to throw in the towel and decide to be a very bad tourist. Last night was my night. Thanks to the #$% world hockey championships quadrupling accomodation prices in Riga I was only staying one night so, realistically, I should have made the most of my time there. Instead, I travelled 3 hours by ferry, 5 hours by bus and paid 146euro’s for a bath. That wasn't exactly the plan, of course, it' s just kind of the way things turned out.
That's not to say that I didn'’t like Riga. I loved it. All I really knew about it in advance was that it was close enough to Tallin, Estonia that it would be a shame not to visit while I was in the area so, I did. The drive through the Latvian countryside made me wish for my own car and days with which to wander the small towns with their orchards and winding creeks. Once I arrived in Riga, the walk from the bus station to my hotel alone was enough to make me wonder how I could possibly put the energy of the city to words. Riga was gorgeous and cosmopolitan and teeming with life. The world hockey championships had attracted packs of tourists with crew cuts, hockey jerseys and painted faces but even their hollering couldn'’t detract from the relaxing atmosphere of the wide city squares, towering church spires and quiet side streets.
I wandered the town for a few hours and then returned to my hotel with the intention to relax before heading out again; I forgot to take my capacity for sitting around doing nothing into account. Despite my best intentions I didn'’t leave my room again until the next morning when I had to catch the return bus to Tallin. There were a few things conspiring against me, a bathtub and free wifi being at the top of that list. Instead of exploring Riga like a good tourist should, I took a long bath while listening to the CBC, talked to my family, and was in bed by 8:30pm for what would be 12 hours of the best sleep I've had in months. It was a great, great night.
Visiting Tallin and Riga has reminded me of how much I love travelling. How much I love wandering through new cities with nothing to do but take in new sights and wait for the inevitable, awesome surprises that will find me. But not on this trip. This trip isn't for backpacking, isn'’t for planning, isn'’t for moving, moving, moving. I just don't have the stamina for it this time out. This time, I need to find my place and be still.
That's not to say that I didn'’t like Riga. I loved it. All I really knew about it in advance was that it was close enough to Tallin, Estonia that it would be a shame not to visit while I was in the area so, I did. The drive through the Latvian countryside made me wish for my own car and days with which to wander the small towns with their orchards and winding creeks. Once I arrived in Riga, the walk from the bus station to my hotel alone was enough to make me wonder how I could possibly put the energy of the city to words. Riga was gorgeous and cosmopolitan and teeming with life. The world hockey championships had attracted packs of tourists with crew cuts, hockey jerseys and painted faces but even their hollering couldn'’t detract from the relaxing atmosphere of the wide city squares, towering church spires and quiet side streets.
I wandered the town for a few hours and then returned to my hotel with the intention to relax before heading out again; I forgot to take my capacity for sitting around doing nothing into account. Despite my best intentions I didn'’t leave my room again until the next morning when I had to catch the return bus to Tallin. There were a few things conspiring against me, a bathtub and free wifi being at the top of that list. Instead of exploring Riga like a good tourist should, I took a long bath while listening to the CBC, talked to my family, and was in bed by 8:30pm for what would be 12 hours of the best sleep I've had in months. It was a great, great night.
Visiting Tallin and Riga has reminded me of how much I love travelling. How much I love wandering through new cities with nothing to do but take in new sights and wait for the inevitable, awesome surprises that will find me. But not on this trip. This trip isn't for backpacking, isn'’t for planning, isn'’t for moving, moving, moving. I just don't have the stamina for it this time out. This time, I need to find my place and be still.
Friday, May 5, 2006
it's over
I think Tallin and I broke up. I should have seen it coming, the plethora of alcohol shops, 'gentleman's private clubs' on every corner, casinos galore...there were signs. But last night was the final straw. You know that thing that happens in couples when one person wants out but doesn't have the guts to say so, instead, they drive the other person to pull the breakup trigger by pulling every irritating stunt they can think of? Last night Tallin pulled that shit on me.
I can do without a lot of things when I'm travelling, except for sleep. That's my red flag. We'll be fine, just don't mess with my sleep. Tallin is so warm and sunny and gorgeous, I really wanted it to work so I was willing to overlook the first night with the loud partiers. And the second. Then last night Tallin upped the anti with the the construction crew outside my window and I broke. Two nights of interrupted sleep and last night none at all - Tallin wins. Since, you know, Tallin was there first, I left. I'm in Latvia.
I'm in Latvia and I'm lost. Just arrived and realized that I don't know the name, address, or general location of my hotel so I stopped for coffee and internet for reinforcements. Hope you all are well, more later.
I can do without a lot of things when I'm travelling, except for sleep. That's my red flag. We'll be fine, just don't mess with my sleep. Tallin is so warm and sunny and gorgeous, I really wanted it to work so I was willing to overlook the first night with the loud partiers. And the second. Then last night Tallin upped the anti with the the construction crew outside my window and I broke. Two nights of interrupted sleep and last night none at all - Tallin wins. Since, you know, Tallin was there first, I left. I'm in Latvia.
I'm in Latvia and I'm lost. Just arrived and realized that I don't know the name, address, or general location of my hotel so I stopped for coffee and internet for reinforcements. Hope you all are well, more later.
