The Turku Public Library

One thing that brought me to Finland was its stellar education system.  According to their PISA ranking, Finland was educating a nation of readers, and since since developing literacy is one of my first academic goals with my students, I wondered what they were doing to be so successful.

Well, no education success story is complete if you only look at the classroom.  Finland is a nation that values reading.  In a 2002 survey by the European Commission, Finland was the country in Europe where library visits are most common.  It was also the top country for reading magazines and daily newspapers, and 2nd for leisure reading.  

So perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise that their library system is superb.  Just a few blocks from me is my local branch library.  I've actually never been in since the main city library is really close to campus and completely gorgeous.  The original library was built in the early 1900s, and a modern addition was added in 2007.

The historic exterior of the Turku City Library

I like to walk in through the historic side.  The ornate wooden doors that look as old as the building never fail to make me happy as they swing open automatically as I walk up to them.  Just inside the front doors, a curving double staircase goes up to the music collection.  Unfortunately, I didn't take a picture, so you'll have to imagine a room full of CDs and music magazines on one side of the circulation desk, and on the other side, another room full of scores and songbooks.

This is where adult fiction in Finnish is kept.  I love the dome.

Instead of walking upstairs, we'll do what I usually do- walk straight through to the prettiest part of the library, in my opinion.  Here under the dome all the Finnish language fiction is stored.  I always veer off to the left though if I'm looking for fiction for myself.  

Adult fiction in foreign languages.

After walking through a section of Swedish language fiction (Swedish is the other national language in Finland and spoken as a mother-tongue by around 5.5% of Finns), I get to a section that delighted me when I discovered it- the adult fiction section in foreign languages.  A full three aisles, both sides, are dedicated to English fiction, more than enough to keep me occupied the whole time I'm here.  There's even a section of Spanish fiction, and though not as extensive still more than I'll manage to work my way through.

Kirjasto= library in Finnish.  This is a section of the modern addition to the Turku city library

I'm not always headed to the library for pleasure reading though.  I come at least as often to look for children's books to practice my Finnish.  They're in the modern side of the library.  After walking through the reading room (again, no pictures- I felt bad taking photos with people in them, and this area is always busy.  The center of the room has racks with newspapers, and all along the floor to ceiling windows there are tables where people sit and study.  The other side of the room has comfortable chairs looking out onto the library courtyard) I make it to the children's section. 

Looking out over a section (I think this is Swedish picture books) of the children's area of the library

 It took awhile for me to navigate my way around here.  There are separate sections for Finnish and Swedish, fiction and non-fiction, easy readers, picture books, and young adult books.  And of course, the children's section wouldn't be complete without their own foreign language books section.  All of the most commonly spoken languages in Turku are represented here.

This is the foreign language children's books section

It's an amazing library with wonderful resources and a beautiful, welcoming atmosphere.  I wish I had felt comfortable taking photos of the study and reading areas, because in both the children's and adults' sections they're really nice.  There's also a 2nd floor on the modern side where the adult non-fiction is kept.  I don't wander up there nearly as often, unless I want to study up there, but they usually have some sort of rotating cultural or photography exhibit there as well.  

There's a connection here.  A society that values literacy is a society that values libraries.  Not only is this  library beautiful, a library card is free (not the case in Colombia) and people take advantage of the space to study and read. On Friday around 5 pm when I was there all the study tables were occupied and I'm not sure there was a single computer free at the computer station. So the libraries themselves in turn encourage literacy, creating, in a way, a self-perpetuating cycle.  

Finnish Interlude

It's been awhile since I posted about my language learning, and since I've had some moments that made me excited, I figured I'd share.

Finland is spoken by a grand total of about 5.4 million people and almost all of them live in Finland, so, in some ways, it seems a bit silly to spend time learning Finnish.  After all, once I graduate when on earth will I ever have a chance to use Finnish again?

Cue scene number 1...

I was at the top of the mountain at Plitvice Lakes National Park in Croatia.  I was a bit lost, since after paying a lot of money to get in, I refused to buy a park map for more money on the principle of the thing.  But finally, here at the top, was a map of the park.  I angled over to get a better view, but the map was blocked by a large group of tourists.  As I waited for their tour guide to finish her spiel and move on her way, something started to sound familiar.  I was recognizing words here and there... was she speaking Finnish?  It didn't sound quite right, but she had definitely said some words I recognized.  So, finally, I braved it and turned to the woman next to me and asked, in Finnish, "Are you Finnish?"

