Dear God, be good to me; the sea is so wide, and my boat is so small.
— Excerpt from the Breton fisherman's prayer
Introduction
Remember the last time you were on a bus, a train, a plane— a long haul one. Remember a time when you laid back against the headrest. You have a headache: from crying, from a hangover, from your lost water bottle at the security check and you didn't want to buy one in the airport. Whatever the reason, you have a headache while waiting for the vehicle to start moving. Your bags are safely stowed away, and it's just you and yourself for the next few hours. Settled, you reminisce on the trip you just completed. You're existing in the saddest middle point. Why, yesterday this time, everything was still possible. Now, you have a headache in an uncomfortable seat, only remembering yourself. When the vehicle gets moving, maybe you close your eyes. Maybe you watch the trees or clouds fly past you. Against your eyes, or against the scenery, you see everything that happened to you, and you sigh quietly, trying not to disturb the traveller next to you. Your heart hurts. You are sad to leave; you miss home. Your heart and head hurts, and you can’t cry (again) for the next few hours surely. It is in this weak, repressed moment in a hurtling vehicle that you may ask yourself an impossible question: why do I do this, why do I travel? First, thank you for sharing this memory with me. Thank you for sitting in it, for remembering the feeling of the air there, for remembering the announcement you didn’t really catch. It makes me happy for us to share this experience. If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to tell you about the start of my summer in the small Finnish town of Loimaa. Perhaps in turn, you’ll remember the new dining places you walked into; I’d love to hear about your times caught out in the rain, too. I was in Finland volunteering for a volleyball tournament. It is still strange for me to try and fill up summers the way I do now. I grew up in South Africa, with six weeks of summer vacation, mostly filled with family vists and beach days. Here in the north, the three months stretch out ahead of me, and I become desperate for them to be full, and to be empty: there’s a fine line between the mania of blue skies and late nights, and the fatigue of high temperatures and late nights. Before, I asked you to remember the small moments in your travels. I asked you because I’d like to imagine us travelling together. We’re in completely different lanes, but imagine it with me anyway: us sitting side-by-side, each with a slight headache as we hurtle through life. In this essay, I’ll tell you about my time in Finland: what it was like to be there, what the people were like, what I was like— share that overwhelming feeling of time freezing and flying by too quickly.Finding ESC and Finland
I was inspired to join a European Solidarity Corps (ESC) project by two of my close friends, V and A. Those two chase any opportunity that can grow them, and the sound of their laughter inspired me to chase after them; for they treat the world like an open door, daring the world to surprise them. After a further chat with my uncle, S, I threw my anxieties into the wind, and applied for the first decent one in Finland I found, and waited. Less than a week later, they accepted my application. Suddenly, I had to plan to leave for Finland in a month. Accomodation, food, and activities were covered; all I had to do was get there— and they’d pay me back for that as well. Why Finland? Well, Finland has many natural and social phenomena: one of the states beneath the Aurora Borealis, and the happiest country in the world; a country where dusk is at 1am and alcohol isn’t sold after 9pm; a land of no mountains and endless pine trees; a place of extreme cold and the cleanest lakes perfect for a summer dip. All these wonderful things had no impact on me filtering for Finland on the ESC website. You see, I chose Finland because there is a story I am trying to write, and I set it in Rauma, Finland on a whim. I had just wanted the story to be somewhere I didn’t know, so that I would learn with the characters. But I have not been able to write the story. Maybe I told you about it; I know I meant to. The story has been haunting me for months, and so, I found myself pulled to Finland.The Power Cup
