Liar, liar, pants on fire

Everything I have said in my previous post of a "low key christmas" and about "continuing my tradition of buying nothing", condemning consumerism to the lower levels of hell, stating that the things you own end up owning you, forget it. Today I confronted the masses at Stockman and bought a christmas present. Actually, to be totally honest, I even bought two. I disregarder all my moral teachings of the last two months and did what everyone else does: stressed and consumed.

This is what my "low key" christmas looks like. About 7000 handbags, plastic bags, wine bags
and every other sort of bag you can imagine was transported to fulfill this low key christmas. Shame on me.

So I really just wanted to let you all know I am a liar and a phony. I do not practice what I preach, so for now I'm done preaching. With this, against all odds, I want to wish you a merry christmas (and I'm not even being ironic this time!) I'll be leaving shortly to pick up my sister from the airport and even though I confess to being a liar, there is one thing I did not lie about. I will spend this christmas with people I love, of which my sister is naturally one. I also want to thank everyone that has commented, liked and disliked my blog this year. Thank you to you all!

Now only one thing is left, I want to share with you one last thing. I want to share with you a poem.

Dear Santa, this Christmas my list is quite small.

In fact, I need practically nothing at all.

My list is so short and so easy to read

because there's just one thing I actually need.

A reindeer for Christmas is all I require;

a reindeer, of course, who's an excellent flier.

I really don't care if it's Dasher or Dancer.

I'm okay with Cupid or Comet or Prancer.

Please don't think I'm greedy; I only want one.

You won't even miss him, and I'll have so much fun.

I promise I'll feed him and treat him just right,

and take him out flying around every night.

You see, I'm not selfish. So, for my surprise

this Christmas, please bring me a reindeer that flies.

But if my request is a bit much for you,

I guess that an iPod will just have to do

With these words, remember you family, remember your friends and even the people who are neither. For tis is the season to be jolly, fa la la la la, la la la, laaaa!

Merry Fucking Christmas bitches!

So Christmas is in a couple of weeks. Hur-facking-ray. You may not be surprised to learn that I'm not really what you would call a Christmas person. Christmas songs in November, oh just kill me now. Cleaning the house for Christmas, because you can't clean the house in March? Buying presents for more than you can ever afford, really?

Have a holly jolly Christmas, It's the best time of the year

Oh shut up Michael Bublé, changing the CD to Wu-Tang Clan. Because I'm a badass. Here's a Christmas song for ya with some a-tude, happy B-day Jesus!

It's not really that I don't like Christmas, I actually like the idea of sitting down to spend time with your loved ones, forgetting all about work (if you have the luxury of not working on Christmas, I have worked oh so many times) and watching candles flicker in the dark. I don't mind baking gingerbread and eating the dough 'til my stomach hurts. I don't mind decorating the Christmas tree (even though I'm allergic too them and we've only had plastic trees for the last many years). So what is it about Christmas that I so despise?

Christmas Russia style. I spent Christmas with these East European badasses in the city that never sleeps.
Best. Christmas. Ever. (PS. these dudes were super nice even though they might look like they be packing a Glock 38)

Before I answer this gut-wrenching question, let me tell you what I did today. I was at my apartment that is currently a mess of concrete floors, broken walls, lacking everything that makes a place liveable. We were working on making it closer to liveable with my paps and suddenly it came to me: it doesn't matter what the inside looks like, what really matters is what floor tiles I choose, what extravagant wallpaper I put up, what expensive lamps I buy. The only thing that matters is the outside, the shell, what is visible to the eye.

I'm proud of the interior design in my apartment, especially of the expensive lamp.
The colors I also think are very nice, concrete grey is the new black, I hear.

If you took the time to read my last post you might wonder how I can, on the one hand, write that longer lashes don't matter when you are living on a waste dump and, on the other hand, write that the only thing that matters is how it looks on the outside. Because that is the truth, whether I like it or not. And here you have the answer to the earlier question. Why do I loath Christmas? People. People is the reason I don'l like Christmas. Or more accurately, what people do.

People want to show off their best sides. This is a fact. They only let you see what they want you to see. The same goes for apartments and Christmas. We want to make it look good. Buying a lot of presents tells others that you have the money to do it. Hence, you are successful (or you might also just be a really nice person that is very giving, mostly I would say it's a combination of the two). The more you buy, the better. And the stores are happy as ever, Holly Jolly Christmas, buy all of our shit! Perhaps one reason we like reality TV so much is because we then see the true colors of people. It's impossible to keep up a facade 24/7.

"My nipples won't stay in my shirt" and "my vagina's killing me" says Snooki from Jersey Shore who's probably a really smart person in real life.

Look at these hoes and whatever  the term is for man-hoes. I am certain these are all wonderful and intelligent
people that I can learn to respect and look up to. I would also love for all kids to watch this show, it probably
teaches a lot about a lot of stuff that is, like, really super important.

Look at these pros.

Look at these clothes.

Look at this dough.

Look at this go, looking evil.

Look at me then look at these hoes.

These bitches ain't fucking with me. Killa!

Thank you Santigold for these beautiful words! As Aretha would put it, R E S P E C T. But back to my question, why I sneer at Christmas. I told you it was people, but I think it's more society than people. Personally I feel society has forgotten what Christmas is really about. See, it's not about the presents and the food and gingerbread (okay, it's a little bit about the food and the gingerbread), it's about spending time with the people you love. It's about taking time out of your busy life to sit down and do nothing. It's about remembering to forget stress, not stressing about what you've forgotten.

This pic is from last Christmas. My eyes are a little red from all the Christmas beer I drank. Sorry 'bout that.

