Jun 23, 2009, 13:32 GMT
Viitasaari, Finland - One of the last signs of civilisation is a supermarket at Viitasaari, a village in central Finland. It offers visitors the chance to embark on a shopping spree before a 38-kilometre trip into the back of beyond.
The route starts on the well-paved European Highway, the E 18 which stretches from Ireland to Russia, and turns later into a country highway, then a bumpy trail and finally a dirt track.
The driver steers adroitly around a few potholes before the destination comes into sight - a wooden hut, painted red with white windows, standing amid birch trees on a lush meadow leading down to the water.
The shimmering blue lake as a backdrop is familiar to many visitors who have spent their summer holidays in Finland.
Time definitely passes more slowly in a holiday home - at least it seems to do so. For two weeks everyday life is banished. There are no appointments to be made or emails to be answered. There are no neighbours to worry about and no news to listen to or see.
This is a luxurious way to soothe the soul even if the wooden blockhouse offers little in the way of upmarket creature comforts. A cooker with two hotplates, a refrigerator and coffee percolator are the only electric appliances to hand.
Fresh water needs to be hauled up and fetched in buckets from the nearby well. The toilet has rustic charm but it's basic - a wooden-planked privy with a plastic seat.
Time here passes by as gently as the waves lapping the lakeside. Excursions are scarcely worth the effort since nearby villages and towns are almost completely devoid of cultural highlights or other points of interest.
And not only that, public life in Finland slows to a crawl for weeks on end during the summer break anyway. Most of the 5.3 million Finns are seeking peace and quiet too and so they flee to a 'moekki,' the lakeside holiday home. Despite their enthusiasm for gadgets, big-city Finns are basically all country boys at heart.
For tourists to these parts it is a case of when in Finland, do as the Finns do. Visitors paddle across the lake, go fishing for pike, perch and bass, make campfires and grill their catch over the flames. Exploring the forest beyond the hut is another popular way to pass the time.
Ancient woodland is rare in these parts. The lumber industry in central Finland is one of the biggest employers and most forests have been flattened at least once by log-cutting machines before having been re-sown.
The aftermath of such agricultural practice is typically a grim landscape pitted with craters although elk and bears can be spotted between the pines and juniper bushes. Bruno never shows himself but the imprints of his mighty paws betray his presence, heightening the tension of a woodland stroll.
Blueberries, cranberries and cloudberries grow wild in the Finnish forests and the landlord of this holiday retreat has planted strawberries, onions, leeks, mint and dill.
There is plenty of time to prepare and cook the ingredients with the result that an evening meal like this, consisting of entirely fresh food from the lake, the garden and the forest, is often the highlight of the day. On the menu this time around are perch soup with milk and dill, blueberry pie straight from the wooden oven and strawberry yoghurt garnished with mint.
No trip to Finland would be complete without an evening visit to the sauna. Two wood heaters need to be kept stoked up with bundles of birch and pine. One is there to warm the air and the stones while the other is used to heat up a tank of lake water for the washing.
Users can throw the sauna rule book out of the window since such restrictions do not apply. Who cares if you perspire on the wood? Stains can be scrubbed off later. Enjoying a bottle of beer in the sauna is not a problem either but woe betide anyone who fails to observe the only sweatbox rule taken seriously by the Finns: Unisex sauna bathing is considered indecent and men and women can only sit together in the sauna if they are close family members.
Summer nights in the north are often so mild that sauna bathers sit for hours on the wooden bench and gaze at the sky as the sun drenches the scattered clouds in pink, orange and red before sinking below the tree line in a flurry of midges.
In a shack on the lakeside the Finns are having a good time. A blonde singer, who must be around 60-years-old, is crooning on about heartbreak and kissing in the moonlight. The dancefloor is packed with accomplished dancers which is hardly surprising since every Finn who grows up in the country must be able to shake a leg, know how to smoke fish and handle a chainsaw properly.
The night is filled with a seemingly endless stream of accordion notes in minor keys, syrupy violin playing and sad lyrics - proverbial Finnish melancholy is in the air. When the lights go out in the dancehall groups of guests stroll across to the lake, push their boats into the water and fire up the outboard motors before chugging across the water to their holiday homes.
The new day brings sunshine and clouds followed by a thunderstorm. Another summer dish, another sauna session - the clock ticks slowly. One day seems to blend into the next although time at the lakeside really does fly.
Parting is painful. All of a sudden it is time to retrace that route from the farm track to the country road and back onto the European Highway. A short stop in Viitasaari to refuel the car and then it is onto the ferry for the trip back to reality.
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