Saturday, 13 May 2023

Hating the sound of my own 'voice' and other observations...

I awoke to the realisation that I hate the sound of my own 'voice'. And the reason for those inverted commas is simple: I hate the sound of my written 'voice'. I'm annoyed with myself for putting myself in this predicament just for a bit of cash and now, of course, I have to pay the price: sitting in a Marriott Courtyard Hotel alone with nothing to do and nowhere to go. It's an airport hotel, there's not really anywhere to walk and if there was, it would probably be too dangerous. Don't forget, I'm in Detroit. 

The depths of depression
They have a pool but I have no swimming gear. There's a gym, but my shorts are packed and I don't possess any trainers, just the business shoes I'm wearing. And the last thing I'm going to do is head on down there in my underpants and shoes, it's a ridiculous look and would remind me of that guy in Grand Theft Auto who seems to be running around half naked for some reason.

What to say about the hotel? Well, it's an airport hotel so I don't expect too much in terms of luxury, but it does offer a fairly decent room and a comfortable bed, but then there's a loud air-con unit that I can't switch off for love nor money. The bathroom is fine and, because everything I own is packed and checked in, I had to buy some more toothpaste and a toothbrush. I took a shower earlier and all that remains is to clean my teeth.

Outside, the roar of jets taking off. Inside the noise of the air-con. Everything else is silence. There are a few people here doing exactly what I'm doing, hanging around waiting for a flight. Why else would anybody stay here? The shuttle leaves for the airport every 30 minutes and sooner or later boredom will get the better of me and I'll check out and get on board.

I'm sitting here drinking Pellegrino mineral water, swigging from the bottle every five minutes or so. I was thinking earlier how big the room is; there are two double beds for a start and I figured that, if you took one of them out, the room would be big enough to be an apartment (with the exception of a kitchen). Not that I'd want to stay here. I'm feeling homesick as it is, and it's at times like these that I realise the importance of having a family. Hold on a second while I go to the bathroom...right, I'm back. What was I saying? Oh yes, family. I miss being home and it's even worse when you consider that not being there right this minute was based on a decision I deliberately took yesterday evening, but let's not fret about that any more, it's happened, an extra night in Detroit has also happened, it's now morning (1021hrs) and I've got to kill time before my flight at 1835hrs. In fact, hold on again while I double check my ticket...yes, that's right, it's 1835 take-off, boarding commences at 1742 and I'm sitting in a window seat, seat 37J. Admittedly there's no leg room like there was on the flight out here, but beggars can't be choosers.

Breakfast at the Courtyard by Marriott...

And there's a moot point. 'Beggars can't be choosers'. Suddenly, through my own doing, I've gained myself 'beggar' status. I'm on a back foot, but at least I've learned a lesson. Money ain't everything. Ok, it helps, and that's why I did this (takes another swig of Pellegrino) but ultimately life isn't a case of 'time is money'. We all have a finite time on this planet of ours and we should be spending it with our loved ones. My plan next week is to take some days off. I need to if I'm honest with myself. I work day-in and day-out and pay little attention to the fact that the weeks go by and I've got to take some annual leave. I think I've only taken one day off so far this year and normally what happens is I end up taking loads of time off in December just before Christmas, which is nice, but we really ought to be having holidays as a family and the plan is to do that this year, go somewhere close-by, like France or Spain, but either way just chill by a pool.

Room 116, Courtyard by Marriott Detroit Airport

I travel a lot in my job as you can probably tell by looking at this blog – check out the column on the right and you'll see all the places I've been to. Talking of yesterday and the flight home that I never took, I remember checking in; it was a hassle (when isn't it?). First there's the auto check-in consoles that never seem to work and then there's the fact that there's nobody around to help. Then there's other people. I hate other people, they're always getting in the way with their massive suitcases and I find myself wondering what the hell are they carrying, sometimes four or five, huge cases being lugged on to the baggage conveyor. There were three people ahead of me in the queue and they each had a big suitcase plus around three to four slightly smaller ones. Why? What the hell is in there? I'm sorry, but it annoys the hell out of me. It's like when I approach a ticket counter – anywhere in the world – and there's somebody there asking a question that seems to be extremely complicated, so much so that the guy behind the glass keeps walking off and consulting the i-ching and voluminous volumes of ancient sanskrit, laying out tarot cards. I don't know, it just bugs me a lot. And then, when finally it's my turn, I say something like "Return to Victoria", they press a few buttons and hey presto! I've got my ticket. Why is it that everybody makes life complicated when they travel?

Mineral water, I need more...
And don't you despise those people who really get into air travel? You know who I mean, they cover themselves in blankets and have one of those stupid L-shaped cushions and can be found walking around in their socks as if they're at home in their living room, they even enjoy being in the middle seat of the middle row. Unlike me. I need a window or the trip is a nightmare. I have to know what's going on outside. I need leg room, which, incidentally, I don't have on my flight tonight. I'm just hoping they'll be an exit seat available, but I'm not counting my chickens. [Takes a swig of Pellegrino].

My problem is I don't like flying long haul (if you can call a flight across the Atlantic 'long haul'). My flight tonight is around seven and a half hours and I can't wait to land at London Heathrow early on Sunday morning. I know how I'm going to feel. I'm going to feel like shit, but at least I'll be home and that's the main thing. Very often on my travels I've had to stay over another night due to flights being cancelled and so on. On this trip, however, it was me who delayed things (see previous post) and now I sit here, in room 116 of the Courtyard by Marriott just outside of Detroit airport and I'm wishing I was home, even if it is a bit grey and cloudy in the UK. Now don't get me wrong. Avid readers (I know I have some!) will recall my general stance on the UK and how much I hate it at this present time, thanks to the incumbent government, but it's where I live and, in that sense, where I want to be.

It's 1050 and there's nothing to do but sit here writing this blogpost. I have just one bottle of mineral water left to drink, I don't need to check out until noon and, for some reason, the final bottle of water (Aquafina – 'perfect water, perfect taste') is not sparkling but still. There's something disappointing about that. I am told to recycle the bottle with the cap on, which is fair enough as I've put the cap back on to both of the empty bottles of Pellegrino.

What to do next I wonder? I could take a walk around the hotel again, head down to where the pool is, or I could go take a look at the rather uninspiring gym or the gas log-effect fireplace in the lobby or even take a walk around the courtyard, the actual courtyard, that I can see from my room. I'm guessing that all Courtyard by Marriott hotels have courtyards, but I can't see anybody out there (excuse me while I open my bottle of still mineral water and take a swig)  – ah! that's better! – the thing I like about mineral water, actually, hold on, I need to use the bathroom, it's all the water I'm drinking...I'm back, but so is that noisy (and cold) air-con fan. Where was I? Oh, the courtyards. Yes, there's nobody out there and all I can see on the balconies of other rooms are vacant metal chairs. Are they made from steel or aluminium I wonder? I'd need a magnet to answer that question and I have one in my case, a fridge magnet. Perhaps I'll check that out and report back later. Perhaps not.

I guess another reason for doing this is my dislike of flying back, especially on a night flight as that means I can't see out, and I like to see out, I like to know what's going on. So – ah, that's good, the air-con fan has shut off, which is good as I've only got a shirt and jeans on – everything else is packed, so when the fan is on I get colder by the second. Now it's off and that's good. Yeah, I mean, I hate the flight back, I've probably already said this and if I have repeated myself then I'm sorry. So I look for ways of putting it off – the flight – but there's no point as sooner or later I've got to do it, fly across the Atlantic to my safe European home. I was wondering what would happen if, when I get there later today, they ask for volunteers to stay behind for another night. No is the answer, I simply couldn't face another night in an airport hotel listening to loud air-con units and roaring jets overhead. Somebody else can live the dream for a change.