I know kids love presents, I'm not saying you can't buy presents. This is just a reminder to You, yeah I'm looking at You, to take a chill pill. Last year I gave my family members letters, nothing else. Well okay, I also gave my sister a glove I had accidentally stole from her, but that's IT. I promise. So this Christmas, instead of stressing about food, cleaning and presents with red bows, focus on giving the best gift you can ever give: time. Give time to your friends, give time to your family and, most importantly, give time to yourself. Don't let society make you who you are, make society what you are. Giving is never wrong, but giving isn't always about buying the most expensive present, giving can be so many things. This year I'm continuing my new tradition of giving nothing. I'm gonna spend time with family, I'm gonna eat lots of chocolate and gingerbread, I'm not making one single red bow, using no wrapping paper and instead of Michael Bublé, I'll be singing Merry Fucking Christmas by Mr Garrison.

Yet again, hoping I haven't depressed you to the brink of X-mas suicide, Christmas is really not all bad. Look, even I get excited about big red balls. But then again, who wouldn't?

Last but not least, Merry Fucking Christmas bitches! Red Balls over and out.

The things you own end up owning you

A few days ago I saw a talk show, hosted by the almighty Sarasvuo (a well known Finnish businessman), presenting Arman Alizad as one of the guests. Arman told the audience about his experiences in Cambodia, a touching story with videoclips from his show were he travels and puts himself in uncomfortable surroundings. This got me thinking about my own time in Cambodia and I realised I have yet to tell you about my experiences. Experiences that changed my life.

Cambodia offers visitors plenty of beauty, one example is Ankor Wat, the largest religious monument in the world

Before I continue my story, I would like you, dearest reader, to make yourself a cup of tea and strip yourself of all prejudice, relieve yourself of all stress. This post is not aimed to make anyone feel sad or bad, but simply an honest attempt to share a time in my life that touched and shaped me in a way no other experience ever have, and probably ever will. It is a careful attempt of lessons learned, so sit down and enjoy the ride.

When I turned 20, I suddenly realized this world makes no sense. What is the meaning of life and what good does my existence do? With all the wisdom of a 20-year old, I decided that I was to do something. Anything. My goal was to help someone at some point with something. If I could do that, my life would not have been in vain. Pretty deep for a 20-year old, I admit, but then again the world looks different at 20 then it does at 27. I found an organisation online called The Centre for Children's Happiness. It is a Cambodian orphanage run by a Cambodian man, who himself was an orphan. Or is. I guess that is something you can never grow out of. So I decided this was the place I was going to go to bring some meaning back in my life.

The purest kind of joy

This orphanage takes in children mostly from a waste dump in Phnom Penh called Steung Meanchey. Around 2000 people live at this waste dump, collecting garbage that they sell to make just enough money to make it through the day. Or not. They go through the burning rubbish to find a plastic bottle or peace of aluminium to sell off. Most of the children at the orphanage come from this godforsaken place. I visited the waste dump a few times my self. I don't think I need to further explain the smell of burning rubbish, air so thick with smoke it hurts both lungs and eyes, children literally walking in shit, barefoot. You all get the picture of hell on earth, you all have an imagination after all.

Lesson # 1
Poverty is a concept that can vary depending on the surroundings. Selling garbage on a waste dump is poverty. Living of social services can also be poverty, but the difference is quite striking. 

Now if history is not your thing, let me recap the history of Cambodia for you. It starts with the Khmer Empire at around 800 AD and continues with king this and emperor that. I don't really much care for this part. In the mid-19th century, it became a protectorate by the French and gained independence in 1953. However, the interesting, and heartbreaking story, starts in 1975, when the Khmer Rouge (the Red Khmers) with Pol Pot as their leader, took Phnom Penh. Basically the idea was to torture and kill all educated people. Robert Kaplan, a well known American journalist said "eyeglasses were as deadly as the yellow star" as they were seen as a sign of intelligence.

Skulls organised by gender and age at the Killing Fields. These were real people.
Real people murdered by the Khmer Rouge

It is estimated that roughly two million were killed during the genocide. That means the Khmer Rouge killed around a quarter of the population. Two million of their own. For wearing glasses. The era gave rise to the term Killing Fields, or mass graves. Just outside Phnom Penh you can find one of these mass graves turned in to a memorial. Walking around the now lush field, you can still see peaces of bones and clothing sticking out of the ground.

Lesson # 2
There is more cruelty in this world then I could ever imagine. Doctors, teachers, engineers, lawyers. All dead and buried. I have lived through no war, no genocide, no tragedy. I have lived a sheltered life and know nothing about such tragedies.

So far we have genocide, waste dumps, orphans and extreme poverty. If you don't feel depressed enough, do not despair, there is more to come. Below you can enjoy part of an episode of Madventures, a Finnish travel show produced by Riku Rantala and Tunna Milonoff.

The video gets interesting at around 2.20, when the boys find themselves at Steung Menchei, aka godforsaken place. In case you feel you don't have time in your busy life to look at this video (no, not trying to guilt trip you at all), I'll write down one comment from this video.

- Who the fuck has the nerve to say that the rich western countries could not, and should not, help more? Do something about this already!

In case some of you didn't catch that, I'll repeat it

Who the fuck has the nerve to say 

that the rich western countries 

could not, and should not, help more? 

Do something about this already!

Now set down your warm cup of chamomile tea and take ten seconds to think about a good explanation, just one good explanation.

One. Two. Three. Four. Oh fuck it. Did you think of one? No? You know why? Because there is none.

We live in a society where 38 percent longer lashes and two times the softer skin is the bed time story. A society that praises a big salary and encourages us to buy more useless shit we don't need from stores that should never exist in the first place. Pardon my language, but what the fuck? Do you really think 38 percent longer lashes will help the children walking barefoot through burning shit? If you can afford a TV, if you can afford a car, if you can afford a roof over your head, please explain how you cannot afford to help?

Still enjoying that nice cup of chamomile tea?

