Most of the people I'm dealing with at this point are at least bilingual, and remarkably many even multilingual. Besides enabling you to spice up conversations, it often makes for some unexpected amusement. Many of the students seem nearly fluent with English, but all the other languages bring their own condiments to the communication soup. I know I tend to get German and Swedish words all mixed up, but it's especially funny when some of these influences sneak into our English. Yesterday saw a little bit of such comedy.
After the lessons at Háskóli I was walking just somewhere with a couple of friends, a Finn and a Swede. During the class it had started raining, not very heavily, but none of us seemed to have equipped ourselves against rainfall. The fellow Finn had probably the worst clothing choice of us, wearing a soft cotton jacket. She wailed "Argh, why didn't I take my parachute with me?" It took probably half a second for us others to burst into laughter, and half a second more for her to do the same. We traced very quickly where that word came to her mind, as one of the Swedish words for umbrella is paraply. Nonetheless, we kept bombarding her with all the parachute and umbrella related jokes we just could come up with, and we were rather resourceful. Probably to a point where she just wanted to kick our teeth in.
Even after crossing that border we suggested that Hallgrimskirkja would probably be a great base jump location.
I adore such moments of random silliness. On my way home from the pools I for some reason remembered the Finnish actor-author Reidar Palmgren. Now when I'm using English more, I also tend to look at Finnish a little differently, so I quickly discovered which English word the name resembles. Since I'm an avid supporter of idiocy and complete nonsense, I had to spend a few moments materializing some of the similar oddities I've recently been shaping in my mind. An Unfunny Alert needs to be issued though, since the following is not particularily skillful and you probably won't find the following very amusing if you are
A) not me AND/OR
B) on something.
I'm sorry.
I still got a few chuckles when I was creating it. I probably should start writing bad haikus again too. Nonsense just has too much potential.
keskiviikko 31. tammikuuta 2007
sunnuntai 28. tammikuuta 2007
What I thought today, or the chapter in which a multitude of baffling subjects is discussed
I adore the pools more and more every single time I visit one. They make me feel good in many different ways. There's the knowledge that in addition to walking everywhere I'm doing some very good regular exercise, I'm moving a lot more and also more efficiently than I used to. Some of them apparently have saunas. I've yet to visit one, since you'd apparently have to pay a bit more. Nevertheless, it's comforting to know that I can get to one if I start having withdrawals. They also offer some very good means for relaxation.
I had been swimming laps for maybe an hour and a quarter and was thinking about having a break. I went to the hottest of hot pots, and sat there for maybe 15 minutes. That already was rather nice and unwinding, but I didn't realize what I was about to do when I jumped into the colder swimming pool again. My limbs instantly turned into well boiled spaghetti. It caught me by complete surprise. In theory I could've kept swimming very slowly, but I had absolutely no strength left in my body. I just ditched the thought of doing more laps and went to the showers, embracing the feeling I had gotten. I don't think my body has ever felt so relaxed.
The pooltime thoughts have also been quite interesting. I find myself either watching how the waves travel or overlap each other and rebound from the walls, or then thinking in English. I noticed the latter last time at the pools. Of course English is my main language of communication at the moment, but I don't seem to be thinking in English anywhere else at this point. When I noticed it, I could also recall that I had been doing it on my previous pool visits as well. With some of you readers I've been discussing how I always get the best ideas when taking a shower. This observation seems like a logical continuum for my vague theories of how water seems to affect thought processes. Or something.
A few days back I was craving for some whisky, so visited the liquor store for the first time. I suppose I couldn't have done a better job at looking a poor, dubious student if I tried, with my backpack and everything. There were like six people working at the store at the time filling shelves and unpacking boxes, and also a dedicated guard. I was the only customer at the time, so upon entering the store ALL eyes turned on me. The unpacking of boxes slowed down a bit, conversations dampened. The guard followed me as I took a round trip around the small store. I felt like I had entered Fort Knox. Hardly surprising though I suppose, seeing how the goods stored seem to be of similar value in both. I just stayed as far from the shelves I could while retaining the ability to read prices, and didn't touch anything before I had made my decision about what to buy. The price was naturally outrageous, but I felt relieved that I got out of the store without hearing blaring sirens and having all the workers jump on me, swearing in Icelandic.
I've never been good at scheduling. To think, I've never really liked it or seen it as a necessity. I don't keep a calendar. When I was working at the grocery store in Finland, I would just memorize my next shift, not copy the whole chart somewhere. I always knew when I'm supposed to be at work for the next time, which was enough. I don't have schedules in my travels either. Maybe I'll miss many of the tourist attractions wherever I happen to be, but I think my way of just wandering wherever I feel like gives me a lot more interesting view of the current location. I'd hate to leave something curious just because according to my timetable I should be already going somewhere else. I think that most things you can possibly do are more fun when you do them spontaneously.
Which brings me to how much I love the randomness of living here. Part of the fascination may become from actually living in a lively city for the first time in my life. Vaasa is a rather quiet and small town by Finnish standards, with not all that many things to do. I've began to understand the frustration some of my friends there have had for the town - they've either already lived in livelier cities or wanted to end up in one. The evening before I went to the Nordic House, where we had a free concert from a Finnish trio which had composed songs from Edith Södergran's poems. In three languages too, Finnish, Swedish and English. Afterwards I found myself talking to the Swedish ambassador couple about Icelandic, I apparently knew more than the lady did. Again slightly afterwards I found myself sitting in Tapasbarinn with the ensemble and mostly older Finnish ladies. This is what you get for speaking Finnish in public, I guess. It was fun nevertheless, although I think we were served too few bread baskets! Not sure if I'd go again, but you've got to try everything, right? Afterwards everybody else crammed into a taxi and I waded slowly home, past most of the hot spots in Icelandic nightlife.
