In the dark and cool cave, my eyes still adjusting to the low light, I had to stifle a gasp as a magnificent reindeer stag appeared right before me, its antlers reflected in the water.
It was an eerie moment; except this was not a real, flesh-and-blood animal but a video installation projected onto the back of an alcove in the rock in Retretti, an art gallery housed 30 meters underground in a man-made complex of caves.
This visual and performing arts center is in Finland’s gorgeous south-eastern lakelands, minutes away from the sand ridge at Punkaharju and a half-hour bus ride from the regional center, Savonlinna. On the surface, Retretti’s cluster of nondescript, single-story buildings masks a warren of subterranean galleries and a concert hall covering almost 4,000 sq meters.
Various artists had taken full advantage of this atmospheric setting and filled nooks, crevices, pedestals and pools with installations and sculpture: Bales of hay impaled by shards of hand-painted glass, a lovingly recreated miniature colony of ringed seals and a video installation which brought the shimmering heat of Death Valley underground.
Upstairs, the more conventional bit of Retretti hosts temporary exhibitions of art and design — in one gallery, I was entranced by how an Estonian artist had transformed ugly, rusty naval mines into quirky tables, armchairs, a bathtub and even a chandelier.
I had arrived in the historic town of Savonlinna that morning, grumpy and groggy due to lack of sleep on the overnight bus from Helsinki. But my spirits were immediately revived by the sight of the Savo district’s star attraction, the formidable Olavinlinna castle. Perched on top of a rocky islet in the middle of the lake, with its mottled, porridge-colored stonework reflected in the still water, it was an impressive sight.
Its three surviving towers, louring over the low-rise structures on the shore and topped with circular, brick arcades under copper roofs, looked to me like three stocky, red-faced cardinals with squinty eyes.
The castle’s turbulent past resembles a potted history of Finland itself. Finland was the ball in the tennis match between the Swedes and the Russians, and one of the bits they volleyed about most was Olavinlinna.
The Swedes founded it in 1475 to guard this important waterway on its much-disputed eastern border with Russia, but ownership of the castle would swing between the two empires until 1743, when it came into Russia’s hands and stayed there until the early 20th century. It looked set to end its days as the town jail before someone realized that it was more valuable as a tourist attraction.
These days, Olavinlinna’s high-vaulted rooms are still reached via dizzying flights of narrow, spiral staircases but they all have doubleglazing and heating. The great hall regularly hosts weddings and banquets, the walls ring with the clinking of glasses as opposed to the crash of swords, and the castle’s handsome courtyard is the site of an annual, month-long international opera festival.
Before heading for Savonlinna, I had spent a few days in Helsinki, one of the most relaxed, charming and architecturally blessed capitals that I have ever visited.
There’s much to please the architecture buff in Helsinki: The elegant 19th century townhouses which line both sides of the Esplanadi and the sensuous curve of the metal-tiled Kiasma museum of contemporary art.
What I especially enjoyed was the Finnish twist to the Art Nouveau-style buildings in the shopping street of Aleksanterikatu: Little foxes, wolves, bears and the mythical swan of Tuonela had been incorporated into the monumental facades.
But my favorite building in Helsinki was Temppeliaukio kirkko, the famous church in the rock. It is often used as a concert venue. I managed to catch two very different gigs there — three trombone choirs in rip-roaring action as part of the 32nd international trombone festival and a strings ensemble playing a meditative selection of Vivaldi and Bloch — truly the best way to enjoy this fantastic structure.
While in Helsinki, I stayed on the island of Suomenlinna, a 15-minute ferry ride from the city’s market square but a world away in terms of tranquillity. The youth hostel there was very relaxed, and the perfect base from which to explore the 18th century fortress which gave the island its name — which means fortress of Finland.
As with Olavinlinna, Suomenlinna’s terraced fortifications, with their thick walls, arrowhead-shaped bastions and rather spacious tunnels, were built at huge expense by the Swedes to counter the expansionist ambitions of Russia.
Across the four linked islands protected by the fortress, they erected houses, shops, civic buildings and a dry dock where ships destined for the Swedish archipelago fleet were constructed. All to no avail though: As Sweden’s power waned, the fortress surrendered virtually without a fight to Russia in 1808.
Today, the fortress is a world heritage site and is home to civilians rather than soldiers. A walk from the heart of Suomenlinna — the leafy courtyard where its founder, Augustin Ehrensard, is interred — to the cannons and the furthest reaches of the fortifications makes for a pleasant wander past artists’ workshops and cafes.
At the south-western tip, I stood on one of the mounds and looked out onto the Gulf of Finland, reflecting on the extraordinary buildings hewn out of this nation’s mighty granite. The words of a fellow hosteler sprang to mind: “Finland rocks!”
— 25 September 2003
