One Foot

part ten

The Republic of Finland has never actually been at war.

Technically, in 1809, Russia warred with Sweden over Finland and the history books call it the "Finnish War" but really, Finland is hardly worth fighting over. Even Russia knew it; when Finland asked for its independence in 1917, Russia just shrugged and let them have it.

I've never really wanted to go to India or France but I've always wanted to go to Finland. As it turns out, the reason why I wanted to go was much more interesting to me than the actual country.

My grandma and I used to play word games. This was her solution for me when I didn't want to be at the beach or the park or outside in the sun, but we were there anyway because it was a Saturday and my sister was bored, so she'd let me sit in the shade and say, "A! My name is Amanda and I'm going to Alaska and I'm bringing apples!"

And she'd say, "B my name is Billy and I'm going to Bermuda and I'm bringing boats!"

We'd go back and forth through the whole game and then we'd make up new games until we were laughing too hard to speak.

One time we were at the beach and my sister was playing in the surf with my step-grandpa and Grandma and I only made it to letter F before we stopped, because we'd already been through the alphabet game once and couldn't think of a country besides France that started with F.

"F! My name is Frida and I'm going to...um..."

"What country starts with F?"

"Um...well, I'm bringing...fish."

"I can't think of any others..."

"And I'm going to...um...Oh! I'm going to FINLAND!"

The tour guide in Helsinki very proudly told us how safe it is to live in Finland. She flipped her hair and grinned at those of us sitting in the front of the bus and said that the people of Finland would never dream of dropping their kids off at school, even the little ones walk by themselves. Which makes sense for a country that rents out patches of land for people to grow flowers on and prints every street sign and public notice in at least two languages to cater to anyone whose mother tongue isn't Finnish.

We went to a park in Helsinki and I took pictures of the cloudy sky and dew-soaked trees and a little green bench off by itself. I imagined growing up in Finland and sitting on that bench with Grandma. We'd play the alphabet game (in multiple languages because every Finnish child is required to learn at least three in school) and we wouldn't be able to come up with a country that started with U, and finally I'd shout "USA!" because that would sound just as funny to us as "Finland" did when we were at the beach.

Finland's Wikipedia page tries really hard to include itself in major wars of the last few centuries, but the reality is that Finland is just a quiet place known for its safety and lack of invasions. The most exciting thing I learned while there was that a fire destroyed all the wooden houses in Helsinki in the early 1800s, but even then, the tour guide glossed over the gory details in favor of detailing the eleven month maternity leave granted to each mother and the fact that college students don't have to pay taxes.

Grandma and I went to Finland together. It's important to both of us that we can say that now, and maybe I don’t want to live in Helsinki and maybe I loved London and Gothenburg and Tallinn more but what matters is that we were both there, together.

All Alright

part nine

The last time I looked at London wasn't from my familiar Gloucester hotel room but from the shuttle that took us to Hyde Park and back to the airport. I went to Heathrow and felt that there was nothing left inside my chest because it was all welled up behind my eyes and I couldn't let it out right there. I wanted London to be so much more than a one-night stand but I had to leave...and that was all right. Maybe not alright, because I was still burning out and I wouldn't sleep for 30 hours straight, but I knew in my head that it was all right. My chest would feel better when I no longer had to face that I was leaving, when I was just gone and had no choice. And indeed I felt much more at peace in the Heathrow airport terminal than the night before when we ate at the Hard Rock Cafe in London and I knew I was spending my last evening in the city for God knows how long.

All Alone

part eight

If ever a song reminded me of Tallinn it will always be this, for we spent so long tracking down these little dolls for my step-grandpa. We never found them and he had to buy different ones that he wasn't in love with, but that was okay. I loved the one I bought for my mom, but I bought it the moment I laid eyes on it and that's how you have to shop, I've decided. I loved feeling like I was all alone; we wandered the city without a tour guide and took our time finding the castle and listening to the men playing violins in the courtyard. If ever I return I will go by myself and I'll go through the same shops for nostalgia's sake, but the graffiti on the walls outside will probably be different. I probably won't find "Retrofuturism: Translinguistic Futurism" spray-painted on a fence again. I don't even know what that phrase means but I think it has something to do with the narrow, decrepit cobblestone streets with sleek white security cameras precariously secured to the peeling brick buildings.

