“An Autobiography in Five Chapters” and Avoiding Habitual Holes

(All images taken on this summer’s memorable trip to Iceland)

Earlier this year, my husband Roy and I took a mindfulness course through the Oxford Mindfulness Centre, a truly mind-expanding experience (a wonderful thing in mid-life, when we can ossify in our thoughts and habits unless we make a conscious effort to change).

The teacher read this poem to us, and it felt like an electric shock.

An Autobiography in Five Chapters (by Portia Nelson)

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk

I fall in.

I am lost…

I am hopeless.

It isn’t my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don’t see it.

I fall in again.

I can’t believe I’m in the same place.

But it isn’t my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there.

I still fall in… it’s a habit

My eyes are open; I know where I am;

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

I walk down another street.

* * *

I thought about mistakes I’ve made, unhelpful habit-patterns, holes I have fallen into–inadvertently, the first time, and then again, without analysing or accepting culpability for my actions, and then repeatedly, out of bad habit.

But there other options exist… I could side-step the hole.

Or go down a different street.

* * *

So, Roy and I began thinking about holes we tumble into, and how to circumvent them. For instance, we left on a 15 day trip to Iceland just after the Meditation course. I love travel, but usually pack an hour or so before we leave. Which means running through the house to run laundry, gather up books, clothes, toiletries and electronics; it’s stressful, and I am frequently still packing when the house-sitters come, and I feel sad that I was not able to tidy up for them as well and hospitably as I would have liked, and I invariably discover I need some toiletries or better walking shoes or eye-masks, but there’s no time to get them.

Well, this time, I started packing a full 10 days in advance, a pomodoro a time. We were renting a camper van, which meant taking more gear, and I decided to buy good hiking layers for Iceland. (We wore 4 or 5 layers in July and August, can you imagine?–because we hiked up to glaciers, took boat trips in glacial lagoons, and it was chilly!) I also bought a duplicate of almost everything I take in my suitcase or hand luggage when I travel, so that next time packing will be super-easy, with a pre-packed suitcase. (In fact, we are going to Porto soon to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary, and the suitcase is already packed!!) Anyway, I was packed before the house-sitters came, and even got to clean and declutter.

Packing was always a hated and dread task– and I am so happy I have found a non-time-consuming way to do it: buy a duplicate of everything I normally take , and always keep a suitcase packed…

It takes analysis to figure out holes, and how to avoid them. For instance, we booked our trip to Iceland after reading in our guidebooks that while 5-7 days on the Ring Road that circles the country is the minimum, fourteen days are even better. So, we booked fourteen days! We hiked up volcanoes, took boat trips on glacial lagoons among icebergs, walked on iceberg-littered beaches, and among geysers, saw basalt columns, puffins and seals; soaked in hot pools surrounded by mountains; climbed up to more waterfalls than I’ve ever seen in a fortnight, but realised we could easily have seen our personal wish-list in fewer days, if we had read the guidebook, and made a list. (Things like a steep 45 minute walk up a barren Mordor-like landscape to see a volcano’s crater, or climbing behind slippery rocks to get behind a waterfall were not for me, when there were easy-to-access volcanoes and waterfalls). And Iceland is an expensive country to spend an unnecessary day in. So, though I always read the guidebook on the plane out, and love the serendipity of unplanned travel, I decided I am going to plan an itinerary, ideally before I have even bought the tickets.

I love the poem’s premise: we can avoid habitual mistakes by analysing the holes we can fall into, and, then, take a different road. Another hole I have fallen into is a form of ghosting. Because I dislike difficult, tense, emotional conversations, I can sever a relationship with, say, a spiritual director, or church, or small group, or someone who was working for us with an email or by simply stopping showing up. So, once warm relationships go into limbo, and this is annoying and unsatisfying for the ones ghosted, and leaves me feeling guilty, and without the benefits of maturity that confronting difficult things gives us. I have had to end two relationships this year… one was a warm professional relationship which had definitely come to its natural end. I tried to sever it by email, but he really wanted a face-to -face, so we had it, and it was a good meeting, and provided a sad but satisfying closure to the relationship which had served us well, but now clearly needed to end. Similarly, I left an activity I was involved in with a frank and mature discussion with the leader, which strengthened our relationship, though leaving was the right thing. And each time we end things well we gain courage and kindness for the next time, which is of great importance, because after all the ending defines the book… Scarlett re-marries Rhett, or doesn’t; Jon Snow occupies the Iron Throne, or doesn’t… Endings define the story!