Yesterday's randomness led me to have a fun surprise lunch downtown. Afterwards I went to see Reykjavík Museum of Photography. The current exhibition of photos from Greenland was rather good, even though I think there were a couple too many shots of fish drying racks. And yes, they also had postcards of mr. Kjarval drinking Brennivín. Both seemed very photogenic. I also went to enjoy my Saturday evening brew to a very honest looking pub, The Dubliner. Guinness was surprisingly not-overpriced at 600 krónur. Soon after I had sat down the table next to me was occupied by a Swedish group of three men and three young ladies who were discussing some rather personal matters, and making some relatively crude jokes. I tried to smile inwards, not wanting to make them aware of the fact that I understood most of the things they were saying. They left rather swiftly, after drinking just one quick round. Slightly after I was halfway into my second pint and feeling very contemplative, I was smiling openly by myself. I was happy I hadn't had a schedule for that day.
I had been swimming laps for maybe an hour and a quarter and was thinking about having a break. I went to the hottest of hot pots, and sat there for maybe 15 minutes. That already was rather nice and unwinding, but I didn't realize what I was about to do when I jumped into the colder swimming pool again. My limbs instantly turned into well boiled spaghetti. It caught me by complete surprise. In theory I could've kept swimming very slowly, but I had absolutely no strength left in my body. I just ditched the thought of doing more laps and went to the showers, embracing the feeling I had gotten. I don't think my body has ever felt so relaxed.
The pooltime thoughts have also been quite interesting. I find myself either watching how the waves travel or overlap each other and rebound from the walls, or then thinking in English. I noticed the latter last time at the pools. Of course English is my main language of communication at the moment, but I don't seem to be thinking in English anywhere else at this point. When I noticed it, I could also recall that I had been doing it on my previous pool visits as well. With some of you readers I've been discussing how I always get the best ideas when taking a shower. This observation seems like a logical continuum for my vague theories of how water seems to affect thought processes. Or something.
A few days back I was craving for some whisky, so visited the liquor store for the first time. I suppose I couldn't have done a better job at looking a poor, dubious student if I tried, with my backpack and everything. There were like six people working at the store at the time filling shelves and unpacking boxes, and also a dedicated guard. I was the only customer at the time, so upon entering the store ALL eyes turned on me. The unpacking of boxes slowed down a bit, conversations dampened. The guard followed me as I took a round trip around the small store. I felt like I had entered Fort Knox. Hardly surprising though I suppose, seeing how the goods stored seem to be of similar value in both. I just stayed as far from the shelves I could while retaining the ability to read prices, and didn't touch anything before I had made my decision about what to buy. The price was naturally outrageous, but I felt relieved that I got out of the store without hearing blaring sirens and having all the workers jump on me, swearing in Icelandic.
I've never been good at scheduling. To think, I've never really liked it or seen it as a necessity. I don't keep a calendar. When I was working at the grocery store in Finland, I would just memorize my next shift, not copy the whole chart somewhere. I always knew when I'm supposed to be at work for the next time, which was enough. I don't have schedules in my travels either. Maybe I'll miss many of the tourist attractions wherever I happen to be, but I think my way of just wandering wherever I feel like gives me a lot more interesting view of the current location. I'd hate to leave something curious just because according to my timetable I should be already going somewhere else. I think that most things you can possibly do are more fun when you do them spontaneously.
Which brings me to how much I love the randomness of living here. Part of the fascination may become from actually living in a lively city for the first time in my life. Vaasa is a rather quiet and small town by Finnish standards, with not all that many things to do. I've began to understand the frustration some of my friends there have had for the town - they've either already lived in livelier cities or wanted to end up in one. The evening before I went to the Nordic House, where we had a free concert from a Finnish trio which had composed songs from Edith Södergran's poems. In three languages too, Finnish, Swedish and English. Afterwards I found myself talking to the Swedish ambassador couple about Icelandic, I apparently knew more than the lady did. Again slightly afterwards I found myself sitting in Tapasbarinn with the ensemble and mostly older Finnish ladies. This is what you get for speaking Finnish in public, I guess. It was fun nevertheless, although I think we were served too few bread baskets! Not sure if I'd go again, but you've got to try everything, right? Afterwards everybody else crammed into a taxi and I waded slowly home, past most of the hot spots in Icelandic nightlife.
Yesterday's randomness led me to have a fun surprise lunch downtown. Afterwards I went to see Reykjavík Museum of Photography. The current exhibition of photos from Greenland was rather good, even though I think there were a couple too many shots of fish drying racks. And yes, they also had postcards of mr. Kjarval drinking Brennivín. Both seemed very photogenic. I also went to enjoy my Saturday evening brew to a very honest looking pub, The Dubliner. Guinness was surprisingly not-overpriced at 600 krónur. Soon after I had sat down the table next to me was occupied by a Swedish group of three men and three young ladies who were discussing some rather personal matters, and making some relatively crude jokes. I tried to smile inwards, not wanting to make them aware of the fact that I understood most of the things they were saying. They left rather swiftly, after drinking just one quick round. Slightly after I was halfway into my second pint and feeling very contemplative, I was smiling openly by myself. I was happy I hadn't had a schedule for that day.
keskiviikko 24. tammikuuta 2007
Je t'aime tant
One of the reasons why I came here was to know better how to live in the moment, how to seize the day. Soon I've spent here four weeks, and I find that Iceland has instead been emphasizing my dreamer nature. In theory it sounds like a step in completely wrong direction, but at the moment it doesn't feel like one.
In the past I've thought quite extensively about what I dare to write in here and what not. Here I'm about to throw all those contemplations out of the window. I love people who can tell exactly how they think or feel, and I think I've reached a point where I can do that myself. I don't feel vulnerable about it any longer. I've been vulnerable for long enough already. For the people who've wandered to experience Iceland via my eyes, I apologize for writing just about myself again. This strange country will not be the object of this post, but instead a catalyst.
I'm being very sentimental today for two reasons. The first was a rather casual lunch table conversation with a couple of the other tenants in our home away from home, which sneakily led me to tell them about my genetical eye condition and some of the pain I've gone through because of it. The other was a long overdue movie experience. A friend had urged me to watch Before Sunrise and Before Sunset for quite awhile.