Lesson # 3
Helping others is not a matter of resources. It is a matter of time and care.

Now let me ask you, have you ever gotten a birthday present? I have gotten many. I can even remember a few of them. Especially this red bike I got once. It was a really nice bike. I learned a lot of things at the Cambodian orphanage. One thing I learned, from a twelve year old, was that she had never gotten a birthday present. She cried when she got a watch for her twelfth birthday. Another thing I learned was that a boy had hiked from the countryside with his baby brother to live at the waste dump after their parents died. He was eight when that happened.

Would you rather drive a BMW than that old Toyota? Still lacking that iPad?

Let's forget about the godforsaken place for a while and travel back to circa 1490. All of you know the Vitruvian Man, a drawing created by Leonardo da Vinci. It depicts a male figure and is based on the correlations of ideal human proportions described by the ancient Roman architect Vitruvius. The ideal body, supposedly, should be eight heads high. Imagine this. Already the ancient Romans knew what the ideal body should look like, eight heads high. A body so ideal, every inch is perfect. Every stray of hear, every muscle and every vain. All perfect. Now turn on your TV, or actually don't, but imagine the commercial you see when you do turn it on. Fast cars, posh clothes, dyed hair, wrinkle free faces and cream for the ones that are wrinkled. You can buy beauty, you can buy success, you can even buy bigger tits. Anything your heart desires, you can buy.

Up to a 65 % lift. Don't just apply, style your lashes!

It is better to be beautiful than to be good. But ... it is better to be good than to be ugly.
- Oscar Wilde

Now lets go back to Cambodia. Erase the big tits and imagine these black haired darlings, playing games with old shoes and sticks. One girl, Srey Leah her name was, she hardly knew any English, despite my brave efforts to teach her. Everyday she would come up to me and ask the same question with her jentle girly voice: Cecilaia, teach English today? And every day I would answer her: yes, teach English today. One day she came up to me with something in her hands. It was a peace of paper. But it was not any peace of paper. It was a beatiful peace of origami paper that this young orphan, that owned hardly anything, gave me. I almost fell to small peaces of origami paper right there and then. My throguht choked, my eyes filled with tears. She then ran off, picked up a shoe and started playing the same old game the children played every day. I still have this peace of paper. I've held on to it for over seven years, cherishing the memory it resembles to remind me of what really matters in life.

The things you own end up owning you.

Wise words. You could think these words were said by a very wise man or woman. It is in fact a movie character, Tyler Durden, but I guess you already knew that, smart as you are.

Lesson # 4
Stuff is useless. Beauty fades, dumb is forever.

May I remind you, this post is not intended to make anyone feel sad or bad. Before I depress the living bejesus out of you, let me tell you there is hope. There is a glimmer of goodness left in this world.

The thing about happiness, that mothers, teachers and old wise men will tell you, is that it cannot be bought. Much like love, friendship and other useless crap we are taught do not matter if you have 38 percent longer lashes, happiness too is not tangible. It does not come in pink wrapping and cannot be bought by the pound. Also, it is not dependent on tangible things. See the kids in the above picture? I guess they are hard to miss, I made the picture extra large. Srey Mom, the girl in the red shirt, had only just arrived at the orphanage when I came to Cambodia. She had no parents, no siblings, she owned nothing and she did not have 38 percent longer lashes. What se did have is joy. Love. Happiness. Friendship. Dreams. Hope.

So lets wrap it up. Cambodia, orphanage, children playing with old shoes, fast cars and bigger tits. What does this all mean? The thing that happened to me in Cambodia, as I resently told someone, was that I came back a happier person. Why? Because my happiness is not measured in materia. I am not happier or less happy if I can buy this or that, not to say buying shit sometimes feels really good. The thing is, once you are stripped of everything, once you have lost the ideal body and your lashes are no longer 38 percent longer, once you stop letting your job or your chateaus and chandeliers define you, all we have left is what is in our hearts.

Strip yourself of prejudice, releaf yourself of stress. Let go of the things that never really mattered anyway. That one peace of origami paper defines me. It has defined me since that day and will keep on defining me till the day I draw my last breath. I will continue to cherish it for all that it is and all it is not. My lashes are not 38 percent longer, but my happiness and love are 100 percent bigger, stronger and faster. How 'bout that sales pitch?

Lesson # 5
The things you own end up owning you. Don't let them.

First Day of School

Today is the first day of school. I know this to be a fact. First, I noticed there were a lot of cars outside my home. Cars filled with excited parents dropping of their excited kids. This is the first day of school. I then noticed the buses had gotten back to their usual schedule. Gone was the ten minute waiting time and back were the crowded buses filled with kids with backpacks. Today is the first day of school. Take it this wouldn't had been enough to convince me, I needed only to open Facebook to see that today truly is the first day of school. There they were, all smiling and looking happy. Kid after kid after kid. Endless amount of photos, preferably edited on Instagram to give it some edge, of kids with backpacks on their way to school. Today is the first day of school.

Wait, what is today again?

For quite some time, I've been wondering about this phenomenon. Some young parents are posting endless amounts of pictures of their babies. Not to say (some) of these kids aren't cute, but how would you react if your baby pictures were online? Or perhaps that picture of you when you were twelve, with that hideous shirt your mum made you were. And those braces. God, I wish I could erase the picture from my head, now I have to erase it from Facebook too? Needless to say, it is everyone's choice to put online about themselves what they please, but your kids? Are you sure you want to document Everything for Everyone to see? I have also noticed that sometimes one picture is not enough. Instead, you do a collage of many pictures. How cute.

Because I Didn't Get It The First Time.

This is me. Can you see me? Can you see all these pictures of me? Do you get it? It's me!

Now before everyone goes all crazy on me and starts calling me a child hater, let me clarify that the same thing applies for cats and dogs and other animals you feel the acute need to post pictures of. There. I've said it. So now you can call me a child AND an animal hater. Whoopyfuckingdoo.