The only good thing about tonight's flight is that my bags are already checked in and all I have is hand luggage. Yes, I've still got to go through security, but I don't have to queue, I don't have to use one of those check-in consoles, I just take off my shoes, get the laptop out, get searched and I'm through. I'll bypass the Society of the Spectacle and head straight for somewhere I can read until it's time to board and head home. I'm not going to enjoy any of the flight, I'm going to be awake throughout and I'm going to be counting down the hours as they pass, awaiting that moment when the darkness is replaced by light and I know we're only an hour or so out of Heathrow. But between now and then it's all about killing time. There's roughly 50 minutes before I need to check out of the Courtyard. In the UK it's around 1611hrs on Saturday afternoon. It's going to be nearer 2300hrs (UK time) when I take off from Detroit.

So, here I am, in room 116, listening to the distant – and sometimes not-so-distant – roar of the planes. I'm sipping mineral water, looking out on the lonely courtyard and the dandelions, peering occasionally at the unmade bed behind me and wondering what to do next. The air-con fan is back and that's my cue to visit the bathroom again...hold on. And I promise I won't keep you much longer. I think I've said all that needs to be said...okay, I'm back and there's little more to say. I'm going to clean my teeth, check out and kill time over at the airport, at least over there I'll find shops and hubbub and destinations boards and people milling around just like me waiting to go home.

Friday, 12 May 2023

Hanging around...

Every morning for the past week I've been taking the bus under the Detroit River into the Motor City. Every morning I show my passport and answer a list of questions, one of which is 'am I carrying any firearms?' and others ask what my business might be in the city of Detroit. I always pass with flying colours and then, later in the day, the process is repeated on the Canadian side of the border where I am staying in Windsor, Ontario.

Detroit at sundown from Windsor Ontario

Windsor is a strange place, it's like the sort of town you might find if you're playing Grand Theft Auto, it's quiet, there doesn't appear to be much going on and yet it's peaceful and for the past few days it's been home. I find myself looking forward to getting the bus 'home' and once on the other side of the border I can look out from my hotel room at the Detroit skyline and, in a way, feel thankful that I'm not there. But don't get me wrong, Detroit is just like any other American city, in fact, it's probably better. I thought the food was a cut above that of Pittsburgh, put it that way, and let's just say that Frank's Deli, in the Buhl Building, was to die for, especially if you order the famous Gyro wrap, which I did twice on consecutive days along with a Twinings Orange & Cinnamon-flavoured tea and a bottle of mineral water. There's only two tables as I guess most people buy take-outs, but Frank's was easily among the best food on offer in my humble opinion.

Graffiti in downtown Windsor

Normally, when I'm in the USA, I eat badly, but not on this trip and that's credit in many ways to Detroit, a place that has been given a bit of a bad press due largely to reports about crime levels, but it was fine. Yesterday I took a trip to a CVS to buy a toothbrush and some Sleepy Time Bear tea and I didn't feel in anyway threatened, it was just the usual sunny afternoon in an American city, lots of people walking around, plenty of traffic and those electric scooters, some abandoned on the sidewalks and I don't think I saw any down-and-outs or nutters walking about shouting (I saw more of them in Pittsburgh last year).

Houses in Walkerville

Watching Detroit from across the river is a bit like watching a toy town, a model you might see in Hamley's over the festive season, especially when a bright yellow two-car train on an elevated line passes by like something clockwork you might get for Christmas when you're a kid, it's known as the People Mover. The whole scene is toy-like, the small ships moored on the river side, the traffic, the buildings and the fact that I'm on the opposite bank, in a different country just watching things unfold.

It's strange being on the opposite bank looking over to Windsor, Ontario, which doesn't have an impressive skyline at all, although it's possible for me to pick out my hotel, the Doubletree by Hilton on Riverside Drive.

Biblioasis – a great bookshop

In Windsor, the restaurants are slightly better than in Detroit, in my opinion. There's not that American over-indulgence thing going on. Last night, in Cucina 360, an Italian restaurant on Chatham Street West, I had roasted salmon with brocolli and roasted potatoes, although I regretted the créme bruleé but thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't ordered the tiramisu, normally my go-to dessert in such an establishment. It was my second visit and it was fairly enjoyable as restaurant experiences go. There's a great restaurant called The Keg on Riverside Drive, very grand, a steakhouse, but there's more than just meat. Again, I ordered salmon with greens and mashed potatoes but started with prawns – or shrimps as they're known here – although these ones were huge and very tasty. I'd like to go back there and perhaps I will, but it's difficult to say as there are other places to investigate.

The Detroit-Windsor Tunnel... since 1930
Behind the Doubletree is the bus station and I often wonder where all the buses go. One heads north to Toronto, but others go elsewhere and it would be good to find out what other towns are like in this most southerly part of the State of Ontario. Without looking at a map I wonder how far east or west I can ride without finding myself back in the USA and having to show my passport. Perhaps if I take a bus anywhere I'd better make sure I bring my documentation with me. Not that I'm going to take a bus anywhere as I've been taking buses twice a day all week, albeit just for half an hour each way.

Some people living in Windsor, Ontario, take the bus to work in Detroit every day and I'm wondering whether there are others living in the Motor City who travel under the river to work in Windsor. It's one of those things I guess I'll never know.

The river is flat calm today and the sun is shining. The skies are a hazy blue and there's a slight breeze causing the flags to flutter slightly on the memorial green I can see from my hotel window.

My colleague Catherine and I took a short walk to Tim Horton's for a drink. I had a cappuccino, she had some kind of fruit drink. Foolishly, perhaps, I ordered a cookie (I wish I hadn't, but I had) and I sat there nibbling and sipping until it was time to go. Later, I set out alone for a place called Walkerville, an upmarket region of Windsor, to check out a bookstore, Biblioasis, and then after that a coffee shop around the corner called Anchor where I ordered a black tea and a square snack. I took the number 2 bus and it took around 15 minutes, one straight road. The bus was packed, but I got off at Gladstone and then entered the bookshop. I wasn't particularly looking for anything specific to read so I simply riffled the pages of a few novels and then headed for Anchor. After chilling with the tea and 'square' – that's how it was described on the receipt – I found myself in a couple of gift shops and then I caught a bus home along Wyandotte Street as far as Ouellette Avenue and then walked towards and turned left on to Riverside Drive and my hotel.

Tea at Anchor... nice!
We found a café for a late lunch (or snack) on the grassed river walk and sat there in the hot sun looking across the Detroit River at the Motor City. I needed to tank up on mineral water in order to hydrate and then we walked east along the river bank before turning to walk west again. It's odd, looking across the river at Detroit, to think that we are looking north, not south. The tendency is to think that we're looking south as Canada, by and large, is north of America, but the reality is, from Windsor to Detroit we're looking North, check out the map and you'll see what I mean. There are American states west of Detroit that are further north than Detroit, such as Minnesota and North Dakota.

It's nearly 1900hrs and the sun is still hot, the skies are blue and outside the motorboats travel east along the river. The skyscrapers of Detroit still stand proud across the water and people and walking back and forth or sit on the grass under the shade of a tree. Dogs are being walked, people are cycling and jogging, kids are playing ball games in the early evening heat while others sit on wooden benches watched by Canadian geese as they eat and drink below the limp flags hanging from white poles in a semi-circular war memorial. 