Other holes I’m avoiding. Because we are self-employed, and our work is portable, my husband Roy and I travel a lot. We are suckers for those super-cheap airfare and hotel deals to Europe, and had 10 short breaks in 2018. And six so far this year, including Cordoba, Berlin, Krakow, Iceland, and New York, for my niece Kristina’s wedding, and soon, God willing, Porto. However, sadly, it can take a while after travel to recover my good habits and work routines. Also, I gain weight most times I travel (eating out for every meal can do that to you!) which which can take time to lose. So I am now trying to craft a life in which I travel slightly less frequently for energy, freshness, joy and excitement it gives me, but instead pace myself by taking a stimulating break each week. We went to a Pompeii exhibition at the Ashmolean last week, and recently to a story-telling session of The Kalevala with my book group, and a classic movie night at a friend’s house—Pasolini’s Oedipus!! (Alternatively, I could keep travelling, an activity I adore, and simply became more active to walk off the delicious holiday meals. But some change is necessary.)

Life’s more fun, when we keep revising it.

A Christmas Reflection, and Letter

By Anita Mathias

This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

I have meditated on the Christmas and Easter story every Christmas, for—goodness–decades, and every year find new diamond-glints in it.

It’s one of those magical stories which speak to everyone. To the poor and down-and-out, as most of humanity have been for most of time, and to the up-and-out.

Joseph and Mary, forced to migrate at the behest of a colonizing power to Bethlehem, where they were homeless, while she laboured with her illegitimate child, the child of scandal. She places the baby in a manger, a feeding trough for animals.

If Jesus was–as I believe he, of course, was– God himself, he could have chosen a blaze of earthly glory to make his presence felt. He could have chosen a throne. But he chose to come to a colonized and oppressed people, to be born of a woman pregnant before her wedding day; he chose a unhygienic manger for his crib, thereby exalting the simplest and humblest of choices.

But God connected him. He could not be hidden. An angel, no less, announces his birth to shepherds, announces that Jesus is the way to joy, that there is peace to men of good will. Wise men, Magi, saw a new star, heralding the birth of the King of the Jews, and followed it to the child, giving him precious gifts, gold, frankincense, or perfume used in censers in the temple, and myrrh, used in anointing oil for kings and prophets.

Scandal, homelessness, rejection, muck, odours. Angelic voices hailing him; shepherds worshipping him; distant Kings lavishing precious gifts on him.

To a lesser extent, that will be the path of all Christ’s followers… unmerited scandal, rejection, undeserved suffering, perhaps patches of poverty. And also affirmation from those who might see Christ in their lives, and on their faces, and unasked for precious gifts, gold, frankincense, myrrh. The glory and goldenness; the muck and shame. Sweet love and bitter hatred. Christ did not escape them–he held his head high whatever shame was heaped on him—and neither shall we.

Christ’s example compels some to choose the path of voluntary downward mobility… Saint Francis and Mother Teresa, Jackie Pullinger, Heidi Baker, all those who work in inner cities. That is not a call I hear.

A call I do hear is the call to simplicity. Simplicity in clothing, in make-up (or the lack of it!), simplicity in furniture, in choices of food, or holidays. Simplicity whenever possible; find the simplest option, God is more likely to be found there in the time and soul-space it frees up. Simplicity for the sake of our own souls; simplicity because our time on earth is limited and should be well-spent; simplicity because complexity is a waste of self and time and spirit; simplicity because there are poor on this earth; simplicity because of Christ. While voluntary downward mobility is a call to a few Christians, voluntary simplicity, I believe, is a call to all Christians, to all sane people.

But to the manger unasked for came gold, frankincense and myrrh, precious gifts Mary accepted on behalf of her precious son, gifts which sustained them when refugees in Egypt. So if and when through hard work or God’s favour, these colourful gifts appear, accept them with a grateful heart, enjoy the good things of this transient world, never losing sight of the gift of simplicity, or the gift of Jesus, and his counter-intuitive teachings which are the way to the great joy the angel promised.

