MOONLIGHT SKIING - SOIHTUHIIHTO
The round full moon kept hovering behind a cheesecloth cloud, teasing us with now you can see me, now you can't. But we weren't actually totally dependant on the moon as there were torches lighting the trail every couple of hundred meters.
I had seen a notice about soihtuhiihto – torch skiing - in the free city newspaper a couple of days prior to the event. I tore out the notice, circled it with a thick marker and stuck it on the refrigerator. Later, I emailed my women's group to see if anyone was interested – and if I could get a ride. Marita, one of my new friends was happy to come along, and we agreed on her picking me up straight from campus at 5:40 to make it to the starting place by 6. I dragged my skis to a colleague's office at the west end of the campus, on the way to my office. At half past five, I snuck out of my Italian class a little early and rushed to change into my ski clothes and to pick up my skis. The head of the department was walking in the hallway with a smile on his face. Great skis – they must be almost antique, he remarked. I liked my borrowed skis. They belonged to my boss, Maisa, who had gotten a new pair for Christmas several years ago. The skis were a perfect size and came with sticks and ski boots that also fit just right. And I wasn't looking the gift horse in the mouth.
Marita greeted me happily in the parking lot and introduced me to her mother and mother's boyfriend who had also decided to join us. We drove for less than 10 kilometers to a cabin, owned by a National Ski Organization, Suomen Latu (Finland's Trail) and joined the crowd. Marja, Marita's neighbor was waiting for us. Other skiers included grandparents with their grandkids, young couples with babies in backpacks and others in all shapes, sizes and ages in between.
The trail first took us downhill to a lake, covered by ice. We skied across it in the moonlight, the shadows casting mystical shades around the skiers. The trail continued into the woods where torches became our source of light. After about two kilometers of skiing, we detected a warm glow dancing behind the thick branches of majestic spruces. It was the promised campfire. I regretted not having had a chance to run to the store to get makkara, sausage you always roast at campfire. But I had barely gotten my skis off when Marita's mom was already handing me two hotdogs in a wooden stick. She had packed food for all of us: a rye bread sandwich for each and hot tea in a thermos with five cups. I enjoyed the break and the people around the fire, sharing sticks and stories.
nuotio - a campfire
Marja and I - ready to roast makkaraa
We soon continued and got into long stretches of nothing but a twilight trail with the snow and rarely appearing moon to guide us. There was always a faint light in the distance, the next torch. After a couple of long climbs and deserved downhill, we arrived back at the cabin. Inside, there was a fire going. Makkara, coffee, tea, juice and pulla, ever-present, delicious, cardamom infused coffee bread, were available for purchase. We just devoured the ambiance for a few minutes, packed our skis in the car, and I got dropped off right in front of my house.
I carried the skis in and tried to paint a word picture to explain to Rafael what an incredible experience it had been. The moon now smiled at me with its round face bright and cloud free. I could swear I saw kuu-ukko - the old man moon – nod his head approving
The round full moon kept hovering behind a cheesecloth cloud, teasing us with now you can see me, now you can't. But we weren't actually totally dependant on the moon as there were torches lighting the trail every couple of hundred meters.
I had seen a notice about soihtuhiihto – torch skiing - in the free city newspaper a couple of days prior to the event. I tore out the notice, circled it with a thick marker and stuck it on the refrigerator. Later, I emailed my women's group to see if anyone was interested – and if I could get a ride. Marita, one of my new friends was happy to come along, and we agreed on her picking me up straight from campus at 5:40 to make it to the starting place by 6. I dragged my skis to a colleague's office at the west end of the campus, on the way to my office. At half past five, I snuck out of my Italian class a little early and rushed to change into my ski clothes and to pick up my skis. The head of the department was walking in the hallway with a smile on his face. Great skis – they must be almost antique, he remarked. I liked my borrowed skis. They belonged to my boss, Maisa, who had gotten a new pair for Christmas several years ago. The skis were a perfect size and came with sticks and ski boots that also fit just right. And I wasn't looking the gift horse in the mouth.
Marita greeted me happily in the parking lot and introduced me to her mother and mother's boyfriend who had also decided to join us. We drove for less than 10 kilometers to a cabin, owned by a National Ski Organization, Suomen Latu (Finland's Trail) and joined the crowd. Marja, Marita's neighbor was waiting for us. Other skiers included grandparents with their grandkids, young couples with babies in backpacks and others in all shapes, sizes and ages in between.
The trail first took us downhill to a lake, covered by ice. We skied across it in the moonlight, the shadows casting mystical shades around the skiers. The trail continued into the woods where torches became our source of light. After about two kilometers of skiing, we detected a warm glow dancing behind the thick branches of majestic spruces. It was the promised campfire. I regretted not having had a chance to run to the store to get makkara, sausage you always roast at campfire. But I had barely gotten my skis off when Marita's mom was already handing me two hotdogs in a wooden stick. She had packed food for all of us: a rye bread sandwich for each and hot tea in a thermos with five cups. I enjoyed the break and the people around the fire, sharing sticks and stories.
nuotio - a campfire
Marja and I - ready to roast makkaraa
We soon continued and got into long stretches of nothing but a twilight trail with the snow and rarely appearing moon to guide us. There was always a faint light in the distance, the next torch. After a couple of long climbs and deserved downhill, we arrived back at the cabin. Inside, there was a fire going. Makkara, coffee, tea, juice and pulla, ever-present, delicious, cardamom infused coffee bread, were available for purchase. We just devoured the ambiance for a few minutes, packed our skis in the car, and I got dropped off right in front of my house.
I carried the skis in and tried to paint a word picture to explain to Rafael what an incredible experience it had been. The moon now smiled at me with its round face bright and cloud free. I could swear I saw kuu-ukko - the old man moon – nod his head approving
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