Friday

The plan was simple: have breakfast, pack, check out and walk to Walkersville, visit a bookstore (Bilblioasis) and then a coffee shop (Anchor) and then take a look at the hippy shop that sells all the magic beans and tarot cards. Yesterday I took the number 2 bus, this time we walked. The weather was still very pleasant and it took around 45 minutes. We did everything we set out to do and when we walked back, simply retracing our earlier steps, we stopped off at a bistro on the riverfront for a snack before heading back to the hotel and taking a taxi to the airport. 

A random shot of Detroit Airport close to gate 36...

It was sad to be leaving Windsor, Ontario, but we'd both had enough and just wanted to get the flight over and done with. At the airport it was the usual hassles and then we settled down with tea and soft drinks and stuff as we waited for the flight to be called. It was going from Gate 36, which was next to where we were sitting and eventually it was time to board. 

Or was it? They were offering $1,400 to anybody who stayed over in Detroit and flew back on Saturday night. That's £1,100! Wow! Surely a bargain? Well, yes it is so I went for it, but after saying yes I immediately regretted it as I really wanted to be home. I'm now sitting in a Courtyard Marriott not far from the airport, there's a noisy air-con unit (that will buzz throughout the night), the walls are a kind of orange colour, there are two double beds and it's all very miserable, but what is done is done, I'm flying back tomorrow night, I have a window seat and there's around a grand to spend for my troubles. I don't think I'll ever do it again. In so many ways I feel sick to the stomach about the whole deal and I just want to be home. I keep looking at my watch and working out how much time I'd have left on the flight had I taken it, but I didn't. Instead I took a shuttle bus to this Godforsaken place and now I've got to sit it out. I can't even be bothered to eat anything, in fact, I don't even know if there's anything worth eating. I hate my predicament and I hate myself. Roll on tomorrow is all I can say.

Now I wish I'd been on board, sod the money, sod the money.



Sunday, 7 May 2023

In Windsor, Ontario...

For some reason everything was smooth sailing and there was an air of positivity surrounding me; it wasn't like last year's trip to Pittsburgh when COVID was still loitering with intent and I really thought I might have to wear a mask during the flight. As it turned out I didn't have to, but the whole thing had been fretful and unpleasant from the start. Not this year! Well, there was the one-armed taxi driver who took me to the airport, travelling through London on Coronation day at 20mph virtually all the way there, leaving little time to chill before the flight, although I managed a coffee, a pastry and a carton of fruit, granola and natural yoghurt, courtesy of Pret a Manger opposite Gate 28.

View from room 526, DoubleTree by Hilton, Windsor, Ontario

The first good thing was a direct flight. The last thing I wanted was the usual stop-over faff in Philadelphia or New York or Chicago. I had to move out of my comfort zone and fly with another airline (and not British Airways) but I think doing so was liberating. My take on British Airways is changing, it's a bit like my changing perception of the UK as a whole. For years I've been brainwashed into thinking that the UK is the best country in the world, the place to be from, the place to live, full of proper politicians who can do no wrong, a police force that isn't corrupt or full of rapists, racists and murderers and, of course, a health service that works. But no, it turns out I was wrong. I had been cheated. The Government is corrupt, there are rapists, racists and murderers amongst the ranks of our police force and the health service is on its knees.

Not a million miles from Detroit...

I've never been 100% happy with British Airways, but I had been conned by Léo Delibes' Flower Duet and the reassuring British accent of the pilots, although of late I've noticed them sounding more like contestants in The Apprentice, which is a little off-putting. And then there's the class system, which I hate with a vengeance anyway, but on a British Airways flight it is live and kicking and ready to annoy the hell out of me as I walk through the plane to my economy class seat, passing the cosseted comfort of those well off enough to fork out the extortionate price of a First or Business Class seat.

Rain at Heathrow
Fine, all planes have their own versions of First and Business Class, but it's the attitude of the cabin crew on a British Airways flight that makes it all worse. It's also a lot to do with the UK itself and how, perhaps, our 'flagship airline' reflects the country, which is on its knees morally and economically. The very thought of sitting in a capsule flying at 38,000 feet and basically being transported across the Atlantic in what amounts to a smaller version of 'our great nation' is just too much to bear. Somehow everything British is synchronizing and becoming one massive blob of depressive crap and in this case offloading moaning English people who have simply had enough and can't believe their luck, that they are getting out, albeit temporarily.

The good news was that I was flying Delta – a huge Airbus 330 jam-packed with American positivity where I sensed that the cabin crew were on my side for once. Sitting in seat 39A looking out on the rain drumming hard on the tarmac, I was glad that I was missing yesterday's Coronation of King Charles lll and all that unnecessary flag waving by overweight Brexiteers. I turned and spotted a couple of vacant seats on the other side of the plane, seats 38G and 38H. It was an exit row so there was plenty of much needed leg room and all I had to do was get up and take it as boarding was complete. I jumped up and waltzed across but before I could sit down I was told that it was an exit row and that I couldn't sit there. Disappointed, I skulked back to seat 39A and buckled up, but minutes later another member of the cabin crew – her name was Tia – came over and told me that I could sit there and that there had been some kind of misunderstanding. They thought, wrongly, that I was the dad of three kids sitting in the middle row of the plane. One of the kids had strayed over to my desired seat, seat 38H and when I went over there, knowing full well that the kid wasn't supposed to be there, they thought I was the dad and that I was trying to spread my family across the width of the plane. Anyway, thanks to Tia, I was allowed to sit by the window, in an exit seat, and enjoy the flight. And let me tell you, I enjoyed the flight immensely. For a start it was smooth all the way, even as we glided through the clouds over England and believe me it took a long time to break through to the blue skies above. I stretched out, I read Murakami's Novelist as a Vocation, I briefly listened to Transmission by Joy Division on my iphone and I enjoyed the inflight hospitality – chicken with pesto and vegetables, a wonderful salted caramel ice cream and later a delicious chocolate mousse, not forgetting two large glasses of orange juice and a couple of bottles of mineral water. 

Decent airline food courtesy of Delta
When Tia passed by I thanked her for allowing me to sit in seat 38H – and to commandeer seat 38G for all my stuff. I told her that, had I been flying British Airways, I would still have been sitting in seat 39A, I just know it. British Airways' cabin crew are like that, they're almost like British businessmen, they are short-sighted and reluctant to give anyone a break and would prefer those seats to be empty throughout the flight rather than have me sitting there enjoying myself. Had I remained in seat 39A I would have sat there in my leather jacket, my on-board briefcase stuffed under the seat in front of me, my two bottles of mineral water getting in the way, and I would have been most uncomfortable throughout. The flight would have been awful, I know that much, and had I needed to get up (as I did on numerous occasions) I would have been interrupting the person sitting in seat 39B. In short it would have been a nightmare and I would certainly not have arrived in Detroit feeling alive and happy as I did, thanks to having moved seats. I think from now on, if I can fly Delta, I will, because they're great, that's all there is to it.

Everything was a doddle. Immigration, normally a big hassle, was smooth. Baggage reclaim was fine too and then it was just a cab to Canada, yes, Canada. I'm staying over the river in Windsor, Ontario, and while that means showing my passport twice daily to customs officials it's better than staying in a cockroach-infested hotel in Detroit. 

