Russian Island

Today was a pancake day. Dad made Finnish pancakes (think of a crepe, but the size of a giant soft taco shell) for the kiddies for breakfast, and then Uncle Jorkku had some waiting for us at his cabin when we came calling. Native method of eating: roll it up with sugar, jam, or strawberries and whipcream, and grab.


Mea eating pancakes

I went kayaking to get away from biting flies and lethargy. It took me about 67 minutes to kayak around this island we're on. Ironically, it's called Russian Island - ironic to name an island after your (kinda) arch nemesis - and it lives up to the name in size if not residents.

Part of the routine of this adventure is to casually glance to either side, enjoying the scenery, only to avert your eyes as some middle-aged man comes sauntering out on his dock, bare as the day he was born. Same instructions when you come across a family fresh from the sauna.


The banana kayak after a hard day of abuse

67 minutes is not bad, but I need to beat 62 to beat my brother Erik, and beat him I will.

While I was out, the fam decided to dump the poo bucket that catches all the magic under the toilet seat. My turn will come and I'll have a heyday with that. In any case we found some bats under the WC. Usually they're in birdhouses, but I guess this chirpy bunch likes honey buckets for their guano just as much as we do. Now they're making a ruckus for anyone answering nature's call. They just might fly out of the toilet seat one day....