Brest, Bretagne, Now

There was a moment I caught myself thinking that I don’t want to go home. That when I go home, I’m not going to feel like home.

That my home is not gonna be a home like it used to be.

I felt pretty lost.

But I felt awfully free and independent.

My mother, whenever we’re staying in a hotel room often refers to it with the word ”home”. My sister always says ”Mom it’s not home.” But why? How do you define home?

To me it’s not a house, city or a country. When it’s easy to be myself, when I feel free and being loved, I’m home.

Brest, Bretagne, now. I guess I’m home.

Brest, Foire aux Croutes
Penthièvre, Bretagne
Char á voile á Penthièvre, Bretagne
 Une bonne bouffe chez 🐠 à Brest
Somewhere by the 62 miles route between Brest and Lannion, Bretagne
Huitres de keraliou, Plougastel, Bretagne




World Citizen in the Bus 12

I woke up. Dead tired. I searched for the button to switch on the light but didn’t succeed. I realised I wasn’t at home, in my room, in my bed, next to the lamp I was so used to switch on every morning. Laying in the darkness I noticed it was also dark outside and I could see the stars. In Finland I was never able to see the stars in the end of the summer. The sun rises early in the North. I got up, puzzled, and walked the stairs down, continued to the corridor and ended up to the kitchen for petit déjeuner. Would you choose the fresh warm baguette with butter and homemade jam or a little can of yogurt? Yeah me too, but I took the yogurt because I was sure I wasn’t able to keep anything else in my stomach. At five past seven I walked to the nearest bus stop and took the bus 12 to the school, like I was to take every day after that.

Almost two months since the first day, I woke up in the morning (dead tired). I found the light in three seconds and realised I’m in my room, in my bed, next to the lamp I’m so used to switch on every morning. On the nightstand, behind the lamp I had added a jar of blooming flowers, which, at this time of the year, would have died pretty quickly in Finland. To the wall, beside my bed and above my desk, I had placed a bunch of photos. My favourite one has my sister wearing a teddy bear hat and four meters of christmas lights. I took the stairs down to the kitchen, had some coffee and baguette with butter and jam. At twelve past seven, half of the baguette in my mouth and the other half of it in my hand, I ran to the bus stop, just in time, to catch the bus 12.

Now, it’s been three months, and the light on my nightstand is broken. In the morning, after waking up (dead tired and that’s not going to change), I walk across the dark room to the light that works. I turn the light on, turn around and see two pots of flowers. The one blooming like my face after months of french food and the other one (I’m such a green thumb) kind of dead like my improvement in my “Voltaire-essay”. I grab the poor dead Cyclamen hederifolium and try to revive it while brushing my teeth. Smiling, I think how my friend back in Finland killed her cactus. 

I navigate to the kitchen in the darkness and hear the bird sound off in our kitchen clock, it’s 7:00. Quickly I make some tea, drink it and look for something healthy to eat. 30 seconds of looking and my eyes catch the chocolate cookies I made the other day. I take two of them, say “Bonne journée” to my host dad and run again to the bus stop. I see the bus 12 passing in front of me, without me. Cursing in french, I sit down, start eating the cookies and wait obediently for the next bus.

Time goes buy, you get used to things, unfamiliar manners become old habits and before you even realise, you have made yourself a new life, with new family, new friends, new rules to go buy. From time to time you miss something from home and in certain moments you feel like you could give anything to have your mom beside you, your dad encouraging you and your sister to argue and then laugh with. Anyhow you learn to cope with it and instead of comparing the different habits in two different countries you start appreciating the things you had at home and step by step understanding the things you have in your life here. You will always see the gap between the two cultures, you can never be genuinely French or truly Finnish again. Despite of the occasional frustration, I found it beautiful. You become a world citizen: you can never be able to understand all the colourful cultures we have in the world, but you can learn to see every culture without strong prejudices and judgement.



OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOh and here we have some photos, taken throughout the journey. Apparently my favourite view, wherever I go, is always the sea.

💛: Senja


When I was speaking about the absence of my inner Shakespeare I never thought it would be something like this:

In only one month, I’ve gone through such a various mix of emotions, from Bohemian Rhapsody to Single Ladies…

…I have too many words, from five different languages all jumping around in my head…

… I’ve learned so much during the past four weeks and I’ve got so many things to tell…

…that I can’t just put it all into words not to mention fitting it in any number of blog posts!

This feeling, which every exchange student can relate to, is insane, it’s nearly ( I say nearly cause I really believe there’s a lot of power in words) indescribable.

People ask:

Have you had fun?

How are you doing?

How do you feel?

How is the food in France?

And I was only able to answer: “Daamn I love the food here!”

So I started to do some research. Is there one word, which could (almost) describe this all?

You’re living in a country you’ve never lived in before, spending every day with people you’ve never met before and talking in a language you have never used before and which you don’t understand. That word should include a tremendous bunch of feelings. What do you feel when you think about the sinking of the Titanic, Apollo 13, the releasing of Martin Luther King and the Global Financial crisis at the same time?

A few beautiful words came up. One of them was selcouth which means unfamiliar, rare, strange and yet so marvellous. The other one was a swedish word resfeber which is the restless race of the traveller’s heart before the journey begins.

These are good but oh la la way too romanticised.

They just can’t reach the feeling when:

(the most relatable picture of the month)


So I ended up with the word oops.


Shakespeare would be proud.



Coucou !

Welcome to some kind of platform where you’ll find out what sort of things has occurred to my mind me to do !

This is a blog I made and the main idea behind it was to tell my friends and family all together what kind of stuff I‘ve been, I am and I will be into during my year in France as an exchange studentAnd luckily in addition to the main idea I’ve always liked writing and there’s no adventure I could do without my camera, so here we go!

I’m writing in english and my writing skills in english are on their way (to highway I hope) but happily pictures are multilingual while my inner Shakespeare might not be.

There’s many things i wanna write about or take pictures of but romantically said I guess that in the end all the creative things have their roots in the stories and dreams I want to tell and share and usually the best stories happen by accident under the starry sky, in the middle of the roaring storm or during the sail over the glittering sea

Writing, pictures and a will to experience, see and learn things have been the kick to my dream of travelling around the world and becoming a journalist. Maybe one day I will be able to say “I sailed around the world.” or “I’ve seen every country in Africa.”

And then I’d have my own book café full of great stories and good coffee ( + chocolate muffins with orange truffle filling ! ) cause what’s a world without coffee, chocolate and stories 💛

À Demain ! 🍀