We listen to the skies

'

Tomorrow I'm going back to Finland for Christmas after twelve weeks of studying (and four days of absolutely perfick leisure!) in London. Right now I could write you (among other things) about my vampire studies, the Imperial War Museum, Doctor Who, local identities and dialects on British Isles and about new wave of humour considering Maggie Thatcher's tyrannical reign and the biographical motion picture Iron Lady that is about to be released. However, you'll have to make do with another translation of a song that has defined my life. It's rather different from the previous ones so I do hope you forgive me for this (again) lame pay off. Anyway, I do wish you merry Yule tide. You'll hear from me soon enough (I promise)!

Yours on the eve of flight,

-Stefan

'
We listen to the skies
'
Is there love in the air?
Is it safe outside today?
Or have God and Allah
Both taken their leave?

I won't open the front door,
'Cause the history of our future is lurking there.
I won't look under the mat,
'Cause the innocence of the world has been swept there.
But I can always pray...

So, we listen to the skies, even though they won't answer
God has fallen asleep or carries on creating
Perhaps on the other side of the cosmos, where ever that might be
I'll get my answer as soon as I die, but the road is so very long

Is everything alright, USA?
Has the life there been warlike enough?
Or is there love in the air?
After all it was invented there in Hollywood
Or has evil got its share?
For good has sold its face,
Or just its reflection to evil...

So, we listen to the skies, even though they won't answer
God has fallen asleep or carries on creating
Perhaps on the other side of the cosmos, where ever that might be
I'll get my answer as soon as I die, but the road is so very long

So, we listen to the skies, even though they won't answer
God has fallen asleep or carries on creating
Perhaps on the other side of the cosmos, where ever that might be
I'll get my answer as soon as I die, but the road is so very long

Life is for single-use only, day is recycling day.
I'm begging more time from the night, and the answers go with the wind

So, we listen to the skies, even though they won't answer
God has fallen asleep or carries on creating
Perhaps on the other side of the cosmos, where ever that might be
I'll get my answer as soon as I die, but the road is so very long

Where are you hiding, God?
Are within me or outside of me?
Or behind it all...?

Ведь от тайги до Британских морей, Балтийское пиво всех вкуснее!!

"Here on these Cliffs of Dover
So high you can't see over.
And while your head is spinning
Hold tight it's just beginning."
- The Decemberists

Обстоятельства моей жизни в Британии и, точнее говоря, отдалённость от дома привели меня обратно к родному русскому языку. Уж долго я им не пользовался, тем более не писал на нём тут, в моём блоге. Более того, в последнее время я замечаю в себе уже некие признаки тоски по родине (эх!). Без особых лирических отступлений перейду к делу и значить буду рассказывать о том, как я живу на туманном и коварном Альбионе (но и само собой буду оправдывать мою русскую сентиментальность).

'

Должен отметить, что причина того, что пишу эту статью именно на русском языке, накопилась со временем. Последней каплей послужила вчерашнее путешествие с ребятами (с Вацлавом и с Гиермо) в Кентербери и в Дувр, в юго-восточной Англии (не так уж и далеко от самого Лондона). Кентербери оказался небольшим и тихим городком, где кроме главной заборы англиканской церкви так нечего особого и нету. К счастью мы пришли к этому выводу ещё в первом половине дня и продолжили путешествие дальше на юг - в портовый город у пролива Па-де-Кале.

В Дувре, после короткой прогулки, мы оказались в магазине восточноевропейских продуктов. Сначала мне показалось, что этот магазин, как и все остальные подобные славянские ларьки в Англии, польский с продуктами из Чехии, Венгрии и с той же Польши. Но вообразите моё удивление, когда я с приятелями дошёл до пивной полочки: во-первых я заметил знакомую и дружескую этикетку латвийского пива Алдарис, но а за ним целый ряд почти что родного пива Балтика и Невское. Ели сдерживая мою эйфорию я схватил бутылку Шестёрки и объясняя повод моей радости описал содержание бутылки моему испанскому приятелю. Оказалось, что магазин вовсе не польский а латвийский (русскоязычные латыши из Даугавпилса!) и меня на кассе, само собой, обслуживали по-русски.
'
Спустя одного часа и после упорной попытки попасть в дуврский замок бесплатно (лазая по бастионам и кувыркаясь в кустах) мы с ребятами оказались на вершине белых дуврских скал (да, тех самых в честь которых Британию и назвали Альбионом) над морем попивая российское пиво и закусывая его балтийской солёной рыбой. Шутя мы сделали вывод, что не смотря на гибель империй Россия всегда с нами, даже в Соединённом Королевстве.
'

Я и Гиермо Хуанович над дуврскими скалами (вид на порт).

Кроме вчерашнего случая с пивом Россия, так или иначе, проскальзывает и напоминает мне о своём существований в Лондоне. После испанского и французского языка несомненно самый обычный иностранный язык в этом мегаполисе русский. В Университетском колледже Лондона я достаточно часто встречаю студентов из бывшего СССР (украинцев, эстонцев, казахов), которые, как правило, охотно общаются со мной на русском языке. Более того, до меня дошли слухи из родной Финляндии, что Юрии Шевчук и группа ДДТ будут выступать в марте месяце в городах Хельсинки и Тампере. Выходить, что ради такого редкого и знатного мероприятия мне стоит вернуться, хотя бы на несколько дней, на родину.

Но а в прочем жизнь в городе Лондон продолжается уже по знакомим обычаям. Сегодня, после долгого перерыва, я взял в руки свою гитару и стал изучать новую (почти что рождественскую) песню. Также я спел некоторые старые, добрые песни. В том числе и предновогоднюю Арию Московского Гостья, которую (я и сам удивился) я сыграл с первого раза безошибочно (почти отлично). Но а сейчас, ради первого адвента (http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%90%D0%B4%D0%B2%D0%B5%D0%BD%D1%82), я для вас переведу предрождественскую песню британской группы Coldplay (между прочем, эта группа была основана в университете UCL, в том же где и я сейчас учусь). Надеюсь как-то раз её вам сыграть!

Искренно Ваш,

-Степан

Рождественские огни (Christmas Lights)

Рождественская ночь, ещё одна ссора

Слез, пролитых нами, целое наводнение.

У меня во крови все виды,

Все виды отравляющих веществ.
'

Я потащил себя на Оксфорд-стрит,
Пытаясь переделать зло на добро.

"Да уйди ты!", отвечали мне витрины,
А мне не вериться, что она уехала.
'

Пока ты всё ещё ждёшь снега -

Так и не хватает ощущения Рождества.

'

Надо мной в воздухе сверкают свечи.
О, они сверкают и истекают воском!
Но а я хватаюсь за эти огни

Как за последнюю надежду.

'
И как некий пьяный Элвис
Я запеваю, хотя не в тон:

О том, как я всегда любил тебя, дорогая,

И всегда буду любить!

'

Пока ты всё ещё ждёшь снега -

Так и не хватает ощущения Рождества.
'

Пока ты всё ещё ждёшь снега -

Так и не хватает ощущения Рождества.
'

Эти рождественские огни

Освещают улицу

Там, где море и город встречаются.

И пусть все твои тревоги скорее уйдут

О, рождественские огни, продолжайте сверкать!

'

Эти рождественские огни

Освещают улицу

Может быть, они вернут её мне.

И тогда все мои тревоги вскоре уйдут

О, рождественские огни, продолжайте сверкать!

'

Рождественские огни

Освещайте улицу,

Зажгите салют во мне.

И пусть все ваши тревоги скорее уйдут

О, рождественские огни, продолжайте сверкать!

Lontoo kutsuu Helsinkiä

The text that follows is an attempt to explain about the studying at UCL to my Finnish colleagues. Therefore it's in Finnish. Also, I believe, this article goes to show how much easier it is for me to actually write in my native language. Anyway, you who know Finnish - enjoy!