Now I can hear your rage all the way through the megabytes of the Internet, let me assure you. So before you call the cops on me, let me play your part for a while. Because frankly, I'm just a girl with no kids and no pets. My life must be pretty empty, which is why I love making fun of all the people that actually have a relationship. Or kids. Or pets. Or all of the previous. Sure, I can understand this argument. My life is filled with nights spent alone in bed, valentines days without love and new years without kisses. I'm alone.

Alone

It is rather interesting, if you think about it, the word single. What does the word really tell you? According to wikipedia (which I might add is the only true form of knowledge these days), single means "one in number". I agree, I am one in number. It also means "not married". Right you are wikipedia. I am not married. Single also means "not divided in parts". Well, this is a given. I am not divided in parts and would think anyone who is, has bigger problems then being single. Single is also "a type of release, typically a song recording of fewer tracks than an LP record or an album". For example, Beyonce has a single called Single Ladies (put a ring on it). I like the lyrics of this single:

Cause if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it

If you liked it then you should've put a ring on it

Don't be mad once you see that he want it

If you liked it then you should've put a ring on it

Wuh uh oh uh uh oh oh uh oh uh uh oh

Wuh uh oh uh uh oh oh uh oh uh uh oh

Deep.

One of my favourite expressions in Finnish is jäädä yksin. This translates into being left alone (not in a positive way). It works well in English too. People are left, or dumped. That's even better. Dumped. Once you've been Dumped, you are single. You are left alone.

Alone.

Wikipedia, however, doesn't agree with us there. Wikipedia doesn't think single means alone. So why do we? I find it funny that the normal way to live a life is to find a person to share it with, get married, have kids and then post it all on Facebook. Happily ever after (because your relationship status does say married, after all). Being single, or not married (as if you need to be married to not be single), seems to be some kind of failure. Some kind of proof that you are not good enough. Some kind of proof that you are not wanted. You are single, therefore you are alone. A life filled with nights spent alone in bed, valentines days without love and new years without kisses.

In 2011 it became official, Mark Zuckerberg changed his relationship status to "In a Relationship". <3

I have never understood this equation. Regardless of the relationship I've been in, I must say I've never felt so blessed with the people around me as during this single part of my life. (notice the use of the word single, referring to a particular time in my life, not to my relationship status) We are raised to think the right path is that of kids and marriage. Now we are also expected to "make it official". No baby is born without a status update, no marriage ceremony carried out without a relationships status, no new puppy without a photo. One thing is lacking, though. Were are the pictures of a bleeding heart, the posts of disappointment, the true emotions that everyone deals with, but no one wants to fucking talk about?

I say, to hell with kids and marriage, to hell with cute posts of babies and puppies. Live your life the way you please, not the way you should. And not the way that looks good on Facebook.

I am single.
I am not married.
I am one in number.
But I am not alone.

And FYI, before you actually take everything I write seriously, I don't hate cats. I don't hate dogs. I don't hate kids. I don't hate relationships. I love all of these things. I just hate people posting about them.

It's ok to not be ok

WARNING! Blogpost not recommended for anyone who isn't equipped to deal with emotional shit. Carry on at own risk, writer not responsible for consequences.



"How are you?" they ask. "Fine" I answer. Why? Because that's what we're taught to answer. You don't ask because you actually care how the other person is doing, you ask because it's polite. And I guess the polite thing to answer is "fine". Somehow society has trained us into thinking it's not ok to not be ok. It has somehow become shameful to be sad, as if sadness is the mark of failure.

Fuck that. I say it's quite the opposite.

I have lived and learned and loved to the fullest all of my 26 years. It has not always been easy, many tears I have cried, many times my heart has been broken, many people I have lost. But also many laughs I have laughed, many people I have met, many hearts I have cherished.


It's ok not to be ok.


How are you, Cecilia?

I'm sad.
I'm scared.
I'm lonely.
I'm anxious.


I'm sad because I'm moving away from my hometown. I'm scared because I'm moving to a new city. I'm lonely because I'm leaving behind so many good friends and anxious because I don't know if I'll find new ones. Does that make me unhappy? Does that mean I'm living in despair? No.

I love to love. I love to feel. I love to live. Every feeling I feel, every person I meet, every tear that I cry is part of my life and makes me who I am. Without all these elements, my life would be a boring blend of days. Today I feel sad. So I'll remember this day as the day I felt sad. And scared. And lonely. And anxious. I'll remember this day as the day I felt all of these things, but still managed to feel happy.

"You mus live in the present,

launch yourself on every wave,

find your eternity in each moment.

Fools stand on their island of opportunities

and look toward another land.

There is no other land;

there is no other life

but this."

                                                                                                      - Henry David Thoreau

You may wonder why I'm writing this post. I'm writing it, not because I'm expecting you to read it, but because I have no time to waste. Because I want to express my gratefulness towards life, even when life is not complete. Because relationships are the very essence of life, even when they hurt. Because I love so many people, even if I have not remembered to tell them so. There is no other life but this. Forget about all things that you can live without, all the things you can live with, and remember only the things you can't live without. Cry if you need to, laugh if you wish to, love when you have the chance to, forgive even when you don't want to.

And the next time you ask someone how they are doing, don't do it to be polite. Do it because you care. 

And the next time someone asks you how you are doing, don't answer to be polite, but say how you feel.

Back to Baltics

After I came back to Finland from my New York-India-Malaysia-Singapore trip, it was back to reality. And what is reality? At that time, reality was working in a bank, working in a bar and working on my thesis. Reality was busy. Reality was also the arrival of summer in Finland. This meant four weeks of summer vacation. What do you reckon I did with these four weeks? Yes, correct, I went traveling! The plan was to hit the Baltic countries for about a week and then carry on through Poland and Germany. So off we went.