* **

That is what I am reflecting on this Christmas.

And if you’re interested in a family catch-up. It’s been an important year in the story of our family.

Zoe graduated from Oxford University with a BA in Theology, and is working as a Stepney intern at St. John’s Church, Hoxton, which she loves, getting stuck into preaching, community organising, youth groups, etc. She is continuing to study Theology part-time at St. Mellitus College, London, taking courses in Political Theology. We heard her preach at St. John’s last Sunday, and she was excellent. She is living with other interns in a beautiful spacious Church of England house in central London, almost a mansion!

Zoe with the Bishop of Stepney, far left; her vicar, Graham Hunter, second from left, and the new Bishop of London, Sarah Mullally

Irene matriculates at the University of Oxford.

Irene graduated from Oxford High School, was chosen as “Young Biologist of the Year,” by Science Oxford, and won the school prize for Chemistry. She’s doing Medicine at Christ Church, Oxford University, and was delighted to be chosen as a Christ Church Prize Scholar with a cash prize of £9200 a year (which is good, since Medicine at Oxford is a six year course). She loves the whirlwind of Medicine, and has had courses in biochemistry, physiology, pharmacology, molecular genetics, anatomy and medical sociology!! Irene has a paid job too, blogging about her medical studies for Medic Portal!

And as for me: I am in the middle of my third year of German classes at Oxford University Continuing Education. It was a complete whim; I wanted to do something completely different in 2015, and chose a language I had never seriously considered learning. Learning German was hard at first because I was reluctant to buckle down and memorise the grammar, but I now experience flashes of pure joy when I understand the flow of fast German, when I converse in German, when I read a German poem, and understand it. I am so glad I persisted!

I find travel refreshing, rejuvenating, horizon-expanding, super-duper educational, and am grateful to have been able to travel a lot this year. Roy and I went to Split in Croatia in April, staying in a Castle featured in the Game of Thrones, in a romantic apartment with a patio jutting out into the Adriatic Sea on which we sat to admire sunsets. Lots of hiking, and sea walks. The entire city of Split was once Diocletian’s Palace, and like Trognir has a foreboding, claustrophobic air; you can imagine mysteries, assassins, cloak and dagger chases…

Summer holiday with the family… The Bavarian Alps and the Black forest. Totally restful.

We visited Budapest for the first time in October to stay with Peggy Goetz, my American friend, a Calvin College professor, who was teaching there for a semester. A fabulous history-drenched city I will definitely revisit (and a great walking city).

Peggy Goetz and me in Budapest

We had a mini-walking holiday in the Brecon Beacons in Wales, and straight after Irene’s term, went to Cyprus for 9 days, a hedonistic visit of beach walks, and ancient ruins!

Roy and I are slowly easing into the rhythm of being empty nesters, are focusing on health and fitness, organisation, and slipping into a rhythm of serious work. Empty nesting? Ssshhh… we like it!

I wish you a Happy New Year, hand in hand with the Great One

I said to the man who stood at the Gate of the Year,

“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”
And he replied, “Go out into the darkness, and put your hand into the hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light, and safer than a known way.” Minnie Haskell

Love,

Anita

Even Better than the Alps… Thoughts on Returning Home

By Anita Mathias

At Lake Konigsee, Bavaria (More pictures at the end of this post)

So I’m just back from a thoroughly refreshing summer holiday, hiking in the Bavarian Alps. On the boat trip to Konigsee, a very formal bugler played his horn, and the craggy mountains echoed the tune. It was a magical moment. We hiked all day in unspoilt, psychedelic landscapes, like a movie set, like heaven, I imagine, will be.

I quoted to my family, almost verbatim, a favourite passage from the Victorian preacher, Charles Spurgeon,

“If any of you can save up money to go to Switzerland, you will never regret it, and it need not be expensive to you. I have stood in the midst of those mountains and valleys; time would utterly fail me to speak of all the wonders of God which we saw in nature, and in providence.”

“One more remark, and I have done. If you cannot travel, remember that our Lord Jesus Christ is more glorious than all else you could ever see. Get a view of Christ, and you have seen more than mountains, and cascades, and valleys, and seas can ever show you. Thunders may bring their sublimest uproar, and lightnings their awful glory; earth may give its beauty, and stars their brightness, but all these put together can never rival him.”