London calling Helsinki
eli otteita helsinkilässlavistin opiskelusta petollisella Albionilla

'
Kävin syyskuussa kääntymässä HY:n lukuvuoden avajaishulinoissa. Kestin Metsätalon käytäviä ehkä puolisen tuntia ja lopulta pakenin horkkaisena kaisaniemeläiseen ravitsemusliikkeeseen hakemaa rohkeutta laitoksemme tohtorikoulutettavan ja ystäväni tukemana. Rauhoittuessani kylmän tuopin äärellä ja keskustellassani pedagogisen työn onnesta tajusin, että nyt on korkea aika vaihtaa (jälleen) maisemaa. Onneksi minulle on suotu levottomat jalat ja joustava (vaikkakin laiha) kukkaro sekä vahva anglofilinen ominaislaatu. Vain kaksi viikkoa myöhemmin kun olin matkalla Lontooseen en voinut aavistaa, että edessäni olisi muutakin kuin vain tavanomainen Erasmus-vaihtovuosi. Sumuinen ja historiankirjojen mukaan kavala Albion (Britannian vanhin tunnettu nimi) oli varannut minulle monta yllätystä. 

'

Helsingin yliopiston Valtiotieteellisen tiedekunnan politiikan ja talouden tutkimuksen laitoksella on vuotuiset kolme vaihtopaikkaa lontoolaisen University College Londonin School of Slavonic and East European Studies -laitokselle, joka vastaa etäisesti meikäläistä Aleksanteri-instituuttia ja tunnetaan tuttavallisesti lyhenteellä SSEES. UCL on brittiläinen huippuyliopisto (nota bene, tätä ei nyt saa sekoittaa Otaniemeen). Se kuuluu Russell-ryhmään ja on rankattu useaan otteeseen Britannian yliopistojen kärkiviisikkoon. Toisin kuin ruraalit perusenglantilaiset puritaaniyliopistot Oxford ja Cambridge, UCL perustettiin sekulaarien ja egalitarististen arvojen pohjalle (sieltä valmistui aikoinaan myös eräs intialainen lakimies Mohandas Gandhi ja legendan mukaan siellä vieraili myös kreivi Tolstoi).
'
SSEES on puolestaan toistuvasti palkittu UCL:n huippuyksikkö, jonka tutkimuskenttään kuuluu koko Eurooppa Oderista itään mukaanlukien Venäjä ja varsin yllättävästi myös Suomi! Toivon etteivät mahdolliset svekomaanilukijat pahastu kolleegojeni varsin epäsuomalaisesta logiikasta, sillä vastoin lukijan tahatonta oletusta kyseinen maantieteellinen paketti ei perustu Pariisin rauhansopimukseen vuodelta 1947 eikä edes brittien pöyristyttävään tietämättömyyteen transgermaanisesta Euroopasta, vaan tšekkiläisen filosofin ja valtiomiehen Tomáš Masarykin aatokseen vuodelta 1915, joka tunnetaan nimellä ”The Problem of the Small Nations in the European Crisis”. Työn keskeisin päämäärä on luoda puitteet kaikille Väli-Euroopan kansallisvaltioille (maat Saksan ja Venäjän välissä), joiden itsenäistyttyään tulisi luoda jonkinlainen kansainyhteisö. Masarykin mukaan juuri nämä kansat tulisivat näyttelemään ratkaisevaa roolia 1900-luvun vaiheissa. Uskallan väittää, että SSEES:issa Suomi on päässyt arvoiseensa seuraan sillä länsinaapurimme ovat osa School of European Languages, Culture and Society -sekametelisoppaa.

'
Nyt kun pakolliset esittelyt on vihdoin hoidettu voimme siirtyä itse asiaan. Toivon ettei yksikään HY:n rattaistossa ahertava loukkaannu verisesti jos koetan parhaan kykyni mukaan vertailla aitoa anglosaksista huippuyliopistoa suomalaiseen vastineeseensa. Artikkelin tarkoituksena on unohtaa debatti lukukausimaksuista, joista väitellään, osoitetaan mieltä ja järjestetään lakkoja myös täällä avoimen markkinatalouden ja kilpailukyvyn kehdossa sekä yliopistojen hallinnosta ja opiskelijoiden työelämään integroinnista (jossa Britannia peittoaa Suomen 6-1) ja keskittyä siihen oleelliseen eli opetukseen ja sen kautta saatavan koulutuksen tasoon.
'
Jo ensimmäisellä viikolla UCL:ssa havaitsin ettei kyseessä ole biletysvuosi. En ole ehtinyt ulkoiluttamaan harmaita aivosolujani (saati maksaani) Bloomsburyn opiskelijariennoissa kuin muutamaan otteeseen. Sen sijaan olen löytänyt itseni kursseilta, joiden luonne ei oikeastaan millään tavalla muistuta minua kotilaitoksesta. Opintopisteiden sijasta britit mittaavat kurssisuorituksensa kurssiyksikköinä (course units), joita lukuvuodessa kerätään vähintään neljä. Syventymättä tähän yliopistomatematiikalle ominaiseen laskutoimitukseen totean, että yksi kurssiyksikkö vastaa noin viittätoista opintopistettä. Tällä hetkellä opiskelen yhteensä viidellä kurssilla, joista useimmat ovat puolen kurssiyksikön suuruisia. Näillä kursseilla on yksi tunnin mittainen luento ja yksi kahden tunnin mittainen seminaari viikossa. Luento UCL:ssa tarkoittaa suunnilleen samaa mitä Helsingissäkin, mutta seminaari (wau!) onkin jo aivan toista luokkaa.
'
Seminaaritunnin epistola on suunnilleen seuraava: hetimiten kun opiskelijat ovat asettuneet taisteluvalmiuteen ja istuvat hiirenhiljaa puolustusasemissaan, kurssin vetäjä nousee kateederille ja aloittaa akateemiset kovapanosammunat. Kysymyksiä satelee kuin konekiväärin piipusta ja vastausten on tultava opiskelijoilta. Jos jokin kysymys jää vaille vastausta on varsin harvinaista, että kurssin vetäjä vaivautuu sen opiskelijoille selittämään. Nähkääs kaikki läksyt tulee olla luettuna ennen seminaaria, ja vastaukset seminaarin kysymyksiin löytyvät joko edeltäneen luennon sisällöstä tai sekundaarilähteistä (artikkeleista, lukulistojen kirjoista yms.). Korkeasta rimasta huolimatta onnistunut seminaarisessio on muutakin kuin vain kysymyksiä ja vastauksia. Viime kädessä ne muodostavat verrattoman akateemisen keskustelun, jossa usein päästään paljon pidemmälle kuin mitä lähdeaineistossa.
'

