MICHAEL MUSIKA
MUSICIAN. ARTIST. GARDENER.
AUG 2022 JOURNAL.jpg

JOURNAL

MICHAEL MUSIKA'S CHRONOLOGICAL DOCUMENTATION OF CREATION THROUGH WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHY, AND PERFORMANCE ON VIDEO.

JOURNAL

This Journal is for a Japanese documentary film maker so that we may have an opportunity to go to Japan.

 
WED JULY 5, 2017 // GOOD NIGHT, GOOD LUCK
WED JULY 5, 2017 // GOOD NIGHT, GOOD LUCK

UNSTAD, LOFOTEN ISLANDS, NORWAY

Here we have some photographs we took on this day followed by a short story (?) I wrote in my journal about what I did that day which included an internet date with a Swedish lady and also the experience of winding up in the Sauna with a large family of Norwegians who were having a contest to see who could endure the heat the longest and also what I observed to be an interesting common thread on this trip that many of the people I met found it curious that I was traveling alone.

LAKE WHERE I WENT SWIMMING WITH MOUNTAIN IN THE BACKGROUND // IPHONE

VIEW OF THE BEACH FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE TRAIL UP TO THE LAKE // IPHONE

SHEEP RESTING ON A RIDGE ABOVE THE SEA // IPHONE

Here’s the story. It’s pretty good actually….

After breakfast I went on a tinder date with a Swedish woman. She was wiry and tall wearing a perfectly fitting hand knitted, traditional sweater and neatly cuffed jeans.  She was on a holiday with her german shepherd.  Both were camping out of an old volvo station wagon she'd driven from Sweden. Her sideways gaze and hurried hand gestures betrayed disappointment that I wasn't tall nor an on the lamb rock and roll musician which I suppose could be erroneously inferred by viewing my internet profile.

On this morning in real life I was wearing yoga pants, running shoes, and a t shirt with the emblem of that salt girl standing under an umbrella.  I was skinny, well shy of her two meter height, with a wild beard and long hair matted and tangled from sleeping fitfully in a stuffy cabin. We were superficially polite to one another and took the dog for a walk to the beach and back, after which she and the dog got into the volvo and drove on for their next destination.  

I felt a bit sad afterwards, and went for a bicycle ride to the south end of the cove, past the little chapel and graveyard. Upon reaching the sheep gate I ditched the bicycle and walked to a house of crumbled stone and concrete. I climbed from there over a steep stretch of green mountainside to find a beautiful lake in a bowl beneath the peaks. The water was still and clear over a boulder strewn bottom. I thought of disrobing and swimming but decided against it when I spotted two hikers ascending from the beach below.

After dinner I rode back down to the beach again to check the surf. It was flat, foggy, and stirred up by an on shore wind.  I headed back to camp, and went to the sauna.  Upon opening the door to what looked like an abandoned wooden train car for gnomes, steam engulfed me.  When the steam was gone I saw three naked men, two naked boys, and one beautiful woman wearing a black bikini. I was wearing the same board shorts I wore every day in Mexico over the winter. 

Two of the men were plump and gray. I read their vibe as kind and nostalgic.  Like they drink beer by the fire out of tall ceramic mugs, with rows of neatly painted flowers, in the winter, far away from society.  The third man was athletically built and had a carefully trimmed dark black beard on his face. He looked fierce and confident. The woman was his wife. The two boys were his sons.  

The boys were skinny and of the age that classical sculptors like to use as models when they make statues of nymphs peeing into fountains.  The fierce father was egging on his sons to defeat the other adults in an endurance contest for who can stay in the sauna the longest.  The children were happy to oblige.

The fire in the stove was roaring.  The room grew stiflingly hot. I sat down on the bench as far away from the others as possible.  The only possible place to be this far away was directly next to the stove. The other men and children were on the same bench as me but closer to the train car door.  The woman was seated alone on the far end of the opposing bench. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply.  After what felt like a very long time the door opened and the cold fog from the sea rushed in.  The two plump men surrendered first, laughing as they wrapped towels around their bodies and exited.  They were followed by the two boys and their father.  The cold sea air continued to rush in as they gathered their shoes and clothes.  It was a very pleasant relief.

When the door closed again, only the woman and I were left inside. She struck up a conversation with me. She was a school teacher.  She told me about the Norwegian school system and then how fucked up it is that Donald Trump is president of the US.  She could not believe he was elected.  I contemplated offering an explanation, but was disturbed by the feeling that I'd just be repeating what I'd heard public intellectuals say on podcasts so I just listened and kept quiet.

I could tell she was quite educated, and clever.  She'd read more books than I, and memorized more world history. She knew how the economy and government of her country worked.  She knew precisely how much money it cost for me to get to Norway, and henceforth what socio economic class I came from.  She could cross reference that price with my biblical appearance, and deduced how I must have gotten my money.  She could see that I traveled alone, and being the wife of a confident alpha male, presumed me to have a nagging sexual interest in her, or alternately to be a homosexual. She wasn't sure which.  

