Excerpts from my travel diary
June 1, 2016
Wednesday
Holma-Saarijärvi
The adventure has begun. The camp is set up, and the first meal has been cooked. The island was deserted when I arrived, but as the afternoon progressed, more people started arriving—apparently a scout group.
The silence feels strange, and my head is playing back several songs I’ve listened to recently, as if they were recorded in my mind. Walking along the shore, I noticed a pike darting away into the reeds. I also noticed other animals and insects scurrying off before I could fully register their presence. It dawned on me—I’m not alone. Several pairs of eyes are watching me, most of which I can’t even see. Will there come a moment during this journey when I notice another being before they notice me? My island neighbors are scrolling through social media, and across the lake, someone is arguing about money. Tomorrow, I’ll need to venture deeper into the forest.
I circled the lake and explored the surrounding area. It’s fascinating how the forest, as an environment, breaks conventional social norms. Nearly everyone I passed greeted me! Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming need to check the time. The sun suggested evening, but it was hard to be sure. Not that it matters.
The cuckoo is calling, and nature, neighbors included, is settling down. Instant oats soaked in cold water with a dash of olive oil make for a surprisingly good evening snack. My favorite bird, the red-throated diver, is gliding silently across the mirror-like lake. The day has felt like an eternity. I eagerly await tomorrow.
The wait is rewarded. The diver sings a lullaby.
June 2, 2016
Thursday
Iso-Holma
When I woke up, my fellow islanders were already packing up to leave. I waited a bit to savor the scenery for myself, but eventually, I packed my camp and headed towards Iso-Holma. The journey was sweaty, though not particularly challenging. I couldn’t have carried any additional weight. Upon arriving at my destination, raindrops began to fall, and ominous rumbling echoed from the sky.
Just as I finished setting up camp, it began. Rain, hail, and a sound like the world being torn apart. I can understand why thunder was feared in ancient times—it felt like the wrath of gods. I snapped a few photos and quickly ate some barely-cooked lentils I’d prepared earlier. Lying in my tent, I drifted in and out of sleep. When I woke, the storm had subsided. The last remnants of my sense of time had vanished during my naps.
The biggest challenge so far has been the loneliness. Encountering other hikers occasionally brings an almost overwhelming desire to share this experience with someone. My head aches slightly, and my stomach feels off—perhaps due to the slightly undercooked lentils? Hopefully, tomorrow will be drier. I’m too tired now. Goodnight.'
June 3, 2016
Friday
Iso-Holma
The most stunning weather greeted me at the tent door this morning. While cooking breakfast porridge, I decided to stay another night at this camp. As I went about my tasks, I noticed myself drifting off at times. Occasionally, I would snap back to reality, realizing I had been staring at the scenery for far too long, as the shadows of the trees had shifted. No headaches or stomach pains today.
For dinner, I cooked a divine plantain-lentil stew.
Plantain-Lentil Stew
Ingredients:
- 100g red lentils
- 1 vegetable bouillon cube
- Half a liter of lake water
- A handful of chopped plantain leaves
- A generous splash of olive oil
Cook over an open fire until your hunger becomes unbearable.
For dessert, the forest offered birch leaf tea. Some might compare its taste to birch whisk soak water, which I highly recommend trying. Here, one reflects on how little humans truly need to feel happy and why some have so much while others have so little.
The day grew quite hot, so I decided to take a southern European-style siesta—nap time, in Finnish. I woke to the sound of rain and discovered ants had created a pathway over my inner tent. Watching their silhouettes and listening to the rain taper off brought a smile to my face. These are the moments I came here for, though I couldn’t have foreseen them.
A red-throated diver cries somewhere nearby. Its song is strangely beautiful, heart-wrenching yet moving. Is it mourning lost love, or is it weeping with joy for life itself? I’ll have to ask the bird. The rain has subsided; I’ll step outside.
I circled the lake where I’m camping. The Finnish summer is breathtaking! On the shore, dragonflies and damselflies compete for mates while a gentle summer breeze whispers in my ears. Romantic in every way. Returning to camp, I noticed my solitude had ended—I now have (thankfully quiet) neighbors. It’s hard to condense a day of walking, sitting, and reflecting into a few words. So much goes unsaid because it simply must be experienced. Many realizations can’t even be put into words. They’re more like a deepened understanding.
Balancing these contemplations is the silence, occasionally interrupted by passing planes. Without them and a few other modern noises, it’s easy to imagine standing here, looking at the same scenery, hundreds of years ago. Though nature is ever-changing, there’s something profoundly constant about it. Perhaps one day I’ll find better words to express this thought.
Food plays a huge role in structuring the day. Eating, sleeping, and bathroom breaks frame everything else much more clearly than usual. Tonight’s oatmeal—more of a porridge, really—was inexplicably delicious in all its blandness and sliminess. Perhaps it’s the environment and the lack of alternatives?
In just a few days, a clear routine has emerged: wake up, breakfast, photography, lunch, nap, photography, snack, evening walk, evening snack, journaling, and sleep. A month feels like an impossibly long time here, where time moves at half its usual speed. Three days alone in the forest feels like a week, if not an eternity. Come quickly, tomorrow. Time for bed. The cuckoo says “cuckoo.”
I can’t sleep!
A massive inner struggle about whether to open my phone and call home. Part of me wants to pack up and leave, but what would I miss? This will be a long and challenging journey mentally. I’ll hold my ground.
I decided to take a small walk, spurred by my insomnia. It was worth it! I encountered a flock of gulls fighting over their evening meal, and just before returning to my tent, the sky erupted in flames. Now it’s good to sleep. The wind rustles through the trees, and peace reigns everywhere. A mother gull tucked her chicks into the reeds for the night.
No noise
Around 2010, we went on a hiking trip to the Pyrenees with a large group of friends. One moment from that journey has stayed with me ever since. Somewhere in the mountains, as we paused to take in the view, one of us said something unforgettable:
"There is no noise in our gaze. Something has taken it away."
During this new adventure, I set myself an additional mission: to capture that elusive silence by photographing my face every day.
