Finlandia 4ever blog tittle image

Finlandia 4ever

How d’you do, I…

…see you’ve met my faithful Chez Nous N°21 blog.

Coucou – hope you keeping well and safe.  My furlough continues, so I have been busy holidaying at home.  A couple of social distancing picnics aside, this has meant mostly getting horridly sunburnt on my early morning runs and extra attention (treats) given to the dog.  You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks, but he’s not far off from bringing me my slippers.  My last attempt in training him to fetch footwear ended up with him mauling a pair of Moroccan babouches, but I remain optimistic.  One for the money, two for the show, right?

Anyway, we are not here to stir up past trauma.  However, if that happens to be your game, head over to my art blog to read about the seductiveness of nostalgia.  I don’t usually like to flog my other work here, but I am particularly proud about this personal essay on the attractiveness of an idealised past.  As the blog you are about to read is about my Finnishness too, you might want to start with the artsy-fartsy one touching on my formative years during the early 90’s recession.

So, Tervetuloa, and enjoy:

The regular readers might know that I was born and raised in the semi-rural South West of Finland, in an old textile town of Forssa.  Although I have been living overseas for ten years now, every once in a while my thoughts return home: to the familiar faces and places, the clatter of my native tongue and our vast forests & lakes.  Naturally, each time I visit, I try to bring back a small piece of Finland with me, whether it is food, homeware or a cracking Instagram pic.  Little bits and bobs to remind me of home.  When I first moved to Edinburgh back in 2010, I had a suitcase full of essentials and another for my childhood toy owls, with a load of Finnish glassware and textiles.  You can take a wild guess which one Ryanair charged me an oversized baggage fee for.

Our house in the middle of our street

As I’ve grown and set up a permanent home for myself, in Chez Nous N°21 – our house by the foot of the Montagne Noire, in a way, it became less important to throw my Finnishness around.  When you are renting, especially if you are renting a shoddy student pad, it can be difficult to feel truly at home where you live.  Throughout my studies, home was on speed dial whenever I used a Finlayson towel for example or put on a Marimekko shirt.  When I bought my first house with James, a whole-ass derelict Maison de Ville with an overgrown patch of a garden to match, none of that mattered.  Every spider infested crevice of the place was ours.  I would still adore my pretty Finnish crockery and prioritise Finnish brands (Fiskars, anyone), but these objects no longer served to bridge an abstract distance between where I was and what used to be home.

My mum though, known as the most cunning thrifter on Northern hemisphere, has continued to fill my life with Suomi-awesomeness and I do thank her for it.  It is the thrill of the chase she loves, hunting down the best bargains in second hand shops and on Facebook recycling groups.  Kalevala jewellery, design glass or vintage factory off cuts… if my mum can’t find it, it does not exist.  Her latest treasure: an old Schoolhouse map of Finland big enough to use as a bedspread, haggled down to 20 euros.  I mean, I know her, but that one was pretty impressive.

my mum helping to lay out interior shots for my blog

For a while now, James and I have been living in England again – our beloved home in France is ready for the big, pricey renovations, so we go where the work is.  It is not half bad: I have filled our rented cottage with houseplants that remind me of my mum and she has in turn filled it with Finnish things to remind me of her also.  Those toy owls are still with me, currently sitting on top of an ornamental fireplace with Basil Brush and a little Moomin, a crochet masterpiece made for me by James’ sister in law, who makes magic with a small hook.

Before the global pandemic, lockdown and social distancing, I was too busy to dream of my beloved land of a thousand lakes.  With plenty of time to worry, however, I find myself feeling quite homesick.  And it is not all corona-related.  Perhaps Brexit started it, but being an outsider in England is a bit weird just now.  So whenever I feel down, I go and pick one of my Arabia mugs, make myself a brew and try not to think of it.  We have all needed to get used to being comfortable in our homes lately and my way of achieving this is by cocooning myself in Finnishness, again, as well as getting plenty of cuddles from the dog and the husband.

And just like that, I feel at home.

