I've fallen behind on the emails. Here is something to whet the appetite. The phonetics for this following email is YOU-honn-ASS
The Monday I got back from Nice we had a game against the defending league champions the Porvoo Butchers. I got to bed at a decent time the night before so I wasn't in bad shape for the game, but regardless of my best efforts we still lost the game 48-42 in double overtime. The Butchers seem to have a well-put-together organization with athletes and a time of good size, speed and depth. At least the best I've seen in Finland. I played offensive tackle and defensive end the entire game and through the overtimes and was well-worn out after the game. The feelings remind me of that feeling after a hard-fought high school game, (like the one where we beat Southeast and Coach Hennessy my senior year, or the Ohio State game in Columbia my sophmore year at NCSU) when you've spent every last bit of strength and left it all out on the field.
The week following the game was a short week all across Finland. Juhannus is Finland's biggest holiday. It is a pagan based midsummer festival renamed for St. John the Baptist and takes place during the longest weekend of the year and the summer solstice nearest June 21st. All Finns flee Helsinki for their midsummer cottages a couple hours outside of the city. I spent the Wednesday-Sunday in Joutsa, small town outside of Jyvaskla, three hours north of Helsinki.
Note on population of Finland: The entire country of Finland is home to only 5.3 million people in about 130,000 square miles of land. To put this in perspective, North Carolina is home to over 8 million people in about 54,000 square miles. So for those of you at home who think North Carolina is spread out and empty, its population density is over 4 times that of Finland. (165 to 40 people per square mile, respectively.) So when you leave Helsinki and head north into the Lake district you really are leaving much of known civilization. The country is extremely empty and undeveloped outside of the southern coast.
I rode up north with the offensive line coach Hiski to the cottage, whose owners were friends with a few guys on the team that were all headed up to the same cottage. After nearly three hours, a stop at the grocer's, and the all-important government ran Alko store (guess what they sell) we pull off the highway (two-lane road) onto a dirt track that revealed itself suddenly from the wilderness.
Note on terrain: The terrain of the region is gently rolling rocky hills, populated with boulders, mosses, sparse underbrush and forests of tightly-packed, thin, identical, evergreen trees. Maybe I expected ancient untouched hardwood forests, but I was later told that one of Finland top exports was these harvested forests, which are systematically chopped down and replanted every so often. Another thing I that was cool was you would be see huge round boulders spread out irradically and sitting in the middle of these forests, I later found out these boulders were dropped by the massive glaciers that once covered Finland and were left as the glaciers melted and retreated north.
The cottage was about two miles back down the dirt track and as we pulled up I saw 3-4 small log-cabin style cottages perched right upon the lake. The main cottage that housed the kitchen, a large living/dining/bedroom area, the deck, and most importantly the sauna was close to the water and seemed to built upon a giant stone shelf that extended into the water, and created a moss covered stone beach. Another cottage was dedicated to two large bedrooms, another was the outhouse, (which was nicer then most of the real bathrooms I'd been inside of here), and the last was and a covered picnicing/grilling rise. 14 people shared these accommadations so it was a bit of squeeze but a few couples brought tents and another group slept in an RV so it wasn't too packed at bedtime.
The remainder of the week/weekend was pretty much dedicated to drinking alcohol all day long, grilling assorted meats, and running back and forth from the sauna to the lake naked as a jaybird. (These people have no shame, but I'll spare you the details.)
Note on alcohol: My entire family probably thinks I am an alcohol with how much I reference drinking in these emails, but I really am not overstating it. I was an Division-I college athlete that did plenty of drinking during those five years, and I've worked at a popular bar in Raleigh for the past two, so I've been around the stuff a lot. But I am serious when I say the Finnish culture seems to revolve around getting oppourtunities to drink, and that it even overwhelms me.
The longest day/shortest night of the year was the Friday night/ Saturday, and the sunset just below the tree line at about 12:30 in the morning and stayed there for about 40 minutes and the began to rise again. These couple of weeks before and since the 21st of June you never truly get the experience of night, just extended twilight, ...like someone cut the night out and pasted together dusk and dawn. It really was a beautiful scene though. The was only a few other houses around the lake, and combination of natural beauty and aesthetic purity was breath-taking. The serene lake scenery and unusual sun patterns made remarkable partners. Although by this point I wasn't trying to keep up with the Finns in the drinking area and not sleeping areas, I definetly had a great time, and decided to take it easy the rest of weekend no matter how much ridicule I received.
We headed back to Helsinki on Sunday and I can now say I've swam naked in lake in the middle of Finnish wilderness (it was June and still painfully cold, especially after a steaming sauna), and but part of the Finnish mid-summer celebration of life, ... and by life up course I mean absinthe, Minttu, Fisu, cider, warm beers, and marinated pork sausage.