And while we're on the subject of hotels, the DoubleTree by Hilton on Riverside Drive in Windsor is amazing. Hopefully I won't get some awful foot infection like I did last year in Pittsburgh and I put that down to the hotel which was the only place where my feet were exposed. Last night, just as a precaution, I kept my socks on.

Just landed at Detroit...

But what a great hotel. First, the check-in was fairly smooth, second, the room was amazing. It sports a huge (and I mean huge) flatscreen television, there's an interesting-looking shower, which I just know will be invigorating, a massive (and comfortable) double bed, a decent wardrobe and a wonderful view of the Detroit skyline across the river. Apparently, if I was on the Detroit side the view across to Windsor isn't as impressive. 

There's a pool and a gym and I might try and get some exercise, although I know what it's like at the event I'm attending on the Detroit side of the river and that means there won't be much time for keeping fit. Also, I need to buy a pair of trainers if I'm going to use the Peleton exercise bikes as I can't very well go down there in shorts and business shoes, I'll look ridiculous and I'd have to look ridiculous in the elevator too and I simply couldn't stomach the humiliation. Shorts and black leather shoes. Think of that for a moment. I would look and feel like a dork.

Last night, after a perfectly respectable pasta meal, I slept well, from around 1930hrs to just before 0500hrs – roughly nine hours – and now I'm considering hitting the showers and also having a shave, then it's breakfast on the second floor and a day wandering around and also getting over to the Detroit side of the river to engage in the process of work, albeit for a short while as the whole thing doesn't start until tomorrow.

I suppose the only downside to being on the Canadian side of the river is having to show passports twice a day to border officials. I'm guessing it'll be stricter on the US side, but I'm more concerned with the cost, which could be as much as $50 per trip, which will mount up. That said, we have purchased a Transit Windsor Smart Ride Card so it won't be anything like $50 a ride. Right, let's hit the showers!

Sunday, 23 April 2023

To Oxted and Westerham - two rides and I'm back in the game...

Cycling hasn't exactly been on the agenda these past weeks. Admittedly, a week or two ago, I did get to Westerham to meet Andy, you might remember how I rushed to get back in time to got out again for lunch for an Easter get-together and how I allowed myself to become dehydrated. Now that's not a nice feeling. I've done it before and it makes me feel a little light-headed, a little panicky even, so I must remember to hydrate properly, perhaps take a bottle of water with me rather than ride 11 miles, have a cup of tea and then simply ride back and have nothing for some hours afterwards. But that was a few weeks back, Easter bank holiday to be precise and in future I'll be prepared.

I took last Friday off but cycling was out of the question as the weather was a little on the poor side, although generally things are on the up, the blossoms are on the trees and life is becoming a little more hopeful than it has been. In truth, it's been cold and wet and unpleasant and, as a result, there has been little cycling action. So, now things are changing. Saturday was a lovely day so I kicked myself into gear and headed to Oxted for my usual lolling around the town, sitting in a Caffe Nero, sipping tea and on this occasion reading The Big Midweek: Life Inside the Fall by Steve Hanley. It felt good to be on the bike and I enjoyed riding into Oxted, parking up and sitting on the sofa by the window in the Nero. Of course the ride home eventually beckoned, but it didn't phase me, I just rode off down the high street, along Granville and then along the road that led to Titsey Hill. I can't remember the last time I rode up Titsey but it was just the same effort, I didn't feel in anyway physically challenged or out of condition (even if I know that I am to a certain degree).

I reached home and then, true to form, didn't bother rehydrating myself. Later, on a drive to Westerham and en route to a National Trust property somewhere near Ide Hill in Kent I had to stop at a NISA store and buy a huge 1.5 litre bottle of Evian (Naive spelt backwards). I swigged from it as I drove along, I was that desperate, but eventually I started to feel normal again.

Yes, it's raining in Westerham
Sunday morning, as I sat at my laptop, I checked out the weather on the BBC website and saw the familiar cloud and raindrops emoji; it looked as if I'd get there unscathed but would take a soaking on the return ride. And so it came to pass. Andy (as always) had arrived before me and had almost finished a large cappuccino with soya milk when I arrived. There was a strange old man making himself comfortable when I approached our table and tried to sit down. He was, shall we say, a little odd. He wore an old British Rail hat and great coat, both of which had seen better days and made what could only be described as extremely vague and hard to understand conversation about football, something about Bromley, which neither Andy nor I could get to grips with; Andy managed to say he didn't follow football, which was fair enough, nor do I, and while neither of us believed he was ever going to go, he eventually got up and left us alone.

Andy, quite rightly, berated me for continuing to eat cake - he'd been reading my blog posts about Finland - and while I tried to defend myself, there was no point, he was right and I was wrong. My only defence was that I'd started to ride again: Oxted yesterday, Westerham today. I started to discuss the moment on the plane from Helsinki to London last Sunday when I asked a member of the Finnair cabin crew for a bottle of mineral water. Earlier (as you can read in the previous post) I'd seen her pushing a trolley full of bottles of mineral water towards the front of the plane, but as she passed she ignored me. I had to press the overhead button and suddenly there she was with a look of 'can I help you?' on her face. I asked for a bottle of mineral water and she said she didn't have any. "But I just saw you walk past with a trolley full of the stuff," said I and she told me that was for business class passengers only. She offered me two miniscule paper cups of plane water and I won't say I wasn't affronted. But, as I said to Andy, imagine paying £1,100 for a one-way journey from Helsinki to London (as I was expected to do last Saturday, that was all that was available). Instead, I stayed in Helsinki for another night. Imagine that: I spent another night and I had dinner in the hotel and it was cheaper than flying back business class. As it started to rain outside, Andy and I sat there talking about the lunacy of flying business class, the unnecessary expense of it, and then we moved on to me giving up alcohol and Andy's veganism. It's amazing, said I, how many friends I've lost as a result of giving up drinking. I related the tale of how I suggested to an old mate of mine that we meet for a coffee somewhere, but he was having none of it. "No, let's meet in All Bar One... you can have a lemonade." We didn't meet. People don't like it if you don't drink, I told Andy, and that's because 'drinking' is ingrained. The focal point of all soap operas is a pub, be it the Rovers Return, the Queen Victoria or the Woolpack. Drinking never did me any good and I often wonder if it does anybody any good. Who needs a hangover? Who needs to wake up in the morning wondering whether they'd said something they shouldn't? Who needs to be unable to drive a car? There's no point in it and there's even less of a point to no-alcohol beer, it tastes very bad, compared to the alcoholic variety, and you're better off with a mineral water or an apple juice (as opposed to a no-alcohol cider, although it's debatable whether one is the same as the other). I doubt I'll be drinking again, although that sounds a little indecisive so let's rephrase that: I'll never drink again.

Andy said he gets a little frustrated when people assume that he can't eat certain things. I'd said something like, "Oh, you can't have milk can you?" and he said, "I can have milk, I simply choose not to". Fair point. It reminded me of Detectorists when passers-by asked Andy and Lance, "Are you metal detectors?" and they would reply pointing to their equipment, "No, these are metal detectors, we are metal detectorists."

Outside it was pissing down and the church bells were ringing out, but both of us knew we had to get up and go. We both knew it was going to be unpleasant, but it had to be done. We said our goodbyes and agreed to meet up next weekend and then we parted. Andy followed the conventional route out of Westerham and I chose the route that would take me past the Velobarn and then left on to Pilgrims Lane.

"Look, you've just got to grin and bear it," I said to myself under my breath as I cycled along. "It's only around one hour in the saddle and you'll be home." 