I would like to keep exploring the idea of national identity through objects we surround ourselves with (or what your mother surrounds you with), so I have been planning a post on few of the brands casually namedropped here.  Inspired by an incident regarding an eagle-eyed little lad who outed me as a Finn based purely on my slippers, I thought that what we trendy Finnish folk fill our houses with might make interesting reading.  I have my personal preferences for sure, but some of them are formed in the womb, alongside our hatred for carpeting and low-grade insulation.

See you soon with an update,

Tiina x

NORTH STATE – The Great Northern Road Trip vol 2


Greetings from Finland. It’s been over two weeks since we arrived and I’ve got so much to tell you guys! About Rusty and how much he loves to roam my country, James and his ability to pick up our difficult language, the antics of my bonkers/brilliant family… and most of all – the continuation of our epic road trip.

camping joy

My mum had borrowed my uncle’s motorhome and on the day of our arrival, as soon as we had finished our brunch, it was time to head out, towards the North, all six of us: my mum, Vesa her partner, my younger sister Tanja in addition to the two of us and the dog. James has been to Finland quite a few times now, but had never been to the Arctic Circle and frankly, neither had I. As luck would have it, our journey was going to take us much further – deep into Lapland and the wilderness. I could hardly contain my excitement!

The plan was to cross the lake country and head towards the Eastern border. First we would see Olavinlinna castle and meet up with some friends of my ma, after which we would proceed Northbound, all the way to Savukoski some 600 kilometres further up the country. There we would stay in a traditional wooden cabin in the wilderness and slowly make our way back down South. As James was still in recovery we wanted to take it easy, stopping every once in a while to soak in the scenery, eat, and chill. It was agreed my mum and Vesa would do the driving as me and my sister held no licence and James was unable to operate a non-automatic vehicle. It took a few hours to get used to the sway of the motorhome on the byways and B-roads, but an emergency beer stabilised the matters faster than expected.

The scenery through Saimaa was so beautiful I could hardly breathe. We were bouncing on these squiggly little lanes sprawling high atop of sand dunes between a couple of hundred lakes and I had never been so optimistic about a holiday in my life. Once my mum stopped for a fag, I let Rusty out to have a run in the woods. He scurried up to the waterline and came back wet and happy. The non-drivers among us had a few more drinks as the night was drawing in – the beer was French, and we had Finnish charcuterie for tea.

Not a bad first night in a camper!

The second day we were all woken up before six when my mum started driving towards the civilisation, it was cold and she needed the loo. My breakfast came in a form of porridge at a roadside café – the rest opted for filled croissants an hour later and in a flash, we were back on the road, not stopping before Olavinlinna – an ancient fortress on water and an important military base of the Middle Ages guarding the border between Finland and Russia. James was not quite on his feet yet, but managed to have a little look of the castle walls and the surrounding park while I raided the gift shop. Unfortunately the fort itself was closed for visitors due to a private event… not that anyone besides from myself and James would have been too keen on taking the tour anyway.

kuutti statue at olavinlinna
olavinlinna castle in Finland and Saimaa lake boat

And we had a date with my mum’s friends in Kitee, a rural town where Marimekko used to sew their clothes. This family runs a small dairy farm just outside of town and offered us freshly baked rhubarb and sour cream tart, a sort of national delicacy and thick slices of oven baked pancake. We were kindly presented the usage of their summer cabin for the night, but decided to grunt on, eventually overnighting on a lovely campsite called Hyvärilä Holiday and Youth Centre with a beautiful modern Sauna and plenty of room for Rusty to roam.

red earth paint

I am not going to lie, travelling with family can be a bitch – trying to find a place to overnight was a lot more difficult this time around than anyone would have expected and tempers were running high. I quickly lost confidence in asserting my own opinion on anything after being ignored and overruled time after time, whereas James found all communication increasingly frustrating as I was too upset to translate the finer points of the squabbling that was going on. I think Tanja too was finding it all a bit much and only crawled down from her bed as we reached the campsite. After a soothing Sauna and a shower, my mum whipped us up an omelette each, accompanied by more charcuterie, crispy bacon and cherry tomatoes. Clean and fresh, belly full of good food, the quarrelling of the day was just a bad memory when we settled in our beds.