She could see that although diminutive, the physical form seated across from her couldn't have been rendered without a level of kinesthetic intelligence enjoyed by those with high proficiency in sport, and no fear of physical labors. It was not the sort of body that was cultivated in order to curry interest from men or women.  It looked more like the body of a wild animal, raised out of a necessity to instill fear, or else escape. He was older. There were lines from too much sunshine on his face, but somehow he wasn't very tired at all. 

She looked at him and felt like a thief in a museum. The creature had dark eyes that rarely ventured from the glow of the fire to meet her own.  When she paused from speaking, and these eyes looked into her own to ask another question, she perceived a character that mismatched the unsophisticated way in which the speaker formed his words. He asked questions and rarely spoke about himself.  The only information he volunteered seemed calculated to meet a quota of politeness, as if he sought to function as a dressing room mirror lit by a savvy decorator.  The thought returned to her: He wound up at this age, with statistically speaking, more than enough redeemable qualities to have a partner, and yet he traveled alone. Surely there was some damage in the backstory.

This was a mystery she didn't care to pierce. He was a good listener, and whatever he felt inside, she knew he wouldn't let it become her burden.  She was accustomed to being the one who listened. When the other men were in the sauna, she hadn't said a word.  After the other men had left she spoke for well over an hour, maybe longer.  The midnight sun shone dimly through the mist when she opened the sauna door to look outside.  

"I'd better be going" she said.  "Good night. Good luck."

Michael Musika
TUES JULY 4, 2017 // RIDING BIKES ON A SUMMER'S DAY

UNSTAD, LOFOTEN ISLANDS; NORWAY

Awake at eleven in the morning feeling rough, not remembering where I am.  Prepared a breakfast of boiled eggs, toast, celery, cherry tomatoes, cheese and coffee. There are young and old Norwegian couples in the community kitchen eating granola, yogurt and cheese.

After eating and doing my dishes I rode one of the camp's bicycles down the gravel road to the beach.  The road winds through the small village.  The village sits in a valley facing the sea,  enclosed by tall, green mountains. There are no businesses here besides two competing surf shops which each offer equipment to purchase as well as lessons and rentals.  There is Unstad Arctic Surf Camp where I am staying at the back end of the valley, and Lofoten Surfsenter, which is located near where the road dog legs toward the beach.  The remainder of the village is made up of cottages for people, and barns for sheep to take respite in the winter.  

The houses dead end into a wildflower field that no one walks through above the crescent shaped beach. Across from the field and close to the base of the mountains to the south is a fenced grave yard and a very small white chapel.  The grave stones are polished and modern.  They look out of place. After surveying the graveyard a little I rode to the beach to check the surf. It was nearly flat. One person was trying to surf.   I rode back to the camp.  

After returning the bicycle to the hitching post I walked towards reception to inquire about a bus to Henningsvær.  Zach Canfield wants me to come meet him and his girlfriend there for hiking.  On the way into the Cafe where reception is located an attractive young woman with red hair and flushed cheeks says something to me in Norwegian.  I tell her apologetically that I only speak English. She replies "it's a cool bike" and asks me if I work here. I tell her I do not.  She says she has come to surf and asks me if there waves.  I tell her "no not now, but perhaps later."   She says "we're camping here for the night."  Her posture is measured.  She looks me in the eye while speaking shyly.  I am conscious of not lingering too long. We stand facing each other in the doorway. She tells me her name is Kaya.  I tell her my name, and its good to meet you, and make my way to reception.

Maud tells me Henningsvær is an hour's drive but to get there without a car would be quite time consuming as the bus rarely goes. I would have to hitch.  I'm feeling tired and dim, and decide that although it would be good to see Zach, I'd rather remain where I am.  So I went into the community room for a while to write. There I meet an employee of the camp.  She tells me her name is Laora.  She is slight and youthful, with brown hair, elf ears, and a charming gap in her top two front teeth. She welcomes me to the camp.

After meeting Laora I write for a while, and then decide to go for a walk.  I walk towards the sea, and out of the village.  I find a trail through a pine forest and into a meadow.  From there the trail runs along side a stream that falls from a cold lake closer to the top of the mountain. I pass a flock of sheep and say "Don't worry, I'm not here to eat you."  They don't seem concerned.  I cross the stream and reach the lake walking a long the tops of tussocks and mossy boulders.  