Thursday, May 4, 2006
note to self:
When the tourist information lady who clearly hates tourists tells you that the Kumu Art Gallery is only a half hour walk away, know that she is lying and don’t load up on water. When she tells you that you’ll definately see it from its place buried deep within the park from the road, know that she really hates her job, smile and go ask someone else for directions.
Do go for a wander to look for the gallery but happily give up after some time to enoy a glorious afternoon in the park. Find a spot in a big field littered by hundreds of tiny white flowers, watch that woman with her three puppies play, enjoy the sounds of dozens of birds just as happy that it’s spring as you are, and marvel at the fact that only yesterday you were feeling the tiniest bit lonely - make a mental note to remember how quickly things can change the next time you’re feeling low.
Oh, and when you happen to find the gallery on your way home, step in to use the washroom and make a mental note to visit it again on your next trip to Tallin; it is a very, very cool building.
Do go for a wander to look for the gallery but happily give up after some time to enoy a glorious afternoon in the park. Find a spot in a big field littered by hundreds of tiny white flowers, watch that woman with her three puppies play, enjoy the sounds of dozens of birds just as happy that it’s spring as you are, and marvel at the fact that only yesterday you were feeling the tiniest bit lonely - make a mental note to remember how quickly things can change the next time you’re feeling low.
Oh, and when you happen to find the gallery on your way home, step in to use the washroom and make a mental note to visit it again on your next trip to Tallin; it is a very, very cool building.
Tallin, Estonia
Today is a day made for sitting in an old, cobblestoned courtyard, basking in the sun. As soon as I stepped out of my hotel into the sunniest of sunny days, I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the art gallery today. It was too nice a day to be inside. Instead, I headed to the old town to find a courtyard I’d stumbled on yesterday; a tiny, sunny square with a french chocolatier/cafe and a small number of tables bordered by artisian shops. It took a ridiculously long time to find my way, the hazards of finding places when you’re already lost, but there was nowhere else I wanted to be so I kept looking. When I did find it, it was as quiet and sunny as I remembered and I spent ages sitting in the sun enjoying a cafe latte and one decadently huge, perfect truffle; a chain ‘moments’ strung together to create the best possible breakfast.
Tallin has been like that, a series of fantastic mistakes, happy surprises and wonderful moments. After leaving the ferry, I looked for the place with the most church spires, assumed that was the old town, and headed in that direction to find my hotel, which I did very easily. Shower and unpacking out of the way, my first stop was the supermarket where I stocked up on fruit, bread and found the holiest of holy sites - a bulk food aisle with dried fruit, pepitas, sunflower seeds and (the heavens sing) walnuts. None of this may sound like much to you but trail mix ‘a la becca’ is pretty much happiness in a bag for me, I knew I was going to like Tallin. And I have.
I’m not sure what kind of destination this would be for a person who needed to ‘do’ things but for a wanderer like me, it’s perfect. I’ve spent three full days here without really setting foot inside, just wandering from place to place and coffee to coffee. Tomorrow I leave for Riga, Latvia and I do it with some regret, I like Tallin, but I’ve heard wonderful things about Riga and @#$ world-hockey-championships-driving-hotel-prices-to-3X-their-usual-price aside, I’m looking forward to wandering there too.
Tallin has been like that, a series of fantastic mistakes, happy surprises and wonderful moments. After leaving the ferry, I looked for the place with the most church spires, assumed that was the old town, and headed in that direction to find my hotel, which I did very easily. Shower and unpacking out of the way, my first stop was the supermarket where I stocked up on fruit, bread and found the holiest of holy sites - a bulk food aisle with dried fruit, pepitas, sunflower seeds and (the heavens sing) walnuts. None of this may sound like much to you but trail mix ‘a la becca’ is pretty much happiness in a bag for me, I knew I was going to like Tallin. And I have.
I’m not sure what kind of destination this would be for a person who needed to ‘do’ things but for a wanderer like me, it’s perfect. I’ve spent three full days here without really setting foot inside, just wandering from place to place and coffee to coffee. Tomorrow I leave for Riga, Latvia and I do it with some regret, I like Tallin, but I’ve heard wonderful things about Riga and @#$ world-hockey-championships-driving-hotel-prices-to-3X-their-usual-price aside, I’m looking forward to wandering there too.
Tuesday, May 2, 2006
quick update
Arrived in Tallin, Estonia this afternoon and am head over heels in love with this city. Really.
Have fantastic pictures of this past weekend's Vappu celebrations to add to the previous two entries (so, no, I didn't take them ;) but am having difficulty uploading them. Will try again but, in the meantime, wanted to get the entries up before I lost the race against time with my battery.
Hope this finds you well.
Have fantastic pictures of this past weekend's Vappu celebrations to add to the previous two entries (so, no, I didn't take them ;) but am having difficulty uploading them. Will try again but, in the meantime, wanted to get the entries up before I lost the race against time with my battery.
Hope this finds you well.
Vappu Celebration
I began noticing it a week ago, odd sights attesting to the Helsinkian love for spring: a man in a pink feather boa here, a woman wearing fuzzy purple antennae there, an energy of pure, unadulterated celebration so thick you could almost see it in the air. When I mentioned these things to others I received the same response: just wait until May 1st.
