July 23, 2018. I headed to Haltia in Nuuksio Park, hoping for a good coffee, but the €4.50 latte was terrible. From there, I walked down to the lake and continued up into the forest, trying to enjoy the peacefulness while shaking off a lingering anxiety about ticks and Lyme disease. Eventually, I reached the far end of the lake where hiking trails began. A pretty wooden bridge spanned the water, and white lilies floated on the surface. People were swimming, roasting food over fires, enjoying the summer afternoon.

Following a dirt road behind the bus stop, I hesitated—something about it made me not want to continue. Instead, I drove toward Espoo, looking for gas and a LIDL. I managed to find both and bought a ton of food, then promptly devoured an entire pint of ice cream, despite the fact that it tasted bland.

Just as I was leaving, I spotted a historical sign and decided to turn back. That’s how I stumbled across an old church and cemetery. There I met Jim, a guide who told me the church dated back to the 1400s, with interior paintings from the 1500s. One depicted Adam and Eve, with Satan handing a pair of shoes to a woman named Ella—she was so evil she’d managed to break up a married couple Satan himself couldn’t touch. He was so afraid of her, he offered the shoes at the end of a stick. Along the northern wall, grotesque devils smiled with human faces on their bellies—an old folk tale, perhaps. Jim, who’s studying international relations in Stockholm, also told me about the Swedish-speaking Finns who once tried to unite Finnish speakers against Russian rule in the 1800s.

We ended up talking for over an hour—about the U.S. political situation, which he was fascinated by—and then I wandered around the cemetery as the bell tower rang out a long, solemn tone.

Later I drove to Hämeenlinna. The road was easy and the day hot. I wandered the town, which had charming wooden buildings and a view of the lake. I passed the birthplace of Sibelius and saw women washing rugs along the shore, scrubbing like the women I’d seen in Helsinki. I crossed a railway bridge looking for a place to swim—it was just too hot.

Eventually, I drove to Aulanko Park and explored a quiet neighborhood filled with wooden homes nestled in the forest. It reminded me of Michigan or places even farther north. A small church sat on a hill, and nearby was a swimming hole. The area was filled with summer cottages and apartments. As night came, I searched for a place to camp. I drove past a lake where cars weren’t allowed and ended up setting up my tent inside an old gunpowder magazine, surrounded by a massive rock wall. I was nervous I might get a ticket.

July 24. A woman woke me early, telling me I had to move. I drove down to the lakeshore near the Scandic Hotel and read about the history of the park before heading up to explore. The grounds were essentially a botanical garden, complete with two artificial lakes. Later I drove to a nearby stone tower folly and ate currants and raspberries along the way.

Back in Hämeenlinna, I treated myself to a strawberry cake and a petit four soaked in alcohol—awful. I exchanged it for a slice of quiche. Then I visited Sibelius’s birthplace and learned more about his early years—he’d lived in the town until he was 20. Later I toured the Padalan House, once home to wealthy landowners. Sibelius’s father had taught Russian, and Sibelius himself used to play violin at their dinner parties. I read some of his letters—they were lovely, especially the ones he exchanged with his uncle in Turku, who had sent him a violin and strings.

From there, I visited Häme Castle, but found it poorly reconstructed. I drove nearly four hours to Olavinlinna, a beautiful setting. I swam, then wandered over to the castle where a concert had just ended—crowds of people were pouring out. I had a long talk with Kanga about some of the fears that had been plaguing me, then drove into the woods late that night and found a peaceful spot near a lake. I tried to make plans to see Maria Tarvas, but she was on a retreat in Lapland and our schedules wouldn’t line up.

July 25. I woke up and talked with my friend Tom before heading to the next pretty town. At an old hotel, I returned a call from Ruben and took a few photos. Then I drove to Lusto where I spent a few hours in the national forestry museum, the Finnish Forest Museum. On the way, I searched in vain for a decent latte, stopping in the next town with no luck. The drive was beautiful—along lakes and over bridges.

At the museum, I treated myself to a €12 buffet lunch, which turned out to be a great deal—filling and tasty. The exhibits were extensive. I especially enjoyed learning about old timber practices, the forest fairy tales, and the conservation efforts. The display of modern machinery was surprisingly engaging. There were also taxidermied moose and bears. Afterward, I drove a scenic route to Savonlinna and took a walk near the lake. I stopped for cake at the Saimaa Café Hotel and later called Edyth, who had just been kicked out of her family’s bakery. I swam again, walked across town in search of good coffee, and ended the day with panna cotta and a trip to Lidl.