You say a lot that I speak too much around a topic, instead of the actual topic. The actual point of the sixteen of us being together in Loimaa was to help with the Power Cup tournament. The Power Cup is the largest of its kind: a volleyball tournamnet for children and young people drawing teams from all over Finland, Estonia, Latvia, and Norway. The games were spread across Loimaa, from outside an ice hockey arena to the yard of a factory. Over 6,000 players and 4,000 more attendees nearly doubled the population of Loimaa from 5 June to 8 June. An event of this size needed about 1,000 volunteers, alongside many citziens of Loimaa helping in one way or another. But, I spent most of my time with the volunteers brought by the ESC project. We were a team of sixteen people, led by Carme and Emil, with volunteers coming from Italy, Spain, France, Nicaragua, Afghanistan, Ireland, South Africa, Germany, Hungary, and Ukraine. The project was a first-time for many people: first time abroad, first project, or the first shot at leadership on this scale. I believe this was the project's soul: each volunteer wore their heart on their sleeve and brought all the energy they could. The tournament had many volunteers, but those from the ESC project usually worked together. We spent a lot of time as a unit, however we frequently split into smaller working and social groups, getting to know each other in different ways. In our volunteer activities together, we could see those concerned with big details (table from upstairs to downstairs), and those concerned with the small (each table is in line with the right most red border), which made for an effective group. I think of our group as one that handled tasks that fell between the cracks: we put signs for the volleyball courts (readjusting as needed), zip-tyed and re-zip-tyed banners, set out tables and wiped them down, unpacked an early and incomplete order, distributed keycards, served water, refreshed the dining area, and helped clean up the city when it went back to its usual 15,000 inhabitants.Extracirriculars
While we had an intense seven days working at the tournament, we spent over two weeks in Loimaa. This gave us plenty of time for exploring Finland and getting to know one another. Instead of narration, I wish I could walk you through these memories: hear your yelp as you jump into Lake Melliläjärvi, shockingly cold on a warm day, and listen for your stomps through the rain of Turku. Since time and space do not work like that, I’ll ask you to listen for the names of my fellow volunteers: imagine the places we walked through; remember a similar time and a similar place. I am asking this of you, but I know even with my fellow volunteers we had so many options for free time with varying group configurations that no two people can attest to the same experience. We were being hosted in a small village next to Loimaa, Hirvikoski, at the Loimaa Evangelical Folk (LEKO) School, an instituion for adult education in Finnish language and culture. There, we were served lunch and dinner, and provided with ingredients to put breakfast together for ourselves. Having stayed in a couple of dormitories, I can say LEKO is the nicest one I’ve been in— clean, spacious, and safe. We all stayed on the same floor, two to a room, with three volunteers staying alone. We ate meals and had meetings in the dining room / kitchen, which also becamse a common room of sorts: a place to be with whomever was around. The first night we arrived, we took a walk at a bright and brisk 10pm, which ended with a volleyball game, taken in by the spirit of the place. I started off not wanting to play, not willing to get my shoes sandy and stow my glasses. But after watching for some minutes, I took off my shoes and handed my glasses to one of the people with whom I had been standing. I only tapped out when my feet were too cold and numb from the sand. You know how wary I am of exhausting my feet. The next couple of days were spent orientating ourselves around the town: a Prisma stop and a walk downtwon, as well as meeting the school’s students. We also had ice-breaking activities: the typical games, meals together, lake swimming, karaoke, eventually melting into comfortable movie nights. Over the next two weeks we would find ourselves walking through rainy streets, cheering for bullseyes, and lounging by various lakes, for planned and unplanned swims. My favourite day of the trip was the final Saturday. We had all been up late the night before, knowing we had to be up early for a hike, but that’s what I liked about the group: we didn’t want to waste time sleeping in. “We’ll sleep after the trip,” someone joked. That Saturday, we took an hour-ish drive to Korteniemi Heritage Farm, the sights being a typical Finnish forest and barbeque site with lovely lake fronts. We walked around for a while before finding the grill area. There was already a couple barbequing by the pit, so we entertained ourselves in the meanwhile: five volunteers got a rowboat water-worthy and cast off, Darina’s voice skating along the water; I braided a couple of the others’ hair, standing on benches for leverage. Eventually, it was our turn at the grill. Danny got the fire going, and soon our landbound group was having sausages and s’mores. Right as we’d eaten our fill, the boat group returned, and seven of us got in the boat, with Carme rowing. About fifty metres out, sitting in peaceful silence, we checked if anyone had brought a phone for music, but we were all a bit too careful for that. We sat talking, singing songs we knew off by heart, dragging our hands through the water, and Emil sounding off birdcalls once in a while— a beautiful time consigned to memory, and now entrusted to you. We got back to shore, packed up and put