The weekend of May 1st marked the weekend of Vappu which, from what I could gather, was a three day ‘graduation/woohoo it's spring’ celebration culminating in putting a white hat on a statue, followed by lots of drinking, concluding with a city-wide picnic in the park the following day. It was difficult to know, really, because whenever I asked for a clearer explanation I was told that Vappu couldn't be explained, only experienced. Turns out, this is true.
Take my ‘graduation/woohoo it’s spring’ definition and add labour day, new years eve, and your birthday and you may begin to get an idea of just how big a celebration Vappu is. This is a weekend where, quite literally, anything goes. Fuscia wig? Of course. Clown nose? Sure, why not. The old 'knife through the head' gag? Bring it on. In addition to the anything goes attitude, Vappua is also marked by traditional meals, attire, and, of course, drinking.
Although the drinking starts days in advance, one of the first 'official' act of Vappu is on April 30 when the city gathers in the Esplanadi Park surrounding a statue of a woman (whose name escapes me). At 6:00, amid cheering and champagne toasts, the statue is dressed in a white sailor-type hat signifying graduation from high school and the square becomes a sea of white as everyone dons their white hat as well. This part amazed me, people hang on to these hats for years, decades, after graduating from high school, and bring them out once a year for Vappu where, for two days, the city is filled with people in their white hats.
After this, the celebrating begins in earnest. And there really are no words. What I'm left with is a sense of a city that works, that understands that drinking will happen, noise will be made, celebration will take over the streets and, yup, there will be a mess so lets just make sure that everyone is safe in the process. We headed home around 11:00, very late for this yogi, and the streets were filled with revelers. In addition to the sight of the people in the square wearing white hats and carrying champagne flutes I add the sound of Helsinki that night, the underlying murmur of the streets alive with people celebrating hard but harmoniously, to my memory of Vappu. Or part of it at least, the celebration isn’t done yet, there’s still the picnic tomorrow.
The weekend of May 1st marked the weekend of Vappu which, from what I could gather, was a three day ‘graduation/woohoo it's spring’ celebration culminating in putting a white hat on a statue, followed by lots of drinking, concluding with a city-wide picnic in the park the following day. It was difficult to know, really, because whenever I asked for a clearer explanation I was told that Vappu couldn't be explained, only experienced. Turns out, this is true.
Take my ‘graduation/woohoo it’s spring’ definition and add labour day, new years eve, and your birthday and you may begin to get an idea of just how big a celebration Vappu is. This is a weekend where, quite literally, anything goes. Fuscia wig? Of course. Clown nose? Sure, why not. The old 'knife through the head' gag? Bring it on. In addition to the anything goes attitude, Vappua is also marked by traditional meals, attire, and, of course, drinking.
Although the drinking starts days in advance, one of the first 'official' act of Vappu is on April 30 when the city gathers in the Esplanadi Park surrounding a statue of a woman (whose name escapes me). At 6:00, amid cheering and champagne toasts, the statue is dressed in a white sailor-type hat signifying graduation from high school and the square becomes a sea of white as everyone dons their white hat as well. This part amazed me, people hang on to these hats for years, decades, after graduating from high school, and bring them out once a year for Vappu where, for two days, the city is filled with people in their white hats.
After this, the celebrating begins in earnest. And there really are no words. What I'm left with is a sense of a city that works, that understands that drinking will happen, noise will be made, celebration will take over the streets and, yup, there will be a mess so lets just make sure that everyone is safe in the process. We headed home around 11:00, very late for this yogi, and the streets were filled with revelers. In addition to the sight of the people in the square wearing white hats and carrying champagne flutes I add the sound of Helsinki that night, the underlying murmur of the streets alive with people celebrating hard but harmoniously, to my memory of Vappu. Or part of it at least, the celebration isn’t done yet, there’s still the picnic tomorrow.
Vappu Picnic, May 1
I had heard a lot about the picnic in the park. On May 1st, the last day of Vappu, people congregate in the park for an afternoon of picnicking. Although we skipped the picnic part, we went for a walk in the park so this tourist could see what a ‘real’ picnic was all about. When we left the tram, I didn’t even need to ask what direction to head in; I just joined the sea of white hats moving in mass migration to the park.
I knew the picnic was a big event but, for some reason, had assumed it was enjoyed mainly by high school and university students nursing hangovers from the previous night. I was unprepared for the crowd; a mix of old and young with transportation ranging from wheelchairs to strollers, some dressed in jeans and others in their Sunday best but most wearing that white hat. Brass bands, balloons, portable grills, collapsible shelters, blow up couches, bright blankets, candelabras on tables, and food - so much food - matched only by the presence of champagne enjoyed by all. It was an amazing, intergenerational celebration of graduation, of spring, of being there together. I can think of absolutely nothing like it in Toronto and no words to describe the energy of the city over these last few days. Below are a few pictures from the park.