Bags packed, ready to hit the road!

We hitched a ride with my dad and his wife Anu from my tiny hometown of Vaasa to the somewhat bigger capital of Finland, Helsinki. Before we continued our trip, we had one stop to make in Helsinki. A Bruce Springsteen concert. So Matt, my travel buddy for the following weeks, me and my daddy made our way to the Olympic stadion in Helsinki where we awaited the arrival of The Boss. And oh did he play. And play. And play. The concert went on for 4 hours! Jeez... Whatever, we had fun drinking red wine out of the bottle and secretly smoking cigars when security wasn't looking.

Me and my Daddy! Love you dad! <3

On with the show, enough of Helsinki and Back to Baltics. The first stop was Tallinn, the capital of Estonia. I've been to Tallinn before. The first time around I was about 12 years old. I remember laughing at a dubbed version of "The Bold and the Beautiful". See, the Estonian language sounds somewhat like Finnish, in fact, it sounds like a Finnish person who's had a bit too much to drink. I also remember the old town of Tallinn as a quite busy but pretty place. I went to Tallinn a second time a couple of years ago, just before christmas. It was a lot busier then I remembered. The third time, it was even busier.

But first things first. We took the ferry from Helsinki across to Tallinn. It's not a long ride, but if you ever take it, be ware. Tallinn, with its cheap alcohol and close proximity to Helsinki, is know to many Finns as a place to get drunk and get drinks. People buy truckloads of alcohol from Tallinn for weddings, parties or for any given Saturday night. So a typical ferry to or fro Tallinn will most probably be full of drunk Finns. Fabulous. This ferry, however, was surprisingly clean and sober, perhaps because it left at 2 pm.

The sober ferry

After we arrived in Tallinn, we made the short walk from the ferry in to Tallinns old town. It was August, which means high season in Tallinn. The place was crawling of tourists and so we had minor difficulties in finding a room. After some walking back and forth, we settled for a dorm at an Aussie owned party hostel. We were lucky, because it was Wednesday. Wizard Wednesday! The goal was to drink enough beer to make a staff of empty beer cans longer than your own body. If you succeeded in this difficult task, you became a wizard. Unfortunately, we failed. This guy, however, succeeded with grace!

It's the Wednesday Wizard!

The night turned out to be a hard one, moving from one bar to the other and making friends with other Aussie party hostel guests.

Would you like one? Or two? Or seventeen?

As a result, we were thoroughly hungover the next day. However, we managed to visit one of my absolute favorite places in Tallinn: a restaurant called Kompressor serving pancakes. Only pancakes! The perfect hangover breakfast/lunch. The rest of the day was pissed away by strolling around town, however, managing a really nice birthday dinner. Happy birthday Matt!

So I like pancakes, who doesn't?

We stayed two nights in Tallinn. It's a nice town, but as I'd been there two times prior to this trip, it wasn't anything new, moving on. We took a bus from Tallinn to Riga, the capital of Latvia. During our quest to become Wizards, a Dutch guy told os with warmth in his voice of the women of Riga. What is so utterly special about the women of Riga? Is there something wrong with the women of, let's say Vaasa? It didn't, however, take long to realise what was special about the women in Riga. Eastern Europe, that's whats special about them. Meaning? Short skirts, tiny shirts and stilettos. That's the women of Riga.

Oh, the women of Riga!

There is, however, more to Riga then short skirts and high heels. For example, driving in to Riga, the depressing signs of Soviet become evident in the form of concrete boxes, trying their best to look like apartment buildings. For you who don't know the history of Latvia, let me enlighten you a bit on the recent history, as the old historian I am. In 1944 there was heavy fighting in Latvia between German and Soviet troops, ending in German defeat. Part of Latvia, once more, was under Soviet control and after the German surrender it became evident that Soviet forces were there to stay. Latvia was, as the Beatles would have put it, Back in the U.S.S.R. In 1989, approximately two million people joined hands to form a human chain spanning over 600 kilometers across the Baltic states, at that point republics of the Soviet Union, to draw attention globally to their desire for independence. It illustrated solidarity among the three nations and has been described as "emotionally captivating" and a "visually stunning scene". Within six months after, what was named the Baltic Way (also called the Chain of Freedom), Lithuania was the first to declare independence, Latvia following in August 1991.

"Chain of Freedom"

Very impressive. Enough history, back to present. As any other European capital, also Riga has an old town. I suppose as in any other European capital, this is where you will want to stay. And so we did. After a slight miscalculation on exchange rates, we thought we were Rich in Riga, and so got a private room and got ourselves a mighty Latvian dinner of cabbage, cabbage, potatoes and cabbage. Delicious. After discovering we weren't Rich in Riga after all, we moped around what became Rainy Riga. Thankfully we found a band of guys dressed up like old ladies singing and dancing on a square to cheer us up. Appropriately, they were performing Rihanna's Umbrella. Oh the irony.

Under my umbrella,
ella ella eh eh eh...

Riga was not all bad, though. The next day the sun swopped places with the rain and we decided to go explore. First stop, Riga Central Market. I have a secret love for markets. Let me explain why. Regardless of the country you are in, markets are always filled with people selling weird shit you won't find anywhere else. There you find the local foods, drinks and people mixing and mingling. When I was at at a market in Bangalore, the stall keeper gave me a discount because I had come all the way from Finland to buy, whatever I was buying, from his stall. Very cool! At the market in Riga we tried our first (and last) Kvass. It is a fermented beverage that is made from black or regular rye bread. Interestingly, Wikipedia cites that Kvass is "classified as a non-alcoholic drink by Russian standards". By Russian standards, excuse me, but is that supposed to calm me in some way? It sounds to me more like a warning... Well, non-alcoholic or not, I would describe the taste as an old coke that someone left a piece of bread in. I don't think I would be fooling anyone if I said I particularly liked it.

