Good Old Finland

Midnight sun

I know I said that we were finished with our blog posting, but this post is dedicated to Papa Martti, arguably our most dedicated blog reader. For those of you, that haven’t had the pleasure of an introduction, Papa Martti is Juho’s grandfather ( on his father’s side), and gets the prize for most dedicated blog fan, because not only did he  painstakingly  translated each post from English to Finnish, but he even went to a computer class to learn how to do this.

We arrived in Finland, refreshed and revitalized after 2 weeks bumming around the Mediterranean in Turkey. Anni, Juho’s sister, picked us up from the airport and we spent our first Finnish summer day playing mini golf in the sun. In Finland the days stretch on forever, they are at their shortest in the south, but still it never gets completely dark, the summer sun merely fades into twilight.

Our new home

After a night of delicious food and fine whisky, we headed north towards our new home of Turku. Juho’s beautiful mum, Paula met us at the bus station, a touching reunion, having not seen each other for 2 years. We went straight to our new apartment, which by the way is absolutely gorgeous, light, spacious and right in the heart of Turku. My favorite feature would have to be the grandfather clock, built by Juho’s other grandfather, Valter Papa.

We spent a week enjoying our new city, and the novelty of having a real home, before heading north to Raahe, Juho’s hometown.  Watching the Finnish countryside go by, I was struck by how delightfully beautiful Finland is in summertime. It appears like something out of a storybook, all green fields, dotted with wildflowers, and wooden cottages nestled in between thick forests.

In Raahe, live Juho’s father, Perrti, who lived up to Juho’s description as a “very reasonable man”, and Juho’s youngest sister Eeva, or Pikku Myy, as she is affectionately called ( Moomins anyone?)

As a lower southern hemisphere dweller, I was completely disorientated by the fact that it NEVER gets dark here! As in, it is SUNNY at nighttime!!!!!!! Around midnight there is some pink in the sky as the sun “sets”, but it is still completely bright, the sun then “rises” ( like some naughty child who never goes to sleep) at around 2am. It is the strangest thing. On the Friday eve of the infamous Raahe festival, Juho, his mates and I, cycled into town around midnight to check out the festivities.

We jumped in his friend’s boat and headed out to some islands, the sun  was either setting or rising by this time, casting a pink glow across the water. In Finland there are these magnificent archipelagos, some have summer cottages on them, and some simply a lighthouse. We chose to explore the furthest one, which had a lighthouse and a wooden hut, complete with fireplace. Anybody can come here, you can sleep the night, and in Winter time you can ski here over the frozen ocean!

Juho of Turku

Juho had planned our arrival in Finland to coincide with Midsummer, the biggest yearly event in Finland. Midsummer or summer solstice (winter solstice downunder) is the time when friends and family head to summer cottages to eat, drink and sauna. Have I mentioned how crazy the Finns are about Saunas? Every house, many apartments and all summer cottages MUST have a sauna.  There are public saunas at the beach, saunas in workplaces, restaurant saunas, saunas at the bank ( nah just kidding about the last two!) During parties, people sauna all night, in and out of the sauna, and did I mention that all of this is done NAKED? To be fair, at parties there are usually woman and men saunas, or sauna times. During midsummer the Finns take this sauna activity to a new level, and beat each other with branches (what the?!) I got off with a light midsummer tapping with the branches, but Juho’s back was covered in lashes.  

So here we are in Finland, Juho working crazy hours down some gold mine-He worked 7 days this week, 12 hour days, except Sunday when he went to work at 6:30 am and came home at 5:30 am the next day!!!! Madness I tell you! I on the other hand have been spending my days dabbling in some Finnish study (my Finnish is still woeful, but I can read and understand a bit-the next step will be actual words out of my mouth). I start Summer school soon, and then my Masters, which is all quite exciting and terrifying, but I feel very blessed to have the opportunity to study within the best education system in the world, for free! Most importantly I feel very blessed to finally see where Juho comes from, meet his family ( all as lovely as he), and have some insight into what it means to be a Finn.

Good old Noo Noo

Races with Juho's cousins

Our last Harar

Using Addis as our base for the last few weeks of our grand African safari, we established ourselves in a somewhat shoddy hotel with patchy internet, leaking bathtubs, and located above a 7 days a week discotheque, that throbbed through our earplugs into the wee hours of the morn.

When gorging on pizza, chocolate croissants and our daily M&M fix of macchiato and mango juice, got old, we ventured east into a barren, desolate landscape of swirling dust, acacia shrub and one mule towns. We decided on the mysterious town of Harar for our last Hurrah.

