Carl Nilsson-Polias

Disclaimer: irony is difficult to transmit over email, read with care.

Finland, finland, finland! Sure you’ve heard Monty Python sing about it and your mobile phone might have been designed here but that’s about it, right? But more on that later.

The flight over was really quite good. The check-in chick complimented my small package and i would have been upset if i hadn’t quickly realised she was talking about the backpack. Anyway, i should have been suspicious about having only 7.6kg but i’ll get back to that.

I seem to be a magnet for Melburnian retirees.

First there was Lynn Mullen. Think small, grey, dripping in silver-jewellery, well-spoken with a taunting haze of stubble across her chin and upper lip. We chatted away for bits of Melbourne to HK and i found out all sorts of things about her overweight daughter who has no uni degree and works as a flight attendant cum bookings rep for British Midlands airlines. Her son is a chartered accountant living on the Gold Coast. She has a nephew who works for Goldman-Sachs and a brother-in-law who worked for Telecom for 46 years and is, therefore, ”rather well off”. Funnily, i found out relatively little about her, apart from her wish to see Monaco and the fact that she works at a nursing home.

Next came Creme and Ian Brulee (ok, his name was Ian but the rest is poetic license) on the HK to Frankfurt leg. Ian worked at GM for 48 years and lived for a time with his wife, Creme, in Frankfurt and Wiesbaden. That had very little bearing on anything though because they were flying on to Split (in Croatia) where they were hiring a 40 foot saling yacht with some friends (three boats were being hired in total) and planned to sail down the Dalmatian coast to Dubrovnik (check my spelling). Which was nice! Actually, come to think of it, the fact they had lived in Germany would explain why they had akubra hats. As some of you might remember from my last travel observations, all German residents who arrive from Australia have akubra hats (All?, you ask. Yes, all, it’s comedy).

It was in Frankfurt, that absolute crap hole of an airport, that i realised i had forgotten to pack a towel. I had packed everything else but clearly the 12.4 kilos i hadnt used in my baggage allowance had something to do with the lack of a towel.

Well, at least i had something to do when i got to Helsinki. So, i hop on the finnair bus (by the way, John, they do use euros here … sometime the internet is misleading) and head for my hostel, which is sneakily positioned at the back of the Olympic stadium in what must have been offices or change rooms or something. I dump my big backpack and head off for a journey of self-discovery armed with the knowledge that if i didnt find a towel, i’d be drip drying my finely tuned physique at the top of the Olympic stadium’s 70 metre tower (an absolutely ghastly looking monument to the phallus). So, i start walking to the city and realise that i pass the opera house, concert hall, parliament house, contemporary art museum and a whole lot else within the first 5 minutes. Nice! Anyway, i end up at the marimekko store (there seems to be a marimekko store selling clothes, furniture or something else at every corner here). So, i buy a classy designer towel within a couple of hours of being away. I decided not to buy myself a marimekko man-bag to match but geez, i think a bright lime green flower pattern on linen canvas would really bring out the colour in my eyes.

Armed with my towel i decided to make the most of the rest of the day before jet lag crept its wily way into my legs. Managed to cover most of Helsinki centre and found all sorts of places to revisit when i had more time (and didn’t smell like i’d just travelled 40 hours). One particularly amazing place is the imposing whitewashed cathedral that overlooks Helsinki’s harbour. Took some snaps and then realised you could get in by a side door. Went in to one of the most beautiful interiors of a church i’ve ever seen. sort of neo-classical cum russian basilica. had some quiet time, lit a candle for Maria and then went on my way.