I'm not going to unfold the story of my life completely in here, since I think there would be way too much grief for a mere blog post. For those who don't know me well, I think I had to grow up way too early, because of many things. There were times in my (at that time already broken) family when I had to be the grown up in house at the age of 12 or 13. The event that shaped my future the most happened when I was 18 years old, about to graduate from high school, and wanting to be an air traffic controller. Around that time I was told that I might be blind in 20 years.
As you can imagine, that's kind of hard to hear as a teenager who had been spending quite a lot of time contemplating their future in the past years. I guess my initial thoughts were along the lines "so, what the **** am I going to do when I'm blind?" I don't think I'm exaggerating too much if I say in the following couple of months I was way closer to certain boundaries that I can comfortably be. Obviously, it's not set in the stones that it'll happen. Since the rod cells of my eyes aren't working properly, I'll most likely eventually lose most of my field of vision, but will retain the central reading ability of the cone cells. The science today has no cure for this, but maybe it eventually will. And most importantly, I've been able to move on. Even if it'll eventually happen, I won't spend my remaining years with vision just by worrying that I'm losing it someday. I opened some wounds today, but it gave me a lot of thoughts worth thinking.
A remark just for clarification: I'm not writing this because I want people to have pity on me. Please don't. There are people who've been through completely different things and suffer every day more than I've ever done. Furthermore, I'm not bitter about it for my parents, even though I know it comes from their genes. I won't waste my life on bitterness. I don't think I've ever felt it.
Some time after the aforementioned discussion I took up the films. After the first one I was dazzled. I know that at least one of you readers will frown upon the premise of Before Sunrise, but, well. I didn't, and I won't. It could've been one of my daydreams. Meeting a stranger by coincidence in a train, slowly realizing that this stranger might be the person to leave the biggest imprint in your soul, and at the same time knowing that by next morning it'd all be gone. To me it couldn't get much more romantic than that. Now, I also love Lost in Translation. I think LiT's appeal is based on beautiful visuals, where in Before Sunrise it came from the fantastic dialogue, what the protagonists say to each other. At the same time I could relate with many things that were said, but also felt like it gave me new perspective. Ordinary people having occasional great conversations. I'm lucky to have friends with whom I've talked about many things in the same enthusiastic manner as the couple is doing in the film. When it feels like you can't stop talking just because you're gaining so much even from the smallest words and thoughts.
And I saw myself. I am the very naive, idealistic fool in my early 20's who believes in love and such beautiful moments like those in the film. I come to think it's probably because I've been dealing with almost no relationships in my life so far. I've just been dreaming. When a dream ends, it doesn't leave you scarred, frustrated or cold. I can still believe in the kind of spontaneusness these two people get to feel in a movie. I haven't experienced enough to turn cynical. In Before Sunset the protagonists have been through just that.
After finishing the second movie I thought quite a lot about the cynicism, and how well all this seemed to blend with my life. I've had my share of misfortune in this life already, and while it has certainly made me introverted, it has not made me cynical. Our personality, our view of the world is nothing more and nothing less than a collection of fragments, of moments, events and feelings from the past. We are the sum, the output of what we've lived through. Most of mine are not very beautiful, yet still I can believe in happiness. I can still believe good will of the people. I can still hope that one day I get to feel the same kind of connection as the couple does in those movies, probably where I'd least expect it. I can still believe in dreams.
Of course I'm not completely content living only with my imagination. I could never say I don't feel the need to love and be loved. The thought of that stings me a bit almost every day. Just that I'm starting to be very good at living in my solitude, and I've been for so long. I'm not desperate either, I rather keep living alone than be in a relationship with someone who I don't truly want to be with.
Maybe it isn't so that to be able to enjoy the moments I should dream less. Maybe it goes the other way round as I previously thought it would. Maybe if I instead am able to keep this naive outlook on life, I'll end up loving the moments even more. Maybe to truly seize the days you need to keep yourself as open as possible. Maybe to keep your mind open you're not supposed to stop dreaming, but instead embrace and nurture it. Maybe to be able to grasp things you should not forbid yourself to dream about them. Maybe dreams are the fuel that keeps your soul burning when you have nothing else.
I think I'm lucky. I love being the naive fool that I am.
In the past I've thought quite extensively about what I dare to write in here and what not. Here I'm about to throw all those contemplations out of the window. I love people who can tell exactly how they think or feel, and I think I've reached a point where I can do that myself. I don't feel vulnerable about it any longer. I've been vulnerable for long enough already. For the people who've wandered to experience Iceland via my eyes, I apologize for writing just about myself again. This strange country will not be the object of this post, but instead a catalyst.
I'm being very sentimental today for two reasons. The first was a rather casual lunch table conversation with a couple of the other tenants in our home away from home, which sneakily led me to tell them about my genetical eye condition and some of the pain I've gone through because of it. The other was a long overdue movie experience. A friend had urged me to watch Before Sunrise and Before Sunset for quite awhile.
I'm not going to unfold the story of my life completely in here, since I think there would be way too much grief for a mere blog post. For those who don't know me well, I think I had to grow up way too early, because of many things. There were times in my (at that time already broken) family when I had to be the grown up in house at the age of 12 or 13. The event that shaped my future the most happened when I was 18 years old, about to graduate from high school, and wanting to be an air traffic controller. Around that time I was told that I might be blind in 20 years.
As you can imagine, that's kind of hard to hear as a teenager who had been spending quite a lot of time contemplating their future in the past years. I guess my initial thoughts were along the lines "so, what the **** am I going to do when I'm blind?" I don't think I'm exaggerating too much if I say in the following couple of months I was way closer to certain boundaries that I can comfortably be. Obviously, it's not set in the stones that it'll happen. Since the rod cells of my eyes aren't working properly, I'll most likely eventually lose most of my field of vision, but will retain the central reading ability of the cone cells. The science today has no cure for this, but maybe it eventually will. And most importantly, I've been able to move on. Even if it'll eventually happen, I won't spend my remaining years with vision just by worrying that I'm losing it someday. I opened some wounds today, but it gave me a lot of thoughts worth thinking.