Ok, it might not be directly related to the post, but everyone loves photos, right?  These are falls at Plitvice Lakes National Park

Turns out she was Estonian.  They're fairly closely related languages and have a lot of similar vocabulary, much like Spanish and Italian, which is why I'd understood some familiar words, but still didn't feel like the language sounded right.  But anyways, once we'd established that she was Estonian, we continued chatting for a bit- where I was from, why I was alone at the park, why I spoke Finnish.  I'm still not sure if she switched to Finnish, or if those words are similar enough in Estonian that I could just follow what was going on.  All I know for sure is I was speaking something resembling Finnish.  Just when I thought I'd never use Finnish outside of Finland. . .

Cue scene number 2....
It was a beautiful morning on the Camino de Santiago.  We were passing a bed and breakfast when two women came out. This time, there was no mistaking their language.  Finns for sure.  I bravely stopped them to say hello too and introduce myself in Finnish.  My companions on the trail that day were impressed with my multilingual language skills.  I might have even been impressed myself.

And now that I'm back, I'm branching out and trying Finnish in new situations.  I had a first the other day.  I was at the sauna with an international group, but mostly Finns.  At one point, all the Finns had left the sauna to cool down, and when I joined them in the other room, they were all speaking Finnish.  I sat and listened, they forgot I was there, and then when they were getting up to go back in to the sauna, they suddenly remembered me and apologized for continuing to speak Finnish.  "Oh, that's ok", I told them, "you were talking about his apartment, and how much his rent is, and how far it is to bike there. .. "  They looked at me, surprised.  I was surprised too.  I've caught words before in conversations, but this was the first time I ever actually followed what was going on.  Progress my friends, progress.

Sometimes

Sometimes, when it's 50 degrees and rainy, and the wind is blowing in my face as I bike back home, and my hands are freezing where they grip the handlebars because I didn't think it was cold enough to need gloves, sometimes, I allow myself to think about what life would be like if I'd never left the States.

I imagine myself- this would be my 10th year teaching.  Would I still be at Lincoln?  Would I have an established set of friends that I'd known for years?  Maybe I'd even have met someone and gotten married.  Possibly I'd have had a kid.  Surely by now I would have bought a house and I'd be making mortgage payments.  I would have a car; rain and cold and late dark nights would only be minor inconveniences.  I'd have a paycheck automatically deposited in the bank every 2 weeks.  I wouldn't have to worry about exchange rates and international money transfers.  I'd have a living room.  And probably, in my kitchen, I would have things like cupcake tins and casserole dishes.

As I'm biking, cold and wet and miserable, I envy that imaginary self, the one who never left. The imagined security and coziness, the imagined roots.  But then I stop myself.  My life might not be rich in things right now, but I don't want to measure my life by things.

Glancing at my shelf, the latest children's books I borrowed to practice Finnish catch my eye. Along with Moomins, the Finnish children's cartoon I watch while I eat my breakfast, they're my fun way to learn Finnish.  I am rich in opportunities to learn.

Fanny's living room was cozy, and the 6 of us sat around, our conversation zig-zagging from the past to the future and back again, until we decided it was time to cut the cake and sing happy birthday to Jhania.  I am rich in friends.

On Sunday at church, I sang How Great Thou Art in 3 different languages.  There was something about the beauty of a familiar song in an unfamiliar language surrounded by my brothers and sisters in another country that almost brought tears to my eyes. I am rich in fellowship.

I was a little nervous leaving Switzerland as the passport control officer looked suspiciously at my passport. "How long have you been here?" he asked.  "In the Schengen zone?  Since January, I think. . ." I said, quickly fishing for my German residence permit so he'd know I hadn't illegally stayed past the 3 month tourist limit.  He waved me on, and I headed off to Croatia, officially my 24th foreign country to visit.  I am rich in travel adventures.

Later this week I will take a walk to a nearby pine forest to look for pinecones.  The leaves are changing colors and the river glimmers with reflected lights when I'm downtown after dark.  I am rich in beauty.

Most of all, I am rich in grace.  This journey that I've been on across continents has shaken me to my core.  I'm not the same person I used to be.  I am sometimes bitter, sometimes cynical, and often discouraged.  But, I am always being filled and refilled with grace.  And because of that, because all these unmeasurable riches have made me who I am today and because, most days, I like who I'm becoming, I'm glad I took the risk.  I might not have a fully stocked kitchen.  But I am rich.

What are you rich in?

Scroll down!