After a night of partial sleep, having had next to no sleep the night before, my mum woke me up at the crack of dawn, by giving me a ring, consequently waking up the whole camper. She was somewhere with the dog and needed me there right away. I was shattered and angry and more than a little bit cold, but she said there was something worth seeing for, waiting for me in the crisp morning dew.

early morning at the lake

So I threw on a shirt and went, not because I believed her, but to avoid another day’s bickering.

And I really do feel quite bad for being so patronising at first. What awaited me out there was the most breath-taking display, a glimpse of pure heaven that could have not waited.

I walked up to the nearby lake, right up to the waterline to meet my mum who was waiting for me with Rusty at the pier. The morning was silent, dead quiet in fact, and the sun was just beginning its trek across the pale sky. The night had been near freezing and the lake was shrouded in mist – something that happens when the water is warmer than the air. Tied onto the side of the jetty was a row-boat, brand new and decorated in carvings of acorns and oak leaves. It smelled of fresh wood, smoke and tar. The atmosphere was solemn and exquisite and full of expectation for the day to come and I will carry the mark of that early morning with me to my grave. I tried to tell her how much it meant to be there with her, but my mother simply shrugged it off. “You like taking pretty pictures and this felt like your sort of thing,” she replied.

my dog at the pier in Finland

lake and a pier in Finland

At the camper, the preparations for the day ahead were in full swing: the magic of the early dawn had evaporated with the morning mist and it was time to move ahead. I slept away my cold as the camper rolled on and did not get up until we stopped to pick up sustenance from a passing supermarket ahead of making the final trek for the cabin in Savukoski. The closer we got to the given address of this summer house, the smaller the roads grew, eventually reducing to a dirt track with tufts of grass between two tire marks. You know you are fully and utterly in the wilderness when the power lines terminate.

We had passed that point some time ago now.

It was late afternoon when the camper jerked to a halt and we all climbed out stretching our limbs, Rusty first and James last on his poorly leg and crutches. We were in a clearing surrounded by thick forest, by a slow moving river. It was trying to rain and there were ants absolutely everywhere. And not just any ants, those big biting bastards that aggressively climbed up your legs as soon as you dared to stand still for a split second. There was no running water to speak of, what you needed to wash yourself had to be carried up a steep set of steps from the river below, no electricity and an outhouse to do your business in.

steep steps leading up to a summer cabin


With the exception of Vesa who, despite of looking like a true man of the woods, prefers the comforts of a town or a city, we all loved it unconditionally.

We merrily set out to carry water for the Sauna and lit fires around the house to banish the cold and the damp. Somewhere along the way my mum managed to murder an ant queen by lighting up the barbecue, and the angry ant minions pretty much confined us to the cabin for the rest of the evening. Not that anyone minded – by now the summerhouse was lovely and warm. Rusty had found himself an old ball and looked the happiest I have ever seen him, roaming free in the nearby woods and rolling in shrubs of blueberry and lingonberry.

As we slept, the temperature dropped below freezing. I woke up shivering cold just as it started to rain. James and I had opted for staying in the camper that might have been somewhat colder than the cabin, but at least we were finally alone. It was the morning of my 28th birthday.

Later, he stayed behind making puzzles when I took Tanja out canoeing. The river was cold, shallow and the water calm, allowing us to sit back and take in the glory of the wilderness. With that I mean… talk sisterly shit and drink beer. We had tried leaving Rusty behind in the cabin, but he must have slipped out of the door and followed us back to the river, swimming to a nearby island and crying out after us. We paddled over and the silly hound blatantly refused to get in the canoe, cutting the trip a bit short, but perhaps for the better as the rain was picking up again.