To be honest, there was no alternative so I pushed on. It wasn't that bad and that was because it wasn't cold or windy and the rain lightened up, it was more of a persistent drizzle. I knew my clothes were going to be wet through by the time I reached home, but I also knew that there was one part of my attire that would be fine, my shoes. You remember, the waterproof shoes I'd bought on Amazon? I wouldn't have to put them in porch for the next three weeks and wait for them to dry out, just wipe them down and they'd be ready for the ride next week.

I reached home around 1120hrs and once again left the house without hydrating myself. Later, while having lunch in Flower's Farm - it's been extended since Andy and I were last there - the need to have two bottles of mineral water arose, but after that I was fine. We drove home and now here we are watching television and this 'Scooby Doo-alike programme called Outer Banks. Look, it's not high art, we know that, but we find it easy watching and that's the end of it. Until next week...

Sunday, 16 April 2023

It's Christmas every day in Rovaneimi...

I've been to Finland three times now. The first time was in February 2020, just before lockdown, the second time I flew there just for dinner in August 2022 and now I'm back again in April 2023. One thing has characterised all three trips: every hotel I have been booked in to has given me a room right at the very end of a corridor. Every hotel. Back in February 2020 at the Scandic Simonkentta, I think I was in room 602, I can't remember exactly, but it was right at the very end of a corridor on the right. It was the same with the second visit, when I stayed in the Scandic Paasi, and at the Santa Claus Hotel in Rovaneimi (room 560) AND yesterday (Saturday 15April) at the Indigo Hotel (room 411). Once again, I'm at the end of the corridor, this time on the left hand side. The only difference about the Indigo Hotel, from where I am writing this blog, is that the doors open inwards. Everywhere else, in fact, everywhere else, not just the hotels, doors open outwards to make it easier for people to escape their rooms if they need to kick the doors down to escape, say, a fire. Why the Indigo bucked the trend, I don't know.

Santa Claus Hotel, Rovaneimi
I flew from Rovaneimi at just gone 1400hrs. It was a very pleasant flight. The skies were clear and cloudless and below me I could see the barren landscape of Finland with it's frozen lakes and rivers and all I could think about was that I rode the night train to Rovaneimi and that all of that was below me; what took me all night will be over in an hour and all we got for free from Finnair was a small cup of blueberry juice. Not that I'm complaining. Finnair has been brilliant and it was only a one-hour, 10-minute flight. I was sitting in seat 1a with plenty of leg room. It was a small plane with two rows of two seats and it was packed.

On reaching Helsinki I took the train into the city and then trundled my suitcase along cobbled streets (not ideal) to the Indigo Hotel on Bulevardi. The pleasant nature of this hotel was revealed immediately with an efficient check-in, the room (411) was good and I decided to get a walk in before dinner. I paced it out for 2.14 miles, following a straightforward but random route in the shape of a square and then, when I got back to the room I phoned home and then started to wonder about where to have dinner. A trendy pasta restaurant was suggested, but in all honesty I couldn't be bothered with 'trendy' so I stayed at the hotel's Bröd restaurant where I enjoyed gravlax followed by steak with pollenta chips and rounded off with a lime posset, which I could have done without because it was tasteless. But let's not criticise the hotel, it was fantastic. I sat there reading The Big Midweek – Life Inside the Fall by Steve Hanley in between eating and drinking. I ordered a bottle of sparkling Pellegrino and, not really wanting a no-alcohol Heineken, I opted for a non-alcoholic cider, and let's face it, non-alcoholic cider is apple juice, why not simply offer me an apple juice? Either way, it was a pleasant drink, much pleasanter than a Heineken 00.

It's Christmas all year round in Rovaneimi

I had a long chat with the waitress, so long I almost let my green tea go cold, and then I paid up and headed back to room 411. I messed around with the room lights and then sat and read my book until I felt tired enough to sleep, but then I awoke around 0304 and here I am writing. It's now 0509.

Daybreak, 0444 in Rovaneimi. This the view from my hotel window...

In Rovaneimi yesterday I realised that Santa Claus works full-time throughout the year. There's a Santa Claus theme park full of souvenir shops and a decent buffet restaurant, the Three Elves, and after a pleasant lunch we headed for the airport and the short flight to Helsinki. But I found it hard to believe that Santa is working in April, meeting people from all over the world and agreeing to have his photograph taken. I felt that I was too old to sit on his knee and so only managed a brief glimpse of the great man - who I thought lived in the street next to mine in the UK (clearly I am mistaken) - but I found that it's Christmas all-year round up there in the Arctic Circle, even my hotel, the aptly named Santa Claus Hotel, had Christmas trees on top of the entrance canopy. Elsewhere there were Christmas lights too. First thing in the morning in Rovaneimi it was minus six degrees. As the day progressed it warmed up a little to around plus 2 degrees and there were patches of ice around that needed to be avoided.

Hearty breakfast in Rovaneimi
Snow is everywhere. It features prominently in family photographs on Finnish iphones and can be seen banked up on the roadsides and in car parks, huge piles of the stuff blended with black/grey grit giving it the appearance of a skunk, like the cartoon character Pepé Le Pew. From the air the snow makes the ground below look like a choppy sea full of white horses crashing hither and thither, and on the roofs of houses there are chunks of the stuff, unsullied by grit, waiting to slide off and hit the ground – and we're talking two to three feet thick slabs of it.

Rovaneimi airport is tiny and there are very little in the way of flights on the departures board, just the Helsinki flight that I'm on and another one. Security was, again, a doddle, and soon we were boarding the flight. I was told as we sat drinking our tea and coffee, that a famous Finnish actress had just walked past us, but such information was alien to me as I don't know any famous Finnish actresses.

While it's warmer in Helsinki than in Rovaneimi, it's still cold and there was a bitter wind that prompted me to do up the buttons on my coat before continuing my journey on foot from the central station to the Indigo hotel, but it's getting warmer here and the Finnish people are looking forward to having barbecues in their back gardens even if they will have to don coats. While the sun is shining and the sky is blue, it's still brass monkey weather. According to my pal Ilkka, the barbecue season has already started. In Tornio yesterday evidence of the beginning of barbecue season was there for all to see in a Motonet store where shop assistants were stocking up with gas cylinders. Inside the shop – which was a huge, cavernous space on the edge of town – there was plenty of different styles of barbecue equipment ranging from the disposable to some pretty impressive pieces of kit that wouldn't look out of place in a modern kitchen. As for Motonet, it was one of those places where you could buy anything: knives, camping equipment, weather-proof clothing, DIY equipment, sweets, outdoor games, stuff for your car, anything at all.

Yours truly at the Arctic Circle...
One of the best things about Finland is Karl Fazer chocolates. I was pleased to note as I walked along Bulevardi that there was a Karl Fazer coffee shop and it was just across the street from my hotel. I went in for a coffee and a pistachio cake and sat there reading before heading back to the hotel to decide upon my dining arrangements. It opens at 1000 this morning, which gives me a little time to chill although I'm not really sure if I'll do that, despite telling the people behind the counter that I'd be back. Instead I might mosey on up to the shops, but then again, perhaps not as I can't really afford to buy anything from Finland's expensive stores, like Stockmann, although it's nice to have a look. Or is it? Perhaps I'll just get resentful and I don't what that as this trip has been full of positivity in so many ways.