A remark just for clarification: I'm not writing this because I want people to have pity on me. Please don't. There are people who've been through completely different things and suffer every day more than I've ever done. Furthermore, I'm not bitter about it for my parents, even though I know it comes from their genes. I won't waste my life on bitterness. I don't think I've ever felt it.
Some time after the aforementioned discussion I took up the films. After the first one I was dazzled. I know that at least one of you readers will frown upon the premise of Before Sunrise, but, well. I didn't, and I won't. It could've been one of my daydreams. Meeting a stranger by coincidence in a train, slowly realizing that this stranger might be the person to leave the biggest imprint in your soul, and at the same time knowing that by next morning it'd all be gone. To me it couldn't get much more romantic than that. Now, I also love Lost in Translation. I think LiT's appeal is based on beautiful visuals, where in Before Sunrise it came from the fantastic dialogue, what the protagonists say to each other. At the same time I could relate with many things that were said, but also felt like it gave me new perspective. Ordinary people having occasional great conversations. I'm lucky to have friends with whom I've talked about many things in the same enthusiastic manner as the couple is doing in the film. When it feels like you can't stop talking just because you're gaining so much even from the smallest words and thoughts.
And I saw myself. I am the very naive, idealistic fool in my early 20's who believes in love and such beautiful moments like those in the film. I come to think it's probably because I've been dealing with almost no relationships in my life so far. I've just been dreaming. When a dream ends, it doesn't leave you scarred, frustrated or cold. I can still believe in the kind of spontaneusness these two people get to feel in a movie. I haven't experienced enough to turn cynical. In Before Sunset the protagonists have been through just that.
After finishing the second movie I thought quite a lot about the cynicism, and how well all this seemed to blend with my life. I've had my share of misfortune in this life already, and while it has certainly made me introverted, it has not made me cynical. Our personality, our view of the world is nothing more and nothing less than a collection of fragments, of moments, events and feelings from the past. We are the sum, the output of what we've lived through. Most of mine are not very beautiful, yet still I can believe in happiness. I can still believe good will of the people. I can still hope that one day I get to feel the same kind of connection as the couple does in those movies, probably where I'd least expect it. I can still believe in dreams.
Of course I'm not completely content living only with my imagination. I could never say I don't feel the need to love and be loved. The thought of that stings me a bit almost every day. Just that I'm starting to be very good at living in my solitude, and I've been for so long. I'm not desperate either, I rather keep living alone than be in a relationship with someone who I don't truly want to be with.
Maybe it isn't so that to be able to enjoy the moments I should dream less. Maybe it goes the other way round as I previously thought it would. Maybe if I instead am able to keep this naive outlook on life, I'll end up loving the moments even more. Maybe to truly seize the days you need to keep yourself as open as possible. Maybe to keep your mind open you're not supposed to stop dreaming, but instead embrace and nurture it. Maybe to be able to grasp things you should not forbid yourself to dream about them. Maybe dreams are the fuel that keeps your soul burning when you have nothing else.
I think I'm lucky. I love being the naive fool that I am.
sunnuntai 21. tammikuuta 2007
No, just a Rocky Picture Show
Today I was able to upload the first batch of Iceland photos to my Flickr. I apologise for being a bad photographer, but some of those still turned out pretty nice. Many things in here seem so photogenic that you just can't completely fail.
My route from home to Laugardalslaug pools goes via Nóatún and this block. The messages or signals that wall sends are very perplexing and completely awesome. What is that? A karate hotel? A dojo where you can stay overnight and listen to people kick each other? And then there's the sign with a heart. So can it be a karate massage parlor? Sounds like a really terrible title for a Jackie Chan movie.
There's also some photos from Seltjarnarnes, very tip of the peninsula on which Reykjavík and the surrounding towns reside, some very nice photographic opportunities there as well. Earlier today I finally decided to get rid of the default wallpaper on my laptop, so I took this photo of the lighthouse and spent a little time turning it to this. I know I missed a lot of detail on the black ground, but I wanted to emphasize the snow patterns. I think it turned out quite nice.
Most of the photos describe themselves better than I do, so stop reading and go see them! I hope you'll enjoy.
My route from home to Laugardalslaug pools goes via Nóatún and this block. The messages or signals that wall sends are very perplexing and completely awesome. What is that? A karate hotel? A dojo where you can stay overnight and listen to people kick each other? And then there's the sign with a heart. So can it be a karate massage parlor? Sounds like a really terrible title for a Jackie Chan movie.
There's also some photos from Seltjarnarnes, very tip of the peninsula on which Reykjavík and the surrounding towns reside, some very nice photographic opportunities there as well. Earlier today I finally decided to get rid of the default wallpaper on my laptop, so I took this photo of the lighthouse and spent a little time turning it to this. I know I missed a lot of detail on the black ground, but I wanted to emphasize the snow patterns. I think it turned out quite nice.
Most of the photos describe themselves better than I do, so stop reading and go see them! I hope you'll enjoy.
lauantai 20. tammikuuta 2007
Memorable
It is fun and weird to think about what kind of memories from completely random things you have. So much happens during a lifetime. So many situations, surprises, confrontations, emotions. So little you can recall. So often things you remember from the past are small. Some of them are insignificant, irrelevant, some of them are the best things you can remember. How the stairs in your Danish house looked like when you were 3 or 4 years old. What kind of thud did the closing garage door make at your cousin's. The tickliness of lying in a freshly harvested rye field. The anxiety of tracing the lower lip of your love with your index finger for the first time. The feeling of energy when you controlled the ball for the first time with your brand new soccer boots.
Some of them make you smile, some of them make you sad. Some of them make you miss something, some of them make you look hazily into the horizon.
Some of them are just plain silly.