Harar is a tiny walled city, of 368 alleyways, a maze of mosques, markets and mayhem. Famous for its markets, it was the commercial meeting point of Africa, India and the Middle East. Today it still contains one of the continents largest camel markets, drawing people in from Somalia and Djibouti to buy and sell these ships of the dessert.  Perhaps more importantly Harer, in the chat centre of Africa and southern Arabia. Chat or qat are the leaves of the shrub Catha Edulis, and chewing them produces a mild high, it is 

illegal in most countries, but wildly popular in such places as Ethiopia, Somalia, and Yemen, to name just a few. After sampling chat in Addis, on our first day, I really don’t get what all the fuss is about, and I certainly don’t understand how the entire afternoon in Harer is spent by almost every one, young and old, laying around chewing bitter leaves, green spit dribbling down their chins. Judgements aside chat is an important export commodity for Ethiopia, and chat planes fly daily to neighbouring countries like Djibouti, freshness being of paramount importance.

We spent some days wandering the maze of Harar and purchasing gorgeous smelling, organic coffee to take back to Finland.  Like humankind, coffee was also born in Ethiopia, and the legend goes that the coffee berries were first discovered sometime between the 5^th and 10^th centuries, by a goat herder, who noticed that his goats were leaping around like hypoactive kids, after chewing on the berries. Unfortunately Ethiopia does not make the most of exporting coffee, and most coffee is exported as  green beans to the west and then processed into coffee, meaning that Ethiopia misses out on the majority of the profits.  Increasingly, however, coffee is being manufactured here, and to support that, Juho and I bought up big, having to buy another suitcase to deal with the excess kilos.

There was another reason, other than coffee and chat, which brought us to Harar: Hyenas. Harar is famous for its ‘hyena men’, who feed hyenas meat, straight from their hands (and also from their mouths!), outside the city gates each night. Juho and I went to view this spectacular occurrence on our last night, taking with us a guide, who looked as if he were 12 years old, but was probably closer to 19. Our guide informed us that hyenas and Hararians were on friendly terms, and nobody, not even a Faranji (foreigner), had been bitten by a hyena in Harar, ever.

After observing hyenas from a distance in the Serengeti, I have to confess I was not a fan, finding their sloping backs and skulking nature creepy, to say the least.  That night in Harar, however my view was altered. The ‘Hyena men ‘, begun by calling the hyenas to come forward, they sung out to the hyenas, in a high pitched tune, not dissimilar to the hyenas own calls. Our guide told us that each hyena had a name, and that the ‘hyena men’, were calling them in by their names.

The hyenas approached tentatively, darting forward to snatch the meat offered to them by the hyena man.  They seemed shy and skittish, but grew more confident after the first few nibbles, and soon everywhere we looked were hyenas. Juho and I were invited forward onto the mat for photo opts, and to feed the hyenas if we were game, we were not. Hyenas are massive! The jaws of a hyena are incredible strong and quite capable of crunching through thick bones. It was a terrifying and exhilarating experience to be so close to the hyenas, and I have a newfound respect and affection for this animal, who received such a bad image from the Lion King. 

Tonight we fly to Istanbul, farewelling the African continent.  Looking back through our thousands of photos, it seems we have had quite a remarkable journey. Many people have asked us “what was your favourite place”, and this is a difficult question to answer. Juho says Malawi, but for me there is no favourite, I loved and loathed things about each place we visited.  There is one thing I am sure about though, apart from the consistent awfulness of the buses, and the repetitive blandness of East African cuisine, Africa is a remarkable diverse continent, a land of contrast and contradiction.

If I had to sum up the essence of Africa, to me it would be in the spirit of a colourful, bustling market, or the chaotic, exhilarating pulse of a bus station at 5 in the morning. Africa is completely different from any other place I have visited, and very much misunderstood and misrepresented in the west.

 

Lalibela, churches built by angels.

Perched high in the mountains, isolated by hundreds of kms of rough dirt road, sits Lalibela, home to astonishing ancient churches, carved directly from giant slabs of rock. The churches date back to the right of King Lalibela in the 12^th or 13^th century. Legend states that god instructed the king to recreate the holy city of Jerusalem here. Furthermore, locals explain the rapid speed with which the churches were built, by claiming that angels took over the workforce at night. As if Lalibela isn’t impressive enough in itself, thousands of pilgrims descend on Lalibela for Fasika(Ethiopian  Easter), dressed in white robes, Ethiopians young and old, crowd into the ancient churches to pay their respects.