That night we ate spaghetti with basil and home-grown tomatoes that had travelled with us from France. My mum was heating up the Sauna while James had moved on to another puzzle, now with the picture of my childhood hero, an ice hockey player called Teemu Selänne, when I headed off to do a bit of running. It seemed like the perfect birthday treat, a bit of alone time, come hell or high water.  I managed to get lost in the very limited selection of paths out of the forest before making it out on to the open road. Feeling like an idiot for having to return to the cabin twice for instructions, I was running a lot faster than my usual pace, resulting in a new record time. Also, this was the first time I finished a 5km run without passing another living soul.

Once I returned back to the cottage I was met with the rest of the gang who, apart from James enjoying a glass of Henry Weston’s finest, was clutching a full pint of rose wine. I too drew myself some cider and took to the Sauna. This one had a traditional wood burning stove with a small boiler sitting atop its stones. In a modern Sauna you tend to have a shower at hand, but here you got your washing water by mixing the near boiling water heated up on the stove with the river cold stuff. Welcome to Finland – the non-tourist edition! As James was unable to descend the steep steps down to the river, Tanja joined me for a swim, but in the end I was the only one to make the full dip. The water was so cold it made my lungs tighten and the extremities of our bodies tingle and burn. Unusually, the river was deep at the shore side only, becoming shallower towards the middle and allowing you to walk the last steps to a small sandy verge sticking out from the water. I was completely naked, besides a pair of ill-fitting swimming slippers, in the cool evening breeze. If given a choice there and then, I would have happily stayed under those stars, on that sandy isle bank in the middle of nowhere until the rest of eternity.

I returned to the sauna out of breath, cold skin steaming in the hot air. We sat there, James and I, in the humid heat, surrounded by flickering candles and thought of ourselves very lucky.

Morning started slowly. It was hardly surprising as few members of our wee holiday party had a bit too much to drink and nobody seemed too keen on leaving. Rusty had loved it there, roaming the wilderness like he was born of it and claiming the forest as his own. But there was no other way around it: Tanja needed to be back in the city and my mum was determined to get her as close to home as possible. She took on the cleaning of the cabin as the rest of us awkwardly packed up and shuffled our feet, trying to stay out of her way and avoiding the biting ants.

Not a particularly pleasant end to an otherwise relaxing getaway, I thought.

James and I were under the impression we were to take the longer but faster route on the motorway heading down south, but somehow ended up bouncing down dirt tracks regardless, blindly and unyieldingly following the navigation app. I really could not see the sense behind this mindless rush to get to South just to get one person home-ish, passing monuments, lovely old villages and sights without a thought to spare. We hardly stopped to wee and had our tea at a traffic stop somewhere just on the Southern side of the Arctic Circle. Looked like my mum was determined to get to Toijala even if it killed her.

I was feeling down and disappointed, James confused and tired. In fact, we were all tired, especially the drivers Vesa and mum. We arrived in our destination close to three o’clock at night and had a short sleep before joining my uncle’s family for breakfast. They invited us for a barbecue including home-smoked salmon and a Sauna, after which we slept in the camper for another night before heading back to Forssa the next day. I cannot stress how lovely it was to relax with my extended family after the gruelling drive. My poor mum was barely able to see having stared at the road non-stop for over 14 hours and clearly needed that day off.

And frankly, without a little pause spent enjoying each other’s company again after all that mindless rushing, we probably would not be in speaking terms. But such is holidaymaking with family, I guess.

We saw so much of the country I love, almost too much for a short five day trip, but I am already yearning to get back on the road. Although, this time just the three of us: James, Rusty and I. Not that I hated going on an adventure with my mum and the gang either – it’s just that it has made me realise we have very different priorities when it comes to holidaymaking. I would have wanted to see more of the towns we drove through, the museums, galleries, parks and nature and not spend as much time on the road. At times it felt almost cruel to pass something interesting and not stop at least for a tiny peek. I know my mother was only trying to show us as much of the country as she could squeeze into a few short days and I really appreciate that. We all came back exhausted, but made some lovely memories along the way.

fields of gold

The million dollar question remains: would I go and hop on a camper with my mum and hit the road again? The answer is a sincere maybe – but only if we were to plan it a bit better, set more boundaries and discuss more about our expectations for the holiday. I appreciate my own space and my own company perhaps a bit more than the average person and that can make me a wee bit difficult to deal with sometimes. You do not need to have identical needs and likes to travel together, but ideally you are aware each individual’s expectations before heading head first into the unknown. I always knew there was going to be conflict when you shove five people into one tiny motorhome. There were no hard feelings at the end of our journey, but we all walked away needing a bit of alone time for sure.