Lisäksi jokaiselle kurssille kirjoitetaan kahdesta kolmeen esseetä (viidestä seitsemään sivua) ja luonnollisesti kurssin päättää kolmen tunnin mittainen koe touko-kesäkuussa. Onko siis ihme jos lontoolaisslavisti kerää kasaan yleensä noin kuudella kurssilla yhteensä 60 opintopistettä? Uskallan vieläpä väittää a posteriori -tuntumalla että omaan kaaliini täkäläinen oppi menee paljon paremmin perille ja myös pysyy siellä. Muistan kotilaitoksella joskus puhuttaneen snellmanilaisesta yliopistosta. Kyseinen määre saatta olla minulta juuri nyt pahasti hukassa, mutta uskon että Johan Vilhelm viihtyisi hyvin vaikka vain vierailevana luennoitsijana täällä SSEES:illa.
'
Viimeistelläkseni tämän ylistysoodin minun täytyy vielä kertoa teille täkäläisen slavistiikan runsaudensarvesta eli paikallisen weboodin kurssitarjottimesta (tupla wau!). UCL:n Timetables ohjelmassa SSEES:in kurssit on jaoteltu kieliaineiden sijaan useampaan suunnilleen yhtä suureen kategoriaan. Löytyy kielitiede, talous, kirjallisuus, politiikka, historia, kulttuuri ja yleisslavistiikka (maantuntemus, muinaiskirkkoslaavi ym. humanistihumppa). Pääaineesta riippuu mihin näistä osa-alueista brittislavisti keskittyy, mutta oletusarvo on, että kaikista kakuista hotkaistaan merkittävä viipale.
'
Olkoonkin että täällä opiskelija norkoilee yliopistolla vain neljä vuotta (opetusohjelma on raameiltaan varsin tiukka, ja akateeminen vapaus on määreenä lähes tuntematon) viiden tai seitsemän sijasta, mutta ottaen huomioon em. opetustekniikan ja kurssitarjonnan laajuuden uskon SSEESiläisen pesevän meikäläisen mennen tullen. Laiha lohtu löytyy kuitenkin brittien varsinaisesta kielitaidosta. Kielikursseilla opitaan kielioppi sekä kielitiede Chomskya myöten, mutta jos vaihtovuosi kohdemaassa (yleensä kolmas opintovuosi) jää käyttämättä, ei englantilaisreppana saa suutaan juuri auki ulkomaisella kielellä.
'
Paljon olisi vielä kerrottavaa Lontoon ihmeistä ja toinen toistaan mielenkiintoisemmista kursseista, joilla parhaan taitoni mukaan puurran, mutta elo ei ole täällä totisesti tylsää! Jos satut harkitsemaan vaihtoon lähtemistä niin kehotan ottamaan yhteyttä politiikan ja talouden tutkimuksen laitoksen yliopistolehtori Tauno Savelaan. Ensimmäinen hakukierros avataan tammikuussa, joten kannattaa olla heti valppaana – vaivan palkkana saattaa olla menolippu Lontooseen!

-Stefan

The Lands of Morning

"Oran, naomha, buan                      Song, sacred, eternal
Tog gu ard guth an t-sluaigh            Lift on high the voice of the people
Oran, the mi reidh                          Song, I am reconciled
Eirich, eirich bhar an t-sleibh"         Let it rise up from the moorland               
                   - Runrig (Oran)

Late last Sunday I returned to London after a long journey to the Outer Hebrides and back. These past few days in the rectangle of UCL in Bloomsbury (a certain small area within which most of my life as a Londoner seems to take place and outside of which I hardly spend any time at all) have been quite tedious. It took only a day or two for me two find comfort in the absolute tranquillity of a small rural Hebridean community, which seems to indicate once more my intransigent agrarian spirit, but it seems to take much more time for me to get again similarly comfortable in this already familiar environment in London. In order to explain all this I believe I must relate to you some of my experiences on these aforementioned isles.

This story, for once, does not begin with me (although I'm as random and omnipresent as ever) but with a certain mettlesome and bit adventurous Welshman whose life seems to be inseparably entwined with several distant Atlantic Isles such as the Falklands and the Outer Hebrides. His name is John and on the chilly and misty autumn morning on the third of October 2007 he picked up a certain young Finnish hitch-hiker (that's me now...) near Tarbert on the Isle of Harris and drove him all the way up to Stornoway. Little did he know how would this act of friendliness turn out in due course of the years to come. Ever since that drive from Harris to Lewis (Isle of Lewis) John has been patient and unfailing pen pal writing and answering with accuracy all the letters he has received from all over the world from this anxious globetrotter and hitch-hiker. Now, for the sake of John's privacy and common decency, I'll get back to my own story and thus to myself.
'

Here's a picture of John; my friend and host on Isle of Harris.

'

It took me about 24 hours to get from my London rectangle to John's home on the Isle of Harris. First I had to take an overnight bus to Inverness. This first part took more than 13 hours and was almost as uncomfortable as a routed taxicab (or a marshrutka) on a winding road in some distant part of steep mountain range. But eventually I did get to Inverness weary yet intact. From Inverness I took a bus to Ullapool and immediately when there I board a CalMac ferry to Stornoway (the unofficial capital of the Western Isles) where John with a friend of his was already awaiting me. It took us one more hour to drive from Stornoway to Harris in middle of night with gealach làn (the full moon) shining on the beautiful starry sky.

My time on Harris went swiftly as a whirlwind and yet I didn't do much of anything in particular there (at least if you measure it by the standard activeness I have here in London). My days consistent mainly of trips to different parts of the island with John (usually in the morning), taking the family's hyperactive dog out for a walk every once in a while (in order to do some workout after lunch), having long and thorough discussions about the state of the world especially in the evenings (with a glass of whiskey or a pint of ale, sometimes both), doing bit of reading (or rather playing with the though of actually studying) and of course being spoiled by delicious home food made by John's wife Heather.

Now, I'll try not to bore you with too many details about Harris or its people and their language - the Scottish Gaelic (which is still, along with the other Celtic languages, one of my favourite hobbies or rather obsessions). Instead of giving all the information boiling in my head I'll let some of my pictures to speak for themselves. Here, have a look!

Luskentyre beach, Isle of Harris. The island is full of beautiful beaches
well worth the swim (in summertime that is)!

Village of Ardhasaig, Clisham (the highest mountain on Harris) is covered with clouds in this picture.

Me going for a swim on Hushinish beach, Isle of Harris. The water was very salty, the waves mighty and the cold was emasculating. But I survived! Well, thanks to a hot bath back in John's home.

The eastern side of Harris is full of rocks and lochs but its ruggedness
holds exceptional beauty. At least to my Nordic eye.

The Callanish Stones, Isle of Lewis. This group of stones dates back to 2900 BC making it thus much older than the latest phase of Stonehenge (the one we can see today). In its overall shape it resembles a Celtic cross (one of many symbols associated with the sun). The place itself is very interesting and possess a certain mysticism. Here's more to it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Callanish_Stones

"Mañana is too exact time on Harris", said John to me when we were driving to Huishinish. He was trying to explain me what was the day to day life like on Western Isles. At first I didn't quite understand what he meant by this but soon, with one obvious example, it all came to me clear as a crystal: the road we were driving on, A859, must be the only A road (basic British motorway) in all of UK where there's only one lane. Basically what this means is that only one car can drive on this road to one of the two possible directions while the (possible!) oncoming car must park itself in one the pockets on the side of road. There's a pocket for such occasion about every 50 meters or so. The road is quite safe to drive on and there are hardly ever any significant accidents. And I'm not surprised! On Harris it's not by any means unusual to stop right there in the middle of this road and have a wee chat with the oncoming driver. Especially if the two are familiar to each other (N.B. on Harris all the locals know one and other). There's no haste on Harris and there seems to be plenty of time even without rushing things.

While discussing the contemporary situation of the Scottish Gaelic with the locals (of whom a clear majority would speak it as their native language) I was once more reassured that the future of this specific Celtic language is sadly not that promising at all. Unlike in Ireland or Wales, where the nation's native language seems to mean a lot to a significant portion of even the younger generation and where it drives the strong Nationalist movements, in Scotland, however, things are very different. Here in Alba [àlapa] the future of Scottish Gaelic is unambiguously the responsibility of the educational system. No other official party seems to be interested in promoting it. This means that by now Scottish Gaelic is sustaining itself to certain extent in its strongholds like on the Western Isles and the Highlands but its not expanding to South.

Outside of the Gàidhealtachd (the Gaelic speaking area of Scotland) there's hardly any interest for the revival of the language. To me this seemed, at first, very bizarre due to the fact that of all the particles that together form the (dis)United Kingdom - Scotland is the one pursuing independence with the most amount of perseverance. The Scottish Nationalist party is clearly the most popular one (has been for almost a decade now) in Alba but its Nationalist rhetoric has almost nothing to do with the Scottish Gaelic. However, Herder's idea of "one language - one nation" is not forgotten in Scotland - on the contrary it's a cornerstone of this Nationalist movement but the language the Scots have apparently chosen for this cause is a Germanic language better know as the Scots.