The peak of Fasika celebrations occurred on Saturday night, when an incredible mass of people flooded into every church to pray, sing, light candles and wait for the early morning hours to break their 55 days of fasting. We lay on our stomachs on the roof of one church, peering down below at the crowds of people, clad in white robes, waving their candles and praising their god. Children slept huddled together, whispering and giggling, excited to be part of a massive sleepover.

On the morning of the last day of fasting we had visited the Lalibela market, where thousands of people gathered to buy and sell. The main item to purchase on this day is chickens and goats, to be consumed in the feast preceding the final prayers of Fasika. We watched as bleating goats were dragged up the hills to the village, they seemed to know that their hours were numbered.

On Sunday morning, we awoke late to the sounds of animals being slaughtered for the feasts. It is impressive in Ethiopia how little goes to waste, every part of the animals is consumed, and the skin and fur turned into paintings, bags, drums and chairs. In the marketplace there is a degree of recycling to rival the markets of Melbourne, from bracelets made from beer bottle tops, to old umbrella spare parts. The only difference is that these things are sold for a couple of cents.

We left Lalibela by plane, cheating a little bit, but hey if you had spent the past few weeks, bumping over shocking mountain roads, in buses falling to bits at the seams, I’m sure you would take the 40min flight back to Addis too.

Ethiopia: The birthplace of mankind.

After the monotony of East African cuisine, Addis Ababa sent our tastebuds into convulsions. Colourful dollops of spicy wat on top of tangy injera, Spaghetti piled impossibly high, mouth watering pizza dripping in cheese, freshly squeezed mango juice, strong honey wine, served in glass vessels resembling flower vases and piping hot macchiato, available at cafes every 5 steps or less. After months of eating tough boiled meat with tasteless Ugali, Juho and I were in food heaven.

Addis is a chaotic city of more than 2.8 million people, and it seems to be ever expanding, as half the city is under construction. I immediately felt very underdressed as gorgeous specimens strutted past in 10 inch heels, immaculately dressed as if they had stepped straight off the catwalks of Milano.

Beyond the gates of Addis Ababa the country changes dramatically, gone are the flashy clothes, replaced by faded robes, bare feet or cheap plastic sandals, and donkeys laden down with heavy sacks. Three hours into our journey north to Bahir Dar, our bus broke down on the side of a mountain. We sat outside and marvelled at the view over the deep gorge and the Blue Nile River, which snakes through the valleys on its way to the Red sea. This was enjoyable for the first hour, but after 6 hours of sitting in the baking hot sun, not so much.

Eventually the part we needed arrived and we were on our way again in the late afternoon shadows. Creeping down the narrow mountain pass, our bus side swiped a truck and lost the side mirror, leading to another lengthy delay as the bus driver had to report to the police station to file a report.

We arrived in Bahir Dar close to 11pm, and half the bus (including the poor driver) piled exhausted into the closest hotel. Bahir Dar sits on the shores of Lake Tana, which is the source of the Blue Nile River and home to island monasteries from the late 16^th century. Recovering from a bad cold brought on by the cool climate change of Addis, and the traumatic bus journey, Juho and I spent lazy days sitting on the balcony overlooking the wide, palm lines streets that border Lake Tana.

From Bahir Dar we travelled north to the ancient kingdom of Gonder. Bus rides in Ethiopia are something else entirely; winding through fields and villages, surrounded by crumbling rock fences, past shepherds tending to their flocks, and donkeys transporting wares, you can’t help but feel like you have been transported back to another age. In the Ethiopian countryside people live much the same as they have for thousands of years, in the same kind of stone houses; following traditional farming practices, preparing the same injera outside their huts. To top things off buses here blare religious Amharic music at full volume, making us feel as if we are living in a bizarre film clip.

Not only does Ethiopia have its own language (Amharic) complete with a beautiful, baffling script, but they also have their own calendar and concept of time. At 6am it is 12 o’clock, after one hour of sunshine it is 1 o’clock, and when sun sets instead of being 6pm, it is once again 12 o’clock, pretty rational really, but it does make it confusing when finding out what times buses leave. The Ethiopian calendar ( based on the ancient Egyptian Coptic calendar)  puts Ethiopia 7 and a half years behind, so I have been transported back to my early 20’s and lets not even get in to how old Juho is.

Gonder castle, sits on a hill in the centre of the city, behind high stone walls. It has a history to rival the drama of Game of Thrones. Gonder was a place of extreme brutality and endless conspiracy, of queens, kings, ladies, lords and priests all trying to undermine and overthrow each other. From the towers you can see to all corners of the kingdom, and it is easy to imagine armies of horsemen approaching in the distance.