The youf here are very similar to in Sweden … girls with blonde hair and lightly tanned skin, guys with the same. And just like in Sweden, most of the male youf obviously woke up one morning thinking that the ultimate style move would be to combine the looks of P Diddy and Metallica, but let’s not hold that against them. On the other hand, their gender counterparts have amazing taste no matter which sub-culture they belong to. I swear, if i see one more gorgeous girl riding a bicycle in a perfectly stunning clothing ensemble… ahem. Of course, some things don’t change no matter where you are. Take the uni student, hackey-sack playing quartet on the grass outside the opera house … dreadlocked guy, shaved-head guy, bearded guy and ponytailed girl. The ponytailed girl has a thing for the dreadlocked guy (who MUST be cool) but he is all aloof. Meanwhile the guy with the shaved head fancies the girl but is too shy to say anything … he also resents the dreadlocks. Evryone assumes the bearded guy is someone else’s friend because he keeps hanging out with them.

At the end of last night i considered seeing Carmen at the Opera House but decided that i was likely to fall asleep, only because of the flight (even i could stay awake during an opera that involves spanish women rolling cigars on their thighs). Instead, i went back to my hostel to defunkify and fall asleep. I did both successfully, though i was woken at about midnight by the astonishingly loud and spasmodic snoring of one of my Dutch roommates. By the by, all the guys in my room are aged between about 28 and 50, great.

So, this morning i awake at the unusually early hour of 7am and set off for another day in the city of dreams. Because none of the museums or galleries open until 10 or 11, i spent an hour or so reading ‘darkness at noon’ in the sun, by a lake, which was nice. After this, i headed off to the Amos Anderson gallery to see a one-off exhibition of Flemish still-lifes involving fish. Sounds like an episode of Global Village n’est-ce pas? The fish was apparently a vital part of the still-life genre because their glistening bodies made them technically difficult subjects. The fish were very well done but i dunno, they’re still just faked compositions painted for the purpose of displaying painterly virtuosity. There were also some impressionist and expressionist works from early 20th century Finnish and French artists … ranging from some very Cezanne-like stuff, to pointillism and the like.

Anyway, after i stopped writing an essay on art history, i headed off to the design museum. downstairs there was an exhibition of finland’s design history, dating from the nationalistic gear of the 1900s through the functionalism of the 1920s etc etc. Amazing glassware, ceramics, furniture and textiles. You know, the kind of tea cups you need to buy a house for. Upstairs there was an exhibition of final work by graduates of Helsinki’s art and design school. Their stuff ranged from the good to the brilliant. Imagine decorative bowls made from remoulding vinyl records or light fixtures made from the combination of recycled pastic cups into jelly-fish like shapes. There were furniture builders, fashion designers, architects, etc etc. My favourite was an installation piece that involved a motion sensor, computer and speakers. The motion sensor recognised the intensity and style of one’s body movement and the speakers played correspndingly placid or turbulent water sounds. So, as you moved, it sounded like you were moving through and playing with water. Youth arts grant for a collaborative interpretive dance piece, ahoy!!!

On my way back towards the city-centre i passed the architecture museum and popped in to see an exhibition of architectural graphics (artist’s impressions and draftsman’s work). I’ve sort of done my design quota for a few days but it has definitely recharged my old design inclinations … if only i was good at it.

I also went into the ‘old food hall’ (gamla saluhallen på svenska) which is about as close as you get to the Adelaide Central Markets. Walked around, bought three bananas and then decided to get some traditional Finnish fare. Yep, beef kebab with salad and pita bread. God, it was good though.

I’m sitting in the Swedish resource centre using their free internet connection right now. I was actually surprised how ubiquitous Swedish was here, every single street sign and building has both Finnish and Swedish names. Of course, everyone speaks English as well and most of the signs around have all three languages so i haven’t had to deal with Finnish at all. Lucky, because as far as i remember it’s more closely related to the Basque langauage than to French, German, Greek or Italian. Take as an example, ‘alankomaalaisia asetelmia’ translates to ’still lifes from the Netherlands’. Yeah, you knew that, dintya?

Tomorrow, my last day in Helsinki, is also the day of graduation for school leavers. That means there will be a whole lot of spotty teens running around in stupid white sailor-like caps. Oh the humanity. But if i can withstand that onslaught, i’ll be on a train to st petersburg on Sunday morning.

Tulostus ilmainen

Carl

P.S. I could totes live here.