I quoted this surrounded by mountains on every side at Konigsee, looking into their rainbowed reflections in a limpid, glacial lake. Spurgeon’s statement seemed academic. The beauty was exciting, exhilarating, emotionally overwhelming…

* * *

We hiked, we hiked for 13 days, Tergensee, Chiemsee, Konigsee, Neuschwantein Castle, the Black Forest…. I was hiking to deep and pleasant tiredness, but not exhaustion, averaging 12, 200 steps a day on my pedometer, several miles. And my heart was full of majestic mountains, of flower-strewn Alpine meadows, crystalline mirroring lakes, and streams, rippling. But then, though we had decided to spend 16 days hiking, I wanted to turn around. I had seen enough beauty for now, I was tired, I was ready to resume my regular life, meditating on the Bible, praying, reading, writing, gardening, running, yoga, family life, life with dogs.

Zoe said, “Spurgeon was right. Perhaps Jesus is better than the Alps.” And he is. Of Him, I never weary. I never weary of seeking his wisdom, of trying to see my life and my world through his eyes, of trying to align my life with the axis of his brilliant quirky vision. I never weary of reading his words, his encounters with people. How startling and unusual he is, how refreshing. How wise. How unique.

People know Jesus in different ways, and with different intensity. When I see someone who really knows Jesus, preserved in the written word, but alive and invisibly stalking the earth today, I realise how comparatively slight and shallow my knowledge of him is. And I resolve to deepen it. For when my life gets aligned with his wisdom, with how he would tell me to live my life were He visibly here, my life feels joyous, exciting, and refreshing, like those mountain streams.

* * *

Anyway, a brief personal catch-up. We are in a liminal and lovely season as a family. Zoe has graduated from Oxford University with a good degree in Theology, and Oxford’s Headley Lucas Prize in Theology, and will be working at St John’s Church, Hoxton, London come September. And Irene has graduated from Oxford High School. She won the “Young Biologist of the Year,” award sponsored by Science Oxford and Nuffield Department of Medicine; her school’s prize for excellence in Chemistry, and awards for achievement in Maths, Biology, and academic excellence. Lots of book tokens!

* * *

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? Mary Oliver.

Roy and I will soon be empty nesters, and have just begun to think about how to live this third age/stage of life well. I hope to read deep and write hard; to get physically strong through long hikes and yoga; to garden, to travel, to continue to learn languages (we’ve been learning German for the last two years), and to have friends over to leisurely meals. We’d love to grow spiritually deep, intellectually deep, and to continue loving God, and people. No doubt, we will keep refining our preliminary thoughts.

Wishing you a happy summer, dear readers. Enjoy this beautiful season of your one wild and precious life.

We visited my cousin Margaret and her husband Dirk in Munich

A bugler awakens the mountains which echo his horn’s music

When I almost missed the Uffizi Gallery, Florence

By Anita Mathias

The Doni Tondo, a rare canvas painting by Michealangelo. Scroll down for more images.

I spent the first Sunday of January 2106 at the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. It was free, and advice online, as well as unsolicited advice on Facebook warned me that the lines were horrendous.

But visiting Florence and not spending a few hours at the Uffizi seemed like something I would always think of with sadness. Though I have visited the Uffizi before in the 1986 and 1997, I am a different person now, know more about art, and appreciate it more deeply.

In fact, when everyone cautions me against something, I often wonder if God is saying the opposite. If what “everyone says,” and the beautiful mind which created the Universe were in sync, what a beautiful world it would be!

(Digression. I thought of the time when I wanted to decline chemo after Stage III Bowel Cancer, and attempt a science project on my own body to find natural ways of preventing a recurrence, which would bless my body in the process, not curse it. I was staggered by the volume of unsolicited mocking and even hostile advice I got from people I had never met, people I barely knew, (and well as, of course, well-meaning people who, quite understandably believed I was being stupid). If not for two trusted friends, both women of vision and prayer, who corroborated what I heard God whisper to me, I might have been bullied into a year that would have been a nightmare of illness induced by toxic medication, rather than a peaceful idyll of recovering health. And chemo is not hugely effective for colon cancer. 30% of people who go through it die anyway; it only improves absolute survival by 10%. Digression done.)

