One of my most favourite moments of 2016 took place on September 7th. Why? What? Where?
This was in Tōkyō, the capital of the State of Japan. More precisely, it was in the Imperial district and by the entrance to the Imperial Palace. The sun was setting with its last rays still casting a faint light, bringing the park to life in an unique way. There were not many people present, the tourists had come and gone though it was not yet late (twenty to six) — but the Sun was setting and people move with it, so for that day, they had passed on.
The setting was beautiful in every mentionable way. It is still in my mind, the Sun’s quiet descent as daylight slowly receded, as it left the Imperial District, and as its last rays illuminated the former heart of the Shogunate.
Overall, I did not see much of Tōkyō as I had barely 24h there, but I am incredibly happy that one of the places I decided to go to was the Palace. Having the limited time to explore, I had started out without much of a plan and with a very limited grasp on which options were plausible. Chance ruled. The providential decisions which made me exit the underground in that station and walk down the street to arrive in the nick of time to see the day pass away are worth pondering about on their own. How much of what happens to us is chance, and chance alone? How much of this was indeterminable by anything I did?
But, with regards to this post, I mostly wanted to share this image:
I can still remember the serenity. Can you sense it?
In a similar line to my earlier post on Scotland, I have now returned (well, a week ago it was) from a good twelve days in Greece (the locations: Korinthia and Thera) which were not only very educative in the traditional higher educational sense (of geology and volcanology), but also of people — including myself.
While the locations I saw were not numerous, the time in Korinthia was well spent. Unfortunately, Akrokorinth is something I missed even though my hotel was only fifteen minutes away. Oh the times!.. Yet, there was one ancient settlement that I did get to visit in the region, and that was Heraion/Iraio (Ηραίο). It is difficult to describe the feelings that take hold when I look upon the work of people from two-and-a-half millenia away — what stays from that moment with me though is the consideration that to have their work survive for this long is representative of the great care and skill with which those stones were laid down once upon a time.
The Thera part of the trip brought to my mind a lot of interesting problems, the majority of them related to history. For example, outside of Fira itself is a small cape and on that cape used to be a settlement-fortress. But as a fortress, the location was not all that useful. So, was the purpose to guard the people or to be guarded from them?
The old city of Akrotiri was quite spectacular (not even to mention that there was a house in that city called The Admiral’s House — what a beauty!) if somewhat lacking in the explanatory side. I dare say the evolution of that side of the island when looked at from a both human and volcanological point of view makes for an interesting story that probably deserves a fair bit of thought. I guess, however, that the one thing that is difficult to figure out is where indeed could there be other old settlements under the meters-thick layer of Minoan eruption sediments.
One thought stayed with me the entire time from landing on Thera to leaving the place — it is immensely spectacular to see a place so naturally endowed for being a harbour. If it was in any way more strategically placed, it would be quite easy to lament the Admiral who chooses some other island/town for his flag-station. Looking down at the caldera — there were few fleets that I could think of which would not fit into this amazing enclosure. Sure, by the present day the eruptions have opened nearly a quarter of the bay to marine breezes, but even so one could have hidden and guarded a fleet here for some time. The one impulsive wish I did get was to travel to Truk, to Scapa Flow, to other renown harbours to see what sort of an impact they make. Do they look as good ports as Thera?..
And the people… let’s just say that there was plenty of opportunity for reflection on a variety of topics. The Mediterranean Sea always does seem like a very good place to go to for thinking — the combination of warm air, a sea breeze, the gleaming moon, waves breaking against the coast, the dark skies, and potentially a glass of the local quality drink make for a very beautiful moment. Pensiveness is certainly enhanced by this atmosphere. And it makes one wonder…
Also, over the course of this trip I could see that Dutch music is becoming more and more to my liking. I am not entirely certain why, but De Dijk’s line ‘Swalkend op de oceaan’ is a part of the cause.
I’ve just returned from a short visit to Scotland (Oban, Argyll), and I reached a point during the journey back when I thought: “I wonder how this never appeared to me before this moment.”
What this “this” was would have been a thought that thought by landscape and the general look of the land, Estonia and Scotland are so very different, there is a marked similarity in the people (or at least the people I saw there). I think it would be even more so deeper into the Highlands.
How I came upon this thought was by following my pattern that if I lived under those mountains for five years, I would be changed by that. But changed how? And how would then people who have fifty generations live under the mountains change?
These are interesting questions all, but something in them made me think of the people. And I think I managed to draw a point of comparison that told me a Scottish person is not all that different from an Estonian, although it might appear different. But how we have come to that point is different. The Scot has been led there by the Highland landscape which has formulated him to be careful when walking and yet happy in the rain, and the Estonian has been shaped by the course of history which has taught the same lessons.
And I did think that the Finnish landscape offers some points of similarity. And I want to return.
I saw a few days ago that an acquaintance on Facebook posted a picture which went by the effect that “Science shows that people who swear are most honest in their daily lives”. I offered no comment then, but in my mind a rather prominent question-mark appeared. So, I thought of this…
As a general note on the background, I have to add that this same person does use swearwords as part of his everyday vocabulary, both online and in-person as far as I know. I, on the other hand, rarely do so — I indeed remember a particular instant last week when I did use an expletive with the explicit goal of trying to emphasize my point to the other person, which I believe worked at that time for her first reaction was: “I don’t think I’ve heard you swear before.”
Now, however, to get back on topic: I am very adamantly of the opinion that any use of an expletive in a conversation between two people only serves to dumb the discussion down, and is of no use in building intelligent constructive arguments. That, along with the fact that anything can be very well said without swearing, is the main point that I stick to as much as possible (singular cases like the one I brought out before excluded).
That is also the same critique I apply to most items I read and hear: if they have needed to use expletives to define their own point of view, then clearly something is wrong. Either their statement was too weak in their opinion without swearing or they just feel as if they need to add to it to make it stronger. And that “addition” by default makes me regard the entire point as less, not more.
I would indeed state that I have yet to see a sentence which has improved in its overall value by making it more profane — it is, in short, for me the (first and foremost) sign of an uncultured mind.