"Yes, I think this Kvass is delicious"

Moving on. Do you know the old proverb "after every Kvass comes a beer"? Well I do, and so we had one. Except for concrete boxes, Riga also has some more charming buildings. There is a block filled with magnificent art nouveau architecture and so we went to see it. I always find it interesting when Magnificence sits next to Nasty, like for example a pile of trash next to the Taj Mahal. Conclusively, this block was interesting. Next to Magnificent art nouveau sat Nasty crack house. Crack house? Yes, I nicknamed the houses crack houses because of the many cracks they had. Nonetheless, the area is definitely worth a visit.

Meet Magnificent...

...and Nasty

We spent our last of two nights in Riga listening to yelling and bottles braking, this city knows how to party! We woke up early the next morning, sleepy from the nights jangle, and took a bus to the third of the Baltic countries: Lithuania. Moving through the Baltics is easy, each capital are only around a 4-5 hour busdrive from each other.

Our itinerary for the Baltics, took us about a week

Rolling in to Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania, was a different deal then Riga. This place looked more put together with less concrete and cracks. Even though we knew it was high season in the Baltics, and even we had troubles finding rooms before, we still didn't prebook anything for Vilnius. We thought everything worked out pretty well when we found a nice hostel that gave us their last room. Sweet! I took a shower and walked back to the common room, only to find our hungover French hostel host explaning how he had made a mistake. The hostel was fully booked, we had to go. What is the Britts say again, "don't trust the French"?

This may not seem like a big deal, but it is. You have to pack the bag you just unpacked, throw it on your already aching shoulders, get all sweaty again walking in the hot sun on streets you don't know to a place you hope will have room for you. And even more so, you have to give up a nice room you were planning on enjoying. Fortunately we found something almost as nice, or what do you think?

Sleep tight in you little box!

We were hungry, we were tired and we were not happy, I won't deny. Traveling can have its setbacks. And when it has, there's only one thing to do: go eat a good meal and drink an even better beer. So we did. Naturally, also Vilnius has an old town, so we headed there and had ourselves some comfort food. And it helped. We got our spirit back and decided to go explore what Vilnius had to offer. Being a European city, there are churches. There are so many churches I don't know who goes to them all. I don't much care for churches, so we didn't go see any. Instead, we decided to walk up a small hill. As we were still in eastern Europe, walking up the cobble stone path we saw a women walking up in her skirt and stilettos. I took a look at my dirty sneakers and came to the conclusion I could never live here.

Definitely worth the walk up. In high heels? Wouldn't recommend it.
See the white church in the background? Yes, that's one of the many churches we didn't go to.

One of the nicest things with traveling is just sitting down and waiting for things to happen. You can sit down at in an Indian coffe shop and all of a sudden you have the kids of the owner messing around with you, or you sit on a beach in Malaysia enjoying a beer and all of a sudden you're enjoying the biggest party on the island. We were walking in a park, after enjoying what might have been the best ice cream of my entire life, and saw two girls and a guy rehearsing a dance routine. They didn't have music. We walked a little further and all of a sudden a funky band started playing some funky tunes.

The funky band

What happened next makes me believe there is a god after all. The three dancers, joined by a fourth dancer, a waiter who worked at a cafe near by, started dancing to the funky tunes of the funky band.

The happy youth of Lithuania rocking it out!

It was a perfect moment of an American band coming together with Lithuanian youth, playing and dancing for an audience of spontaneous by passers.

Vilnius was saved. A hill, a good meal and a cool moment of music and dance. The next day, our last day in Vilnius as we had tickets for an overnight bus taking us all the way to Warsaw, started off in an interesting way. We had lunch at a restaurant serving traditional Lithuanian food. This is what we had

This is Cepelinai. Say what? Cepelinai, a Lithuanian national dish. A type of dumplings stuffed with minced meat, or whatever. I know my mama taught me to always finish my plate, but really, I couldn't. Sorry mom. After horrid cepelinai lunch, we headed for a cafe to sit down and recover from the experience. Ok, so it was a bar, so what? But because of the name, we just had to go in.

Welcome to Gringo!

Why is this so special? As I mentioned in the beginning of the post, I work at a bar. Actually, I work at a bar and a pub. The pub is called El Gringo. Many customers simply call it "my living room".

Serving beer at El Gringo. One of my favorite things to do, believe it or not!

So sitting in Gringo felt comfy and homy. As we let the beer erase the memory of the cepelinai, the day grew darker and it was time for us to head to the busstation for our next stop. Thank you Tallinn, Riga and Vilnius, next stop Warsaw!

A few good men

There's been an outrage in India during the last few weeks since the gang rape last month. My college was travelling in India just after the tragic incident where a young girl was brutally raped and thrown out of a moving bus and reported that discussions were heated both on the streets and in media. I lived in India for three months in New Delhi, were the girl was raped, and perhaps the story hits me harder because of that. Or perhaps it's because, even though never getting any where near as tragic an incident, I too had some problems walking the streets of Delhi. In respects of that young girl, I'd like to share my own views and stories of my time in India. Unlike many of my earlier posts, this is a big one, so don't even start if you're in a rush.

For more information on the incident, I found an interesting article in Time World Magazine that includes some statistics as well.

The "white girl"

Have you ever dropped a plate in a busy lunch restaurant? The shatters fly loudly and, for a few seconds, the room goes silent and everyone turns to look at you. The stares are burning and you feel uncomfortable. Now picture this situation, without the broken plate and replace the lunch restaurang by a street and then replace the stares of harmless lunch eaters with a group of men. Why are they staring? Because you are woman. In my case, even more so because I'm white. And blond. This was everyday life in Delhi.