The week after Juhannus we played our cross-town rival the Helsinki Wolverines. They also have three Americans, a left tackle, QB, and running back.
The game was again closer then it should have been. I feel like I am just repeating myself but the offensive was closer to unstoppable, and the defensive was again having trouble against the run. I think the Wolverines had over 300 yds rushing, but we still pulled it out 57-54. Yes, I did play a lot of defense but I play weak-side DE and they ran the RB to the strength in their formation so it was hard to make much of an impact in that area.
To be honest I am a little home sick, pathetic I know, but I hope you are well and miss you.
John
Monday, July 21, 2008
Friday, July 4, 2008
Life is Nice and the French Riveria, Part II
On the way back from Monaco, we sit next to the girl for New Zealand who is spending the summer working on private yachts on the Riveria. Her ship does not have a permanent berth and she is on her way back to Antibes from Monaco. She told me the 22m yacht was a wedding gift to a couple she has not met yet, those people must have a rough life. But seriously, how sweet of a job is that, living and working on a yacht on the Riveria.
Anyways as soon as we got back to Nice we made our way back into Old Town to the Cours Saleya, a long open stretch of courtyards parallel to the Promenade D'Anglais that during the day is home to an open fresh farmer's market and local goods stalls, and by night turning into a sea of table and chairs for the 30 or so restaurants and cafes that share the courtyards for outdoor seating. By the time we got down to the Cours Saleya the early Romania/Italy game of the UEFA Euro 2008 Cup had ended in a tie. France was on deck to play Holland and the Cours was alive with excitment for the match. Hundreds of French fans, jersey wearing and faces painting crowded in front of the tvs that each restaurant placed in their outdoors seating areas. A surprising amount of Holland fans we out, and the trash-talking in foreign langauges had already started. I gave up trying to eat, with my head darting around at each ohhhh and ahhhh of the massive crowds. The folks were tired from the day hiking around Saint Jean Cap Ferrat so they headed back to the hotel at halftime of the France game. I, of course, can't miss the experience of watching a France match in France of the Euro Cup, ... head over to the most crowded restaurant, buy a liter of Kronenbourg and watch the game in the standing room only Cours.
France doesn't fare to well as the match goes on and a French guy infront of me keeps turning around and making remarks to me about the match. "C'est fini," he tells me after Holland goes up 2 to nil. He turns to the group of people next to me and starts to try and talk to them, and they stop him immediately and in a think Irish accent tells him they don't have a clue what he is saying. I introduce myself to the four people next to me and after a little conversation they invite me for a beer as the match finishing up with Holland winning 4-1. The group I meet are two couple on holiday together in Nice, from Ballymena, Northern Ireland, which they say is 40 minutes southwest of Belfast. All in their mid-twenties or so they are hilarious and we get along great for the rest of the night, exploring more of the bars of the Cours Saleya and Old Town. We trade contact info and I agree to meet up with them the next night.
The next day we head to the Les Chemin Des Provence a smaller train station north of the central one, that runs small trains from Dignes to Nice daily through the French Alps. We take a 2-hour train ride along the Var River deep in the French Alps. We get off at the train station in the tiny medieval village of Entrevaux. I am in such a hurry to get off the train, I assume my camera in my parents handbag. It is not. I don't realize it til I search the handbag 20 minutes later. The next hour and a half me calling every train stop after Entrevaux, only to realize that NO ONE in the French Alps speaks English. So goodbye camera and all photos of the trip up to that point. Damn. I feel retarded and even more like a tourist.
Enough self-loathing, how can I be down when I am in a place like Entrevaux. Although it is the middle of nowwhere, we were there on a beautiful day and the sights from the mountain top citadel we amazing. Check them out at www.myspace.com/jtmckeon. Entrevaux medieval is a commune full of cafes and artisans. We met a Brit ex-pat named Clara who owned her own cafe in the village. My father found a classic motorcylce museum tucked away in thin corridors of the village as well. After ascend the citadel and making our way back down we enjoyed a beverage or two and a Euro match while waiting for our return train to Nice.
Back in Nice late, mom and dad went to bed, and I headed back to the Cours Saleya to meet up with the Irish couples and have a late dinner. The night consisted of more liter mugs of Kronenbourg a couple of bars I can not remember the name of, and an interesting late night couple we were pointed towards after 2 a.m.. Following some locals thru the darkening Old Town to this next club, Tony (one the Irishmen) points out that this is how a couple of horror movies start isn't it. Finally we come upon Subway, not Jared's Subway, but a club built a couple stories underground in the what feels like the sewers of Nice's Old Town. Horrible music but definetly an interesting place to go. Tony, James, Audrina, Coaimhe, and myself had a couple there and then took off. They invited me to Ballymena, an oppourtunity I might take-up on my way home in September.