To clarify the picture a bit let it suffice to say that Scottish Gaelic is (roughly speaking) the language of the Irish settlers who came to the Highlands and Islands somewhere already in 4th century. But so it happened that the Scottish Gaelic never established itself permanently in the Lowlands of Scotland where the Scots language was gradually formed and where it gained its status as the dominant language of Alba in due course of Mediaeval period. That's enough of history and philology for this article.

I spend a great deal of time discussing with John also the future of Scotland and his native land of Cymru (Wales). On the last day of my visit we came to the conclusion that eventually, in one way or an other and for better or for worse, both the Scots and the Welsh will gain their full independence from Westminster and the English Crown. John also told me about the valleys of South Wales and the history of labour movement there. And so we reach a further understanding that I basically have no other option but to go and see Wales for myself once more in order to learn and experience more of Cymru. Also, should I live to see the day of Welsh independence, I promised John at least the effort of climbing up some high point in my native Finland and shouting to all the four winds: Hurray! The dream lives on and eventually we'll get there but there's still time 'till dawn.

As John said: "I've seen the Lands of Morning!". And he certainly has, because as a Welshman he's a son of such a land and he has spent most of his life on distant islands far away from the establishment. But when I stood on the deck of CalMac ferry on my way back to mainland and looked on the dusk upon Isle of Lewis (see the first photo of this text) I realised that I have been, yet again, exceedingly fortunate to have a such a friend and to have seen these lands, if only by a glimpse, with my very own eyes.

Yr eiddoch gyda chariad a chyda pharch,

-Stefan

PS.
Dros Gymru'n gwlad, O Dad, dyrchafwn gri,
y winllan wen a roed i'n gofal ni;
d'amddiffyn cryf a'i cadwo'n ffyddlon byth,
a boed i'r gwir a'r glân gael ynddi nyth;
er mwyn dy Fab a'i prynodd iddo'i hun,
O crea hi yn Gymru ar dy

West Country & Windsor

Fægen ealra hālgena mæssedæg!*

(*and mind you, that's English)

My life here in Bloomsbury has by now taken shape as definite and orderly as the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace. However, right now there's slight flaw in the picture: the zombie invasion of London is roaring out in the streets and that is good enough reason for me to spend most of this Monday (which also happens to be the official day of All Hallows Eve here on the island) at home writing once again some more stuff about my life, the universe and everything.

1. West Country


Last time I promised some more information about Glastonbury, Bristol and of West Country in general. My trip to Bristol turned out to be as great as I could have ever hoped for but, unfortunately, I also bite bit more than I could chew. My aim and idea was to experience nothing more and nothing less but a simple weekend without any fuss or touristy merchandise ("while in Bristol do as the Bristolians do"). In the West Country capital I enjoyed the company and hospitality of my friends Ian and Alice. Among many other interesting things I got to see and experience in Bristol one thing was definitely above all else: football!

I spend better part of my Saturday afternoon on a common (a word which here means non-private) football field watching a game between two local Bristolian football clubs: the Easton Cowboys vs. the Jersey Rangers. Frankly speaking the game itself wasn't really awe-inspiring but it was, after all, genuine passionate English football. So I decided to stay and watch. And once I had joined the supporters the passion of the cheering fellows around me and the seriousness and the shouts (never mind the swearing) of the eagle-eyed yet humorous coach hooked me completely to the course of the game. Furthermore, the game wasn't that clean or courtly at any stage. At times it turned out even quite nasty but this fact only contributed to the overall excitement I suddenly had for the game (was this notion a positive thing or not I leave for you to judge).

Here's a picture for you. At this point the situation is still 1 -1 (second round just started). The Easton Cowboys (that's the one we're supporting) play with yellow tops and black bits and the Jersey Rangers play in blue. Here we have Easton Cowboys building up an offence and my friend Ian climbing up (on the left) right after an effective pass.  

I had first planned to watch only the first round but when the intermission came I simply couldn't leave. The situation was 1 - 1. First goal was done by Cowboys and it was almost sublimely beautiful or at least very classical. The only goal the Rangers were able to score was done by mere force and luck (they literally drove themselves with the ball right into the goal). The game ended 2 - 1 for the Cowboys after one more successful and consistent offensive, which, to tell you the truth, did not happen very often during the match.

After the game and all the smells of the dressing room we continued to a pub called the Plough. The pub claims to be the finest boozer in Bristol and it has been the home and sponsor of the Easton Cowboys since the club was founded. Here at Plough I learned that it's not "just" football that keeps the club and its member going. There is in fact somewhat wholesome idea or an ethos behind it. Here's a piece for you:

The Easton Cowboys and Cowgirls are a club who recognise the fundamental equality of all people, irrespective of age, class, culture, disability, gender, race, religion, or sexuality. We seek to enjoy sport as part of strengthening local and international solidarity, performing to the best of our potential, and enjoying being part of a team.

Don't know about you but some of that vocabulary or lexicon in this paragraph makes me feel good and very optimistic about the whole concept of football community. On this note I must underline that the idea of English football in my personal perspective has so far been bogged down to boneheads and hooligans. This match (followed by the pub session) served to teach me a good lesson about football and life in Britain in general.

In the evening we headed to a famous Bristol music club called Canteen. In addition to West Country cider, beer and rum (West Country has almost throughout its history been connected with smuggling and piracy, hence yarr! belongs to the lexicon of the local dialect) we enjoyed some groovy live music preformed by a Namibian-born bass player Willie Mbuende. Together with some local jazz musicians Mbuende provided the crowd with some great Afro-Caribbean music. Almost needless to say I enjoyed my evening even more than my afternoon session (judging from my consumption of liqueur) and came to regret it the next day.

One more thing worth sharing from my trip to Bristol is my new fancy (or rather obsession) for a certain yeast extract. First morning in Bristol I got a great breakfast with toast, scrambled eggs and something completely strange and new: Marmite (one more peculiarity of Britons that goes to proof my regeneration to become one.)! They claim that people can either love it or hate it but not be neutral about it. But honestly my first Marmite sandwich (with scrambled eggs and handsome amount of butter) left me positively surprise but not really graving for more. But ever since I bought a jar of Marmite at my local Sainsbury's and made some classic cucumber sandwiches with this extract I'm always left with a hunger for some more. If you are not familiar with this product I would like to suggest for you to try it. Here's a picture and a link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marmite.

2. Windsor

This weekend I decided to stay closer to home (and, admittedly, to take it more easy). On Saturday I, Ville & Vallu made a day trip to Windsor in order to pay homage to Her Majesty the Queen. Unfortunately she wasn't there to meet us and in fact had preferred to get as far away from us as possible (for some reason she had fled to the British Siberia aka Australia). Honestly speaking there wasn't really anything special in Windsor except perhaps the castle but the entrance price even for a student was 15£. Needless to say we didn't go there. Moreover, I must add that this "tourists are money" custom has taken the world by storm but I would argue that never and nowhere else has this idea more effectively been put to action than in United Kingdom.

Soon we found our way out of the town of Windsor (absolutely crammed with hordes of tourists from all around the globe) onto the Long Walk: straight as an arrow pedestrian walkway with Windsor Castle in the one end of it and the equestrian statue (Roman style!) of king George III the Mad German or "The King Who Lost America" in the other. Walk to the statue is about three miles and it took us almost an hour to get there. We paused on the top the hill, enjoyed the scenery only to discover that we had in fact reached the Northern part of the Windsor Great Park or what used to be the private hunting ground of Windsor Castle.