Just across the street from my school is a little coffe shop. I go there regularly to buy coffe, sweets and what not. Nothing special. Late february, finally the spring arrives in Delhi. For a Finnish girl even spring feels fairly hot and I put on shorts and a tanktop. Normal clothes for any summer day back home. I go with my friend to the little coffe shop and we sit in the sun and drink our coffees. When we walk back, my friend says "you should get a discount for all the customers you bring that place!" I'm clueless and like a naive idiot I respond "huh?" He explained how people working in the are were walking over to check out the "white girl".  Wow, I didn't know I was a celebrity. I look down at what I'm wearing and ask "should I not wear shorts?" At the same time I realise I now have to wear shorts. In a culture where cows are holy, but women can be raped on a public bus, I will not be pressured in to wearing anything else than what I would normally wear. About a month later, in Varanasi a young boy told me that I should cover up because it makes the men uncomfortable. Right, because thats my problem.

My coffe shop, view from my balcony.

Close to my school there is a big forest with nice trails that I used to explore on my morning runs. I was advised not to go running alone in the forest, but how could I not. There were peacocks and parrots and pigs and monkeys, it felt like taking a run in a zoo! So I went running anyway. One morning there was a middle aged man running in front of me. After I passed him it didn't take too long before he, in turn, passed me. He proceeded and was perhaps 50 meters in front of me when he turned around and started walking backwards. I don't know anyone who walks backwards on their morning runs, but perhaps you do. Could you please enlighten me why a middle aged man would walk backwards in a forest in south Delhi? After I passed him (again) it didn't take long before I could hear him running again. "That's it" I thought and took a turn to get me out of the forest. I didn't feel threatened, but I'm sweating and wearing a jumper and baggy pants, I'm not really anything to look at. And if you do want to stare, please do it openly like everyone else, don't try to hide it by walking backwards.

Little monkeys in my forest.

These incidents weren't too bad and the staring I got used to. It wasn't before I took the metro to the airport one day that I got really angry. A young man came and sat next to me and struck up a conversation. I could see him staring at my breasts, but still I tried to keep my cool and be polite. When we were closing in on my stop I asked the young gentleman if he could kindly get up so that I could get my bag and myself towards the doors. He moved about an inch and told me to proceed. I asked him once more if he could get up, my bag was heavy and I couldn't get out. He moved another inch. Fine, I took my bag and pressed myself past the idiot and just as I did, I felt him touching me in an unpleasant way. I was infuriated and told him to fuck off.

Another incident was at Holi, a yearly festival in India where people throw colours on each other. One reason for covering each other in colour, or so I was told, is that the colours make people invisible to the gods. I experienced this festival on the beautiful Andaman Islands. I guess the colours do make, at least the men, invisible to the gods as they obviously felt it would be totally acceptable to grope western girls in the act of covering them in green and yellow. One guy got under my shirt and under my bikini with his purple hand. I told him to fuck off too.

Holi action.

The problem, as I see it, is the lack of sex. Movies are censored, not even kissing is allowed most of the time. In a Bollywood movie, typically the young beautiful woman and the handsome young man will get closer and closer to each other, but just before they kiss, or even touch, the scene is brutally cut off, leaving the audience wondering and imagining what happened next. Women cover up in their beautiful saris, god forbid they would show a knee or a shoulder, while the men dress in hideous shirts and pants. It is not appropriate for a man and woman to kiss in public, but it is okay for two guys to walk hand in hand. Nobody talks about it and I bet no one is getting any. No wonder Indian guys are frustrated. And then what? I'm guessing the only thing they know about western women is what they learn from the internet porn they watch. Well I have news for you. Not all western women are porn stars. In fact, most of us aren't. We like to consider our bodies to be more then a peace of meat. I guess to them, I'm just a walking peace of ass. Nothing more. Nothing less. I admit I don't like the over sexed western style with 8-year olds dressing like adults and Christina Aguilera singing

Ah, dirrty

Filthy

Nasty, you nasty

Too dirrty to clean my act up

If you ain't dirrty

You ain't here to party

Ah, the poetry of the 21st century. But I truly believe India is under sexing it. Talk about it. Make it open. Get kids condoms, teach them about sex and perhaps, at some point, they won't have the urge to gang rape a woman.

I feel Indian men sometimes have the emotional intelligence of a puppy. A friend of a friend, a middle-aged man with wife and kids, wanted to take me for a tee because he wanted to learn about my culture. I thought this was nice, because that's why I love traveling, getting a glimpse of how other people eat and breath. After about an hour of chatting and drinking chai he left and I went home. A couple of days later he called me. He told me about a four letter word. "Do you know which word I'm talking about?" Oh god, you have got to be kidding me. "I'm talking about L O V E! I think I'm in L O V E with you Cecilia". Nope, not kidding. Also, in my class there was a guy I befriended, let's call him Jomet. At a school party one of his friends came up to me and said "Jomet likes you!"  Well then Jomet, could you please grow up and tell me this yourself. What are we, in high school?

An Indian Man.

That was not the only time I was disappointed by people (men) I thought were my friends. Obviously they weren't interested in my friendship. But, and here is the famous but, there were some rays of sunlight in my hatred towards Indian men. A few good men give me hope that India do have descent young men in its reservoar. They know who they are and to them I would like to say: thank you! If it wasn't for them, I would have left India cursing all of its men to the lower levels of hell, preferably a place with no women. Reading about the brutal raping of a 23-year old who is then left half naked in the street where people walk past her and do NOTHING! Her companion tried to ask the police for help, but at first they ignored them. Later, the girl died.

They raped the girl to death.

I still L O V E India, so I hope with all my heart that India can get its shit together and start showing their women the respect that they deserve.