It's 0539. Is it even worth going back to bed? I should do because I've a long day ahead of me and then it's work on Monday

I was told the hotel had a swimming pool. It doesn't, although I might be confusing it with another hotel in Canada, across the river from Detroit. Annoying when you consider that I packed a pair of trunks. But all things considered I wonder whether I would have taken the plunge had there been one, probably not. There's simply too much to do, like getting to the station to catch a train to the airport and then all the hassles of security and sitting around waiting for the flight home.

Another virtually empty airport in Finland, this one is Rovaneimi

When I woke up this morning at the ungodly hour of just gone 0300, I checked in online and I'm so glad that I remembered. I had another aisle seat at the back of the plane but now, to my sheer amazement, I'm sitting in seat 3A, which is quite unbelievable. I'm so pleased that I remembered as the flight is full according to the BA website and they're asking for volunteers to take another flight. All well and good, I thought, but the only reason I'm here in Finland on a Sunday – giving up my entire weekend – is because BA was only offering a business class seat on Saturday and that would have cost £1,100 so there was no way I was going to give up seat 1A to possibly find myself spending another night here in Helsinki. Why Finland is so popular at the moment I'm not sure, but all the flights appear to be full. On that extortionate business class seat, it's simply not worth it. Later, sitting in seat 3A I was directly behind the two rows of business class seats, separated by a curtain, and that seems to me to be a piss poor incentive to fork out over £1,000. Alright, so I had to suffer small paper cups of water from the plane's supplies as opposed to a bottle of mineral water, but so what? In fact, one small gripe: I pressed the service button on the panel above the seat and when the cabin crew member arrived I asked if I could buy a bottle of mineral water. Moments earlier I had seen her walk past with a trolley full of bottles of mineral water. "I'm sorry, these are for business class," she said snootily and then offered me some sub-standard tiny cups of water from the plane's tap. I'm so glad I didn't pay that £1,100 for a business class ticket. None of those bottles were given to any of the eight people sitting in rows one and two, and that's what I hate about capitalism and the snobbery that goes with it.

Frozen rivers from the air...
Earlier, having woken up at an ungodly hour, I went back to bed having set the alarm to wake me at 0700 and when it did I pressed the snooze button. I repeated the process until it was 0730 (because I was tired and didn't want to get up) and then jumped in the shower, cutting my foot on the door as I jumped out to find a towel. I made a make-shift bandage with some tissues, which are still there now, wedged between my toes, but there's no pain and it's not that bad.

Breakfast at the Indigo was okay, but not mind-blowing and while I've always said that a hotel stands or falls on the quality of its breakfast, the Indigo is different: it's the friendly staff that hold it together. The fresh fruit looked dry and everything else had that insignificant look about it. I chose scrambled egg, mushrooms, vegetables and small sausages, a plate of the dry-looking pineapple chunks, two miniature apple pies, a tiny pain au chocolate and a small Danish pastry and then later a small bowl of yoghurt, I think it was strawberry-flavoured, but you can never tell with yoghurt. I also had three mini chocolate HobNob style biscuits - and I mean mini, they were tiny - a glass of cranberry juice and an English breakfast tea. I sat there reading and then I went back to the room. 

I planned to nip out for a brief walk, wary, of course, that blue skies and sunshine in Finland don't always mean it's warm out there, it's not. I had a late check-out so my plan was to mooch around, possibly have a coffee, but it's easy to get carried away, especially as I'm reading Steve Hanley's The Big Midweek so perhaps I'll leave the book behind, get a brief walk out of the way and then come back to check out. I didn't bother with the walk in the end, but decided to walk to the central station rather than order a cab. I never order a cab unless absolutely necessary.

View from room 411, Indigo Hotel, Helsinki

Apart from cutting one of my toes in the shower, I'm generally feeling fine, but there's no time to chill out with a book. Despite the fact that I've been forced to stay in Helsinki for another night thanks to BA's greed, apart from dinner in the hotel, that's about all I get. After breakfast, time started to run out and I quickly realised that my plan to sit in a cafe reading was out of the question as I'd needed to get moving towards the central station to catch a train to the airport. I had the full two hours once I'd reached the airport. I found somewhere to eat and ordered a foccacia bread filled with cheese and ham and followed by a caramel cheese cake, not forgetting a cappuccino. Once finished I checked the announcements board and noticed that I needed to make my way to passport control. I wish that I'd known about this earlier as once through passport control there were more cafés and I realised that I could have sat in a Starbuck's closer to gate 40. In fact I was lucky that there hadn't been queues because I was under the impression, having already gone through security, that there was nothing more to do other than go to the gate, and that the next step was boarding the plane. How wrong was I! But there were no queues, this was Finland after all, and there's nobody around so all was well and soon I was boarding the plane. It was a pleasant flight of roughly two hours and twenty five minutes and I read a lot of my book whilst occasionally glancing out of the window at the hazy blue skies.

No trains! It wouldn't happen in Finland...

UK Grim
As we approached the UK, of course, the clouds gathered, but there was no turbulence. We landed safely and then the shite started to happen. Travelling by train from Helsinki airport to the centre of town cost 4.30 Euros (around £3.50) but in the UK, a one-way trip on the Heathrow Express into London set me back £25. What a rip-off. Then, once on the train, I was faced with a shuffling beggar and a nutter in a bright yellow tracksuit and then, to top things off, when I reached the concourse of Victoria station I noticed a sign saying 'no Southern trains' due to engineering work. I went back on the tube, headed for Blackfriars and then got a Thameslink train to East Croydon before jumping in a taxi home. Oh to be back in Finland, I thought to myself. All the trains run on time – and are state-owned – and the people are happy even if it is a little cold.

Heathrow baggage reclaim...a very long wait




Friday, 14 April 2023

Night train to Rovaneimi...

It was an early start (on Thursday 13 April) but I decided to avoid a taxi to the airport. Why spend £60 and ruin the environment when I can get an electric train all the way to Heathrow? And do I really want to listen to a racist taxi driver telling me how much he despises the Mayor of London and going on about the ULEZ? No, I don't, so I found myself on the 0709 Victoria train followed by the Underground to Paddington (via Oxford Circus) and then a rather pleasant, albeit short, ride on the Heathrow Express to the airport.

Rovaneimi, 0725 Friday morning, minus 5 degrees...

For some reason, past bitterness created by the hassles of travelling simply evaporated; annoyance and weariness had left the building for some reason. There was no animosity between me and the airline, I couldn't really be bothered with Guy Debord's Society of the Spectacle, in fact, I never even stopped to spray myself with the Eau Savage tester and even 'security' was a doddle. There were no queues to speak of and yes, I had to take my laptop out of my case and all the usual stuff, but nothing phased me. I was happy. I made my way to The Curator, a restaurant, where I ordered a cup of English Breakfast tea and a 'pan hash' with a fried egg on top. It was pleasant and when I was finished I asked for the bill, paid up and made my way to Gate 3 and my awaiting Finnair flight to Helsinki. Dressed like the Milk Tray man I waited patiently for the flight to board and when I discovered that seat H was an aisle seat in the middle row of the plane, while slightly miffed, my anxiety – which was real – soon abandoned ship when I heard a voice on the intercom exclaim that boarding was complete and, guess what, there were rows of empty seats. Without wasting any time I jumped up and made myself comfortable in seat 38K and then set about checking out the music offering on the flight. While it goes without saying that there wasn't that much of what I would call 'good stuff' I did find Money for Nothing by Dire Straits, the only song of theirs that I like, and listening only to the opening bars of the track, which are something else, but the rest of the song (once it gets going) I can live without. I found Rock & Roll Star by Oasis, which somehow had lost its zing, and that was about it so I abandoned music for my book, The Big Midweek by Steve Hanley, a biography about 'life inside The Fall. At about this time I realised, once again, that I should have pulled out all the stops in my younger years and developed a career for myself as a rock star. Still, I guess I have the next best thing: flying all over the world and living (in a sense) the rock and roll lifestyle, even if I have made a conscious decision – that I've kept to for the last five years – to stop drinking and being an imbecile.

