FLASHBACK #44: Moment Defining Midnight Swim at Alanenjärvi

My last Summer in Tampere had been a fun-filled one, but nothing could have had a more profound effect on me than my nightly drives to Alanenjärvi. One of my colleague's (the religious one) parents live on the elongated lake and, having passed it one day during the summer, I decided to make use of having a car while I had one.

So, each evening after many hours of packing boxes, I would make the 10km journey north of Tampere. I would pull into the dirt track road, brave the mosquito infested forest before emerging onto a small sandy beach which preceded the shore. Standing at the water's edge, I would strip and lunge into the refreshingly cold water.

During my last week in Tampere, I headed to the lake, having finally completed my packing. It was gone 10pm but, standing waist-deep in the dark water, I felt something. It wasn't a bad thing, it was a kind of sensation of enlightenment. I was standing there, looking out at the lake. You could see the orange-ness of the sunset behind the trees clearly reflected on the lake's still waters. I must have been the only one in the area for kilometres around for, for the first time, the immense stillness of the water struck me.

Repeatedly, I looked at the water, then up at the gorgeous sunset, the sky now turning dark orange and, soon, to red. I must have stood there for a while and, many times, I smiled as I reflected on the many happy memories I had of my time in Tampere. If someone had passed by at that particular point, it might have looked like I was contemplating a suicide except for the smile that stretch from ear to ear.

Later, as I drove back to town, I considered how defining my trip to the lake had been. It had been me at one with nature, an appreciation that every Finn is said to be born with. As a mosquito bit at my skin, I didn't flinch. Instead, I had realised that this was where I was meant to be. I was home.