How about that Singapore Sling

Our three weeks in Malaysia was over and we got ourselves bustickets to Johor Bahru, where we learned there are buses to Singapore every few minutes. It should have been an easy transit, but wait, we left Tioman early in the morning, took the bus to Johor Bahru, took the bus to Singapore, enjoyed some minor hassle at the boarder and found ourselves in a guesthouse around 11 pm. Great, another 13 hour transit day. When traveling in Asia, don't be fooled by short distances. They may still take forever, as I learned the hard when traveling in India.

Back to Singapore, everyone knows Singapore. The odd little city-state south of Malaysia that is known for being on time when every other nation in southeast Asia is late. Before we left Malaysia, we learned that it is illegal to bring more then one pack of cigarettes in to Singapore. We also learned that a pack of cigarettes in Singapore is three times the price in Malaysia. As this was the last stop on my five month journey, I was running low on cash, and so was my travel buddy Niina. We decided to do the unthinkable and smuggle in some cigarettes. We didn't go crazy, we simply doubled up bought two packs each.

My partner in crime.

At the boarder, we both felt like criminals, our illegal cigarettes burning in our pockets. I had hid one of my packs in my guitar case, Niina had both of hers in her backpack . A middle-aged man checked my bag and after going through most of my belongings (except my guitar case) he was satisfied and let me through. Phew! Heart beating I picked up my bags and proceeded to the door, when I realised Niina was being led to a small room by security. I waited outside for her for about 30 minutes, that's how long they kept her inside. They interrogated my criminal friend and told her she was to pay a fine of 200 Singapore dollars. Luckily, she was able to convince the border security that she had no idea of this rule and, finally, they cut her cigarettes in two and let her go without a fine. Niina now has a five-year record in Singapore. Apparently, if she tries to smuggle cigarettes in to the country again, something very, very terrible awaits her. Lesson learned. A couple of cigarette packs poorer and a criminal record richer, we made our way to Little India in hope of finding a cheapish guesthouse, now that our cigarettes were gone.

Marina Bay Sands

If you ride in style, the Marina Bay Sands hotel with its famous Infinity Pool may be your choice of accommodation. If you ride with me, you will settle for a 14 bed dorm for 15 euros. (By the way, the hotel cost 8 billion Singapore dollars, about 5 billion euros, to build. I don't even want to think about how much a room would set me back.) Happy with our dorm and happy hour beer, we crashed in our cheap sheets.

The next day was dedicated to the zoo, as it's known to be one of the best zoos in Asia. Unfortunately, a public holiday ment us entering the zoo together with the rest of the population. The zoo is indeed impressive, with some animals lacking cages and big, lush areas for all animals to roam around.

White tiger or not,
I still like the turtles!

A white tiger.

Singapore is a very clean place. After spending over three months stepping in cow shit and being surrounded by insanity in India, Singapore feels a little lame. One reason why I don't mind sleeping in rooms where the roof is leaking or there's a cockroach or two is that they bring a little insanity to my travels. I don't travel to see things I can see at home (like a clean bed), I travel to learn and experience things that would never be possible in my organised home country of Finland. I'm not saying that you can't stay at the Marina Bay Sands if you like, I'm saying that I don't need to. That's why Singapore doesn't strike a chord with me. It's too clean, too organised, too polished for my liking. However, that doesn't mean it was uneventful. Let me tell you some fun facts.

How about that cigarette? The expensive ones that you buy in Singapore or the cheap ones you smuggle in you guitar case. If you light one up, be sure to do it in the right place. The guesthouse we stayed at, The Prince of Wales, asks its guests to please smoke in the yellow box. Do you see the yellow box? The town is full of yellow boxes, painted on the ground to tell you where you can smoke and where you cannot.

And what about durian. The "king of fruits" that smells like your worst nightmare. Whatever you do, don't eat it at the airport. I guess the fine for carrying a durian at the airport is too big to even write it out. I also heard there is an escalator in a park, if you do not wish to exhaust yourself by walking. So Singapore is not boring, in fact, I find the yellow boxes, rules and fines quite amusing.

No durian!

Another thing Singapore is famous for is shopping. There are shopping malls that look like spaceships and the streets are lined with all imaginable luxurious brands. We soon realised that we should have done our shopping elsewhere. My wallet couldn't afford the Cartier, Bosses and Rolexes. As a result, we spotted a H&M and bought a couple of shirts we could just as well have bought at home.

"Shopping" in Marina Bay Sands.
(I didn't actually go in, they would have probably thrown my dirty traveling ass out the door.)

On our last day in Singapore, our last day traveling, we thought it would be fun to go see the famous boat hotel and see what all the fuzz is about. There's a rooftop bar and we wanted to have ourselves a Singapore Sling, no matter what! So we took the clean metro and found our way to the ticket office. I must say, I was a little surprised the elevator ride up was priced at S$ 20, but our mind was made up. We emptied our empty wallets and bought two tickets. For a second there, I thought this was the worst money ever spent, but oh no. It got worse. The view is nice, of course, but thanks to the bars and security wires it doesn't look very romantic.

Great.

We also thought we could see the famous pool. Unfortunately, it's closed off, except for two guided tours a day. I don't know who wants to go on a guided tour to se a pool, we were getting frustrated with the place. Now, how about that drink? The unimpressive bar served us our overpriced cocktails, we drank them and we left. We couldn't help but laugh at the insanity of it all. We just had ourselves the most expensive drinks of our lives, and it wasn't even a good one!

Enjoying that Singapore Sling.

After spending 30 euros a piece to have one drink we were done with Singapore. We were also done with our Singapore dollars. When we arrived at the airport, we were literally penniless and ready to go home. And so five months of traveling came to an end at the airport in Singapore. New York, India, Malaysia and Singapore, ahead of us only a ten hour flight to Helsinki. Penniless or not, the many experiences of my trip will bring me joy for years to come. If you haven't packed your bags yet, do it now, after all, you never know what yellow boxed you may find!