On Beauty...and heat (Ulm, Germany)
Wow, how tiring travelling can be! Almost 3 days later, still not more than 15 km of cycling under my belt, I already feel pretty exhausted from all the sitting on trains, my neck stiff from the life-saving but slightly overdone air-conditioning and my mind as always at this point of a journey, having serious doubts about the cleverness of this idea.
It all started easily: the luxuriously leisurely sea voyage was a delight, and things were running quite smoothly for most of yesterday. In the morning, I rode the easy 14 km to Lübeck in perfect conditions, having had the sense to start (for me) untypically early. The birds were singing, the gentle wind was pushing me along, and every cyclist greeted me with a friendly wave of the hand.
In Lübeck while waiting for my train, I had enough time to do the necessary shopping (now I have the maps although still haven´t looked at them) as well as indulge in my favourite pastime, people-watching. It quickly became evident that the heat we have so longingly been thinking of in Finland has already exhausted the Germans, as by 10.30 almost every person was looking decidedly defeated by the temperature that was to climb to the dizzying heights over over 40 degrees as the day progressed. Thus, most of the people I saw had little of the happiness that I was so filled with, and I had to resort to emergency tactiques to avoid letting their bad mood affect me: I played a game where I force myself to find something likeable in every person I see. It may be a funny hat, a well-cut beard or the gentle way the pet their dog, but I simply must see something beautiful in everyone.
The effect of this exercise never ceases to amaze me: all of a sudden, I see beauty all around me, and the same people who a moment ago seemed unhappy and grumpy now all have something inspiring and fascinating in them. Yesterday morning, I also became aware of the trap that conventional beauty creates: those who don´t have it covet the ones who do, while those who are lucky enough to be born with it are forever worrying about losing it, about being swallowed by the crowds of the unattractive. Neither ones are happy as they can never fully relax, and the constant evaluation that other people direct at them makes them jumpy and stressed.
On my 12-hour train journey - that was lengthened considerably by ever-extended delays - I kept going back to my thoughts about beauty and what it is that draws my attention to a person. Moreover, the southward journey that traversed most of Germany took me accross areas that I have previosly cycled through and where I have experienced the usual triumphs and disappointments that travelling alone always brings. Seeing the familiar sights, I remembered precisely how I had felt in a certain riverside cafe or upon entering a certain city.
Towards sunset, the train got into the most pictoresque part of the journey, following the River Rhein and its valley with beautiful mountains and fairytale-like castles. There, I suddenly understood something about true beauty: no matter how impressive the measured attractiveness of celebrated architecture or young, unmarked faces and bodies, what truly touches me is the wild, uncontrolled and ever-changing forms of nature: the way a river has carved its way into the mountainside, the way a driftwood has found its smooth shape by the waves relentlessly molding it, or the way the clouds are constantly changing their shape to adapt to the changing conditions of temperature and moisture.
Similarly, true beauty in people is only brought about by life forever molding us, changing our appeareance, forcing us to adapt. Those of us who manage to stay open and receptive to the ever-changing conditions, finding the most natural way to adapt while remaining true to their own self, are the ones to admire.
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A few words about the practicalities, for the record: The train trip that would have taken the most part of the day anyway got extended considerably by the difficulties that the record temperatures were causing to the railway system. The announcements kept repeating politely how sorry Deutsche Bahn was for any inconvenience, so while many passengers seemed to be getting quite fed up, I just felt grateful to be indoors, not having to fight the battle of survival in such extreme conditons. However, when we finally reached Stuttgart where I was supposed to catch the last connection to Ulm and it turned out the train was cancelled, I did for a moment feel irritated. What happened next was beyond my imagination: the DB customer care got every passenger a taxi, and me and my bike rode the remaining 100 km to Ulm in a Mercedes Benz, driven by a young Arab guy only slightly too confident about his driving skills, ignoring the warning signs for the danger caused by speeding on over-heated tarmac. Mercifully, we arrived safe and sound at around 2 am, only about 2 hours after the scheduled arrival time. All that remained was for me to get into my hotel, a budget option with no personnel on duty at such hour. After 3 phone calls and some (not much) cursing to push off some overly helpful drunken hotel guests, I was finally in the room and collapsed into a lovely, cool bed.
