PUNKAHARJU
Every one we met in Finland told us to make a point of seeing
_Punkaharju_, just as strangers in London might be advised to visit the
Tower, though in this case the great show was not a historical place,
the work of men's hands, but a freak of Nature in one of her most
charming moods.
_Punkaharju_ being only a short distance from _Nyslott_, we proceeded
thither in a small steamer supposed to start at noon.
By one of those lucky chances that sometimes occur in life, we happened
to arrive at the steamer half an hour before the time she was advertised
to sail, and were, to say the least of it, barely on board before a
whistle sounded, when away we went. We were amazed at this proceeding,
and, taking out our watches, discovered it still wanted _twenty_ minutes
to the time printed in the newspapers and on the advertisement at the
bath-house.
It was only another instance showing that punctuality is absolutely
considered of no value in Finland, for the steamer actually did start
twenty minutes before its appointed hour, and no one then or after made
the slightest complaint.
Imagine our Flying Scotchman speeding North even one minute before the
advertised hour!
Having been told that _Punkaharju_ was very full during the summer
holiday season, we had therefore asked our charming student friend, who
preceded us by a day, to kindly engage rooms to await our arrival. What
was our surprise when we arrived at the little pier, not only to meet
him beaming with smiles as he hurried to say he had secured rooms, but
to find a lady who had travelled with us some days before from _Wiborg_
and spoke English well, warmly welcoming us, the while she exclaimed--
"I found the Hotel was so full when I came that I told the landlord
rooms would be required to-night, for I did not wish you to be
disappointed."
She was a stranger, and her thoughtfulness was very kind. The plot
thickened, however, a moment afterwards, when the Russian General, who
had also travelled for a whole day on a steamer with us, arrived in his
scarlet-lined uniform, and, saluting profoundly, begged to inform Madame
he had taken the liberty of bespeaking rooms "as the Hotel was very
full."
This was somewhat alarming, and it actually turned out that three suites
of rooms had been engaged for us by three different people, each out of
the goodness of his heart trying to avoid the dreadful possibility of
our being sent away roofless. No wonder our host, thinking such a number
of Englishwomen were arriving, had procured the only carriage in the
neighbourhood and ordered it and a cart to come down to the pier and
await this vast influx of folk. Although the Hotel was not a hundred
yards actually from where we stood, everybody insisted on our getting
into the little carriage for the honour of the thing, and my sister and
I drove off in triumph by a somewhat circuitous route to the Hotel, only
to find all our friends and acquaintances there before us, as they had
come up the short way by the steps.
Even more strange was the fact that each one of our kind friends had
told a certain Judge and his wife of our probable arrival, and promised
to introduce the strange English women to them, while, funnily enough,
we ourselves bore an introduction from the lady's brother, so, before
any of our _compagnons de voyage_ had time to introduce us, we had
already made the acquaintance of the Judge and his wife through that
gentleman's card. They were all exceedingly kind to us, and we
thoroughly enjoyed our short stay among them. Such friendliness is very
marked in Finland.
_Punkaharju_ is certainly a strange freak of Nature. Imagine a series of
the most queerly-shaped islands all joined together by a natural
roadway, for, strange to say, there is a ridge of land sometimes
absolutely only the width of the road joining these islands in a
connective chain. For about five miles these four or five islands are
bound together in this very mysterious manner, so mysterious, in fact,
that it seems impossible, as one walks along the roadway, to believe it
is nature's freak and not man's hand that has made this extraordinary
thoroughfare. It is most beautiful in the wider parts, where, there
being more land, the traveller comes upon lovely dells, while the most
marvellous mosses and ferns lie under the pine trees, and the flowers
are beautiful.
No wonder _Runeberg_ the poet loved to linger here--a veritable
enchanted spot.
