Midsummer in Finland
Once I spent a dream-like summer in Finland over five sunsets that felt almost eternal.
The days were so long that I forgot the darkness of the night. We’d eat dinners over stretched-out sunsets and skies that changed colors according to the usual twilight gradients, spinning into hours a show that would be over in mere minutes elsewhere. Before I went to sleep I’d take a last look at the sky and see that the sun was still slowly sinking in the horizon, almost unchanged from where it was an hour ago.
First
I saw this first from the window of my budget Norwegian flight, waking me up on impact with the runway of Helsinki airport. It was a strange feeling to be seeing twilight when it was really midnight, but stranger still were the circumstances that had brought me here. The day had been long and solitary – I’d gone to Monaco on a free-spirited trip before taking the public transport to the airport and arriving in Helsinki with a dirty face. Daniel had also just landed from Dusseldorf, with a big backpack containing most of the things we’d need for our camping trip. When we took a cab to the suburban fringe of Helsinki, the sky was a dark blue, more 8pm than past midnight.
Midsummer (Second)
It was very bright in the morning when I woke up on the floor. We went to the apartment complex of a friend who had tents and mats kept in the communal storage in the attic. We met Daniel's friends and talked about Finnish culture – more centered around efficacy rather than extravagance, there was no point in having something incomplete that didn’t work well.
Daniel had a habit of driving fast, used as he was to the German autobahn. After driving for a while I realized that there were no highway tolls. Daniel explained that the toll fares were paid for by taxes.
We dropped by Porvoo – my first look at a Finnish town. I had a flashback recalling all the imitations and permutations of this type of architectural aesthetic elsewhere in the world. Here was the original, like the purest essence of every imitation concentrated into a singular location and amplified. We crossed a bridge, climbed a trail, and found a church that was the simplest, most unplaceable church I’d ever seen. Maybe it reminded me of an abandoned orthodox church I once saw fleetingly in Prague. I loved wandering through the main street, which was empty and full of closed shops as it was a holiday. We had lunch at the only restaurant that was open – a riverside rustic that looked like the cover of a travel magazine. The butter was very good, and there were all kinds of pickled fish.
Finland was no man’s land. You could camp anywhere, even on private property. We pitched our tent in a family recreation site called Tykkimäki, complete with its own waterpark and facilities. There were many caravans parked on site, with families grilling and children running around. The presence of others heightened my drawn-out anticipation of it being Juhannus. There was a kind of festive excitement over all this driving, preparing, and heading somewhere in the wild. I didn’t really know where, nor understood the holiday beyond the fact that most Finns would spend it at their summer cottage by the lakeside. Here at this lake I felt a little closer to the spirit of Juhannus.
At our campsite, little girl came over to become friends with me. I couldn’t speak Russian so we had to communicate in gestures, smiles, and giggles. It made me so happy that my inability to speak her language only made her more persistent. Her family was in a caravan somewhere nearby grilling chicken. In the end, we had a genuine moment of connection when we experimented with Snapchat filters. When she left, Daniel had already set up the tent.
We went for a swim in the lake. The water was cold despite the hot day, a cool reminder of the Nordic temperament. I remembered that I wanted so badly to take a dip in the lake last summer, and now I could do it in the most beautiful lake I’d ever seen. Daniel wanted to go to the sauna, but I was hesitant because I’d never done it before and I didn’t like the sound of it for my rosacea. Still, I agreed; the sheer beauty and tranquility of the landscape made it feel like nothing could go wrong. I was inside a moving painting, a beautiful cinematic scene without a sour ending in sight.
We drove to the other side of the lake. I was still apprehensive, almost sure that I would pull out in the end, but when we got there and found the sauna full of excited Finns I caught the desire to do it too. The lakeside area was a crossover between an outdoors bar, a beachside hangout, and a sauna. I had never seen anything like it. We had heard from the girls from the lakeside we came from that there would be a bonfire here. I wasn’t sure what that meant but didn’t pay too much attention to it – in a day full of excitements that were piling on top of each other it is hard to keep track.