Last night I had probably one of those. Something I'll randomly remember in the future and won't quite know how to feel about it. It was a fun night out, and I was jumping between two tables and two different groups of friends. At one point I noticed that most of the people I knew had already left, but instead I found myself surrounded by a bunch of slightly familiar, and definately attractive, Icelandic ladies.
Now now, if I only look at the setting itself, I think I've been in worse situations. Way worse. They were of the politics people, running for the student council. More or less drunk, usually more. I was introducing myself to a couple who I hadn't seen before, kept telling that my name is not Samuel or Salmon (I laughed), answering questions about how long I've been in Iceland, complimenting everyone about how great English they speak, answering the same question again about how long I've stayed here so far, reminding them of my name, and so on and on. Nevertheless I was having good time, enjoying myself.
Then one of them threw up on me. When I say "on me" I don't mean "next to me."
No advance warnings, no questions asked, and she didn't look like she was most drunk of the company. I thought it was must've been because she was starting to figure out my personality, not because of intoxication.
Awkwardness ensued. Moreso when an unfortunate bartender bloke saw me and the floor, and winced. He looked like he thought I vomited on myself. Wham bam thank you m'am, game set and match. I wished I could dissolve. Still, things like these happen. I hope she got home fine, at least her friend assured me that they'll take care of it. I'm not angry, I rarely am. I'm just confident that this is one of the silly random memories. 15 years later I might be working on some kind of a cubicle and find myself daydreaming a little. Besides idealistic wishes for a little better tomorrow and the sound of a closing garage door will be a moment of extreme awkwardness at an Icelandic bar.
I may be too embarrassed to go there again.
Some of them make you smile, some of them make you sad. Some of them make you miss something, some of them make you look hazily into the horizon.
Some of them are just plain silly.
Last night I had probably one of those. Something I'll randomly remember in the future and won't quite know how to feel about it. It was a fun night out, and I was jumping between two tables and two different groups of friends. At one point I noticed that most of the people I knew had already left, but instead I found myself surrounded by a bunch of slightly familiar, and definately attractive, Icelandic ladies.
Now now, if I only look at the setting itself, I think I've been in worse situations. Way worse. They were of the politics people, running for the student council. More or less drunk, usually more. I was introducing myself to a couple who I hadn't seen before, kept telling that my name is not Samuel or Salmon (I laughed), answering questions about how long I've been in Iceland, complimenting everyone about how great English they speak, answering the same question again about how long I've stayed here so far, reminding them of my name, and so on and on. Nevertheless I was having good time, enjoying myself.
Then one of them threw up on me. When I say "on me" I don't mean "next to me."
No advance warnings, no questions asked, and she didn't look like she was most drunk of the company. I thought it was must've been because she was starting to figure out my personality, not because of intoxication.
Awkwardness ensued. Moreso when an unfortunate bartender bloke saw me and the floor, and winced. He looked like he thought I vomited on myself. Wham bam thank you m'am, game set and match. I wished I could dissolve. Still, things like these happen. I hope she got home fine, at least her friend assured me that they'll take care of it. I'm not angry, I rarely am. I'm just confident that this is one of the silly random memories. 15 years later I might be working on some kind of a cubicle and find myself daydreaming a little. Besides idealistic wishes for a little better tomorrow and the sound of a closing garage door will be a moment of extreme awkwardness at an Icelandic bar.
I may be too embarrassed to go there again.
keskiviikko 17. tammikuuta 2007
Daft Punk is playing at my house?
Well, unfortunately not quite. Just that judging by the noise, they just might´ve been.
I was not especially delighted a month ago to hear about the size of my new home away from home when I got to know where I´d be living. My own room has ample space, but I share the guesthousey solution with roughly ten other inhabitants. While everybody at our apartments seem to be easy to get along with, I still knew that eventually I´d just have to bail out. That happened yesterday.
Last evening I took up the official-looking "Pronunciation Guide to Modern Icelandic". It doesn't feel especially contemporary though, since the newest edition was produced in 1988, and the whole volume is still from the good old typewriter editing era. I wasn´t about to let that bring down my determination to be able to pronounce Alþjóðaskrifstofa háskólastigsins properly someday, so I boldly took a comfortable stance in my bed, and started reading and going through the excercises. I got to the third page before right next to my door there were twentysomething people attending a Italian dinner party.
Now, I won´t complain about poor noise insulation in our house, because there does not seem to be any.
Great, thought I. Of course I could've just joined the table, but those of you who know me well enough probably understand when I say I just can't do it on all days. Yesterday was probably one of them, and at this point I meet so many new people all the time that I don't really feel obliged to be in a handshaking readiness 24/7. I wasn't having a bad day, in fact I had been quite industrious. Classes in the morning, taking a swim at the pools next to the campus, then back for some more classes. When the day was turning into an evening, I had spent considerable energy doing things I liked, so I was feeling happily tired. Raukea. (can't think of a good equivalent in English, sorry.) I had tucked myself nicely into bed, wanting to take a look at the book before sleeping, and then all the peacefulness was gone.
Of course I wasn't going to tell the folks to "can you try to be a little more quiet, pleeeese? " as it is the home of their hostess as much as it is mine. I doubt it would've helped for more than 15 seconds anyway. Besides, I wasn't angry at them or anything like that, I just would've liked to have a nice and peaceful evening for myself. I just opted for a walk.
Without thinking all that much, I skipped past Hlemmur towards north to the path alongside the ocean. Naturally you won't be alone, standing on such exposed ground. The wind came down from mountains cold, and like a tide it roared and rolled over me. I turned my back at it and it kept urging me to walk westwards, towards the harbor. Besides stopping at Sólfar I just kept going forward. It was the kind of wind that pierces your clothes, skin and flesh. It was the Nordic wind that swiftly gets truly inside you, wrapping a cold shroud around your soul. And it didn't feel bad at all. I felt relieved, I felt the solitude I needed. While I was slowly going about, trying to protect my nose from the wind, hazily skipping between the little and the little bigger boats and more or less pulsating dim lights, I thought I had come a little closer to discovering something. Something what I came here for. To understand the essence of Icelandic culture, the solitary but warm, simple but enormously beautiful feeling I often have perceived, or thought to perceive. Where it has to originate.