I've been adding posts about my summer adventures, and pre-dating them to the date they took place.  So scroll down to see newer posts that happened at an earlier date, or click on the links below  :)

July 12th- Little Things and Misadventures

July 15th- The Turkish Baths

July 20th- "The Most Unique Sound of Music Tour"

July 22nd- Lost in the Labyrinth

July 25th- A Working Holiday

July 28th- Let Prague Find You

August 1st- Home(less) (This post isn't new. It was actually posted on Aug. 1st)

August 8th- Getting Good at this Wedding Crashing Business

August 19th- Going Solo

Going Solo

Split, Croatia

August 19th

I have a secret, one that most people don’t realize when they look at my life and the things I’ve done.  I’m afraid to travel alone.  Seeing as I’ve gone off alone to all the corners of the earth, that might come as a surprise, but the thing is, even though I always got on the plane alone, I knew there was someone waiting for me at the other end.  I never had to navigate my way to a new apartment or to a hotel completely alone. And I knew I wouldn’t feel alone for long- I could count on new classmates or new coworkers becoming friends. 

So this summer, I stepped outside my comfort zone to take my first solo travel adventures.  After a full day exploring the Plitvice Lake National Park, I arrived in Split after dark.  I was looking for bus 10 to take to my hostel, but the warm night air and the beach town atmosphere seduced me.  Instead of searching near the bus station, I followed the crowds toward the center.  Families strolled along the waters’ edge and vendors sold swimsuits, towels, sunglasses and hats in stalls lining the street.  I hadn’t gone far when I saw a sign for Diocletian’s basement.    I turned down the alley and walked into history.  The walls around me were built 1700 years ago to support Diocletian’s retirement palace.  Despite the upscale souvenir stalls lining the corridor, I still stared around me in wonder at the arches and columns.  At the end of the corridor, I stopped in surprise.  A row of sandaled feet was at my eye level at the top of the stairs.  As my eyes scanned up, bare calves were followed by red skirts then plate armor, topped of by a helmet. Shields rested on the ground in front.  Curious as to what Centurion soldiers would be doing at the top of the staircase, and since there didn’t seem to be any indication that I couldn’t proceed, I went up to peep between their soldiers.  Some even more adventurous souls slipped behind the soldiers, so I followed them.  There seemed to be some sort of performance going on, and somehow, I’d ended up behind it.  I followed the people in front of me, feeling rather lost as someone gave us some sort of direction in Croatian.  I walked quickly through some more passageways that seem to have been converted into a back stage area, until I was back out into the twisting network of streets.  I decided to snake around until I made it out to the audience side of the performance.  

They seemed to be doing some sort of reenactment, as the emperor read a proclamation (or something to that effect) and I shifted a bit on the ground where I’d found a place to watch.  Maybe I should leave, seeing as nothing really seemed to be happening and the only words I knew in Croatian were “hvala” (thanks), pivo (beer) and kremšnita (custard), none of which figured significantly in the emperor’s speech, surprisingly.  But then, the gladiators came out; the slave ones, who fought with nothing but sticks and nets.  As the one with the stick vanquished the one with the net, the emperor asked the crowd if he should be shown mercy or not.  There’s still hope for the world, I thought to myself as I headed back out towards the street to find my hostel.  All of the children in the crowd, unprompted, were granting the man mercy. 

The next day, I headed off to the beach, where between the warm Adriatic Sea and my book, I kept myself entertained for hours.  Finally driven back into town desperate for some food, for the first time I felt a bit at a loss in my own company.  The conversation I had with my waiter ordering food was the first time I’d talked to anyone all day, and I found myself resisting the impulse to suggest he should stay and talk with me while I ate.  I decided to people watch instead, probably a more socially acceptable past time than keeping waiters from doing their job anyway.  Somehow, I made it through that meal alone, and then, another day of exploring solo.  By the time I got back to Nada’s the next night, I was anxious to have a conversation, but I was thrilled with the experience.  I had done it and found that traveling alone was nothing to be afraid of.  Sure, there were moments when I would have liked some company, but I also enjoyed my private adventures, the solitude and room for thought, the ability to do everything at my own pace.  Now a whole new world is open to me since I’ve realized that I have nothing to be afraid of as a solo traveler.   

Getting good at this wedding crashing business

Zürich

August 8^th, 2014

You may remember last January, when I crashed a wedding (sort of) in Venezuela.  Well, apparently wedding crashing is a bit addictive, because when my friend Johanna told me that the dates I suggested to visit her worked out with the exception that she had to play for a few hours in a wedding reception one afternoon, I decided that was perfect.  (Well, really, when you are coordinating visits/travels with friends in multiple countries, you can’t be too picky.)

Almost the first thing I noticed walking into Johanna’s were the Alphorns taking up half the living room.  I stared at them in fascination.  I’d seen some at a festival in Bavaria earlier that year, but I’d never heard them played before.  So, when Johanna said I was welcome to come along to the reception if I wanted, I didn’t hesitate.