Leaving Gonder took us though the stunning Simien Mountains of jagged peaks, deep valleys and soring eagles. Unfortunately it also took us down and up extremely narrow mountain passes, along unsealed rocky roads, in an ancient bus, packed with people and chickens. We arrived late in a one horse town south of Axum where we bedded down for the night in a flea bag hotel for the grand price of $5.

Aksum, the Queen of Sheba’s capital, dates back to 400 BC and was the centre point of a powerful empire which dominated the sea-borne trade between Africa and Asia. Today Aksum’s secrets remain largely undiscovered, buried in tombs underneath the ground, real Indiana Jones kinda stuff.

The Safari

On the border of Rwanda and Uganda we found ourselves in a place reminiscent of Lake Malawi; Lake Bunyonyi or “Place of many little birds”. We resided in a geodome , an open air bungalow with the front completely open to a big deck facing the lake. Here we spent lazy days watching the birds flit in to visit us from the surrounding jungle and doing little more than eat and read.

Since leaving Zanzibar we have covered a lot of ground. Our first stop was the tiny hill village of Lushoto, where we made the tragic mistake of buying cheese from the nuns of a neighbouring covenant. Consequently the next few days were spent in agony, whimpering in bed while my stomach twisted in pain, completely poisoned. Lesson learnt: DO NOT eat dairy in Africa and NEVER trust a nun.

Another bone splintering bus trip north and we found ourselves in Moshi, nestled at the foot of the cloud shrouded, snow capped, mighty Kilimanjaro Mountain. Choosing to admire her form from afar, over some relaxing beers, rather than pay the exorbitant $1500 climbing fee, we made this our base for negotiating a safari into the Serengeti. 

Having negotiated a very reasonable priced safari with the highly recommended Karibu Adventures the three of us ( Juho, Helen and I)set off for the great Serengeti, via Lake Manyara and Ngorogoro crater. If you dream of doing a safari, this is the place to do it, these places are famous for a reason, all of the iconic African animals are here and in vast numbers. To top it off the landscapes are stunning, and the indigenous Maassai live and heard their cattle in the Ngorogoro conservation area, alongside the zebras and giraffe. Clad in traditional cobalt blue and red robes, carrying sticks, the Maassai live much the same as they always have, moving their cattle across the plains and valleys in search of greener pastures.

We bumped around the Serengetti , happily snapping away at elephant clans , prides of lions, baby leopards,  and an endless sea of migrating wildebeest.  At night hyenas whooped outside our tent and buffalo snuffed at our door, munching on the grass around our tent.  Inside the Ngorogoro crater thousands of pink flamingos covered the lake and baby hippos wallowed in the mud with their mums. A majestic male lion ambled past our truck, before settling into the grass beside us while frightened zebras stood erect, ready to flee if he moved any closer.

In Arusha we farewelled our Canadian pal and headed west for Mwanza, on the shores of Lake Victoria. From here we pushed up north, resting for a day in the backwater port town of Bubuko, because Juho, who had managed to evade the dreaded cheese poisoning, was struck down with a stomach illness of his own.  Despite its small size, Buboko had more churches and mosques than any larger town we had encountered. Groups of men, woman and children gathered in church gardens to sing melodic hymns and the first rays of dawn were accompanied by the haunting strains of a call to prayer.

Crossing the border into Uganda was an excellent example of the frustrating inefficiency that reoccurs throughout East Africa.  After queuing for a considerable amount of time, watching the fat officials inside idly flick through newspapers, file their nails and sip their tea, an officer appeared to announce that someone would now be appointed to record each passenger’s details on a clipboard before admitting them into the immigration office. One by one passengers were permitted to enter the building, to be interrogated, have their fingerprints recorded and eventually their passport stamped: “Exit”, yes this painstakingly long process was simply to allow us to leave Tanzania.

Inside Uganda the air feels fresher and cooler and the bushy landscape gives way to green, rolling hills. After touring around the lakes and hills we are spending our remaining Ugandan days in Kampala, zipping about on motorcycle taxis and eating overpriced Indian food as we are sick to death of the bland local food. Unfortunately President Idi Amin expelled the Indian and Pakistani population of Uganda in 1972, leaving only a smattering of these influences today, luckily for our taste buds this includes garlic Nan and spicy chicken vindaloo.

Zipping up to Zanzibar

We left Nkahata bay feeling sufficiently rejuvenated after a week of lazing in our bungalow hammocks while the water lapped at the rocks beneath us. The feeling didn't last long and soon we were crammed into an overflowing minivan, Juho’s knees wedged up below his chin and buckets of smelly fish sloshing beneath our feet. We travelled north with a British/Spanish family Alfonso and Valarie around my parents age and Martin a little older than me. By nightfall we had reached our destination; The Mushroom Farm, perched high on a mountain side, the chalets and campsites teetering on the side of the cliff and the rift valley and Lake Malawi stretched out below us.