On the way back down to the valley the clouds begin to part, and as the the sunlight fills the valley I begin to realize how remarkably I beautiful this place is. I take lots of photographs all a long the way and return back to camp hungry, and in a good mood.  I have a dinner of celery, bread, cheese, canned mackerel and a square of chocolate. Then I take I bike ride up to the trailhead that leads a long the ocean to the town of Eggum to the north.  After biking I have a shower and go to the sauna.  There is a Norwegian couple in there.  They are kind and welcoming.  The man tells me of his business importing audio visual technology to Norway. He is scruffy and relaxed.  The woman is extremely fit.  She sits opposite myself and her husband, sharp eyed and smiling. The conversation turns to the reasons for my travels and to the political climate in the United States presently.  I don't have any good answers for my sauna friends on the true nature of my purpose in traveling nor the cause of what's happening in America.  I very much enjoy the talk though.  As we conclude and prepare to retire to our respective cabins, the woman says to me "You made a good decision to be away right now."

I go to the showers and rinse off and then head back to the cabin to try and sleep.  A light rain is falling.  The sky is gray and glowing from the sun circling just above the craggy black mountain tops.  It's 1 AM. 

Michael Musika
MON JULY 3 // BODØ -STAMSUND - UNSTAD

UNSTAD, NORWAY

Breakfast in Mona's kitchen.  Grocery store ladies. Cab to the Hurtigruten dock.  Ms Lofoten is the oldest ship in the fleet says the cab driver.  Boat to Stamsund lugging box of food and guitar. Matty the Finnish / Australian picks me up at the docks in Stamsund. We drive to Unstad. Drink beer and smoke until two AM.  Text with Zach Canfield who happens to be heading the Lofotens as well. 

Michael Musika
SUN JULY 2, 2017 // Oslo - Bodø

Bodø, Norway

I packed up and cleaned up at Toby's in the morning, walked to the bus stop and rode ticketless to the train station. Then I paid for my train ticket and rode to the airport.  After checking my bag and clearing security I played "A Song is Swallowed by a Fish" on a grand piano that was in the terminal.  Then I flew to Bodø.  

On the walk from the Bodø airport to find my accommodations there was a moose standing in the path.  It was a young moose that I read as feeling nervous. I warned a fellow traveler who was wheeling a roller bag to wait for the moose to pass.  He looked at me like I was crazy and kept walking.  Five paces later the moose pawed the ground and snorted aggressively and the man came running back in my direction quite startled.  "We've just got to wait for him to pass," I told the man.  He agreed.

A small crowd gathered under the gray sky and took pictures of the moose from a safe distance until it made it's way into the forest between the airport and the houses of a neighborhood. I kept walking and met a nice old man who told me his son lived in Ohio and loves it there. He asked if I was lost. I wasn't particularly lost but I liked talking to him so I told him the address I was looking for anyway.  He pointed me in the direction of a stark, modern three story apartment building, and walked with me until we'd reached the threshold of the parking lot.  He said good bye and wished me good luck.

Mona, my air b n' b host, buzzed me in.  She showed me a small bedroom with a ladder for decoration.  It was clean and comfortable. She asked me if it would work. I told her it would. She showed me on her computer the places I could find dinner and the weather report for the week to come in the Lofoten Islands. She'd never been there. She had a child and I think she was divorced.

She was very patient and generous toward me.  I also thought she was beautiful. I tried to hide this thought. She was smart though and probably knew that I thought that and was trying to hide it.  As I was leaving to go find dinner she told me she'd be gone early in the morning but to help myself to coffee and breakfast from the refrigerator.  She opened it up and showed me a traditional kind of Norweigan cheese that she told me I should try.

I told her I would and walked out into the evening.  It was a short walk to the downtown. Most of the restaurants looked like they were for tourists and expensive. I went to the one Mona recommended and had a cheeseburger and two beers. The waitress and bartender were cleaning up and listening to popular hip hop music by the time I'd finished eating but they were nice and told me not to rush. 

I paid the bill and went for a walk around the docks looking at the boats and the rocky islands. It struck me that this town is a former outpost.  Fisherman and hunters came here.  It was a port where you could access the arctic to kill whales or land mammals to make coats out of.  Only recently had it grown into tourism and commerce.  Somebody would later tell me that the nation's military had a big presence there.  

I saw big fish swimming in the relatively clear water of the marina and thought about this was the sort of place on the edge of the wilderness I learned about from my father.  I remembered how he, Brendan and I loved taking these trips, and later I brought a long Mike Lippenholz, and Jeff and Dan.  I assumed at the time that we'd keep taking those trips until we were old.  My father's gone though, and all those other boys are fathers themselves now.  

It was a haunted feeling being way out there on my own with this realization.  The next morning I'd be crossing the arctic circle.   I walked slowly back to Mona's through the half light of the neighborhood. It was quiet and dark in the apartment. I did my best to shower quietly and find my way to bed.  It was very comfortable and warm.  Rain was falling when I fell asleep, and I slept soundly the whole night through. 

Michael Musika