Yours truly about to board the night train...
The flight was very smooth and I arrived in Helsinki at 1515hrs and took the train to the central station where I met my pal Ilkka for dinner in a rooftop restaurant. The plan was simple: we were booked on the night train to Rovaneimi and I'm not going to hide the fact that I love it! You simply can't beat a long train journey and if you throw in an on-board cabin, well, what's not to like? 

And here I am, sitting in my cabin, it's almost 2200hrs and its dark outside (just like it is in the UK at this time of night). We've just stopped at a place called Hameelinna and will hurtle on through the night until we reach Rovaneimi first thing in the morning. I can't say I really want to get off the train, but I have to because there's work to be done and, ultimately, that's why I'm here. Left to my own devices I'd stay on to the end of the line, which is miles inside the Arctic Circle, mooch around for a bit and then take the train home again.

Let me tell you about my sleeping quarters. There's a bunk bed and I've chosen to sleep on the bottom. I'm not sharing with anyone and that means I can sit here by the window, peeking out occasionally when the train passes civilization. Right now it's pitch black and there doesn't appear to be anything out there, just fields. There are no lights, nothing, no sign of a road marked out by street lights, nothing at all to reassure me that I'm not in outer space. As I write this, the train is slowing but it's still pitch black and there's nothing to see.

It is a bit cramped, however, but it's not a problem. The bathroom has a hinged wall that pulls back to reveal a shower, but I'm wondering if there will be any hot water. Something tells me there won't be, but who knows? I might be pleasantly surprised. I can see lights up ahead, but over in the distance, I see a road with a solitary car on it as we whoosh through a small and deserted station. In a flash we pass what I'm guessing is a small village and now, within seconds, everything is pitch black again.

The night train arrives in Rovaneimi...

The temperature in Helsinki was around 10 degrees, but there was a bitter wind as we made our way to the central station, pulling our suitcases behind us; and I'm told that as we travel further north, it will get colder. As I flew into the Finnish capital earlier I noticed frozen lakes and snow dotted here and there and I'm told that the winter has kind of just ended and that, from now on, the days will get longer and longer until we reach the summer months of June and July when there will be 12 hours of daylight. Just imagine that. Likewise, in the winter there are 12 hours of darkness.

Inside my cabin on the train...
I've never felt so excited about going to bed. Alright, I have, but let's not go there. Suffice it to say that sleeping on a train is, for me, an exciting thing to do and I'm looking forward to hunkering down: the gentle rocking of the train as it edges further north, the only light coming from a solitary window, the world passing by outside... I'm so looking forward to switching off the light and just lying there on the bed listening to the noise of the train as it heads for the Arctic Circle.

We departed Helsinki at 1929 and are scheduled to arrive in Rovaneimi around 0725. After a brief visit to the train's crowded restaurant car (for a fruit tea and a pastry, not forgetting a bar of Karl Fazer chocolate) I returned to my cabin and set the alarm on my iphone for 0600 and 0630 just in case I oversleep on the first alarm, you never know. I might get such a relaxing night's sleep that I miss the alarm and end up God knows where, but I'm sure that won't happen.

Civilization has appeared again, bigger than past offerings: there are street lights and houses and stuff but it's soon gone, in the space of a few words, no, hold on, it's back again, and now it's gone. I wonder if there are any bears out – there are bears, wolves, moose and wolverines I am later told – and I feel pretty glad that I'm on the train and not out there in the cold and dark trying to find somewhere to pitch a tent. Streetlights resemble distant stars, but once again there are houses out there too, roads and snow here and there. We're passing through a fairly built up area with housing and light industrial buildings, but it's too dark to know for sure what else is out there. Now it's back to the odd street light, dark forests and open fields, none of which I can see too well because it's as good as pitch black.

Everywhere there is snow stacked up...
I'm too excited to read, I think I'll clean my teeth and then hit the sack. I could wait here to see 'what happens', ie if we stop somewhere, if people board the train, who knows what is going to happen? Not me. All I know is that I wish I could take the train back to Helsinki, but I can't, we're booked on a flight from Rovaneimi on Saturday afternoon. There's another town outside and I must say that the housing here in Finland is very cosy. Modern places most of them...we've just rushed through another station but again too fast to note the name of the place. It's another developed area, a town as opposed to a village, and I can just about make out a frozen lake followed by streetlights and deserted roads. Now there is some kind of industrial site with cars and vans parked outside and I'm amazed at the way the Finnish people don't appear to like drawing their curtains at night. That said, it might be something to do with the fact that crime, while not non-existent, is very low here. For a start there's only 5.5 million people living in Finland and they have a land mass far bigger than the UK's where there are almost 70 million people (and counting).

It's pitch black out there again now, but no, hold on, we're slowing down and there are more deserted roads and patches of snow, streetlights and the odd house. I can see one solitary star in the sky, which appears to be guiding (or guarding) the train. I feel in safe hands, put it that way. The train is slowing, but that doesn't mean it's going to stop, let's see what happens. Civilization ain't far, put it that way and the train is still slowing down.

I've just had the fright of my life. My suitcase, which is on casters, has just rolled towards me and at speed, like a wild animal pouncing. It's now rolled back the other way and, no doubt, it'll roll back towards me at any moment. Before I hit the sack I'll have to upend my suitcase to stop it from moving around. The train is still slowing down but it's pitch black outside and there's no sign of an approaching station. But now the big town is back, a huge town to be fair, industrial buildings, car parks, office buildings with stuff written on them, like 'pixact', another with the word 'Koja' written in illuminated letters on the walls. Surely, a station must be coming up soon.  AutoRentti, Scandia Rent, a garage, a Skoda building, Renault, this must be a city of some sort. Metso Outotec, now I know them! Tevo Lokomo, a car park with two cars in it, a building with the word Nokia on the side of it, Integrio; I've noticed that a lot of Finnish buildings are peppered with illuminated brand names. Wherever we are it looks interesting and it's certainly a big city. I can see a Scandic hotel, we're in Tammerfors or Tampere Tammerfors. The station is not deserted. There are passengers waiting to board the train. We've stopped and we're right opposite a Holiday Inn. I'm guessing there are people asleep inside and it makes me feel tired. I can see men wearing high viz clothing, clearly a night shift of sorts. Three of them, chatting, make that four. We're on platform 3. This must be a pretty big city as there's a Stockmann store across from the station. Stockmann is an upmarket department store, Finland's answer to Harrods or Peter Jones. The workmen are moving up the platform and below me a I see a man with a rucksack board the train followed by a young couple. Remember, this is a long train, a very long train, and this could even be the stop where they add a number of carriages carrying motor vehicles. People often put their cars on the train and then travel north on holiday in the summer months when, I am told, the sea and the lakes are warm enough for swimming. Not now, though. The lakes are still frozen solid.

We've been here at Tampere Tammerfors for some time now. A smaller local train arrives on platform two, it's short and green and brightly lit but in a flash it's gone. Somebody else has just boarded the train and I think they were carrying skis. Presumably there's still a lot of snow up north, which is not hard to imagine. We are heading towards the Arctic Circle after all. 