Positively surprised both by the beautiful weather, autumnal wind and our relative solitude we decided to go roaming around the park. This one afternoon brought me closer to Mother Nature than I had so far been during this whole period of time here in Britain. Consequently, we took our time wondering around the lush fields, the woods and vast open fields with few paths and roads. In short we discovered ourselves in the Shire. Here's picture of us (the three hobbits) in one of the woods drinking some cheap cider:

I enjoyed myself thoroughly just walking around breathing this fresh countryside air not further than just few miles away from London. When we finally reached Windsor I made yet an other plunge into British cuisine (steak and ale pie with a pint of local porter). By now I feel myself confident enough to say that the local food is no haute cuisine but it is proper decent home food none the less and personally I know nothing better than proper decent home food. After all that culinary on the Southern side of the Alps is also just an other adaptation of basic home food. The question is: do we really prefer sun-dried tomatoes, olives and wines drier than Sahara over crisp apples, berries and proper hop brews? I think "Pop" Larkin would agree with me and with my choice: I'll stick with my native transalpine cuisine and culture. Here's a toast to sauerkraut, soup and beer!

And now I'm off to learn some more Esperanto!

La via en rapidemo,

-Stefan

PS. As you might remember I'm off to Scotland soon so it might well be that you won't hear from me for a while. I'm still eager for any suggestion as to what I should write about here. I'm planning on writing a text about Britishness (as requested) and also about a certain course I'm currently taking at SSEES considering the living dead. :[

There is a Green Hill Far Away...

As I might have pointed out already I'm currently living the most interesting period of my life so far. So forgive me if I do get a bit carried away or if it seems that I've even got an overdose of euphoria while writing this. After all, I've finally emigrated to a climate where I do not have to suffer from SAD (seasonal affective disorder) on regular basis and thus have no excuse for being grumpy or gloomy. I really feel that I've done already enough whining on this blog so now it's high time for me to take you on a tour through the best bits of my life here in London. Let us start!

1. The Yerfaslav Inklings
'

Many of you might be familiar with a certain group of informal literary discussion associated with the Oxford University. This particular group was called the Inklings. You might have heard of them (if not then shame on you: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inklings). Well, in order to honour their legacy a small group of UCL affiliate students has now officially formed an unofficial group of informal academic discussion which meets ever Wednesday at the Jeremy Bentham (or the Old Jerry) pub. Less fancifully expressed me and my two friends (Ville & Vallu) got this idea on a day trip to the Stonehenge and Bath about two weeks ago. Here's a picture from that trip with both Vallu & Ville in it.

And what's in the name? Why Yerfaslav? Well, as you might have guessed, it is indeed sort of an anagram from our names (and 'fa' stands for Stefan).

2. The Oxford Pilgrimage

On this trip to the Stonehenge and Bath it was proposed that we should do a similar visit to Oxford and to pay homage to Tolkien in his home town. The Yerfaslav Inklings met for the first time last week in order to prepare for this trip which turned out to be quite a success. Among other things we befriended a Moldavian guy with exquisitely ragged sense of humour, drank real ale at the original Inklings home pub the Eagle and the Child (or the Bird and the Baby as the Inklings called it), ended up in a fancy dress party (at some guy's house) of freshmen from the New College of Oxford University and finally - got hammered. We returned to London on a night bus and were at home around 6 am. Needless to say I was very thirsty next afternoon (once I woke up). Here's a cheerful picture and a somewhat grim reminder from our epic journey to Oxford. 

(psst! it says: Remember what happened to the dinosaurs!)

 3. Life in a dormitory

Even if the rent is quite steep in Bloomsbury my bachelors way of life allows me some everyday treats like this brand new haute cuisine invention of mine. I'm not quite sure how to call this dish. It does have a codename though. It's the buckwheat surprise! After you learn what's in it I hope you could give me some proposals as to how to call this treat.

The Ingredients:

a) half a cup of buckwheat
b) 8-12 pieces of sausage OR tofu
c) one good sized onion
d) 4-7 champignon mushrooms
e) two eggs
f) some sour cream (if you have any) + spices

Procedure:

Basically there's nothing much to this. You take a small saucepan where you boil the buckwheat for a quarter of an hour (remember to spice it up with salt or butter). Then you take a biggish frying pan and start frying the rest of the (by now sliced!) components starting from the sausages or the tofu (depending whether you're vegetarian or not!) and continuing with the onion and mushrooms. Once the buckwheat is ready through it into the frying pan with the rest of the ingredients. When most of the moisture has boiled away you add the eggs in order to get more doughy feeling to this dish. Make sure the eggs are well scrambled (in fact you shouldn't be able to tell that there are any). As you must know the eggs also make any food much more substantial so personally I wouldn't leave them out even if I were a vegetarian (well okay, ovovegetarian!). N.B. tofu takes quite a while to fry up so, please, just trust me: you don't want to end up with underdone tofu in your mouth. Be patient.

And here we have the less photogenic picture of this thoroughly bachelor style food:

4. All the things awaiting

In two weeks time my girlfriend will come over to London! We've got many ideas how to spend the weekend of a lifetime in this city but let it suffice to say that there's a punk rock concert of Flogging Molly (boyah!) and some nocturnal wandering included. Right after her departure I'm off to my first proper holiday away from London. I'm going to the Outer Hebrides to visit an old friend of mine. He lives with his wife in the quite little village of Grosebay on the Isle of Harris. Just today I received a call from him confirming that they are looking forward meeting me in the Stornoway harbour. I can hardly believe that after these four long years of studying and working I'm actually going back to the sites of those old euphoric days.

5. ... I'm going back there one fine day!

But tomorrow I'm leaving London for Bristol! There I'm going to stay with my two CS friends I met and befriended this summer in Moscow. One of my them is originally from the smallest city in England called Wells (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wells) and on a day trip there I'm also going to re-experience by favourite town in all West Country: Glastonbury! There are many things I could tell you about Glastonbury based on my last visit there. One things is sure: it is probably the best place in all of England to smoke some pipe, to taste some local cider and I'll probably return with a backpack full of bottles filled with the water from the Chalice Well (btw, what kind of an Atheist does that make me tough?). I'll tell you more once I get back. Okay?

Yours in high expectations,

-Stefan 

PS. Now instead of a picture I'll share a song with you to demonstrate properly this ongoing euphoria of mine (the song deals very much with the idea of god but please note that all references to any god are completely unintentional here):

'
Glastonbury Song - The Waterboys

I dreamed myself from the sultry plains to the old green square back in old Maybole
Rode the wind up to Stornoway paused at the peak, pacified my soul
Caught the bus at the faery fort made it to the mansion on the Boyne
See I come around to the ancient ways I took a tip from the Buddha boy

I just found god, I just found god, I just found god where he always was

We came down from the hill of dreams Bernadette, mother earth and you and me
Through Carraroe, down the wild wood side blinding our eyes in the shallow seas
Drank fire with the King of the Blues, plugged in to the medicine way
Took a long last look at Crazy Horse push now for a golden age

I just found god, I just found god, I just found god where he always was

I found myself on the roof of the world just waiting for to get my wings
Strange angel in the changing light said "Brother, you forgot something!"
My heart beat from the inside out so lucky just to be alive!
Can you tell what I'm talking about? Any day now the Sun's gonna rise!

I just found god, I just found god
I just found god where he always was
I just found god where he always was

There is a green hill far away I'm going back there one fine day.
There is a green hill far away I'm going back there one fine day!

Some Peculiarities of the Perfidious Albion

"Гдѣ Англичанинъ, тамъ коварство и корысть!... «Царствія небеснаго нѣтъ», закричалъ, умирая, несчастный невѣрующій... «А если бы оно было, такъ англичане давно бы туда пробрались и заняли всѣ мѣста»." - Писемскій

I've finally decided to gather some thoughts of the past few weeks here in London. I might as well start with the most obvious and important remark: Great Britain is indeed an island. Yeah, I know, you knew this, didn't you? Well then, you might as well noticed that the people living on any isles tend to have certain necessity to hedge and differ themselves not just from the continent but from the rest of the world. I'm not a Briton and it's yet difficult for me to say where exactly does this phenomenon derive from but as a friend of mine already suggested I'm going to study this question more closely, observe my environment and try to come up with some answers about what makes Britain tick and indeed - what does it mean to be British? Is Britishness just an other national myth or does it still exist outside of Buckingham and Windsor? But these questions will have to wait for different time and occasion. This text is once more all about me.