Except the dog.

He needs constant fuss just like always. More is more.

But what I am trying to say is, do not let the fear of conflict stop you from experiencing new things. What’s the fun in a predictably comfortable existence? Think of Rusty who found and conquered a new forest, or the mist over a lake stretching for miles and miles. Next summer my ma is coming over to spend some time in France and I am going to have to improve my hosting game quite a bit to award her with the same sense of wonder this weird and fantastic road trip evoked in me.

Untill next time my lovelies – safe travels!

North State - The Great Northern Road Trip vol 1

NORTH STATE – The Great Northern Road Trip vol 1


And greetings from Finland – my homeland.  This one is going to be the short but sweet story of our most recent road trip and spoiler alert: we made it in one piece.

route from Mazamet, France to Forssa, Finland

But oh boy was it a journey!

And not the first time we grunted it either – James has driven us to Finland once before.  That time, almost two years ago now, we took the longer route via Berlin, Olsztyn in Poland and the Baltic Countries, arriving in Helsinki two weeks before getting married near my old hometown on the New Year’s Eve.  That one set up a pretty high standard for all road trips to come!

The Scandinavian way is notably shorter, however, and as we are travelling with our dog Rusty, opting for the easier distance was a no-brainer.  He has never been to Finland before and we really wanted to take our little man on a holiday with us, even if it meant a gruelling drive across Europe.

I do not drive at all so it was up to James to get us to Finland safely.  Easier said than done, really, especially as he had broken his leg rather badly just seven weeks ago.  My dearest hubby did a smashing job though, sorting us out with an automatic vehicle, an ancient S-class Mercedes that turned out to be a fantastically comfortable ride despite of some operational issues, and by buying the pupper a sturdy travel harness.  Our Rusty is the most placid dog to ever travel in a car and would hardly need a harness to strap him down, but as they say… safety first!

sunrise in denmark

We took short brakes by the motorway to get some sleep and a spot of fodder here and there preferring to get to Finland as fast as possible.  In just a short weekend James had driven over two thousand kilometres and we arrived to the ferry port of Stockholm with time to spare.  Rusty had loved nothing more than snuggling up between us every night, even stealing my seat completely at one point, but I and James were pretty keen on getting some z’s on the proper beds on the boat.  Unfortunately, it was not going to be all smooth sailing…

When we arrived in out cabin on the boat taking us from Stockholm to Turku overnight, James’ leg was not looking good at all.  The on-board medics recommended an urgent visit to the nearest emergency room as soon as the ship had docked in the morning as he was clearly in a need of urgent care.  Although they let us drove our car out of the ferry ourselves, things were starting to feel pretty hairy.  To sum it all up, we were both scared the long drive had put James’ recovery in serious jeopardy.

Fortunately, there is a happy ending – the medical personnel in Turku hospital was fantastic in diagnosing and treating my most precious guy, and able to send us on our way within four hours from arrival.

rusty in his travelling harness

And this is where the first part of our road trip ends, in Forssa, at the breakfast table of my Mother who was anxious to receive us and had cooked for an army as usual.  Rusty is over the moon to be in Finland too, he loves his forests and lakes and there are plenty of both here.  Where he is enjoying running around like a headless chicken, surrounded by wilderness and its new smells, James and I are looking forward to a gentle, relaxing holiday – preferably without any further complications!

Finnish landscape

James always says Finland is like real life Center Parcs: everybody lives in a little wooden cottage in the forest and drinks are dirt expensive.  As a Finn, I can concur.  We have this whole theme park of a country to explore and I can’t wait to get started!

Until next time, au revoir!