I knew the picnic was a big event but, for some reason, had assumed it was enjoyed mainly by high school and university students nursing hangovers from the previous night. I was unprepared for the crowd; a mix of old and young with transportation ranging from wheelchairs to strollers, some dressed in jeans and others in their Sunday best but most wearing that white hat. Brass bands, balloons, portable grills, collapsible shelters, blow up couches, bright blankets, candelabras on tables, and food - so much food - matched only by the presence of champagne enjoyed by all. It was an amazing, intergenerational celebration of graduation, of spring, of being there together. I can think of absolutely nothing like it in Toronto and no words to describe the energy of the city over these last few days. Below are a few pictures from the park.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
gumbostrand & a pool of words
When I was 11, my mother, sister & I drove across Canada to attend Expo '87 in Vancouver. At the beginning of our trip I decided to dedicate a page in my journal to keep track of funny street/town names I saw on the way. I think I gave up somewhere around Wawa, Ontario (about 10 hours into our 6 day drive) once I realized the enormity of my undertaking. Still, all these years later, whenever I see a street or town name that strikes me as funny I mentally add it to that list. Today's addition: Gumbostrand. Seen from my bus window on my way here www.porvoo.fi/
Truth, Hate, Love, Lies, Dead - Kiasma Art Installation
The white words run in computer generated text across the black floor of a large, dark room. Grouped together and moving in a pattern I can't decipher, the words wash over and around me like small schools of fish "hate", "love", "lies", "truth", with the occasional "dead" thrown in when the words collide. Bathed in a pool of words. I loved it.
Truth, Hate, Love, Lies, Dead - Kiasma Art Installation
The white words run in computer generated text across the black floor of a large, dark room. Grouped together and moving in a pattern I can't decipher, the words wash over and around me like small schools of fish "hate", "love", "lies", "truth", with the occasional "dead" thrown in when the words collide. Bathed in a pool of words. I loved it.
Monday, April 24, 2006
oh no i didn't...
My 'to do' list from this weekend:
Saturday - 5:45, V For Vendetta, Conf # 32179
Sunday - Kiasma (Art Gallery)
Monday - Check into Russian visa
Even more than the inanity of actually taking the time to write these down is this: the only very important item I sucessfully completed was attending the movie on Saturday. Had I not booked it in advance that morning, I'm pretty sure that would have remained incomplete as well. I suck at 'to do' lists. And I'm on holiday - I can do what I want ;)
Today I was able to confirm something I've been suspecting since arriving in Helsinki; the squirrels here have big ears. Very. Big. Ears. I bet that the Finnish word for 'Squirrel' translates to English as 'Sqrabbit'.
That's right folks. I'm here all week...
Saturday - 5:45, V For Vendetta, Conf # 32179
Sunday - Kiasma (Art Gallery)
Monday - Check into Russian visa
Even more than the inanity of actually taking the time to write these down is this: the only very important item I sucessfully completed was attending the movie on Saturday. Had I not booked it in advance that morning, I'm pretty sure that would have remained incomplete as well. I suck at 'to do' lists. And I'm on holiday - I can do what I want ;)
Today I was able to confirm something I've been suspecting since arriving in Helsinki; the squirrels here have big ears. Very. Big. Ears. I bet that the Finnish word for 'Squirrel' translates to English as 'Sqrabbit'.
That's right folks. I'm here all week...
Friday, April 21, 2006
runnin' from god
I was a good tourist today, I went to the Uspenskin Katedraali (Russian Orthodox Church). Although I made it inside, I followed my usual 'holy crap I'm in a church' strategy of hovering around the entrance peering at whatever was visible from my post near the door. I have an aversion to churches. More than an aversion, really, they freak me out.
I've got the routine down: I think I'll be ok, enter the church, tentatively make my way inside trying to lose myself in the high, arched ceilings and hushed sounds, but then the walls begin to close in and I panic before rushing for the door. I know, its all in my mind but it feels real enough to me. Enough so that I generally avoid churches. I preferred waiting outside in the rain to taking shelter inside a local church with friends; ran out of the most peaceful church in Bayonne, France; had a panic attack in Westminster Abbey because I could NOT find my way out; and it took me until my third visit to Paris before I could bring myself to enter the Notre Dame (and then only to light a candle for my family). Churches make me feel the way I imagine claustrophobic people must feel - suffocated, panicked, unable to breathe. It's no one thing that gets me, it's the overall energy. I figure it's the legacy I've been left with having grown up Catholic (recovering Catholic, my dad calls it).
I remember when finally, ten years after finishing high school, I found the beauty in Catholicism. I was reading a book that contained a long passage from the bible with a message along the following lines: don't worry about yesterday, it's gone. Don't worry about tomorrow, it hasn't arrived yet. Don't even worry about right now - God is present. Instead, feel the sun on your skin, watch the birds, smell the flowers and know that God is taking care of you, there's no need to worry.
I was so angry when I read that. Why didn't I learn about that in my 13 years of Catholic schooling? Why, instead, do I remember standing in line in grade 3 trying to make up a credible sin to share in Confession because I couldn't think of a real one (and then laying awake in bed all night certain I was going to Hell because I'd lied in confession)? Why, after my parents' divorce, did I feel what hypocrisy was from the Church parishioners long before I actually knew the word? Why was I told, at 16 years of age, that I was going to go to Hell (sure, I was an irritating 16 year old but, really, to go to Hell for it?)? Why wasn't I encouraged to stop, enjoy the moment, know that a great power was there for me?
I've found my own ways of honouring the divine but when I think about the years spent in the Catholic system, the sheer number of us receiving the same wrathful, guilt-ridden messages instead of being exposed to the empowering and beautiful messages that also existed - I get angry. Such a waste.