Well then! Let's start from the beginning. On my first week here at UCL I paid a compulsory visit to NHS clinic here on UCL's central campus in order to register for the National Health Service (for which I am eligible for because I'll be staying here for more than those six required months). At the doctor's reception I was told that I'm both smoker and a drinker. This, to be honest, came quite as blow to me: never in my life would I have though that drinking approximately three pints of ale about once in a week or smoking some pipe tobacco approximately twice in a month is a serious threat to my health. It so happens that in Britain the consumption of alcohol is measured in units. Naturally one would presume that one pint of beer equals to one unit of liqueur (well that is what I first thought) but in fact one pint is two units of alcohol. The official NHS recommendation is four units (that is two pints) per drinking session. Smoking, according to NHS, is completely unacceptable in any amount. I am perfectly aware that both drinking and smoking are rather unhealthy but then again - what is life without some indulgence? And then again, as the Irish say, you will never leave this world alive.

There's more. The most tedious thing about Britain, as I see it, is the complete commercialization of all things possible and impossible. I suppose one example should be enough: I visited the Victoria & Albert museum already a while ago and among other things decided to see the additional exhibition of post-modern art. At some point of that exhibition there was a film with some music by Eurythmics ('Sweet dreams are made of this' etc.) there and I wasn't really surprised to see this. After all the group was considered to be very much post-modern already when they started back in the 80's. However, the thing that did surprise me almost beyond belief was the sight when I left the exhibition and came out into the lobby: the museum shop was completely without proportions. Among other things you could buy the full discography of Eurythmics there. I wonder: since when has haute culture been synonym to merchandise?

There's still something else that has been bothering me. Yesterday I visited the British Museum with a CS friend of mine. There was nothing British there. To tell the truth this British pompousness about and pride for their Imperialist past is slowly getting to my nerves. Well, to be honest I somewhat understand this 'brilliant' thing these islanders have and it goes like this: "we are a small nation state with glorious past, spectacular present and great future" but to me it still sounds like yet another magnificent vision of the Third Rome.

The actual studying at UCL is great. This is not really due the simple fact that this university is one of the best universities in the UK (it's usually ranked in the top three or top five) but rather due to the way the courses are conducted. Only one third part of actual course consists of sitting on lectures and writing down your notes - almost two third part of the course is spent on tutorials (active discussion in small groups with the professor or doctor who is rapidly bombarding the students with questions in order to keep the debate intense). Naturally on every course you have to write two or three essays and undertake an exam in the end of the year.
'
To be completely honest I expected bit less work since I'm merely an affiliate student but then again UCL is not really a university for Erasmus programme. On one hand UCL (as I suppose) is merely taking part in the EU student exchange programme in order to send their third year students abroad without too many difficulties or bureaucracy.  On the other hand those students who come to study in UCL as affiliate students are expected to work the same amount as normal undergraduates (mind you the freshmen have it more easy though). When I get back to my home university in Finland I ought to get about 60 credits in return for only seven courses. Considering the amount of work here at UCL I think that the deal is rather fair.
'

Now then. I've saved the best bit for the last (and I promise there's no more whining involved) because during these last few weeks I've become positively obsessed with something completely and definitely British: the world's longest running science fiction TV series - the Doctor Who. Seeing that I've gone as far as ordering a CD of Timelord (that's to say Doctor Who related) rock with my brand new British Visa debit card I dare to say my obsession has reached a chronic stage. Here's a piece of music for you (mind the link):

Travelling man... Such secrets to be told.
Alien man... Running from the days of old.
Out of his world, with nothing left to lose.
Travelling man... Coming down to rescue you.

I can finish this long text with the only logical and obvious conclusion: regardless of my whining and cynicism I'm slowly becoming more and more British. I do enjoy my life here and by now I'm beginning to understand this truly global city and country. There are more peculiarities to Britain and if you would like me to relate more about them I will oblige gladly.

And tomorrow I'm off to Oxford to do some Tolkien pilgrimage with my two very good friends Ville (Guillermo) and Vallu (Václav)!

Yours on the Road that goes ever on and on,

-Stefan

PS. Here's a peculiar dessert for you:

Walking round London town

You might laugh - you might frown,
Walking round London town
When you look with your eyes,
Everything seems nice...
But, if you look twice,
You can see it's all lies
- Lily Allen, LDN

This is my sixth night in London and for the first time it seems that I've finally adopted the GMT. It's late in the evening and I'm writing this with weary eyes after spending a better half of the day walking all around London town. In fact today I enjoyed my very first picnic on Hampstead Heath with a group of new friends I've made during these first few days at UCL. The first question you guys apparently want to ask is how is London and how have I settled? As always there's no simple or short answer to these questions (other than false ones) so let's start from the beginning, shall we?

London welcomed me warmly and hospitably in the form of a Finnish colleague and now a friend of mine who is studying and working in London at UCL. Not only did I get a roof and a place to sleep for the first night but also a great deal of help, tips and advice with settling into new environment. These last few days (as expected) have been crammed with information and details that all have to be strictly memorized and used in everyday practice: starting with what seems to be a dozen of different Intranet systems and finishing off with a totally poor glazing and crappy (yeah!) sewer system. I wouldn't go teaching Britons anything about how things are done back in the North for the world but every once in a while I find myself wondering about the greatness of Britain. I reckon their superiority is as much of a myth as the Finnish uprightness.

Then, on the other hand, London, unlike Moscow, seems to be a comparably decent or even compact in its size and magnitude. There is of course, yet again, a ridiculously large amount of people around (especially on Friday and Saturday nights, as expected) but that has to do a lot with the simple fact that I live in the frigging Bloomsbury - in the very heart of the city. Otherwise, e.g. in the underground, there definitely is more space and even decent distance between people unlike in the public transport system of Moscow. So, all things considered I believe that it is quite possible for me to get used to this city and to its ways. This is much more easier in view of the fact that I have my own quiet corner of an attic room with decent view to the grim backyard of our dormitory. Here is a view of my room for you:

I've also managed to get my course schedules and academic timetables in order well in advance (took some effort that - to do it all in only three first days while here in UK). Among other things I will be taking courses on Fascism and Authoritarianism in the Eastern Europe during the inter war period, sex and gender in Russian Cinema, Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin, vampires as part of society and culture on the east side of Elbe river and some more courses of literature and history. Not bad all things considered, aye? And after all - this is the UCL. So, might as well smile while thinking of all the things ahead of me.

And on the brightest side I'm already planning my first trip out of London. First on my horizon appears the city of Bristol where I have two friends with whom I've already being in touch with. I met them while in Moscow and am more than eager to meet them in their own habitat and climate. I might also get a chance to see some of the places that I'm already familiar with after my last epic journey here in Britain few years back. Of these I have two in the West Country: Wells and Glastonbury. I'm looking forward to writing to you from all of these places.

Few weeks ago I wrote you about a band called Flogging Molly. I was invited by a friend of mine to their gig in Helsinki this August but obviously I couldn't make it due to some geographical limitations. However, yesterday I managed to get two tickets at HMV to a concert of theirs here in London at the beginning of November. I'll be also expecting some exceptional company to join me so if you'd be interested in getting a first hand report from that gig, please, let me know!

Yours as streetwise as ever,

Stefan 

PS. A Briton seems to be emerging within me. As I mentioned it's only my sixth evening in UK and I'm already enjoying myself with some tea, Cornish pasties and... gasp!... the latest episodes of Doctor Who on BBC's iPlayer. Unfortunately these episodes cannot be watched outside of UK. Otherwise I would surely share them with you!