After some meandering walking back towards home, I found myself standing at Hjolmalind. I went in, let the athmosphere and hot chocolate nurture my soul and till the closing time contemplated on what I just had been experiencing. I guess I might have a weird relationship with cold weather. I often find it purifying. Perhaps all the energy in your body is just allocated to keeping you warm, giving you an escape from the less wanted thoughts. When I was walking home again, my skin might've been on goosebumps, but my soul felt exceptionally warm.
Sadly that didn't help me cover my ears from sounds of drunken conversations, singing, dancing and vacuum cleaning at 3am.
I was not especially delighted a month ago to hear about the size of my new home away from home when I got to know where I´d be living. My own room has ample space, but I share the guesthousey solution with roughly ten other inhabitants. While everybody at our apartments seem to be easy to get along with, I still knew that eventually I´d just have to bail out. That happened yesterday.
Last evening I took up the official-looking "Pronunciation Guide to Modern Icelandic". It doesn't feel especially contemporary though, since the newest edition was produced in 1988, and the whole volume is still from the good old typewriter editing era. I wasn´t about to let that bring down my determination to be able to pronounce Alþjóðaskrifstofa háskólastigsins properly someday, so I boldly took a comfortable stance in my bed, and started reading and going through the excercises. I got to the third page before right next to my door there were twentysomething people attending a Italian dinner party.
Now, I won´t complain about poor noise insulation in our house, because there does not seem to be any.
Great, thought I. Of course I could've just joined the table, but those of you who know me well enough probably understand when I say I just can't do it on all days. Yesterday was probably one of them, and at this point I meet so many new people all the time that I don't really feel obliged to be in a handshaking readiness 24/7. I wasn't having a bad day, in fact I had been quite industrious. Classes in the morning, taking a swim at the pools next to the campus, then back for some more classes. When the day was turning into an evening, I had spent considerable energy doing things I liked, so I was feeling happily tired. Raukea. (can't think of a good equivalent in English, sorry.) I had tucked myself nicely into bed, wanting to take a look at the book before sleeping, and then all the peacefulness was gone.
Of course I wasn't going to tell the folks to "can you try to be a little more quiet, pleeeese? " as it is the home of their hostess as much as it is mine. I doubt it would've helped for more than 15 seconds anyway. Besides, I wasn't angry at them or anything like that, I just would've liked to have a nice and peaceful evening for myself. I just opted for a walk.
Without thinking all that much, I skipped past Hlemmur towards north to the path alongside the ocean. Naturally you won't be alone, standing on such exposed ground. The wind came down from mountains cold, and like a tide it roared and rolled over me. I turned my back at it and it kept urging me to walk westwards, towards the harbor. Besides stopping at Sólfar I just kept going forward. It was the kind of wind that pierces your clothes, skin and flesh. It was the Nordic wind that swiftly gets truly inside you, wrapping a cold shroud around your soul. And it didn't feel bad at all. I felt relieved, I felt the solitude I needed. While I was slowly going about, trying to protect my nose from the wind, hazily skipping between the little and the little bigger boats and more or less pulsating dim lights, I thought I had come a little closer to discovering something. Something what I came here for. To understand the essence of Icelandic culture, the solitary but warm, simple but enormously beautiful feeling I often have perceived, or thought to perceive. Where it has to originate.
After some meandering walking back towards home, I found myself standing at Hjolmalind. I went in, let the athmosphere and hot chocolate nurture my soul and till the closing time contemplated on what I just had been experiencing. I guess I might have a weird relationship with cold weather. I often find it purifying. Perhaps all the energy in your body is just allocated to keeping you warm, giving you an escape from the less wanted thoughts. When I was walking home again, my skin might've been on goosebumps, but my soul felt exceptionally warm.
Sadly that didn't help me cover my ears from sounds of drunken conversations, singing, dancing and vacuum cleaning at 3am.
maanantai 15. tammikuuta 2007
In class entertainment
Even though at this point I'm still having some rather magnificent struggles trying to pronounce Icelandic, at least it seems to make quite a lot of sense. I mean, really. I'm taking classes in Icelandic language for foreigners, and while a mind-numbingly vast percentage of the peoples attending seems to be Finnish, there are still a few others nationalities represented.
During the first class our lovely-in-that-elderly-way teacher spent time explaining how Icelandic doesn't really want to accept foreign words. Instead they often take an old word and give it a fresh connotation. When telephone arrived to Iceland sometime around 1960's (IIRC), they didn't adapt the oh so global word for the technology. Instead they named it after an old word for a thin thread, sími.
The same happened with television and CRT's. The word for a display or a TV in Icelandic is skjár, pronounced "skjaur". It used to mean "window" back those dark medieval times. The folks in here didn't have glass at their disposal, so the screens were made of dried cow stomachs. Hey, that's what they did in Finland as well.
To get back on the point issued in the opening paragraph, it took a Swede to make me realize that the pronounciation in Icelandic isn't all that scary as I first perceived. He noticed the similarity to the Swedish word skärm. He said "skärm" quite like "HHhhcärm" or to be more phonetically exact, "*sounds of a person choking*ärm". Really. The rikssvenska pronounciation just forces me to roll my eyes and think that Icelandic is actually a lot friendlier for an outsider. Even if it doesn't feel all that friendly when taking the first steps of trying to learn it.
The pronounciation can make for some good fun though. One of the local banks, Kaupþing, recently changed its name back to the original form from a little more internationally friendly KB Banki. John Cleese was doing some ads for them. I haven't got a very good grip of the language so far, yet I cracked up at an unsuspecting Reykjavik café crowd.
During the first class our lovely-in-that-elderly-way teacher spent time explaining how Icelandic doesn't really want to accept foreign words. Instead they often take an old word and give it a fresh connotation. When telephone arrived to Iceland sometime around 1960's (IIRC), they didn't adapt the oh so global word for the technology. Instead they named it after an old word for a thin thread, sími.