Now, after prolonging the inevitable for as long as I could, am setting out of the door of my hotel to the mind-numbing heat of over 30 degrees to start the cycling. The Danube is waiting.
It all started easily: the luxuriously leisurely sea voyage was a delight, and things were running quite smoothly for most of yesterday. In the morning, I rode the easy 14 km to Lübeck in perfect conditions, having had the sense to start (for me) untypically early. The birds were singing, the gentle wind was pushing me along, and every cyclist greeted me with a friendly wave of the hand.
In Lübeck while waiting for my train, I had enough time to do the necessary shopping (now I have the maps although still haven´t looked at them) as well as indulge in my favourite pastime, people-watching. It quickly became evident that the heat we have so longingly been thinking of in Finland has already exhausted the Germans, as by 10.30 almost every person was looking decidedly defeated by the temperature that was to climb to the dizzying heights over over 40 degrees as the day progressed. Thus, most of the people I saw had little of the happiness that I was so filled with, and I had to resort to emergency tactiques to avoid letting their bad mood affect me: I played a game where I force myself to find something likeable in every person I see. It may be a funny hat, a well-cut beard or the gentle way the pet their dog, but I simply must see something beautiful in everyone.
The effect of this exercise never ceases to amaze me: all of a sudden, I see beauty all around me, and the same people who a moment ago seemed unhappy and grumpy now all have something inspiring and fascinating in them. Yesterday morning, I also became aware of the trap that conventional beauty creates: those who don´t have it covet the ones who do, while those who are lucky enough to be born with it are forever worrying about losing it, about being swallowed by the crowds of the unattractive. Neither ones are happy as they can never fully relax, and the constant evaluation that other people direct at them makes them jumpy and stressed.
On my 12-hour train journey - that was lengthened considerably by ever-extended delays - I kept going back to my thoughts about beauty and what it is that draws my attention to a person. Moreover, the southward journey that traversed most of Germany took me accross areas that I have previosly cycled through and where I have experienced the usual triumphs and disappointments that travelling alone always brings. Seeing the familiar sights, I remembered precisely how I had felt in a certain riverside cafe or upon entering a certain city.
Towards sunset, the train got into the most pictoresque part of the journey, following the River Rhein and its valley with beautiful mountains and fairytale-like castles. There, I suddenly understood something about true beauty: no matter how impressive the measured attractiveness of celebrated architecture or young, unmarked faces and bodies, what truly touches me is the wild, uncontrolled and ever-changing forms of nature: the way a river has carved its way into the mountainside, the way a driftwood has found its smooth shape by the waves relentlessly molding it, or the way the clouds are constantly changing their shape to adapt to the changing conditions of temperature and moisture.
Similarly, true beauty in people is only brought about by life forever molding us, changing our appeareance, forcing us to adapt. Those of us who manage to stay open and receptive to the ever-changing conditions, finding the most natural way to adapt while remaining true to their own self, are the ones to admire.
======
A few words about the practicalities, for the record: The train trip that would have taken the most part of the day anyway got extended considerably by the difficulties that the record temperatures were causing to the railway system. The announcements kept repeating politely how sorry Deutsche Bahn was for any inconvenience, so while many passengers seemed to be getting quite fed up, I just felt grateful to be indoors, not having to fight the battle of survival in such extreme conditons. However, when we finally reached Stuttgart where I was supposed to catch the last connection to Ulm and it turned out the train was cancelled, I did for a moment feel irritated. What happened next was beyond my imagination: the DB customer care got every passenger a taxi, and me and my bike rode the remaining 100 km to Ulm in a Mercedes Benz, driven by a young Arab guy only slightly too confident about his driving skills, ignoring the warning signs for the danger caused by speeding on over-heated tarmac. Mercifully, we arrived safe and sound at around 2 am, only about 2 hours after the scheduled arrival time. All that remained was for me to get into my hotel, a budget option with no personnel on duty at such hour. After 3 phone calls and some (not much) cursing to push off some overly helpful drunken hotel guests, I was finally in the room and collapsed into a lovely, cool bed.
Now, after prolonging the inevitable for as long as I could, am setting out of the door of my hotel to the mind-numbing heat of over 30 degrees to start the cycling. The Danube is waiting.
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