 A couple of hours hike further up the hill was the old mission town of Livingstonia , an incredible isolated colonial town, established in the 1800s as a mission base to escape the malaria of the lakeside. Only one very rocky, steep mountain road leads here and very few vehicles travel on it, the only regular one being the Livingstonia ambulance, which ferries people and goods up and down the track. I hate to think how long someone would have to wait if they actually had a medical emergency. After a few days hiking around the countryside, visiting waterfalls and whatnot and marvelling at the views, we had no choice but to hike back down the rocky mountain as no cars appeared to making a trip that day. With our heavy backpacks pressing down on top of us, we arrived covered in sweat and dying of dehydration in the strong midday sun. Once down we gulped down ice cold sprites and pushed on north to the Tanzanian border.

Arriving in Tanzania was something else entirely, after the friendly, relaxed vibe of backwater Malawi we found ourselves being dragged from the bus in Mbeya and pulled in every direction. We spent the night in a flea bag hotel/nightclub with our newly acquired Canadian friend Helen, and an impossible rude and annoying German, (whose name we have chosen to forget). Luck was on our side for once and we scored the last carriage on the 24 hour train to Dar es Salaam. Now this is a train journey that I highly recommend should you get the chance. Opting for first class we spent the evening and following day gazing out of the window as we rolled through villages, countryside and national park. After nearly two months of horrifically overcrowded buses and minivans, stuffed with buckets of smelly fish, live chickens and kids vomiting up cake on our shoulders, to say we were glad to be on a train is an understatement. The train makes this trip from Zambia all the way to Dar Es Salaam just twice a week, and in the sleepy villages and countryside, locals gathered to wave and watch the train go past. Closer to Dar Es Salaam we wound through National park and we craned our necks to catch glimpses of Warthogs, Monkeys, and Gazelles.Congested Dar Es Salaam was a rude awakening after the tranquillity of our train journey. Pulling out of the train station in a cab we were pulled over by officials who ordered us out of the cab and explained that the man driving the cab was known for robbing tourist passengers by gunpoint. Needless to say, by sun up the next day, we were happily on our way to Zanzibar. 

Ah Zanzibar, the very name conjures up the scent of spice, and the vision of palm fringed beaches and ancient bazaars winding down cobbled streets. Surprisingly it maintains that charm even today, despite the hordes of tourists ambling down the laneways of Stone Town, expensive cameras slung carelessly across their shoulders just begging to be pinched. In Stone Town we spent the afternoon in a back alley having some shoes cobbled for me after my flip flops broke. The old man sketched my foot and then began fashioning bits of leather together, while his grandchildren, adorable dressed in bright dresses and white headscarf’s, giggled and took turns poking Juho and pulling faces at us. We returned in the evening to find a beautiful pair of leather sandals, perfectly sculpted to my feet for the bargain price of $12. A couple of hours north of Stonetown, In Nungwi, the Dow building centre of Zanzibar we are enjoying our last sighting of the beach for some time. Blinding white sand, aquamarine water and fresh seafood, I am certain that we will dream of this when we are shivering our way through the harsh Finnish winter.

Zanzibarilla viikon lungittelun jalkee lahettiin jalleen kohti pohjoista. Bussilla Dar Es Salaamista Momboon josta jatko bussilla Lusothoon. Taa on jossain ylangoilla oleva mesta josa on mukavan viileeta. Loydettiin taas Helen taalta ja lahettiin porukalla hakee 3kilsan paasta jostain pappilasta munkkien tekemaa juustoa ja viinia. Oli ihan ok settia. Ei mitaan erikoista euroopan mittarilla, mutta ku ei ollu juustoa saanu pariin kuukauteen nii oli hyvaa. Jhania vahan kyseenalaisti, etta onkohan oikeen jarkevaa syoda juustoa.. Niinhan siina kavi, etta Jhania ja Helen oksenteli ja pasko koko yon ja tama paiva menee sangyn pohjalla. Eipa ollu jarkevaa syoda juustoo. Mun super mahaa ei paljoa kiinnosta onko siela paskaa juustoo vai ei nii joudun sitte toimimaan orjana ja tuomaan mita tytot kaskee. Kuluuhan se aika nainkin.

Dhows heading out to fish on Zanzibar.

Shoe shop, Stonetown style.