Sunday was devoted entirely to Nice, strolling down the Promenade d'Anglais, checking out the markets at Cours Saleya, climbing the castle-less Castle Rock, and exploring the park and waterfall atop the rock. My plane back to Helsinki was at 8, so after a quick dinner across from the train station, I hopped on a bus back to the airport and I was off back to Finland. The flight home I sat next to a French open-wheel racecar driver who raced professionally in the States. He was visiting his Finnish girlfriends' family for the first time. (Don't know why I mentioned it, I guess I just find that interesting.)
That is all for France.
John
Anyways as soon as we got back to Nice we made our way back into Old Town to the Cours Saleya, a long open stretch of courtyards parallel to the Promenade D'Anglais that during the day is home to an open fresh farmer's market and local goods stalls, and by night turning into a sea of table and chairs for the 30 or so restaurants and cafes that share the courtyards for outdoor seating. By the time we got down to the Cours Saleya the early Romania/Italy game of the UEFA Euro 2008 Cup had ended in a tie. France was on deck to play Holland and the Cours was alive with excitment for the match. Hundreds of French fans, jersey wearing and faces painting crowded in front of the tvs that each restaurant placed in their outdoors seating areas. A surprising amount of Holland fans we out, and the trash-talking in foreign langauges had already started. I gave up trying to eat, with my head darting around at each ohhhh and ahhhh of the massive crowds. The folks were tired from the day hiking around Saint Jean Cap Ferrat so they headed back to the hotel at halftime of the France game. I, of course, can't miss the experience of watching a France match in France of the Euro Cup, ... head over to the most crowded restaurant, buy a liter of Kronenbourg and watch the game in the standing room only Cours.
France doesn't fare to well as the match goes on and a French guy infront of me keeps turning around and making remarks to me about the match. "C'est fini," he tells me after Holland goes up 2 to nil. He turns to the group of people next to me and starts to try and talk to them, and they stop him immediately and in a think Irish accent tells him they don't have a clue what he is saying. I introduce myself to the four people next to me and after a little conversation they invite me for a beer as the match finishing up with Holland winning 4-1. The group I meet are two couple on holiday together in Nice, from Ballymena, Northern Ireland, which they say is 40 minutes southwest of Belfast. All in their mid-twenties or so they are hilarious and we get along great for the rest of the night, exploring more of the bars of the Cours Saleya and Old Town. We trade contact info and I agree to meet up with them the next night.
The next day we head to the Les Chemin Des Provence a smaller train station north of the central one, that runs small trains from Dignes to Nice daily through the French Alps. We take a 2-hour train ride along the Var River deep in the French Alps. We get off at the train station in the tiny medieval village of Entrevaux. I am in such a hurry to get off the train, I assume my camera in my parents handbag. It is not. I don't realize it til I search the handbag 20 minutes later. The next hour and a half me calling every train stop after Entrevaux, only to realize that NO ONE in the French Alps speaks English. So goodbye camera and all photos of the trip up to that point. Damn. I feel retarded and even more like a tourist.
Enough self-loathing, how can I be down when I am in a place like Entrevaux. Although it is the middle of nowwhere, we were there on a beautiful day and the sights from the mountain top citadel we amazing. Check them out at www.myspace.com/jtmckeon. Entrevaux medieval is a commune full of cafes and artisans. We met a Brit ex-pat named Clara who owned her own cafe in the village. My father found a classic motorcylce museum tucked away in thin corridors of the village as well. After ascend the citadel and making our way back down we enjoyed a beverage or two and a Euro match while waiting for our return train to Nice.
Back in Nice late, mom and dad went to bed, and I headed back to the Cours Saleya to meet up with the Irish couples and have a late dinner. The night consisted of more liter mugs of Kronenbourg a couple of bars I can not remember the name of, and an interesting late night couple we were pointed towards after 2 a.m.. Following some locals thru the darkening Old Town to this next club, Tony (one the Irishmen) points out that this is how a couple of horror movies start isn't it. Finally we come upon Subway, not Jared's Subway, but a club built a couple stories underground in the what feels like the sewers of Nice's Old Town. Horrible music but definetly an interesting place to go. Tony, James, Audrina, Coaimhe, and myself had a couple there and then took off. They invited me to Ballymena, an oppourtunity I might take-up on my way home in September.
Sunday was devoted entirely to Nice, strolling down the Promenade d'Anglais, checking out the markets at Cours Saleya, climbing the castle-less Castle Rock, and exploring the park and waterfall atop the rock. My plane back to Helsinki was at 8, so after a quick dinner across from the train station, I hopped on a bus back to the airport and I was off back to Finland. The flight home I sat next to a French open-wheel racecar driver who raced professionally in the States. He was visiting his Finnish girlfriends' family for the first time. (Don't know why I mentioned it, I guess I just find that interesting.)
That is all for France.
John
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