The same happened with television and CRT's. The word for a display or a TV in Icelandic is skjár, pronounced "skjaur". It used to mean "window" back those dark medieval times. The folks in here didn't have glass at their disposal, so the screens were made of dried cow stomachs. Hey, that's what they did in Finland as well.
To get back on the point issued in the opening paragraph, it took a Swede to make me realize that the pronounciation in Icelandic isn't all that scary as I first perceived. He noticed the similarity to the Swedish word skärm. He said "skärm" quite like "HHhhcärm" or to be more phonetically exact, "*sounds of a person choking*ärm". Really. The rikssvenska pronounciation just forces me to roll my eyes and think that Icelandic is actually a lot friendlier for an outsider. Even if it doesn't feel all that friendly when taking the first steps of trying to learn it.
The pronounciation can make for some good fun though. One of the local banks, Kaupþing, recently changed its name back to the original form from a little more internationally friendly KB Banki. John Cleese was doing some ads for them. I haven't got a very good grip of the language so far, yet I cracked up at an unsuspecting Reykjavik café crowd.
sunnuntai 14. tammikuuta 2007
Prologue
Erh.
So I promised to write to the exchange student column on our university newspaper. I realize that during the switch of terms it might be hard to find available writers, but I'm just trying to figure out what I can possibly tell with my two and a half week experience of Iceland. It might turn out amusing, especially if I'll try to avoid the clichés of a rotten shark and eyeball eating, stormy weather enduring nation.
I already have the photos for the article though. I think I started from the right end of a writing process.
And greetings to Maaria, this little post is coming from Hjolmalind. I think I can pretty well see why you wanted me to come here. :)
So I promised to write to the exchange student column on our university newspaper. I realize that during the switch of terms it might be hard to find available writers, but I'm just trying to figure out what I can possibly tell with my two and a half week experience of Iceland. It might turn out amusing, especially if I'll try to avoid the clichés of a rotten shark and eyeball eating, stormy weather enduring nation.
I already have the photos for the article though. I think I started from the right end of a writing process.
And greetings to Maaria, this little post is coming from Hjolmalind. I think I can pretty well see why you wanted me to come here. :)
torstai 11. tammikuuta 2007
Remember what it feels like?
Whew. It's been quite a whirlwind for the past two weeks. I have so many things on my mind worth putting down and writing here that I'll probably forget most of them as I'm typing, but oh well. To give you folks an impression.
The New Year Eve was indeed quite a show. Being able to watch it from one of the high points in the city, Perlan. The restaurant itself was apparently blocked from common people for the occasion, but there were quite a lot of us on top of the hill, and the view from there is not a very shabby one either. The sky was thoroughly coloured by rapidly burning patterns of lithium, magnesium and all that fun stuff you got to burn in the chemistry classes back in secondary school. After midnight the city was completely covered in a puffy gunpowder smoke cloud. It was quite a change from all those peaceful rural and firework-wise tightly regulated New Year Eve's I've spent with my cousins at Hirvensalmi. After the explosions in the sky slowly started to fade away, I strolled alongside the majority of spectators towards downtown. Laugavegur was populated by mostly drunken people mostly trying to make their way into the outlets where they could keep consuming those mostly intoxicating beverages they had been enjoying most of the evening. Then there were a few people, such as myself, looking like lost puppies and just observing the folk.
The following couple of days I spent battling off this fierce cold I apparently catched. I wouldn't really blame it to poor clothing choices, I think I've been pretty well prepared. I didn't really give it all that many thoughts, I was just busy dealing with what felt like all of the waterfalls in Iceland suddenly giving a presentation of themselves in my nostrils. Our house is on the colder side. The common areas are too cold, and my own room is either too hot or too cold, depending how I set the thermostat. I usually aim for the too cold though, as sleeping is so much easier then.
Along with the cold arrived a feeling of guilt, that there are so so many things to do and see in my immediate vicinity, and I'm missing all of them. Obviously, it would be just a couple of days before I'd dare to venture out again, but still. Nobody likes the nagging feeling in their minds.
And obviously it got better. We had an orientation meeting at the campus last Friday, with all kinds of more and less practical information handed and spoken out for us. Afterwards the crowd was split into small groups and assigned a couple of Icelandic guides who'd walk us around the campus, pointing out the functions in different buildings and their personal opinions of them, and mispronouncing the name of the Finnish architect Alvar Aalto, who designed the Nordic House in the campus.
It turned out that there is a student council election coming up in few weeks at the uni, and our guide lads have something to do with it. Apparently also the exchange students are allowed to vote, so they invited us to the opening of their election office with a promise of some free alcohol and the honest statement that "foreign students are important to us because they're easy to trick."
"Oh well" thought our Finnish-Norwegian invasion army of six Finns and one Norwegian and met up later that evening, heading to check out the place. It turned into a rather delightful evening of conversations, first between the foreigners, then with the Icelandic to-be-politicians. I found myself talking about the differences of student politics in our countries and the differences of the parties running up in the election, our nations in general, receiving compliments about my apparently fair ability to pronounce Icelandic names, and teaching others to pronounce names for Aki Kaurismäki movies. Whoever said that Icelanders are kind of distant and difficult to get to know, well... At least I was delighted to find that untrue that evening. Even if some of those people only had interest in my vote in the upcoming election, I still enjoyed going there. I left with the happy, comfortable lightness in my footsteps. That feeling was one of the things I had been missing for so long, one of the reasons why I had to leave was that I wanted to experience it again.
A couple of days after I again walked home with the same kind of lightness after a delightful meeting and introduction to the café culture here in Reykjavík. How am I to resist a cozy, warmly lit place which plays the occasional Amon Tobin track on the background?
I was starting to remember what it feels like. After the few days of initial confusion about living abroad, I had been reminded why I had to leave. My footsteps feel so much lighter than they did back home.