the food back in the vans before going on a little hike, after many protestations. After a loop, we got back to the parking lot, some people opting to stay in the car, but, as Emil noted with a small smile, most people came along for a further walk. Earlier, I had been somewhat stunned by a camper carrying a 5-liter bottle of water; it seemed crazy to have to carry it so far. So, when we came across a water pump, I was strangely delighted to solve that mystery— and to use one for the first time. On our way back to the cars, Carme said we had ten minutes for a swim, and three of us jumped into the lake in just underwear, the water welcoming and the ground slimy. It was a beautiful day out, but on the car ride back I was cold, grimy, and a little overstimulated from everyone. When we got back to Loimaa, six of us still had to stop at the grocery store to shop for our potluck the next day. I was so irritated and tired in the Prisma, but it was a fortunate errand because when we got back to LEKO, we parked by the kitchen’s delivery entrance, and I saw some of the African students having a barbeque. Actually, the first thing I saw was P, one of the students I had played volleyball with, playing football with a few young boys. The sight made me homesick: it struck me that the easy sight of black kids running around and laughing had become rare to me. My initial question reared its head in that moment. After I helped with unpacking the groceries, I went back to the grill area, instantly welcomed while I thought I stood outside, hesitating. Now, watercolours or fineliners? Are you satisfied knowing that it was a simple barbeque of chicken, sweetcorn, and salad? Perhaps you’d like for me to recount how we washed our hands from a water bottle before the meal; how I laughed as I angled my body to wash my hands; how P shook his head when I offered to do it for him (“You’re a guest here; M will do it,” nodding to another guy from the volleyball games, as they’d become to me); their laughter as they made jokes over the sounds water and hands. I’ll leave it here: I was still cold and tired from the hike, but my cheeks were warmed by fire and conversation. The last days were a flurry of activities, but also sputtering out energy. Somehow, thirteen of us spent a morning preparing a three-course meal: chili con carne with tortilla chips; chicken stew, rice, roasted vegetables, and broccoli salad; and deep-fried ice-cream. We eventually found ourselves in Rauma, walking through the nuclear power museum. In a flash, me and two other volunteers ended up getting a second lobe piercing together. But, as you and I have spoken about, people get weird at goodbyes: lost in feeling, prone to start fights, clingy, aloof. In a group of now fifteen people, there was every response. Me? I spent the last days talking and playing with people’s hair: braiding and even cutting hair. We still had leftovers from the potluck, so I could be happy eating rice and chicken spiced like home. This isn’t the last time you and I will speak about this, hopefully, so I’ll end this topic with some thanks. To Danny and Tatiana, to conversations by our little corner of the lawn. To Killian, Roisin, and Jasmin, the first of the group I met. To Marta and Giulia, to our moments of breathless laughter and sideways looks. To Darina and Bernadett, to the crazy ideas executed. To Frank and Amelie, to bonding in disparate moments. To Jane, to a small peak into another universe. To Mahdi, for turning perspective on its head. To Carme and Emil, the head and heart of the group, thank you for taking us up and down this corner of the world. To Loimaa, a crossroads for surprises.Conclusion
I am back home now; back in Hungary, that is. Faces I saw every day from breakfast to dinner are gone from me now. In this moment of silence, I reflect on what this opportunity means to me. While I live in an ‘international city’ (September to May), there was something different about talking with other foreigners in Finland. In Hungary, most of us treat the country as a transitory place. But, in Finland, people treat it as ground for a foundation; they spoke about it with the familiarity of getting to know someone and finding their tics endearing. Here, at the end, laid back in our seats, hand propped under our chins, let us consider my initial question: why do I do this? Why, three of us were sitting around after playing a bit of volleyball, and we were talking about the daylight hours. One of the men smiled and gestured at the midday sky, and said, “Imagine this at ten pm.” And I do: I picture beautiful men laughing under a foreign sky, and marvel at how full of feeling the world is. In the course of writing this, my thoughts would start and stutter. I was afraid of how clumsy, how flat I sounded recounting these memories. I resigned myself to writing a dead thing. But, luckily, further in the course of writing this, I began to speak to you. It is for you that these good times became gracious.Recommendation: Wikipedia page for Long-term nuclear waste warning messages