I'm not going anywhere.

Somehow, I love this place. Åbo. Crazy political decisions have blessed it with an ugly city centre but even the ugly things have a certain charm to them. Sometimes I consider other options. Going away for a while. But suddenly, it dawns on me; god, I am attached to this place! It's not just that I happen to spend my days here, I live here, I feel at home here. I talked to R about it, about the sheer joy of familiar paths, familiar corners, familiar smells, a familiar gutter, a familiar tree, a familiar car, a familiar grey slab of a building, a familiar face, a familiar door. Small things that matter to me. Rush hour at Puhakka/Kerttulin kievari and the folks hanging out there/ Bristol and the regulars/ the thai place at klockringaregatan /whiskey bar /bokcafé, anarchist café! / quiet afternoons at the city library / kiinan muuri - my local dining room at the beautifully named kiinanmyllynkatu / the café on Mariegatan where I have salami sandwitches with egg and pickled gherkin / 8raita/ reading books hunched in a booth at Hunter's inn / the dark corners at Linnanpubi. Afternoon strolls along the river, to the harbor, porth arthur.
There are lots of fucked-up things here, too. Local politics is a joke. Cultural politics is a joke. Every second bar is turned into a sports bar. Cinema culture is non-existing. People are grumpy sometimes. Finnish-Swedish (åa-)snobs. Äijin are everywhere. But there's nothing quite like strolling along tavastgatan on a chilly, sunny autumn afternoon, like today. Fuck, even the dogs are smiling.
What I like about Åbo are the folks who are not busy, who are easygoing, who don't rush through life, who enjoy doing nothing, who enjoy quiet conversation. And there are a few of them.