My Heart Has Been Broken

Tomorrow I'm off to London. This time I won't bother you with any news or thoughts from my life (there are too much of them already). And frankly right now they are none of your business. :) But I would like to share yet an other song with you. This time a song by a Finnish band called CMX (Cloaca Maxima). One of their songs has defined my life since the moment I first heard it. And it's more than appropriate right in this moment of my life. And here you have it:

My Heart Has Been Broken (Minun sydämeni on särkynyt)

Listen to what it says:
"Leave your childish face here
Press your hand into the mold
And wait for the sun to rise."
Grieve is here like the poverty
Like a promise of the wilderness,
Like the false mirage
And the pain won't go away.

Write it in the sand
And the sand will keep your words.
Write it in the stream
And the water finds its way home.
Write it in the air
And the birds will rise on their wings.
Write it in your memories
And they will part like a road.

See where the wisdom is
That built the cities
And wrote the libraries
Full of solitude.
When the wind of the wilderness
Caresses your riverbed
And the great words
Dry within your mouth.

Write it in the light
And the light will travel into the void.
Write it in the evening
And the evening will join with the night.
Write it in the fear
And the fear shall fear itself.
Write it in the words
And the words shall turn into each other.

Once your memory won't hurt anyone
Then my heart will break.
Once your memory won't hurt anyone
My heart will travel
Over the restless land.
My heart will shatter
To wonder on with the wind.

Yours in these words,

Stefan

After the First Thousand Miles of Wonder

Yes, I know! It's been awhile. I'm sorry if you've missed me. I, on the other hand, have been busy with other engagements elsewhere (that is to say I've been drifting somewhere in between Helsinki and Kauhajoki in my native Finland). There's nothing really interesting happening in Finland (is there ever?) at the moment. But this specific turning of the seasons has treated me rather well. Bare with me once more:

Since I've got back home from Russia I've gained some more age (23 years by now) and weight (67 kg at the moment) but I reckon I've hardly grown an other millimetre (I could check if you want!) since last year. I had the best birthday in years with my best friends in Helsinki (e.g. I got to see how Finland won the Republic of Moldova 4 - 1 in football) with proper cuisine, pints, presents and feminine touch included. Even the public transport did not forget me: the fine I received a day before my birthday was cancelled by the officials. At the end of the day I felt exhausted but happier than I had been in a very long time.

Right now I'm staying with my parents in Kauhajoki (due to my flat in Helsinki been occupied by a subtenant). I hanged around at few of my friends in the capital but I got uncomfortable after a few days and decided to retreat back into the countryside. By now I've managed to pull myself back together after Moscow although a visit to my home university in Helsinki was more of a claustrophobic experience than I anticipated. Fortunately, I didn't have to hang around there for a long.  

And since I'm once more on the rails and have my next target (the University Collage of London and the Perfidious Albion) fixed on my mind I might as well share with you some of the things to come. First of all I'm leaving Finland next Tuesday and for the first night in London I'm without a roof (if you should have any tips about where I could stay for that one night in question I would be much obliged!). I get to move into my residence first thing the next morning. And speaking of the devil here's some information about the place I'm moving into: http://www.ucl.ac.uk/prospective-students/accommodation/residences/houses/vtours/arthur-tattersall (great, aye?). My orientation programme starts on the same day and it seems that there's still some bureaucracy and a considerable amount of paperwork to be done in order to become a student at UCL. On the other hand (after studying for few months in Russia) I wouldn't have expected anything else from the Britons and a member university of both the Russell Group and the G5.

Now there's little more to tell about my life at the moment except for the fact it's not London I'm awaiting the most right now: my girlfriend is coming to visit me (and my parents..) here in the countryside for the next weekend. Now, when I'm writing this, I can hardly keep myself from rushing to my cellphone and making sure she's both happy and done her homework since I have none of my own (or may be it's just my inner teacher going active?). :)

Yours in dreamy autumn weather with Tom Waits,

Stefan

PS. Oh, and one more thing! As I promised you already last spring this blog will take you through 3000 miles of wonder. The first thousand (to Moscow and back again) is now over but there's still two more to go (to London and back). Already in Moscow few of my colleges were wondering about the title of this blog. Why does it have the name it has? I don't recall telling you this but it all comes down to a certain song by Flogging Molly. The song's called With a Wonder and a Wild Desire. I'll post both a link and the lyrics of this song here:

Wonder and a Wild Desire 
(and mind the link!)

So I will pave this road till glory
Sets our broken spirit free
From every cross-soaked nail pours endless rain
With tears no eye should see
But they could fill our highest ocean
And the rivers in between
With every blade that flowers must grow then drown
With love our cruelest sea

So with a wonder and a wild desire
I will crawl from under every weight
With a wonder and a wild desire
Bless the day it was I shared your name
Yesterday forever speaks your grave

Hail the shower from the broadside
To the heavens down below
Draw one last breath from your fanning ship
Sink the hunger in us all
Shake the hand that speaks of freedom
Kiss hate one final bow
Till each twilight falls then rests till dawn and tomorrow's never sleep

So with a wonder and a wild desire
I will crawl from under every weight
With a wonder and a wild desire
Bless the day it was I shared your name
With each word forever speaks your grave

And of the fool we shall not mention
That depraves the cries of youth
Drag not your strength from government
But from the voices they abuse

So with a wonder and a wild desire
I will crawl from under every weight
With a wonder and a wild desire
Bless the day it was I shared your name
Yesterday forever speaks your grave

Only time will tell when this rain of hell, shall wither in defeat
Separate the bread they forgot to share, till the milk still left to feed
Though this body aches then disappeared into the ground, our seeds
He said, "I'd, I'd always comfort thee"

So I will pave this road to glory
Watch as our broken spirits soar
Resignate with perfect reason
Shut life's last gloomy door

So with a wonder and a wild desire
I will crawl from under every weight
With a wonder and a wild desire
Bless the day it was I shared your name
With a wonder and a wild desire
I will crawl from under every weight
With a wonder and a wild desire
Bless the day it was I shared your name
Yesterday forever speaks your grave

Last day of our acquaintance

So today is the day when I'll leave Moscow and Russia behind. It might have been more of an epic story if I'd leave Moscow directly for London and UK but a nice cooling down in the lonesome Nordic corner that many people know as Finland appears to be quite vital for me at this point (after three months of Moscow, yeah!).

Now it's time for me to gather some thoughts of my time here in Moscow. Firstly, I ended up in this city very suddenly and even slightly to my own astonishment (mainly due to the amount of work and study I had in the hectic rat race back in Helsinki last spring). Secondly, as I already wrote in June, I continued to live within two different bubbles (in the embassy and at my friends Night and Troll) throughout the whole summer. Thirdly, my life in Moscow very quickly adopted a certain pattern (off to work, off to home, off to sleep) it followed the whole time I was in the city. This pattern did not break but only had few pauses while I was twice in Yaroslavl' and once in St.Petersburg. 

I came back from Yaroslavl' on Sunday with some great ideas that came to my head while I spent a sleepless night on Saturday. Basically what happened was that I was finally able to pick a career I want to pursue. And the one (and the only logical one) I see ahead of me is the one of a teacher. Not any teacher though but a teacher of languages (Russian + Finnish or perhaps English). So, what I need to do about this is to give it a little more thought (find out about the possibilities to realize this in my home university) and sign in and undertake two entrance exams next spring.