The women’s changing room was impressively well kept – there were lockers, big paper towels, shampoo, lotion, and hair dryers, more than what I have at home. I had never felt more comfortable in a public bathroom. After changing into my swimsuit, I went to meet Daniel outside – we went into the sauna and it was a shock. It was so hot! All I could think was that I was going to burn up. Daniel was sitting happily, with other chilled-out Finns. When one of them threw water at the sauna rocks, filling the room with hot steam, elevating the temperature even more than what was already unbearable, I had to run out.
Outside, the air was refreshing against my sauna-steamed skin. The wooden platform led to the lake full of swimmers, which was calm and splendid against the pastel hues of the sky. I jumped in, feeling the shock of the cool water. It made me yearn for the warmth of the sauna, so I climbed back onto the platform and went into the sauna. The Finns were encouraging me to stay, but I could never stay too long, even if I sat closer to the ground where the air was slightly cooler. So I’d alternate between lake and sauna, until a boy tapped me on the shoulder and gestured me to look outside the window of the sauna. I looked, and saw that it was a bonfire right in the middle of the lake.
We were all watching now, standing on the platform or swimming in the lake, the large floating wooden structure burning. I was swept away by the sight, then possessed by the idea of swimming to the bonfire to be in its warmth. Daniel indulged me and we jumped right into the lake. I swam out excitedly; I wanted to see the fire up close. I was completely possessed by the imagery and I ached to reach it. A few meters out, Daniel asked if I was okay. Of course I am okay, I replied haughtily, but out of nowhere the depth of the waters hit me and I panicked. Under me was an unknowable depth and all around me was water. The bonfire now looked out of reach - it was never in reach. I turned around and swam badly back, grabbing onto the float of a confused boy. I was lightheaded, amazed I made it back on shore. After that I was content to take a shower and sit quietly watching the rest of the fire burn away.
In that special twilight we drove back to our camp. Twilight was already a special time of the day, so when it was drawn out like this and stretched out for hours, it started feeling like a dreamscape from another planet. We made salad by the lake and ate it on the sleeping mat. How funny that beings in a dreamscape still ate. I couldn’t sleep in the middle of this incredible natural phenomenon. I stayed up to watch the sky, fighting my body to see the other side of the sunset. It never came – I gave in to sleep under my second Finnish sunset.
Waking up in the tent I felt this immense sense of peace of being somewhere completely foreign but safe.
After a breakfast of oats, toasted walnuts and tea, we drove to a supermarket to buy some nails for the tent. It was operating at 100% as if there were more customers than there actually will be. The sports section was huge, almost its own complete sports store with a whole aisle dedicated for each activity.
We arrived at Repovesi and started to pack our backpacks for the five-hour hike to the campsite. I wanted the least weight in my backpack as possible so I wore the clothes that I would wear for sleeping, with no towel and only one camera. I even decided against the fig jam with the glass jar. Still, my backpack felt like two sharp points of pressure on my shoulder. My back starts to hurt even just recalling this.
At the entrance of Repovesi, there was a bio-toilet. I went in and was filled with revelation: Ah. I see. A dry toilet that was nothing more than an elevated wooden bench with a hole going deep into the ground.
We walked slowly – a very long walk passing many landscapes: a path through a forest of sparse trees - some fallen, a very close, lakeside traversal, and some rocky paths, slightly inclined. There was a fox ferry that was a raft with a rope that we had to pull to ferry ourselves across. I had seen this kind of places only in Timberland advertisements or video games. It was entirely otherworldly. Everything was new and majestic and maybe that was why I didn’t feel tired.
After a fresh pasta dinner we went for a small hike up the cliff nearby. It was late but on top of the cliff you could see the sun still. The forest looked golden everywhere the sun touched. Daniel explained that the sun goes around us, not up and down. I stood there at the peak, looking over the expanse of the forest punctuated by the occasional lake. I barely recognized the feeling of a sunset, because this one belonged to another planet. This was a sunset that eluded words and cinema – you had to be there physically, to live out the day in the constant company of the sun, so that at the end of the day you feel the surreal inconsistency between the fatigue of your body and the lightness of the sky. The world is made soft and pastel instead of dark night, cocooning your sleep with hints of sunlight.
You open your eyes mid-sleep and there is no fear of night. Up there we took photos and when we spoke our voices felt like they melted into the muted colors of the landscape. I felt that I had crossed over to another place.