My introduction to the swimming pools in here was a rather nice one as well. The following Monday saw the temperature drop to around -8 degrees. Unlike in Finland, that doesn't mean the outdoor pools are closed. I got to Laugardalslaug just in time to watch the gold and orange sunset slowly turn into the dark blue while I was resting in the long outside pool. The air was full of mist, the warmth slowly escaping from the water, only to be replaced with jets pumping new warm water inside in the corners. And the water felt just right, very soft and chlorine-free unlike in any Finnish swimming pools. Truly delightful and uplifting, again.
Today I also got my first real experience with the unpredictability of weather around here. After leaving my first Icelandic classes today I toured along a fellow Finn for awhile in the most perfect sunrise before ending up in the university bookstore. I spent in about 20 minutes, and at that time the weather had changed into an all out snowstorm. Judging by the amount of snow on the ground, it probably had snowed for awhile before I came out. You apparently don't need to blink all that many times if you'd like the weather to change.
So far so good. I realize that I'm still going through the discovery period, when pretty much everything (well, maybe except the prices) feels exciting. Knowing myself, the period when you just miss everything back home will eventually come. Still, I've already found a few good ways to raise my spirit in here. And I already know some things and some people I'll miss whenever I leave this strange little country. So far it has let me befriend itself.
The New Year Eve was indeed quite a show. Being able to watch it from one of the high points in the city, Perlan. The restaurant itself was apparently blocked from common people for the occasion, but there were quite a lot of us on top of the hill, and the view from there is not a very shabby one either. The sky was thoroughly coloured by rapidly burning patterns of lithium, magnesium and all that fun stuff you got to burn in the chemistry classes back in secondary school. After midnight the city was completely covered in a puffy gunpowder smoke cloud. It was quite a change from all those peaceful rural and firework-wise tightly regulated New Year Eve's I've spent with my cousins at Hirvensalmi. After the explosions in the sky slowly started to fade away, I strolled alongside the majority of spectators towards downtown. Laugavegur was populated by mostly drunken people mostly trying to make their way into the outlets where they could keep consuming those mostly intoxicating beverages they had been enjoying most of the evening. Then there were a few people, such as myself, looking like lost puppies and just observing the folk.
The following couple of days I spent battling off this fierce cold I apparently catched. I wouldn't really blame it to poor clothing choices, I think I've been pretty well prepared. I didn't really give it all that many thoughts, I was just busy dealing with what felt like all of the waterfalls in Iceland suddenly giving a presentation of themselves in my nostrils. Our house is on the colder side. The common areas are too cold, and my own room is either too hot or too cold, depending how I set the thermostat. I usually aim for the too cold though, as sleeping is so much easier then.
Along with the cold arrived a feeling of guilt, that there are so so many things to do and see in my immediate vicinity, and I'm missing all of them. Obviously, it would be just a couple of days before I'd dare to venture out again, but still. Nobody likes the nagging feeling in their minds.
And obviously it got better. We had an orientation meeting at the campus last Friday, with all kinds of more and less practical information handed and spoken out for us. Afterwards the crowd was split into small groups and assigned a couple of Icelandic guides who'd walk us around the campus, pointing out the functions in different buildings and their personal opinions of them, and mispronouncing the name of the Finnish architect Alvar Aalto, who designed the Nordic House in the campus.
It turned out that there is a student council election coming up in few weeks at the uni, and our guide lads have something to do with it. Apparently also the exchange students are allowed to vote, so they invited us to the opening of their election office with a promise of some free alcohol and the honest statement that "foreign students are important to us because they're easy to trick."
"Oh well" thought our Finnish-Norwegian invasion army of six Finns and one Norwegian and met up later that evening, heading to check out the place. It turned into a rather delightful evening of conversations, first between the foreigners, then with the Icelandic to-be-politicians. I found myself talking about the differences of student politics in our countries and the differences of the parties running up in the election, our nations in general, receiving compliments about my apparently fair ability to pronounce Icelandic names, and teaching others to pronounce names for Aki Kaurismäki movies. Whoever said that Icelanders are kind of distant and difficult to get to know, well... At least I was delighted to find that untrue that evening. Even if some of those people only had interest in my vote in the upcoming election, I still enjoyed going there. I left with the happy, comfortable lightness in my footsteps. That feeling was one of the things I had been missing for so long, one of the reasons why I had to leave was that I wanted to experience it again.
A couple of days after I again walked home with the same kind of lightness after a delightful meeting and introduction to the café culture here in Reykjavík. How am I to resist a cozy, warmly lit place which plays the occasional Amon Tobin track on the background?
I was starting to remember what it feels like. After the few days of initial confusion about living abroad, I had been reminded why I had to leave. My footsteps feel so much lighter than they did back home.
My introduction to the swimming pools in here was a rather nice one as well. The following Monday saw the temperature drop to around -8 degrees. Unlike in Finland, that doesn't mean the outdoor pools are closed. I got to Laugardalslaug just in time to watch the gold and orange sunset slowly turn into the dark blue while I was resting in the long outside pool. The air was full of mist, the warmth slowly escaping from the water, only to be replaced with jets pumping new warm water inside in the corners. And the water felt just right, very soft and chlorine-free unlike in any Finnish swimming pools. Truly delightful and uplifting, again.
Today I also got my first real experience with the unpredictability of weather around here. After leaving my first Icelandic classes today I toured along a fellow Finn for awhile in the most perfect sunrise before ending up in the university bookstore. I spent in about 20 minutes, and at that time the weather had changed into an all out snowstorm. Judging by the amount of snow on the ground, it probably had snowed for awhile before I came out. You apparently don't need to blink all that many times if you'd like the weather to change.
So far so good. I realize that I'm still going through the discovery period, when pretty much everything (well, maybe except the prices) feels exciting. Knowing myself, the period when you just miss everything back home will eventually come. Still, I've already found a few good ways to raise my spirit in here. And I already know some things and some people I'll miss whenever I leave this strange little country. So far it has let me befriend itself.
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