Related but different news from Helsinki: the view from the church was absolutely gorgeous and I felt, for the first time since arriving, a hint of what true spring/summer in this city could be like and it was a fabulous moment.
I've got the routine down: I think I'll be ok, enter the church, tentatively make my way inside trying to lose myself in the high, arched ceilings and hushed sounds, but then the walls begin to close in and I panic before rushing for the door. I know, its all in my mind but it feels real enough to me. Enough so that I generally avoid churches. I preferred waiting outside in the rain to taking shelter inside a local church with friends; ran out of the most peaceful church in Bayonne, France; had a panic attack in Westminster Abbey because I could NOT find my way out; and it took me until my third visit to Paris before I could bring myself to enter the Notre Dame (and then only to light a candle for my family). Churches make me feel the way I imagine claustrophobic people must feel - suffocated, panicked, unable to breathe. It's no one thing that gets me, it's the overall energy. I figure it's the legacy I've been left with having grown up Catholic (recovering Catholic, my dad calls it).
I remember when finally, ten years after finishing high school, I found the beauty in Catholicism. I was reading a book that contained a long passage from the bible with a message along the following lines: don't worry about yesterday, it's gone. Don't worry about tomorrow, it hasn't arrived yet. Don't even worry about right now - God is present. Instead, feel the sun on your skin, watch the birds, smell the flowers and know that God is taking care of you, there's no need to worry.
I was so angry when I read that. Why didn't I learn about that in my 13 years of Catholic schooling? Why, instead, do I remember standing in line in grade 3 trying to make up a credible sin to share in Confession because I couldn't think of a real one (and then laying awake in bed all night certain I was going to Hell because I'd lied in confession)? Why, after my parents' divorce, did I feel what hypocrisy was from the Church parishioners long before I actually knew the word? Why was I told, at 16 years of age, that I was going to go to Hell (sure, I was an irritating 16 year old but, really, to go to Hell for it?)? Why wasn't I encouraged to stop, enjoy the moment, know that a great power was there for me?
I've found my own ways of honouring the divine but when I think about the years spent in the Catholic system, the sheer number of us receiving the same wrathful, guilt-ridden messages instead of being exposed to the empowering and beautiful messages that also existed - I get angry. Such a waste.
Related but different news from Helsinki: the view from the church was absolutely gorgeous and I felt, for the first time since arriving, a hint of what true spring/summer in this city could be like and it was a fabulous moment.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
on the balcony you say?
Last week while visiting the friends of a friend we got on the inevitable topic of sleep or, rather, the lack of it courtesy of their gorgeous 3 month old daughter. Somewhere in the midst of the discussion the following phrase emerged "...put her out on the balcony and...". The comment slid by for a few seconds while my mind went through one of those "did I REALLY just hear that" moments and I had to rewind the conversation to clarify that I'd heard correctly. I had.
Apparantly, in Finland, babies take their naps outside. Yes, even in winter. This blew my mind. Still does. Granted, there are a couple of million Finns wandering around who don't seem any worse for the experience (although Finns seem to have beaten Canadians at our own game of being quietly reserved so, really, who knows what lurks beneath ;) and God knows I'd be the last to hold up Toronto as the poster child for happy, healthy child rearing. Not when comparing us to a country that grants 3 years maternity/paternity leave, seems to have grasped the concept of life/work balance as that which means leaving work at work at the end of the day, and seems to have social supports that actually work.
It's just that I've been running the various scenarios through my mind; ones where I bundle up my baby, place him/her in their carriage and roll them outside to the front stoop to nap for a few hours through my mind and there's not one scenario that actually works. Not one that doesn't include the intervention of the child protection agencies, that is.
Apparantly, in Finland, babies take their naps outside. Yes, even in winter. This blew my mind. Still does. Granted, there are a couple of million Finns wandering around who don't seem any worse for the experience (although Finns seem to have beaten Canadians at our own game of being quietly reserved so, really, who knows what lurks beneath ;) and God knows I'd be the last to hold up Toronto as the poster child for happy, healthy child rearing. Not when comparing us to a country that grants 3 years maternity/paternity leave, seems to have grasped the concept of life/work balance as that which means leaving work at work at the end of the day, and seems to have social supports that actually work.
It's just that I've been running the various scenarios through my mind; ones where I bundle up my baby, place him/her in their carriage and roll them outside to the front stoop to nap for a few hours through my mind and there's not one scenario that actually works. Not one that doesn't include the intervention of the child protection agencies, that is.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
pretty serious stuff, this walking
A few years ago in a distant land named Peru, a wandering Canadian girl met a wandering German girl and the two decided to embark on a journey. Most people embarking on such a journey approach the experts, the tour operators, and allow them to do what they do best - organize trips. For some reason, it escaped the attention of both said wanderers that there may be something to this and they instead opted to rent a donkey and use a guide book to navigate a 7 day trek through the cordilla blanca on their own. During the course of the journey they discovered many, many, oh-so-freaking-many reasons why it really makes sense to have the help of porters, cooks, and tourguides when walking for 7 days straight at a crazy high altitude where oxygen is a hot commodity. Particularly when one of the lovely wanderers (ahem) gets a very aggressive parasite on day one of the trek and all kinds of bodily functions go awry. But. That's not the point of this post.
