When I first came to Weimar I was mesmerized by the picturesque beauty of the tiny town. Back home architecture usually consists of cement, concrete and 50 other grey colored materials matching the three out of four seasons that back home consist of rain, snow, wet snow and shit cold winds. A couple of years back some naive architect actually tried to spice things up by designing a beautiful copper covered building in the midst of the grey-oozing landscape. After the first winter, which I have to point out is basically half of the year in Finland, because why the fuck not, the metal draped walls darkened into a mixture of puke-coloured brown and shockingly enough, grey. It was the first and without a doubt the last attempt in a while to try anything so reckless.

​

So here I was, surrounded by vibrant coloured buildings, which to me, being the fatso that I am, resembled gingerbread houses from children’s tales. On top of the visual beauty, also the warmth was a welcome change. Unlike at home, in Weimar the sun shines for more than two hours EACH day actually warming up the air and with a 30cent beer in hand it was easy to feel like this was the place to be. But like most love-hazes this too passed, revealing the boresome reality of everyday life. The town we come from isn’t exactly a metropolis of fast life and bad decisions, but after a while in Weimar it started to feel like we had just landed from Sodom and Gomorrah. It took more than a few attempts to start appreciating the fact that after 8 o’clock in the evening the town was like a scene out of Silent Hill with the exception of no-one in sight, living or undead.

​

Growing up I was always loud and annoying and usually surrounded myself with similar people. Judging by the last sentence one could assume that things have changed since, which they haven’t, so there we go: still annoying. Although the loudness being the key factor here: I have always found it hard to be alone with my own thoughts, mostly because of the twisted,disturbing mind of mine, so it really was pretty nightmarish to realize most nights would be spent in silence with no traffic noises or the soothing sound of drunken people fighting and urinating under my window. After a few weeks though someone apparently heard my prayers and decided to misinterpret them wildly, since my downstair neighbours started throwing weekly parties that would almost every time escalate to playing the ukulele at five o’clock in the morning all the while singing „La fucking Cucaracha“.