Also, these last few days here in Moscow have turned out to be, frankly, the very best days of this summer. Why exactly? Well, let it suffice to say that I've had the pleasure to enjoy the company of an extraordinary girl ('extraordinary' due to her ability to stand me for virtually all the time!). During these last few days we've had some really good time together starting with a house party in Uhtomskaya (where I live) and ending with an evening cruise on the Moskva river. Here I have two pictures for you:

Kremlin (on the right-hand side) at dusk

Me on the waves and in dreamy weather.
'

So, I'll leave this city and this country within few hours in a mix of both enthusiasm (of all the things awaiting me) and sadness (for all the good things I've had experienced in Moscow) with the words of Sinéad O'Connor:  
'

This is the last day of our acquintance
I will meet you later in somebody's office
I'll talk but you won't listen to me
I know your answer already
'

The reason for these particular words remains with a number of experiences and phenomenons I've had to come across almost every single day while in Moscow (some of them being but not limiting to such things as overpopulation and overcrowdedness, bureaucracy that by my reckoning is way closer to idiocracy and inefficiency of most public service, but most of all scrupulous, self-absorbed and indifferent people I had to serve, attend, work with and meet on a daily basis). Without being too bitter I must confess that I've had enough of Russia for quite some time and I also need some time on my own to put my thoughts (and myself) back together after this rattle.

But on the other hand I'm certainly (from overall perspective) happy with my summer in the Russian capital. Firstly, I've met and befriended some amazing people not just from the embassy but also some Muscovites and few people from around the world. I'm also very grateful to my friends Night and Troll who allowed me to stay with them and even took good care of me by providing me with an astonishing environment in which to live on the outskirts of Moscow city. And thirdly I wouldn't have missed these last days in Moscow for the world: I've regained some of my past self-confidence and even few of my older more romantic ideas of life in general. And all these aforementioned things neither I nor anyone else can measure in money or gold simply because they are few pieces of the mosaic that make up the pattern and the picture of my life.

Yours & ready for departure,

Stefan

A Postcard from Bilbao

For once I decided to use this blog of mine for what blogs are usually intended for: to share with you some news and to tell you about my day to day  life here in Moscow. So, let us begin!

I set out to Moscow (and to London) in order to rethink the puzzle of my life and to reset the direction where I'm heading to. This jigsaw has become somewhat clearer mainly due to my isolation (I live in two different bubbles, remember?). To say the turth I haven't been at all intrested in the life of my family and friends in Finland and luckily they haven't been that keen on my affairs. So I've got what I wanted: solitude. Well at least to a certain amount (yeah, alone in Europe's biggest city! Who would have thought?).

Then on the other hand thanks to my hosts and firends (Night and Trol) being active member of CouchSurfing we've had intresting and often quite extraordinary people from all over the world staying with us, for a day or two, and sharing some of their life with us. This, for one, has been in a way a major contribution for my efforts to get different perspective to the rat race of my university, my life in Helsinki and in Finland. I've also befriended some of our guests and it is rather possible that I'll meet them later on while in London.

Last weekend I went with my friend to see a peculiar musical in the Mossoviet Theatre. This play was the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. For one I could never have been able to imagine this specific piece of literature being transformed into a Broadway style musical. Nevertheless, this Russian cast along with the director succeeded in creating an entertaining and truly inspiring play with accurate coreography and some remarkable acting.

On the other hand the play thoroughly lacked the feeling of Victorian London or rather the stiffness and pompousness of the British upper class which, at least by my reckoning, is an essential part of R. L. Stevenson's work. Also, I was especially annoyed by the sexist division between the male and female roles: the genteel messrs were convincing in their manners whereas the ladies were so profoundly Russian not just in their apperance but their constant melodramatical arias and romantic whining that I almost lost my nerves. Luckily the crucial scene of the last dialogue between Jekyll and Hyde (seen below) was carried out to perfection by Alexandr Domogarov:

This week I also had the pleasure of receiving a postcard from my friend in Bilbao. The postcard reminded me of those things I've lacked here in Moscow including open spaces and horizons, running water (as in a lake or a sea - we do have tubes here!), Finnish summer (or rural summer anyhow) but predominantly the company of many of my best friends. On that postcard is a picture of the Guggenheim Museum of Bilbao at dusk (somewhat similar to the picture below):

But right now I'm on my way to Yaroslavl' once again. This time simply just to relax and to gather my thoughts before I once more find myself in the ever condensing monotony of Finland. 

Yours in haste,

Stefan

PS. Cheezy as it may sound I've collected and unofficial OST of my summer here in Moscow (following an example of my Dutch friend). If you're intrested enough then, by all means, listen:

1. A beginning of an era: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvgZkm1xWPE&ob=av2n
2. The first and worst days at work: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzRecTQUXv8
3. The meaning of life (vol. Russian): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AOzkN8dHnjk
4. Babylon had never any power over you!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pHDafPS4opk
5. Moscow's got magic: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtvgNBRGnMc
6. Wodka trinkt man pur und kalt!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQAKRw6mToA
7. Nights in St.Petersburg: http://www.myspace.com/dushapitera
8. Evening of Finnish cuisine and music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCRGnoVLGnE
9. A postcard from Moscow: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTNeCxtPaeM&feature=related
10. A toast for the turning of the season: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEnUp2j8TV4
11. A breath of autumnal air: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CxknQGTjyw&feature=related
12. УГ!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8P7tW9-_Fck
13. Stuck in the August rain: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xx9I4l64huA
14. Swimming under a starry sky: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahJ6Kh8klM4
15. On an August summer night: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4RjJKxsamQ&ob=av2e
16. The last day in Moscow and in Russia: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLGobWuiYuc

Nightswimming

'
After all this whining I decided to treat you guys with something more pleasant: I'll share some more pictures of my life in Moscow. I came to this conclusion for two reasons. Firstly, 'cause I'm lazy. Secondly, 'cause they say a picture can tell more than thousand words (this argument only underlines my laziness and inability to write you something fresh). 

But before the good stuff bare with me for awhile. As strange as it may now seem and sound (after all this time in the Russian capital) I've finally learned to really like Moscow. The key was under my nose all this time: to accept this city, its habits and its people just the way they are. But now let's start with the collage:

Wet Moscow riverbank after two beers and few vessels full of partying people that passed by.

Some unfortunate bublik in a pond in Moscow zoo few seconds before it was eaten up by a swarm of salmons, turtles, catfish and some perch.

Me enjoying myself as one of the locals: chilling out in a fountain in the Moscow's Victory Park with live concert playing some lame popsa on the background.  

From here on the pictures are from last Friday evening which I spend just roaming around the city with a friend of mine after a hard day's work and after we had bought tickets to a theatre play you shall soon enough hear about..

This picture could have ended up earlier in the post "Moscow's got Magic" because the park and the pond in the picture make the first scene in Bulgakov's novel Master and Margarita. This park is the Patriarch Ponds and it is here where professor Woland first appears on this visit to Moscow in spring somewhere in early 1930's.

Cathedral of Christ the Saviour at dusk..
'

...and probably the best possible view on Moscow skyline at dusk. Here you can clearly see all the layers (the tzarist, Soviet and modern) of makeup lady Moscow has on her face.
'

And here am I thinking of the summers past, pining for Tarnovo and dreaming of a nightswimming (mind you not in the Moscow river - I'm not mental enough to plunge myself into that river!) that I'm going to undertake with my friend some of these days in an outdoor pool.


And speaking of nightswimming here I have my official theme song for this summer: (Psst! mind the link in the subtitle below)

Nightswimming (by R.E.M.)
'

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago,
Turned around backwards so the windshield shows
Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse
Still, it's so much clearer
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge
The moon is low tonight

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
I'm not sure all these people understand
It's not like years ago,
The fear of getting caught,
Of recklessness and water
They cannot see me naked
These things, they go away,
Replaced by everyday

Nightswimming, remembering that night
September's coming soon
I'm pining for the moon
And what if there were two
Side by side in orbit
Around the fairest sun?
That bright, tight forever drum
Could not describe nightswimming

You, I thought I knew you
You, I cannot judge
You, I thought you knew me,
This one laughing quietly underneath my breath
Nightswimming

The photograph reflects,
Every streetlight a reminder
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night, deserves a quiet night

Yours on the photographs above,

Stefan