The point of this post is this: the German girl walked funny and she had accessories to help her do so. Spring loaded walking poles made of very special material that was explained to me in great detail but I wasn't paying attention; I was busy looking on the ground for walking stick for myself. It was a very 'old world/new world' moment where, I'm afraid, my wooden stick did very little to further the gauche image North Americans seem to carry back in 'the seat of civilization and culture' aka: Europe. In addition to special walking shoes and fancy walking poles, the German also had special walking steps. Apparently, one walks a special way when travelling uphill and a very different way when moving downhill and don't even get me started on the very special walking steps required when mud, rock, and uneven terrain are involved. I thought the German was a bit odd.
Then I came to Helsinki. I may have been a bit hard on the German, I'm beginning to suspect that this very serious attitude toward walking is less a 'German thing' and more a 'Northern European thing'. After a week spent wandering the streets of Helsinki, the paths bordering the ocean, and the city parks, I've observed a shocking number of people walking with their very special walking poles. Apparently, the terrain in Helsinki city streets is not to be trusted. Perhaps rugged mountain passes emerge without warning in the middle of city intersections? The ground heaves, the earth rolls with unaccountable volcanic action? Whatever the reason, walking poles seem to be the remedy to safe and happy city walking. So much so that I don't even really notice them anymore. Except the ones running with them, they still look strange.
The point of this post is this: the German girl walked funny and she had accessories to help her do so. Spring loaded walking poles made of very special material that was explained to me in great detail but I wasn't paying attention; I was busy looking on the ground for walking stick for myself. It was a very 'old world/new world' moment where, I'm afraid, my wooden stick did very little to further the gauche image North Americans seem to carry back in 'the seat of civilization and culture' aka: Europe. In addition to special walking shoes and fancy walking poles, the German also had special walking steps. Apparently, one walks a special way when travelling uphill and a very different way when moving downhill and don't even get me started on the very special walking steps required when mud, rock, and uneven terrain are involved. I thought the German was a bit odd.
Then I came to Helsinki. I may have been a bit hard on the German, I'm beginning to suspect that this very serious attitude toward walking is less a 'German thing' and more a 'Northern European thing'. After a week spent wandering the streets of Helsinki, the paths bordering the ocean, and the city parks, I've observed a shocking number of people walking with their very special walking poles. Apparently, the terrain in Helsinki city streets is not to be trusted. Perhaps rugged mountain passes emerge without warning in the middle of city intersections? The ground heaves, the earth rolls with unaccountable volcanic action? Whatever the reason, walking poles seem to be the remedy to safe and happy city walking. So much so that I don't even really notice them anymore. Except the ones running with them, they still look strange.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
sunday
I left Toronto on a gorgeous spring day. Patio cafes had been reassembled, I had my first sandle-sighting of the year, and the streets were packed with people toting bundles of flowers and pastries. The combination of sun, people and colour after a winter of black, burgandy and grey made it feel as the village was bursting with life. Although Easter isn’t until next week, the afternoon carried a definate holiday feeling and I joined the masses wandering along Bloor street before assuming a spot on a park bench just to enjoy the fact of being outside.
It was lovely, but not necessarily the best idea since at that point I had less than 1 hour to get home, pack, and close up my apartment before leaving for 5 months of wandering. Suffice it to say, that last hour was a chaotic one ending with me tearing apart my bags and repacking them in the parking lot beside my mom’s car. I’d like to say that I was ruthless in that final revision to the ridiculous amount of things I’d packed but, really, I think the proper word is stupid. I’ve no idea what I ended up keeping and what stayed behind. I can tell you this much, my belt didn’t make the cut and I’ve literally dragged my butt through 14 hours of travel and 2 airports one hand on my bags and the other clutching my waistband.
Almost done though. The overhead map shows that we’re flying over the Baltic Sea and are due to land in Finland in 2 hours. It’s been a month of endings bringing with them change, upheaval and uncertainty; exactly what I’ve been seeking. I am excited but at a loss to describe how I’m feeling beyond that. Perhaps once my spirit catches up with my body, once my psyche really understands that I’m unemployed, unencumbered, footloose and fancy free for 5 months I’ll be better equipped to put words to it. Right now, there’s a part of me that hasn’t caught up yet but every time I look up I see nothing but blue sky and fluffy clouds and I'm reminded that I'm on my way. Next post is from Helsinki.
It was lovely, but not necessarily the best idea since at that point I had less than 1 hour to get home, pack, and close up my apartment before leaving for 5 months of wandering. Suffice it to say, that last hour was a chaotic one ending with me tearing apart my bags and repacking them in the parking lot beside my mom’s car. I’d like to say that I was ruthless in that final revision to the ridiculous amount of things I’d packed but, really, I think the proper word is stupid. I’ve no idea what I ended up keeping and what stayed behind. I can tell you this much, my belt didn’t make the cut and I’ve literally dragged my butt through 14 hours of travel and 2 airports one hand on my bags and the other clutching my waistband.
