Karelia: 74 years after

Relatives are a fun bunch to travel with. I was reminded of this in Lapland; and it was reconfirmed in Karelia earlier this month.

My relatives and I had the chance to revisit family history by going on a kind of package trip with a busful of other Finns to go and visit old family history haunts in a previously Finnish, nowadays Russian area.

This area is called Karelia, and my Finnish grandmother was born there in 1931. In the 1930s 11% of the Finnish population lived in Karelia, until they had to be evacuated during the Winter War and the Continuation War. My grandma’s family was evacuated first in 1940, then they got to go back home for a few years, and then they were evacuated again, permanently, in 1944.

This trip was organised by excellent Karelia-connoisseur, our tourguide M, and my beloved mumsie acted as an unofficial interpreter when needed. There were people from ten different families here, visiting different family haunts. For many this ‘family haunt’ is just a spot in the land, a location that used to house a house which has since been destroyed/burned down/taken down.

My family is lucky, as our main house exists still, and is even inhabited.

***

The plan was for the bus to take us all to Kaukola church, where we’d go and visit a few graves at the cemetery, then split up into our own groups, with assigned drivers to take us to our destinations.

As we approached a railway crossing on our way to the church, our guide commented sarcastically how the barriers are always down when we arrive – they must have some kind of communication system about foreign bus loads coming.

Lo and behold, the barriers were down, but the train was currently in the process of passing, so we expected a short wait and then our trip could continue.

Carriage by carriage, the long cargo train trundled past, gradually slowing down in speed, until it ground to a halt on the railway crossing. Ulla and I, happily sitting on the front seats of the bus, found this rather entertaining. I had never witnessed a train STOP while crossing a railway crossing, in the middle of these vehicles queueing up to cross. Lol.

Then the train decided to do something even more unheard of – it started reversing. Carriage by carriage, the long cargo train reversed back over the railway crossing, all the way till we saw the bright red engine trundle backwards in front of us.

Hugely entertaining.

Let me tell you though, it became significantly less entertaining each time it happened.

We sat there for exactly thirty minutes and watched the train go to and fro four times, before suddenly the barriers were lifted and we whizzed over, hardly believing our luck.

Due to this scenic delay, we were late for the Kaukola church, so our programme there was slightly rushed through.

The cemetery was unforgettable and unforgettably… extravagant. The shiny tomb stones with stylish portraits of the deceased were covered in beautiful, dazzling flowers, and the little stone tables in the same fenced area were covered in colourful Russian sweets. It was, if I may use the word, charming. Cemeteries are sad places, but the colours and the portraits made it so much more of a celebration of joy in the lives, not the sadness which comes from the loss.

It’s amazing how you can celebrate the joy of life, despite it now being in the past, and how lovely and dedicated the families of the deceased are.

However, at the same time, one noted certain rundown tomb stones amongst the stylish extravaganza.

And then, think about everyone who isn’t here. Who don’t have the money for a portrait on their tombstones.

Or those who don’t have them loved ones.

***          

Next, time to go into our groups to be taken to the houses/locations of our family houses. Our group of eight were headed in the same direction as another group of six. We had been told that our ride could fit a maximum of seven. With skilled maths that means two trips, but with what groups? We discussed various options of travel:

1. One of us (and who?) would travel as an extra with the other six?
2. We’d split into four and four, and get the others to split three and three, so all would be equal?
3. We’d negotiate and see if we could fix eight in the ride after all? (It was Russia, after all!)

We started to discuss this with our driver, good old Leonid. “Do you think it’s possible at all to squeeze an eighth person into your seven-person ride?”

He looked at us a bit blankly and said, “I was told fourteen, let’s try fourteen.”

And so we thought yolo why not (okay, I don’t frequently use ‘yolo’, and I sincerely doubt most of the generation I was travelling with thought yolo either).

So, our ride. An uaz, a little army van with a semi-open back. Earlier we’d discussed, jokingly, what it’d be like to travel in the back of a van or truck.

Well, lo and behold: People who get travel sick can go and sit in front with our driver (five people), while the others – pile into the back. So we piled in, nine of us on a few mattresses and a nice rug which wouldn’t look out of place in a nice Russian lounge. Fourteen + the driver in our little uaz.

I sat semi-comfortably lodged in between/in front of my mum and my second cousin Lari, bumping over dusty roads waving to pedestrians with a van-backsideful of relatives and strangers. It smelt strongly of exhaust and I’m sure the fumes weren’t the most beneficial to a long and healthy life, but it was fun, scenic and hilarious.

 

***

After about twenty minutes, we managed to find the right place with only minor hiccups. The fourteen of us piled out of the uaz.

My family pointed out to me the house immediately on the right, where my great-grandfather was born. Then we proceeded down the little road towards my grandmother’s childhood home.

It was hidden behind a little mound, and with all the excitement I don’t think I was able to process the feelings about this.

But suddenly we were at this little house, slightly run-down but it didn’t matter – and the location was stunning. It was right next to the river, with the garden descending into the water. Idyllic 2.0, slightly to the extent of ridiculous. You have romanticised ideas of your grandparents rowing off to see their friends in the historic summer breeze before the times of the television, and it’s experiences like this which emphasize the fact they aren’t just your own little fairy tale brain concoctions.

We were greeted warmly by N, the owner of the house, a charming Russian woman who has lived there for her whole life. It’s descriptive that my grandmother was born, and had to leave before N was even born.

We were invited in, where we were served tea, Russian biscuits, homegrown pickles and, of course, vodka. Those who didn’t wish to indulge in vodka filled their shot glasses sneakily with water so as to partake in the cheers. We discussed with N about her and her family (with my mum as the interpreter), and then went to explore the area around the house.

My great-grandfather owned a mill on the shore of the lake, and we went to look around the remains of it. We had lunch around there and took pictures. An incredible moment of my own personal history, shared with people with the same connection. So special.

Eventually we went to say goodbye to N, and were on our way.

Even as I was experiencing it, I knew this would be a day I’d remember for the rest of my life.

Many pics courtesy of Pasi. Special thanks for the old pictures. 🙂

Kiitos kaikille <3