When I heard the co-author of Grace and Forgiveness introduce her book on the power of forgiveness as worth a trillion dollars, I laughed but, yes, absolutely. She’s right!! In Grace and Forgiveness the Arnotts quote Mark Virkler: The Holy Spirit is always positive, and Satan is always negative. There is some truth to this. Negative advice from negative people cuts off hope and possibility thinking.

R. T. Kendall in The Anointing, tells of a British couple who sailed from Bombay to Southampton in 1904 to experience the Welsh Revival. When they walked off the docks at Southampton, they bumped into an acquaintance who said, “The Revival? Oh, it’s just Welsh emotionalism.”

Crushed, the couple bought a ticket on the next steamer, and returned to India.

But, as it happened, that foolish nay-sayer was wrong. In Wales, in 1904, people were experiencing God’s “love, vast as the ocean, loving kindness like a flood”. They were surrendering their lives to God, repenting of their sins, forgiving everyone who had sinned against them. They were experiencing spiritual joy, the spiritual life. All of which the couple missed because they listened to the negative words of a negative person!!

A long way to say: I am glad I went. The lines looked horrendous, but my family told me to sit down, and so I did, and brushed up on art history, totally absorbed, and all of a sudden, we were in, and I got to see as much as I had the energy for.

Botticelli, Michaelangelo, Leonardo, Raphael…

I am so grateful to the Medici for collecting these treasures, and to the last of the Medici for gifting them to Florence.

And here are a few of my favourites.

Botticelli, Madonna of Pomegranate

Botticelli’s Nativity

And note the snooty Florentines amid the adoring throngs

Botticelli’s famous La Primavera

Notice the Virgin’s cool infinity scarf

Sandro Botticelli, Madonna of the Pomegranate–beautiful angels, very fashionable virgin with a cool scarf!
Sandro Botticelli, Venus coyly rising from the foam

Botticelli, Man with a coin. Note the self-confidence of his gaze.Botticelli, Pallas (and the Centaur)

Raphael (below). The Pre-Raphaelites, Oxford undergraduates when they banded together, somewhat unfairly decided that true art ended with Raphael!

Raphael’s portrait of Pope Julius II, the tormentor who chivvied, frustrated, angered and drove Michealangelo into genius–the inhuman effort of painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and, of course, crafting Julius’s own tomb.
Leonardo da Vinci’s Annunciation

Angels from Leonardo’s Baptism of Christ

Fra Lippo Lippi–This painting is one of my favourites!
I love the polychromatic angel’s wings in Lorenzo de Credi’s painting

A week in France (Boulogne-sur-Mer, St-Denys, Chartres, and Paris)

By Anita Mathias

I am looking at a year’s worth of photographs in this liminal week between Christmas and New Year.

Here are some images from the Channel Port of Boulogne-sur-Mer, a medieval French walled town, with narrow cobbled streets. We walked along the battlements, which were a mile, to the delight of Merry the Labradoodle, and enjoyed a market garden organised on the theme of the 7 deadly sins—green for envy, red for anger, yellow for sloth, purple for pride…

All photographs in this post were taken on my iPhone 6+ incidentally. Not always high quality, but you will get the flavour!

Merry came on holiday with us, and loved it!

And so did Irene

Green for envy. Loved this market garden!

Merry loved these cabbages–edible beauty. The world needs more of this if we are to cope with climate change.

A French artist copies the Basilica in front of him.

I have long wanted to explore the Basilica of St-Denis, the birthplace of Gothic architecture, in particular, of stained glass, under the leadership of the 12^th century Abbot Suger . He decided to fill his Abbey Church of St. Denis, near Paris, with “the most radiant windows” so that worshippers, surrounded by rainbowed light would feel closer to God. Medieval craftsman, transformed sand into jewels, bringing in More Light, the credo of Gothic architecture.

The Basilique Royale de Saint-Denis was the burial place of the Kings and Queens of France for a millennium, and we explored “the necropolis” with swarms of French school children, who discovered the Kings and Queens they had studied in history with yelps of delight.

Incidentally, there was a terrorist attack and a raid at Saint-Denis a week after we left, and France closed all exits, so we were grateful for safety, and that we got to enjoy the Cathedral in a peaceful, relaxed way!