Almost done though. The overhead map shows that we’re flying over the Baltic Sea and are due to land in Finland in 2 hours. It’s been a month of endings bringing with them change, upheaval and uncertainty; exactly what I’ve been seeking. I am excited but at a loss to describe how I’m feeling beyond that. Perhaps once my spirit catches up with my body, once my psyche really understands that I’m unemployed, unencumbered, footloose and fancy free for 5 months I’ll be better equipped to put words to it. Right now, there’s a part of me that hasn’t caught up yet but every time I look up I see nothing but blue sky and fluffy clouds and I'm reminded that I'm on my way. Next post is from Helsinki.
saturday
I’d been worried about her, this new roommate of mine. It was her name that concerned me so: Sunny, what kind of a name was that? I wasn’t sure but I imagined its owner to be a dippy, ditzy, private school princess, although I hoped I was wrong - and I was. Our first meeting consisted of her catching me, music blaring, clothes strewn about (unpacked I would have called it), standing in the middle of my bed for no real reason other than it seemed a good place to be; jean shorts, tank top and hair piled high in a messy ponytail. It turned out that between the two of us, I was the dippy, ditzy blond.
She was the yin to my yang. It would have been impossible to find two more polar opposites to share our tiny dorm room but it was wonderful and it worked. In hindsight, I think it worked because of Sunny and in spite of me. While, we’ve both matured with age, I'm the first to admit that I had a LOT longer to go.
You could draw a line down our room: her side and my side. The former sparsely decorated, tidy, organized and the latter a study of chaos: pictures covering the walls, clothes spilling out of drawers, dirty dishes optimistically labelled ‘experiments’ to escape dish duty, and stuff piled high everywhere. I don’t know how she put up with it but she is, and always has been, gracious, kind and tolerant. We had fun. We covered every embarrassing topic that couldn’t be brought anywhere else, a group of us serenaded her through her first bought of alcohol poisening (‘Someone’s puking my lord, kumbayah’), and we convinced ourselves that natchos and salsa constituted 'health food' and indulged ourselves on a nightly basis.
She got married this weekend in one of the funnest wedding celebrations I’ve ever attended. As I listened to the speeches and watched her and her husband circulate among the guests I realized just how long we've been friends, how much we'd both grown, and how lucky I was that she kept me in her life. It's so strange the way the years creep up, the way things like weddings, promotions, babies, new houses etc. startle me with their 'evidence' that we are, in fact, of 'that' age already. Even stranger that I never would have guessed way back in my first year of university that life would only get more fun with age, not less so the way I imagined.
She was the yin to my yang. It would have been impossible to find two more polar opposites to share our tiny dorm room but it was wonderful and it worked. In hindsight, I think it worked because of Sunny and in spite of me. While, we’ve both matured with age, I'm the first to admit that I had a LOT longer to go.
You could draw a line down our room: her side and my side. The former sparsely decorated, tidy, organized and the latter a study of chaos: pictures covering the walls, clothes spilling out of drawers, dirty dishes optimistically labelled ‘experiments’ to escape dish duty, and stuff piled high everywhere. I don’t know how she put up with it but she is, and always has been, gracious, kind and tolerant. We had fun. We covered every embarrassing topic that couldn’t be brought anywhere else, a group of us serenaded her through her first bought of alcohol poisening (‘Someone’s puking my lord, kumbayah’), and we convinced ourselves that natchos and salsa constituted 'health food' and indulged ourselves on a nightly basis.
She got married this weekend in one of the funnest wedding celebrations I’ve ever attended. As I listened to the speeches and watched her and her husband circulate among the guests I realized just how long we've been friends, how much we'd both grown, and how lucky I was that she kept me in her life. It's so strange the way the years creep up, the way things like weddings, promotions, babies, new houses etc. startle me with their 'evidence' that we are, in fact, of 'that' age already. Even stranger that I never would have guessed way back in my first year of university that life would only get more fun with age, not less so the way I imagined.
Friday, April 7, 2006
friday
Was that me writing about feeling trapped? Seems like it must have been a lifetime ago but, really, it's only been a few months. When I gave notice back in January it seemed like the three months until I left would last years. For the first few weeks, time did seem to move at a snail's pace but these last 1.5 months have absolutely flown by. So much so that here I am - my last day of work - and it's barely registered.
There are students and colleagues I will miss when I've left, but there hasn't been a single moment where I've doubted my decision. I've learned a lot about the kind of Counsellor I want to be and the kind of environment I need in order to really thrive at work. It's time to go.
This is the third time I've picked up and left for an extended bout of travel. The first in my early 20's, second late 20's and now in my early 30's. It's been very different this time. Not so much my experience preparing to leave but in the responses I've gotten, particularly around leaving my job. A lot of us seem to feel trapped, and I feel judgemental even saying that. I don't really know how people were feeling but the energy coming at me in conversations the weeks leading up to my departure, mostly from those outside of my immediate circle of family and friends, seemed almost bittersweet and tinged at times with regret, envy, and disapproval. At least that's how I experienced it. It was a real conversation stopper.
When I was getting ready to leave I copied out a poem my sister, Ekah, wrote for me for Christmas a few years ago. I love it and I wish the same for you:
Sister. What I give to you:
Infinate room to roam
and the safest place to stop.
The largest field,
with the goldest grain.
The deepest sleep
with the sweetest dreams.