I only wandered around Old Tallinn but I found buildings with strange metal rods attached to the walls for no apparent reason other than to help intrepid assassins reach arched rooftops. Street bands of teenagers played Western songs in every square for whatever coin you might be carrying, and how could I not give money and applause to the boys proudly trumpeting through "Eye of the Tiger"?

The McDonald's in Tallinn accepted any type of money and even though it's not called a "Quarter Pounder" in Estonia, the cashier understood what I wanted well enough and the ketchup even tasted the same - slightly more acidic than that of any other fast food restaurant. It offered free wifi, too, and for once I didn't mind being the tourist who goes to McDonald's instead of eating locally. In my defense I was traveling with my grandparents, which made for not quite an adventure as the backpacking-through-Europe trip I guess I was supposed to take (but really, is that any better a stereotype than being a tourist? I don't really see the difference, myself).

The street signs were confusing, though, even if they had English translations on the bottom. Our map was terrible but I liked getting lost. 

Why Am I the One

part seven

The evening after Stockholm, I sat on the top deck of the ship and pretended to read, long after the sun set and my fingertips went numb. I didn’t care for the tour we took that day, an hour and a half spent inside a single Jewish temple and barely any sight-seeing, so I should have either been happy the day was over or happy that I was one day closer to seeing London again, but still...

Still, I hated packing myself up to get back on the bus and back on the ship and back on the plane because why am I the one who has to go back? Why can't I stay and for once tell the others to go on without me? I think I would like that and I don't think it would be too much, not for me. I could stay away from the western towns and live in Sweden forever. Maybe not Stockholm, for as beautiful as it is it's also boring, but maybe Gothenburg, or the small little house on the edge of the forest with its own little dock that Grandma and I picked out as "ours" when we saw it through the window during dinner. I could buy it and live there forever and Grandma could come visit me, or live with me if she wanted, that would be fine with me, and for once we would know that we were home.

But I know very well that the little house isn't what I really want, it's just a way to get away. What I really want is to go back to the botanical gardens in Gothenburg and wander around without a guide to call me back. Usually I don't even like flowers, but I loved the beds of purple and black tiarella covered in raindrops. I loved the carved wooden dinosaurs for kids to play on and the distant clock tower peeking over the many kinds of trees that I couldn't identify. I don't even like rain but what I want is the smell of rain and the feeling of it dripping down my hair and blurring my vision as I look across the fields of dandelions and marigolds and roses. I don't like flowers individually because they mean nothing to me, but the gardens were beautiful and I wouldn't mind visiting every other weekend just to get away from everything in my life that does not have depth.

What I really want is the old church on the hill we visited before the botanical gardens. I think if I lived in Gothenburg I would start going to church again. It's one of those places where I could sit in the wooden pews and think "Why am I the one?" and not feel like I've had too much of...everything. I would probably still feel sad but maybe at least the wistfulness for something besides what I have would ebb.

But as I sat on the deck, cold and tired of thinking, I knew that even if I managed to be the one who stayed in Gothenberg and left everyone else behind, it wouldn't be what I really wanted. I might rail against those western towns and tourist points but truly my home is England, and I will live out my life there the way I want, even if there are days still where all I want is to stay in bed.

Everyone else comes up on deck to wave when we pull out of each port but this time I'm the only one who stays when they all return to the bars and dance floors and warm, cramped cabins. That's partially a punishment for not having a better attitude in Stockholm and partially a desperate attempt to look at land for as long as possible before we return to open seas.

I guess it was also a mourning for Gothenburg. It really was a shame I couldn't have gone there twice, or just stayed in London the entire trip.

But I'm a fool to think that nothing would go wrong before I made it back, or that the worst isn't yet to come.