The morning after our arrival we had a delightful expedition in a boat
to the end of the islands; but as a sudden storm got up, in the way that
storms sometimes do in Finland, we experienced great difficulty in
landing, and were ultimately carried from the boat to the beach in
somewhat undignified fashion. However, we landed somehow, and most of us
escaped without even wet feet. Just above us was a woodman's house,
where our kind Judge had ordered coffee to be in readiness, and thither
we started, a little cold and somewhat wet from the waves that had
entered our bark and sprinkled us. On the way we paused to eat wild
strawberries and to look at the ancient Russian bakeries buried in the
earth. These primitive ovens of stone are of great size, for a whole
regiment had been stationed here at the time of the war early in the
last century when Russia conquered Finland. And then we all sat on the
balcony of the woodman's cottage and enjoyed our coffee, poured from a
dear little copper pot, together with the black bread and excellent
butter, which were served with it.
On that balcony some six or eight languages were spoken by our Finnish
friends, such wonderful linguists are they as a nation. At the end of
our meal the wind subsided and out came the most brilliant sunshine,
changing the whole scene from storm to calm, like a fairy transformation
at the pantomime.
We walked back to the Hotel, and the Finlanders proved to be right. As a
beautiful bit of quaint nature, _Punkaharju_ equals some of the finest
passes in Scotland, while its formation is really most remarkable.
A ridiculous incident happened that day at dinner. Grandpapa, like a
great many other persons in Finland, being a vegetarian, had gone to the
rubicund and comfortable landlord that morning and explained that he
wanted vegetables and fruit for his dinner. At four o'clock, the time
for our mid-day meal, we all seated ourselves at table with excellent
appetites, the Judge being on my left hand and his wife on my right.
We had all fetched our trifles from the _Smörgåsbord_, and there ensued
a pause before the arrival of the soup. Solemnly a servant, bearing a
large dish, came up to our table, and in front of our youthful Grandpapa
deposited her burden. His title naturally gave him precedence of us
all--an honour his years scarcely warranted. The dish was covered with a
white serviette, and when he lifted the cloth, lo! some two dozen eggs
were lying within its folds.
"How extraordinary," he said; "I told the landlord I was a vegetarian,
and should like some suitable food; surely he does not think I am going
to eat this tremendous supply of eggs."
We laughed.
"Where is our dinner?" we asked, a question which interested us much
more than his too liberal supply.
"Oh! it will come in a moment," he replied cheerfully.
"But did you order it?" we ventured to inquire.
"No, I cannot say I did. There is a _table d'hôte_."
Unmercifully we chaffed him. Fancy his daring to order his own dinner,
and never inquiring whether we were to have anything to eat or not; he,
who had catered for our wants in the mysteries of that castle home, so
basely to desert us now.
He really looked quite distressed.
"I'm extremely sorry," he said, "but I thought, being in a hotel, you
were sure to have everything you wanted. Of course there is a _table
d'hôte_ meal."
At this juncture the servant returned, bearing another large dish. _Our_
dinner, of course, we hoped. Not a bit of it. A large white china basin,
full of slices of cucumber, cut, about a quarter of an inch thick, as
cucumber is generally served in Finnish houses, again solemnly paused in
front of Grandpapa. He looked a little uneasy as he inquired for _our
dinner_.
"This is for the gentleman," she solemnly remarked; and so dish number
two, containing at least three entire cucumbers for the vegetarian's
dinner, was left before him. Another pause, and still our soup did not
come; but the girl returned, this time bearing a glass dish on a long
spiral stand filled with red stewed fruit, which, with all solemnity,
she deposited in front of Grandpapa.
His countenance fell. Twenty-four eggs, three cucumbers, and about three
quarts of stewed fruit, besides an enormous jug of milk and an entire
loaf of bread, surrounded his plate, while we hungry mortals were
waiting for even crumbs.
Fact was, the good housewife, unaccustomed to vegetarians, could not
rightly gauge their appetites, and as the gentleman had ordered his own
dinner she thought, and rightly, he was somebody very great, and
accordingly gave him the best of what she had, and that in large
quantities.
After dinner, which, let us own, was excellent, we had to leave our kind
friends and drive back in the soft light of the night to _Nyslott_, for
which purpose we had ordered two _kärra_ (Swedish for cart), _karryts_
(Finnish name), a proceeding which filled the Judge and his wife with
horror.