Recreations of French fashion through the ages.

Paris has more dogs per capita than any other European city, and most of its fabulous gardens are dog friendly. So we went with Merry to the Jardin du Luxembourg, which was ablaze in autumn colours, backlit with brilliance.

I was amused by how Parisian parks close. No stated closing time. A gendarme appears at dusk, whistling. Everyone gets up. And he continues whistling until all we, like sheep, have peaceably left.

* * *

Another cathedral I’ve long wanted to see is Chartres, and we finally made the 75 km drive to Chartres, and it was well worth it. A magical walk by the canals, and then a trek up the hill to the Cathedral with glorious stained glass, all in “Chartres blue,” and beautiful rose windows. We then wandered around the medieval city, sampling…St. Jacques scallops and risotto for dinner, and a grazing lunch of handmade chocolates, delicious artisan bread, pain au chocolate, macarons

Chartres, another town dependent on its network of canals. A definitely maximalist architectural style

The labyrinth for walking meditations outside Chartres.

And here are some images from the Bois De Boulougne, and the Jardin de Bagatelle

Images from a Magical Week at the Isle of Man

By Anita Mathias

The Isle of Man is a perfect cross between the glories of Ireland and England. We loved it.

We crossed on the Ben my Chree, which has a dog lounge. Merry loved it.

Here is the Cashtel yn Ard stone circle, facing the ocean. The burial place of Neolithic chieftans in 1800BC (about 400 years before the Book of Genesis was written)

Cashtal yn Ard

Fabulous at sunset.

Merry at the entrance of a Neolithic burial chamber

The enclosures act, and the forced eviction of crofters in the Isle of Man as in the Scottish Highlands has led to many abandoned stone cottages all over the island

We camped out by Glen Willyn on a deserted spot of the Atlantic, Loved sleeping breakers crashing on the shore. Merry adored the beach.

Long walk up Glen Helen.

The islanders were so friendly and helpful. When we asked directions, a cheery helpful elderly gentleman invited us into his house to show us on his map…and then chased after us for we left our guidebook there. Roy said he was like Tolkein’s Tom Bombadil, totally at ease in his landscape.

Wandered around St. Patrick’s Isle, centre of Manx Christianity in the 6^th century, surviving the pagan Viking Invaders at the end of the eight century.

Enjoyed the miniature alpine gardens on the rocks.

Sunset at St. Patrick’s Isle

The famous four horned Manx sheep

A Celtic cross in honour of the dead in the first world war

The Fourteenth century chapel of St. Trinian’s

Truly magical Calf Sound, where calves were taken, wading through the water to be pastured, and then swum back at low tide for milking

There were magical sunsets.

The three-legged runner, emblem of the Isle of Man

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A Magical Week in France: Chenonceau, Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur, Villandry, Bois des Moitiers, Parc de Marquenterre, Etretat

By Anita Mathias

The fairytale chateau of Chenonceau on the Loire, which, unusually, belonged to a series of women, including Diane de Poitiers, mistress of Henry II, and his vengeful widow, Catherine de Medici, who evicted her.

Zoe, me, Irene and Roy outside Chenonceau

It is imaginatively built spanning the River Cher A fairy-tale chateau, isn’t it? I love it so much!

Apparently, the female owners would walk up and down this gallery with fantastic views of the river and gardens for exercise and contemplation.

A walk in Chenonceau

Looking upwards in Chenonceau

Impossibly ornate Notre Dame

Villandry

Sacre Coeur

Bois des Moutiers, Varengeville, Normandy

A house designed by Lutyens. Gardens designed by Gertrude Jekyll. An Arts and Crafts house. We spent a happy day in the gardens.

Étretat, scenes which inspired Monet. The Alabaster Coast.

Panorama of Eretrat beach from the board walk.

Eretrat Beach

Eretrat Cliffs (credit)

“Tudor” style building in Eretrat.

Parc du Marquenterre, We spent a golden day in this bird sanctuary on the Somme.