Of course, when I got there, I realized one tiny detail.  I didn’t know anyone, other than Johanna and her mom and they were busy setting up their horns and getting ready to play.  I also don’t speak Swiss German.  Mingling with the other guests was pretty much impossible. “Oh, hi, I don’t know you, or anyone here, or the bride or groom for that matter, just wanted to hear the alphorns, so what’s your name” doesn’t seem like the best conversation starter.  Especially when you’re saying that to someone in a language that is foreign to them.  So, I just waited on the fringes of the crowd, awkwardly.

But, as they started to play, and I relaxed, enjoying, the music, the blue sky, the atmosphere, I had one of those blissful moments I sometimes have when traveling and visiting locals.  This is an experience that can’t be bought.  I may be the outsider standing on the edges, but still, I am really here, in a Swiss Village, at a wedding reception, admiring the beautiful bride and listening to my friend and her mom play alphorns.  I think those moments, the ones that are real, the ones that go off the beaten path and tourist staples, are the ones that draw me back, time and again to travel, to learn, to make new friends, to tentatively try to communicate in languages I’m just beginning to know, because those are the moments that change me somehow.  

Home(less)

It's been an interesting 48 hours.  After 3 weeks of traveling in Europe with a friend I hadn't seen in 5 years (more posts to come about our travels, hopefully!), I finally returned home to Regensburg.  And it felt like coming home- pulling back into my familiar train station, taking the bus I always take, running into friends before I even walked in my door.

But I was going "home" to Regensburg for the last time.  In a 20 hour whirlwind, I packed, cleaned, washed and ironed the sheets I'd borrowed from student housing (they're the ones with a penchant for ironed sheets, not me) and got ready to leave again.  Moving internationally should become some sort of competitive sporting event.  I think I'd be pretty good at it.  I somehow manage to compress an entire room into a suitcase, a hiking backpack, and a regular backpack, which is talent enough, but my real skill shows through when I then manage to transport that.  After a trial run, I realized that if I place my suitcase against a column, then hoist my large backpack onto that, I can get my backpack on without falling over.  Then, smaller backpack stuck on front of me, all that's left is to drag my suitcase behind me, transporting roughly my weight in luggage.  And then, since this is an extreme sporting event, that means you have to use at least 4 unique forms of transportation. The first leg of my journey was easy for me- a friend offered to go with me to the train station, so I didn't have to walk the 10 minutes to the bus stop looking like a human turtle or load my luggage onto the train by myself.

The Human Turtle with her weight in luggage

But then, I was on my own.  All was going smoothly until I tried to get off of the train.  One of the straps on my backpack got caught on something going through the door.  I tried to turn and look behind me, but I couldn't turn far enough to see whatever was keeping me from moving.  I turned futilely back and forth a few times, flailing around a bit (possibly looking a bit like a turtle that's landed on its back) til someone behind me took pity on me and unhooked me and handed down my suitcase.  I then trundled it all off to the next bus that took me right to the airport.  I breathed a sigh of relief as my backpack and suitcase were whisked away and I was assured that they would go through to my final destination.  But of course, there's no such thing as final in a trip like this.  Final just meant last flight.  I flew into Helsinki, which is still 2 and a half hours outside of Turku.  So, once again, all my luggage loaded onto me, I looked around for the right bus, where at least the driver did me the favor of sticking it into the luggage compartment for me.  And then, finally, finally back in Turku, it was too late to take a local bus back, so I had to catch a taxi, because even I won't walk 3 kilometers with my weight in luggage at 1:30 am.


And then, there I was, "home" again in Turku.  Except, even though many of my friends, most of my earthly possessions, and my studies are all here, I don't actually have a house.  My lease doesn't start until September.  So here I am, at "home", but homeless.  It's an interesting feeling, really.  I've spent quite a bit of time the past few years pondering what home means, and well, being here reminds me that home, for the moment, is here.  Home is where the heart is, they say.  And that's part of it, but I've left bits and pieces of my heart all over, so then home could equally be the US, or Colombia, or Germany.  And in a way, going to any of those places right now would feel like going "home", but not quite the same as coming home here does.  I'd say home is where your stuff is, but that sounds way too materialistic, and besides, then my home would be Paulina's storage locker, and that certainly doesn't seem right.  But home is where you come back to after traveling, where you pick up the pieces of your life where you left off, slip back into the same routines, are comforted by the familiar.  And that's why, for me right now, Turku, Finland is home.  In Colombia, and the US, and Germany there's no picking up where I left off right now- no job waiting for me, groups of friends have changed in my absence, there are no routines looking to be slipped into, just routines looking to be remade.  So it's good to be back, and after a wonderful semester abroad, feel that I am indeed, home.

At least, for the moment.  But then, on to my next adventures!  I'm homeless by choice so I can travel and visit friends all around Europe until I have an apartment at home in Finland next month.