That evening, I wandered through the woods and along the shore for an hour or more. I found a bench by the lake and sat down to write my blog.

July 26. I drove to the Ateneum and saw an exhibit on Finnish artists, including a lot of work by Gallen-Kallela. The Kalevala series, especially the ones with Mary, were particularly striking. I had what might have been the best ice cream of the trip—giant scoops of lemon cheesecake and marzipan. At the botanical garden, I learned that Finland only has 20 native tree species. The last ice age had wiped out everything else, and scientists are now experimenting with what foreign species might survive the harsh climate for future harvesting.

July 27. I woke in Billnäs Bruk near Fiskars. I’d dreamed about Winnie Norris, Ken Norris’s wife, and made a mental note to visit her when I returned home. It was already 83°F at 9:30 a.m., with no wind. I walked around and took some photos of the old houses, then visited a home renovation hardware store that carried supplies for historic restorations. Most cafés didn’t open until 11.

While I was taking pictures, two women approached me after I photographed their homes. Later, I found out that a millionaire living in Shanghai had bought the old ironworks and was trying to renovate the area. The locals were pushing back against it. At night, people seemed to stay up late, driving around well past midnight. By noon, it was 91°F.

I spoke with Marija, who had lived in England for ten years and still missed it. In Turku, I stopped to refill my water bottle. The bartender did it reluctantly, telling me not to tell anyone—like it was some kind of offense.

At the ethnographic museum, I talked with Pekka for two hours, though I didn’t get to see half the exhibits. He was a carpenter and violin maker; his wife was Icelandic. They had lived in the area since 1995 and loved it then, but now he said Eajkavij had been ruined by greed and modernization. He was especially bitter about how older buildings were being torn down. In his view, Finns no longer cared about design—only food.

Later, I walked through the park and came across a Wizard of Oz performance. I wandered among older wooden buildings, many of which had survived a fire in 1827 that destroyed two-thirds of the town. Some structures remained intact and were in good condition.

In the main square, I saw the cathedral and city hall, then stopped for gelato—pistachio, kiwi, and mango. Nearby, I came across a house and park that reminded me of San Francisco. Riverboats were docked by the waterfront, and a band was performing; the singer looked like a biker. I had passion fruit cheesecake at a café, then drove out to Ruissalo looking for a place to camp. The designated area cost €23 and was crowded. I walked a bit, but it was busy with large groups gathered at lake houses.

Eventually, I drove down a hiking path and pitched my tent there. It had finally cooled off, and I was able to sleep.

July 28. I had decided to take the 11 hour ferry through the vast archipelago to Sweden. There was a faster boat which I would have preferred, but it was too expensive. I pulled into the queue at 8am, not looking forward to the hours long ride. I ended up staying on the top deck all day long, trying to catch up on my journal. What a sunburn!

Onboard I met Shahd and her family from Iraq. She was outspoken and bright. Her maternal grandmother had been killed by a suicide bomber, and Shahd hadn’t left the house for two years afterward. Her grandfather had once been a businessman who lived in Japan and Germany. Now, everything they had was gone. They still lacked basic services. She told me she struggled with anger issues, which didn’t surprise me, but her parents were supportive. They were a kind family and invited me to share tuna and bread with them.

Later, she went to rest. I returned to the top deck and read Paul Theroux’s book about traveling through China, laughing at some of the passages. I tried to access my blog but got an error saying the draft was gone. Woe is me. This has happened numerous times, as I rarely had internet let alone WiFi. I hadn’t purchased an international plan from Metro PCS. I don’t think they even offered one.

When I disembarked in Stockholm, I was in for sticker shock. I ate a €20 burger and walked around the preserved old town area. I met Otto, who had just finished hiking the King’s Trail—21 days, 450 kilometers. He recommended a place called Hellasgården, though he said camping wasn’t allowed. I parked at the top of an old neighborhood and walked around. I found a public toilet and later had another hamburger and fries for $21.

I drove to Hellasgården, but there was no place to stay. I kept driving and eventually set up my tent behind a house in a small town. It wasn’t ideal. People were still awake, partying after midnight. I pitched my tent near the edge of a nature reserve. Cyclists and motorbikes passed by all night, right next to where I was camped.