"It is impossible," they said, "that you can drive such a distance in
one of our ordinary Finnish _kärra_. You do not know what you are
undertaking. You will be shaken to death. Do wait and return to-morrow
by the steamer."
We laughed at their fears, for had we not made up our minds to travel a
couple of hundred miles through Finland at a not much later date by
means of these very _kärra_? Certainly, however, when we reached the
door our hearts failed us a little.
The most primitive of market carts in England could not approach the
discomfort of this strange Finnish conveyance. There were two wheels,
undoubtedly, placed across which a sort of rough-and-ready box formed
the cart; on this a seat without a back was "reserved" for us. The body
of the _kärra_ was strewn with hay, and behind us and below us, and
before us our luggage was stacked, a small boy of twelve sitting on our
feet with his legs dangling out at the side while he drove the little
vehicle.
Grandpapa and I got into one, our student friend and my sister into the
other, and away we went amid the kindly farewells of all the occupants
of the hostelry, who seemed to think we were little short of mad to
undertake a long tiring journey in native carts, and to elect to sleep
at our haunted castle on an island, instead of in a proper hotel.
We survived our drive--nay more, we enjoyed it thoroughly, although so
shaken we feared to lose every tooth in our heads. It was a lovely
evening, and we munched wild strawberries by the way, which we bought
for twopence in a birch-bark basket from a shoeless little urchin on the
road. We had no spoon of course; but we had been long enough in Finland
to know the correct way to eat wild strawberries was with a pin. The pin
reminds us of pricks, and pricks somehow remind of soap, and soap
reminds us of a little incident which may here be mentioned.
An old traveller never leaves home without a supply of soap; so,
naturally, being _very_ old travellers, we started with many cakes among
our treasured possessions. But in the interior of _Suomi_, quite
suddenly, one of our travelling companions confided to us the fact that
he had finished his soap, and could not get another piece. My sister's
heart melted, and she gave away our last bit but one, our soap having
likewise taken unto itself wings. He was overjoyed, for English soap is
a much-appreciated luxury in all foreign lands. Some days went by and
the solitary piece we had preserved grew beautifully less and less; but
we hoped to get some more at each little village we came to. We did not
like to confide our want to our friend, lest he should feel that he had
deprived us of a luxury--we might say a necessity.
Every morning my sister grumbled that our soap was getting smaller and
smaller, which indeed it was, while the chance of replacing it grew more
and more remote. Her grief was so real, her distress so great, that I
could not help laughing at her discomfiture, and, whenever possible,
informed her that I was about to wash my hands for the sake of enjoying
the last lather of our rapidly dwindling treasure. At last she became
desperate.
"I don't care what it costs," she said; "I don't care how long it takes,
but I am going out to get a piece of soap, if I die for it."
So out she went, and verily she was gone for hours. I began to think she
had either "died for it," or got into difficulties with the language, or
been locked up in a Finnish prison!
I was sitting writing my notes, when suddenly the door was thrown open,
and my sister, her face aflame with heat and excitement, appeared with a
large bright orange parcel under her arm.
"I've got it, I've got it," she exclaimed.
"Got what--the measles or scarlet fever?"
"Soap," she replied with a tragic air, waving the bright orange bag over
her head.
"You don't mean to say that enormous parcel contains soap?"
"I do," she replied. "I never intend to be without soap again, and so I
bought all I could get. At least," with a merry twinkle and in an
undertone, she added, "I brought away as little as I could, after
explaining to the man for half an hour I did not want the enormous
quantity he wished to press upon me."
Dear readers, it was not beautiful pink scented soap, it was not made in
Paris or London; heaven only knows the place of its birth; it gave forth
no delicious perfume; it was neither green, nor yellow, nor pink, to
look upon. It was a hideous brown brick made in Lapland, I should think,
and so hard it had probably been frozen at the North Pole itself.
But that was not all; when we began to wash, this wondrous soap which
had cost so much trouble to procure--such hours in its pursuit--was
evidently some preparation for scrubbing floors and rough household
utensils, for there was a sandy grit about it which made us clean,
certainly, but only at the expense of parting with our skin.
My poor sister! Her comedy ended in tragedy.