I'd make you quieter than a snowfall,
softer than a baby's babble.
Put you on a butterfly's back
to fly over the greatest ocean
into the thickest sunset of all your favourite colours
Make you small and untraceable,
like the fingerprint of a fairy
left on a stained glass window comprised of all she ever wanted
I would give you peace that transcends all...
There are students and colleagues I will miss when I've left, but there hasn't been a single moment where I've doubted my decision. I've learned a lot about the kind of Counsellor I want to be and the kind of environment I need in order to really thrive at work. It's time to go.
This is the third time I've picked up and left for an extended bout of travel. The first in my early 20's, second late 20's and now in my early 30's. It's been very different this time. Not so much my experience preparing to leave but in the responses I've gotten, particularly around leaving my job. A lot of us seem to feel trapped, and I feel judgemental even saying that. I don't really know how people were feeling but the energy coming at me in conversations the weeks leading up to my departure, mostly from those outside of my immediate circle of family and friends, seemed almost bittersweet and tinged at times with regret, envy, and disapproval. At least that's how I experienced it. It was a real conversation stopper.
When I was getting ready to leave I copied out a poem my sister, Ekah, wrote for me for Christmas a few years ago. I love it and I wish the same for you:
Sister. What I give to you:
Infinate room to roam
and the safest place to stop.
The largest field,
with the goldest grain.
The deepest sleep
with the sweetest dreams.
I'd make you quieter than a snowfall,
softer than a baby's babble.
Put you on a butterfly's back
to fly over the greatest ocean
into the thickest sunset of all your favourite colours
Make you small and untraceable,
like the fingerprint of a fairy
left on a stained glass window comprised of all she ever wanted
I would give you peace that transcends all...
Sunday, April 2, 2006
how can the soul of the seeker not fly
These last few weeks have been strange ones; empty of reading, writing, talking, even watching movies. This is different. I usually read several books a week and compulsively watch every movie, even the terrible ones, right to the very end but lately I'm picking up books only to put them down moments later and renting movies but barely making it past the opening credits. Not really a phone talker anyway, I've avoided the phone even more so than usual and have even moved my practice home instead of going to the shala. I would say it's because I just want to be alone but I don't really think that's it.
I've tried applying different labels, trying to find the right way to describe how I'm feeling. None of them fit. I'm not depressed, not hibernating, not withdrawing, not 'just going through a quiet phase', not unhappy; really, I'm the opposite of all of these things. I'm absolutely content, happy and present. More so than at any time in the past. I just don't find myself wanting to engage. That's the best I could come up with to describe how I'm feeling: not inspired to engage. Even that, what the heck does that mean? My Aunt put words to it last weekend by observing that I've already moved on, I'm no longer here. That may be it. What I do know is that I'm not looking for distractions, not open to diversions, in that sense, I do just want to be left alone to...be.
This morning I took myself to my favourite coffee shop in Kensington Market to write bringing with me Rumi & Iyengar for inspiration. I got so caught up in Rumi's words that I didn't even make it to Iyengar. Although I've read the passages in the book I'd brought many times before, I read them through new eyes today, smiling to myself as I read. How can one person express emotion so perfectly and so succinctly?
The passage below caught my attention, brought to mind several people I know who are receiving messages loud and clear but each, for their own reasons, struggling to follow.
"How can the soul of the seeker not fly
when a message arrives saying,
'You have been trapped in life like a bird
with no wings...come, come back to me!'
What is the secret that opens the door?
The key is the flutter of the soul's wings
and it's endless longing.
When the door opens, walk on the path
where abundance awaits you,
where everything old becomes new
and never look back.
Drink from the hands of the wine bearer
and you will be blessed
even in this life".
I hope you find what you need to follow the paths revealed to you :) r.
I've tried applying different labels, trying to find the right way to describe how I'm feeling. None of them fit. I'm not depressed, not hibernating, not withdrawing, not 'just going through a quiet phase', not unhappy; really, I'm the opposite of all of these things. I'm absolutely content, happy and present. More so than at any time in the past. I just don't find myself wanting to engage. That's the best I could come up with to describe how I'm feeling: not inspired to engage. Even that, what the heck does that mean? My Aunt put words to it last weekend by observing that I've already moved on, I'm no longer here. That may be it. What I do know is that I'm not looking for distractions, not open to diversions, in that sense, I do just want to be left alone to...be.
This morning I took myself to my favourite coffee shop in Kensington Market to write bringing with me Rumi & Iyengar for inspiration. I got so caught up in Rumi's words that I didn't even make it to Iyengar. Although I've read the passages in the book I'd brought many times before, I read them through new eyes today, smiling to myself as I read. How can one person express emotion so perfectly and so succinctly?
The passage below caught my attention, brought to mind several people I know who are receiving messages loud and clear but each, for their own reasons, struggling to follow.
"How can the soul of the seeker not fly
when a message arrives saying,
'You have been trapped in life like a bird
with no wings...come, come back to me!'
What is the secret that opens the door?
The key is the flutter of the soul's wings
and it's endless longing.
When the door opens, walk on the path
where abundance awaits you,
where everything old becomes new
and never look back.
Drink from the hands of the wine bearer
and you will be blessed
even in this life".
I hope you find what you need to follow the paths revealed to you :) r.
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