THIRD EXCERPT

From my memoir

                                    CHAPTER SIX: SAMILAND
People hustled from one government building to the next. What could possibly be going on?  The massive stone buildings on all sides of Stortorget, the large square in the heart of Old Town Stockholm, usually sit in stone silence on Sundays. There are frequent performances and demonstrations on this ancient square, but why are people going into and out of the government buildings? Some kind of invasion?
As I got closer to the crowd streaming up the steps to the front doors of one of the buildings, I experienced joy pouring out of everyone there.
“What’s going on?” I asked a kindly looking mother with an eager child in each hand.
“Folk singers from every province are performing. You listen to one group, then you go to hear another group in another room or another building.”
I smiled inside and out. The only other province I had traveled to just to experience the music was Dalarna, a tree-filled luscious green province. My travel there at Midsummer, the Swedes’ most revered holiday, rewarded me with citizens in traditional costume; dances around what we call the Maypole; boat rides in the sparkling blue waters of Lake Siljan, a Lutheran priest at the helm of each boat, arms outstretched like Christ, thanking the Heavens for the beauty of nature that the people of Dalarna are blessed with. An elderly couple befriended me, led me to a big room in a wooden building where Swedish fiddlers sat in a large circle, improvising off of each other the melodies of the historic folk music of Dalarna.
Hallelujah! I’d be able to go from one building to the next and hear music from just about every province in Sweden, without having to take an abundance of time, which I didn’t have.
I sat on the bleachers in the center of the room. A blond, blue-eyed young man, of slight build paced on a stage sinking into preparation for this next show. A semblance of an American Indian, he wore a traditional costume. I read in the one-page program that he was Sami, his name was Nils-Aslak Valkeapää, he hailed from the part of Samiland (called Lapland by Westerners) that is in Finland. The Sami are a culture that has lived for more than two thousand years above the Arctic Circle, where the nations of Sweden, Finland, Norway and Russia now merge. These extraordinary people have worn such a costume for more than two thousand years. It bears no semblance to the traditional costume many of the people of Dalarna don only for special occasions. This Sami filled his costume with pride as if it were not a costume, but as comfortable for him to wear as his skin. A long blue felt shirt and cap, both trimmed in red, with multi-colored design at the neck, around his waist, and around the bottom of his shirt, mottled fur shoes, dark leggings, and a silver belt. Though he had performed his routine several times before, he remained as concentrated as if he were going to perform it for the first time. He began to sing, accompanied by drumming and the periodic ringing of bells, which were fastened to a strip held by another back-up musician.
I was electrified. Never before had I been so moved by music. I had seen moments on TV of rock stars performing, and had pooh-poohed the females who screamed in some kind of sexual hysteria. Though he had the presence of a rock star, Nils-Aslak did not call attention to himself, but rather to the soulful songs he sang.
How to describe this singing that transported me? It’s called joik, (pronounced yoyk). Like American Indian chants, but more melodic. Nils-Aslak seemed to go to another place in his mind, which became pictures in my mind – of snow-capped mountains, the deepest blue skies imaginable, the intermittent bells rang as an organic part of the joik.  I smelled smells I’d never smelled before. Mountain paths with clean, vibrant air. I breathed deep with every moment of each of his songs.
His performance was over, way too soon. People applauded, but – Not loud enough. They got up to go to another setting, to enjoy a performance by another folk singer(s) from another province. I stayed seated. Nils-Aslak went into preparation for his next audience. People filed in, and sat all around me. Never rose to go to any other group’s performance, all afternoon, just with these Nils-Aslak. Every one of his performances equally enchanting. An unforgettable Sunday afternoon.
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