Traveling is almost like talking with those of other centuries.
Rene Descartes (1506-1650)
The statement by the French philosopher and mathematician is true and may provide an answer on why some of us are restless travelers. When we move to a new city of country, do we subconsciously stay in contact with our former hoe, cherished relatives, friends and memories? Does our wish to remain spiritually connected to such matters reveal why – after many generations – some of us in faraway lands stubbornly refuse to severe ties with a country like Finland?
Possibly, some of us are nothing more than antique collectors of culture, which decorate the shelves of our soul. If you had a chance to see my soul, you’d notice shelves extending as far as the eyes can see with ornaments and heirlooms of Finnish and other cultures gathering soul dust.

A book publsihed in 2006 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the founding of Colonia Finlandesa, Argentina.
I still can’t place my finer on it, but there’s something bewitching that the streets of bygone times house. Is it a lost dream? A passionate desire? An eternal gut feeling that spiritual and material wealth are around the corner? Or will we find our former relatives on such streets and have the opportunity to ask them the immigrant question of all questions: What did you search so hard for?
What they searched for
Since Argentina has been on the front pages of the world’s major dailies, with your permission, we will momentarily travel to the streets of that country, where my Italian great grandparents migrated to in the end of 1890s.
Like the U.S., Canada and Australia, millions of Europeans moved to Argentina in the 19th and early 20th century. Most of these migrants were Italians and Spaniards. A tiny group of Finns founded in 1906 a colony in the subtropical jungles of north-eastern Argentina.
In the 1914 census, 30% of Argentina’s population comprised o foreigners and its capital city, Buenos Aires, the figure stood at 49%! Add to these percentages the children of these migrants and the foreign-to-native ratio becomes even more impressive.
If you visit a residential neighborhood of Buenos Aires like Flores, where my grandparents once lived, you’ll still find early-20th-century Parisian-style houses adorning sleepy oak-lined cobblestone streets.
Many of the older residents of Flores despise time because they say it distances them from those they love and who where from distant European lands. The residents of the neighborhood have ingenious methods of stopping time: They park vintage cars like Fords from the 1930s in front of their homes. Some have portraits of ancient heads of state like King Victor Emmanuel II of Italy, Spain’s Francisco Franco and Czar Nicholas II hanging on the walls of their homes.
The inhabitants understand that if time is allowed to wander freely, it turns into the worst ogre devouring everything in its path.
Continue reading “(Finland Bridge 1998): Talking to others faraway”