Dreaming in Helsinki (A Magical Week in Beautiful Helsinki)

By Anita Mathias

I love Scandinavian summers, the evenings of late, late light, wading in or sitting around the lakes, with their characteristic red cottages on shore. Tuomiokirkko, Helsinki, the Lutheran church, a mass of domes Seurasaari island. The beauty of an island, of course, is the plenitude of beaches. The sunlight shining on the water late in the evening was little short of magical We canoed down the gulf of Finland, loved the art nouveau cottages and log cabins, letting in the light. Would love to rent one of them sometime. I love the way that time is suspended and goes dormant when you are in a canoe on the water. Zoe and Irene are in this canoe. They capsized into the Baltic Sea later that day, but swam to shore.

The Finns speak English with near-native fluency. The accents often sound American, until by the second or third sentence you hear tell-tale Scandinavian vowels.

They shop in perfect silence. We stand out not only by our colour, of skin and clothes, but by the fact that we, horrors, talk to each other in the grocery store.

I love Scandinavia in summer, and have visited Norway in 2009, Sweden in 2011, and Denmark in 2012. The Finns are warmest of the Scandinavians–but it definitely has a Scandinavian feel–a clean, decent, well-ordered, well-mannered, considerate society. When the Scandinavians die and go to heaven, or the Swiss for the matter, they will be surprised to see an improvement on their societies!

Visited Uppenski Cathedral, the Russian Orthodox Cathedral of Finland, which was ruled by the Russians for too long.

Iconostasis in the Russian Cathedral, Uppenski, which as our daughter Irene who is doing Religious Studies for her GCSE told us is a whole wall of icons.

And here are Zoe and Irene before the iconostasis. Then shopping in the outdoor market, where we had a fast good lunch– delicious fried salmon and battered calamari. We walked around Helsinki, photographing some of the Art Nouveau (Judgendstil) buildings, the airy, curved forms taking on a Germanic/Scandinavian heaviness. Nordic Giants, and decorative clock outside the Train Station

The train station was particularly fascinating, as was the Opera House and the National Art Gallery (Ateneum). Finnish National Theatre Ateneum, National Art Gallery Interior of the Ateneum

There was an exhibition of the paintings of Tove Jannson, author of the Moomins at the Ateneum. The daughter of a Finn and a Swedish woman (the prototype of MoominMamma), Jansson was a free spirit. She trained as an artist in Stockholm and Paris, and continued drawing and painting and writing for seven decades.

It was fascinating to watch her art change, from the political (anti-fascist) in the Forties, through the abstract in the fifties, to the more fantastical and beautiful. And, of course, she illustrated the Moomins herself…which helps us know what a Moomin looks like. Like a hippopotamus, apparently!

A long, interesting life of ever-evolving hard work. Tove Jannson was gay and it is not clear if being free of the stultifying role of good-frau-dom liberated her creativity. Or if she had the guts to live as a lesbian for decades because she was a free spirit anyway! Sibelius Park. A monument in his honour– 24 tons of steel tubes arranged like a large, silver Surrealist organ. Sibelius’s giant, dismembered head! Rock Church, literally hewn out of granite–Scandinavian assiduity and ingenuity Loved tiny, magical Philajasaari Island, full of rocks on which to sunbathe, tiny islands connected by bridges, covered with wildflowers, inviting beaches at every turn, views to feed the soul! I loved Helsinki Zoo, on a beautiful 22 acre island. I adore animals, and could watch them for hours. Time feels suspended as I watch them.

We saw the otters at feeding time The snow leopards had cubs, as did the lions. There were large numbers of kangaroos. Kallio Kirke, an Art Nouveau Evangelical Lutheran Church Then to Jarvenpaa, the countryside outside Helsinki, a beautiful drive through fields full of wild flowers, to Ainola, the house of Sibelius (the most famous Finn, well, after the Moomins!) He bought Ainola when he was 38 and lived in for 53 years!! Life is long.

Surrounded by rural peace and the lake, his creativity blossomed–well, until a long, paralysing two decades of perfectionism and composer’s block–when he composed symphonies, and then trashed them. The price, sometimes, of fame achieved too early.

Sibelius’ house pictured below. Sibelius’s house had typically Finnish interiors

Finland was an eccentric choice, perhaps, but our family thrives when we alternate hard work with a complete change–and Scandinavia is so beautiful in the summer, and there is a thrill in exploring a new country and a new culture. I am so glad we went!

Bois des Moutiers, Varengeville, Normandy

anita.mathias