A Holiday Inn at Tampere Tammerfors railway station...

I can't work out what the workmen on platform 1 are doing, but it has something to do with a goods train of sorts that has just departed from a siding. Whatever they were up to, it's finished and they are gone. Perhaps now is the time to clean my teeth and hit the sack. But hold on, a locomotive is shunting a huge train and has just come to a halt on platform 1, it might have something to do with the three workmen, but I haven't a clue if I'm right or wrong, probably the latter.

The cabin comes equipped with a free bottle of mineral water and some very small and flimsy towels. I'm guessing they're not expecting people to take a shower. As I'm the only one in the cabin I get two bottles of water for my consumption and two sets of towels, but listen to me, I'm rambling. I need to go to bed and I think our stop at Tampere Tammerfors is a good reason to make my excuses and hit the sack.

I start to have a conversation with myself. Not out loud, but in my head.

"Go to bed!"

"Alright, then."

I was lying in bed and looking forward to the night ahead. At 2306 the train departed Tampere Tammerfors station and from then onwards I enjoyed the luxury of being gently cajoled into slumber by the motion of the train. I enjoyed a lovely sleep, punctuated by moments of semi-consciousness when I was aware of the speed of the train. I could feel it when the train pitched to port or starboard and was aware of the speed at which we were travelling, which, at times, seemed very fast.

Downtown Rovaneimi on Friday night...nobody around

I awoke early and could see that it was light outside the window. It was 0507 and like a child at Christmas time I wanted to get up and see what presents awaited me. Outside the window were pine forests and snow as the train travelled through what could be described as a winter wonderland. There was nothing out there but pines and snow, deeper than I've ever seen it in the UK. Here and there a small house like something out of a children's storybook, small collections of cottages with Christmas lights, frozen rivers – and I mean frozen rivers, solid enough to walk on. 

The sky above me was blue – or becoming blue. Not a cloud in the sky, but let's not deceive ourselves, it's not warm out there, far from it. There were Christmas trees everywhere and then huge expanses of frozen water, lakes and rivers, it didn't matter, followed by more Christmas trees. In addition to the festive pines there were silver birches, thin stalks of trees with no leaves. It would have been surreal had somebody decorated just one of the trees with flashing lights and baubles (or bobbles as we call them in my house). The forests were thick and dark and, of course, I imagined what it might have been like camping out there in the cold, which made it all the more cosy in my cabin with its under-floor heating. Again, I thought of the wild animals, who were keeping themselves well-hidden. I could stare at such scenery forever and a day: the white snow, the contrasting deep green of the pines, the emptiness, the beauty and in a strange way, the 'warmth' of it all. Up here there was no need to think about governments and politics and normal living, even if we weren't a million miles from the Russian border. Knowing that Finland now enjoys NATO membership was comforting, but all that rubbish and the thought of what the Sleaford Mods describe as 'UK Grim' are far behind me. Looking out on what is basically a living, breathing Christmas card there's no need to think about anything bad. The snow is like icing from one of my mum's Christmas cakes. Occasionally I spotted prints in the snow and wondered if they belonged to humans or animals. It's hard to believe that the snow would ever disappear, but in the summer months it thaws and all that remains are the pines in all their glory. I'm travelling through a snow dome that nobody has picked up or given a good shake. It would be wrong to describe the scene as monotonous because while it is nothing but pines and snow, it's beautiful. A motorway and a few houses appear, dotted here and there, and then we're plunged back into the forests with its pines and silver birches. And then I spot wind power, three white towers rising high above the pines, no, more than three, but the others are too far away to count for sure.

Perpetual Christmas in Rovaneimi, Finland
The train appears to be slowing but the Christmas card scenery continues. Another frozen river but we're in a small village or town with industrial buildings, not many, but a few and then they are gone and the forests return along with the wind towers, their slowly rotating blades adding to the surrealism of the scene. I would love to be up front in the cab of the locomotive pulling this very long train behind me, but I'll settle for my current predicament marvelling at the passing pines, the occasional chocolate box houses, the ghostly silver birch, the Christmas trees and, of course, the snow. How cosy it must be to sleep in these little houses. Everything is so still and quiet and deserted. 

It's almost 0600hrs, 0552 to be precise, it's brighter now and somewhere there's a winter sun casting its beam on the pines, turning them a fiery, burnt orange. No wonder the Finnish people are the happiest in the world, I think to myself. It's a shame to have to consider leaving my seat by the window, but I need to check out the facilities, see if there's any hot water, check out whether the shower actually works. A small village appears, a road sign that I can't read and in the distance two large buildings bathed in sunlight. We go under a road bridge, there's a gas station, Teboil and now we're somewhere fairly big, I spot a man standing by a building, there are more sun-tinged buildings, we're at Kemi, a mining town, platform 2, and people are boarding, I hear the doors sliding open and then closing. Oh to get out and wander about, find a hotel, mooch around, drink some tea and do nothing. I see flats and question the need for balconies, although I suppose they're fine in the summer. The train is on the move again, it's slowly edging out of the station, which isn't really a station at all, there's no platform on my side, just piles of snow and yet there are still signs for platform 2 as we gently pick up the pace and leave Kemi behind us. I'm guessing that soon enough the pine forests will return. For now, though, another gas station, a block of flats, houses, a sign for Kivviko and for Marrtala, a grey and winding road, a lorry carrying logs, a bunch of small wooden houses and slowly the return of the forests.

Still light at 21.30 on Friday night...
The shower was what I expected: small, cramped, luke warm and just a trickle of water, but it did the job, although I worried after soaping myself that I'd be unable to wash it all off. I managed and probably stayed in there for longer than I originally anticipated. The heated floor made it all very cozy. I dried myself and now I'm sitting here again looking out on the passing pines and birch trees, we're back in the snow dome and the sun is out and lighting up the tree tops.

There's 25 minutes until we arrive in Rovaneimi. Outside the scenery remains the same but the sky is blue and the sun is out. My journey is nearing its end and soon I will reluctantly leave the train and continue my trip by car. I'm heading for a place called Tornio, which is some two hours away, but I am sure there will be more forests and more snow.

It's now Friday evening, 2243hrs to be precise and I'm staying at the Santa Claus hotel in Rovaneimi having spent most of the day in Tornio and it's a very pleasant hotel. The room is perfect and I'm looking forward to an early night. Just had dinner in Rosso, you can see it in one of the photographs above; it was a nice restaurant with a friendly waitress, I ordered pesto chicken and a decent no-alcohol beer, well, two of them, and rounded it off with a cappuccino, which was probably ill-advised, but I won't know about that until I try to get to sleep*. I'd imagine that I won't sleep as well as I did last night on the train from Helsinki – will I ever sleep as well again? – but right now I might watch some television, I've got a book to read and I'm feeling good and it's all to do with everything: the smooth flight, the amazing train journey and now the fact that I can chill, my work is done. The original plan had been to fly home tomorrow (Saturday 15 April) but because the only way I could return tomorrow was by flying business class for around £1,100  for a one-way trip with British Airways, it worked out cheaper to stay another night in Helsinki and fly back on Sunday evening. I won't get home until around 1700. It's annoying but there's not much I can do about it. I plan to mooch around Helsinki, drink coffee, read my book and generally take life easy. Right now, I'm signing off.

* It's 0428 and I'm awake and on the laptop, I've been lying there looking at the ceiling since 0324.

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Map of Finland

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