In the picturesque wilderness of Iso-Syote, Finland's southernmost region, mindfulness occurs spontaneously and naturally
The air is chilly and a mild breeze that occasionally blows through brings with it tingling scents of the forest: pine cones, dried leaves, crushed foliage. Green is the predominant color, but there are numerous shades ranging from pale yellow to soft orange, while giant pine trees rise like sentinels everywhere, forming a beautiful pattern against the blue sky, unmarred by clouds. Many of the trunks and rocks are covered in moss and lichen, a natural color palette.
A narrow creaking boardwalk, littered with fallen pine cones, runs past a pond, Hanhilampi, which means goose pond in Finnish, but there is not a goose or any other creature in sight. Instead, the surface is glassy and motionless, save for a few ripples caused by a falling leaf or pine cone. Surrounded by tall trees, the pond feels like an unexpected secret. It's so quiet, it feels unreal. It is satisfying to walk among the soaring tree trunks, feet landing silently on the floor covered with fallen leaves, pine needles, twigs, pine cones and seeds. In this piece of picturesque wilderness in Iso-Syote, Finland's southernmost region, mindfulness comes about uninvited and naturally.
Iso-Syote is a trap; the word is derived from the Norwegian word 'fjall', meaning a landscape of gently rising and falling terrain, covered with meadows and grasslands. From my vantage point I have a nearly 360 degree panoramic view of forested hills, ravines and valleys, small swamps and bodies of water, stretching into the distance.
Somewhere in this vast terrain lies Syote National Park, a 300 square kilometer protected area with ancient spruce forests, owls, reindeer, wolverines and elk. The park offers a variety of activities including hiking, fat biking, biking, canoeing, river tubing, fishing and camping in the summer and skiing and snowshoeing in the winter when it is covered in snow. Because there is virtually no light pollution, the park is also a great place to spot the Northern Lights. The previous night I had driven to the edge of the park and had had enough of the stunning starry night sky and spent time playing spot-the-constellation.
In the morning light, the park blends seamlessly into its surroundings. As the sun rises, a cold wind picks up and I leave my vantage point to wander around the hill. Some trails are signposted, but there are many other trails that lead to thick clusters of tall trees or rounded corners that hold the promise of adventure. The early morning sunlight is incredibly sharp, making everything ultra sharp. I choose one path because it seems winding and mysterious and begin with anticipation of the unknown.
On either side are not only towering trees, but also a thick carpet of tall grass and small plants with beautiful yellow and white flowers. The air is clear and refreshing, that indescribable feeling of unpolluted mountain air. The increasing sunlight brings out colorful butterflies. Every now and then I see a magpie hopping along the ground, looking for the proverbial worm. It was quiet at first, but the more I push into the path, the quieter it becomes. I hear the crackle of dry leaves under my shoes, the faint rustle of my sleeves brushing my sides, my breathing.
I pause every now and then to touch the bark of a tree, a smooth leaf, a blade of grass, a beautiful flower, crumbling moss, and enjoy the different textures. Suddenly I really understand the meaning of forest bathing, or shinrin yoku, the Japanese practice of immersing yourself in nature to deeply relax. The trail winds through dense trees, stretches of flat land and small hills. Occasionally it suddenly passes an opening to reveal a sliver of panoramic view of the waterfall, but just as quickly shoots back into the wilderness. Every now and then I see a log cabin, weathered by time, that stands as still as everything around it. Less than an hour later, the path unexpectedly ends on a narrow road that takes me back to the hotel.
The trails in Iso-Syote, Finland, wind through dense trees, stretches of flat land and small hills.
As I stare into the water of Hanhilampi, I notice that the edge of the boardwalk is covered with small plants with different types of berries, some black, others bright red. The latter, I am told, are lingonberries, whose skin is translucent and encases the juicy flesh. I pick a few to put in my mouth. The first shocks the system: it has a mouth-puckering, sour taste, laced with a bit of sweetness and lingering bitterness at the end. I look around for more and eat them to the point of excess.
My solitude is disturbed, albeit gently, by a few cackling birds hidden high in the trees. I'm also distracted by my growling stomach, despite the blueberries. The smell of bubbling pumpkin soup and barbecue sausages wafts over from a small log cabin nearby, further complicating matters. I reluctantly walk towards the scent and do my best to prolong the state of exaltation.
Anita Rao Kashi is an independent journalist based in Bengaluru.