14 December 2005

Dear Laptop Who Hates Me But Which I Use In Lieu of a Diary Because That Way I Don't Have to Carry Too Much Crap In My Already Crap-Filled Bag,

I am flying to Helsinki for business meetings. I am in the front row seat, the seat that allows one to take one's shoes off and prop their feet up against the bulkhead. I am, in fact, doing so wearing blue and white striped toe socks that have candy canes on the bottom of each of the toes. I love these seats. I love even more that my Evil Boss is five rows back thanks to the collusion I had with the ticket counter guy. And that the seat next to me is empty, so I spend my time transferring things from my briefcase to the seat to my lap and back again, worrying the guy on the end as he realizes that possession is nine-tenths of the law, and baby I own these two seats. The seat next to me emptied just after we were airborne, as the guy with the poncy name on his boarding pass-Edgar von Baggendorffer or something like that-decided he couldn't possibly sit next to someone like me, someone who is wearing glasses and smells a bit like last night's alcohol, someone wearing jeans a size too big and a monstrous Marks and Spencer's cardigan. Plus he really threw a hissy when he saw the toe socks, and the fact that my laptop is fucked up and I have to hold the laptop screen almost vertical as otherwise the backlight goes off. So he moved away.

For this, I do not complain.

I'm on a Finnair flight, and I dig Finnair as not only are all the announcements made in Finnish, Swedish and English. I like the announcements, as although I don't speak Finnish, I can cover the Swedish and English bases and I try to figure out what words might be the same. They have a screen that comes down from the overhead compartments and shows what you're flying over so you can see beneath the plane even as you take off. From time to time the plane progress screen is mingled with a large animated map which shows the plane's progress from London to Helsinki. Thankfully, the map is large, and Finnair also shows on the map where we are in relation to Mombasa, which is a relief as I am constantly trying to figure out where I am in relation to Mombasa. That, and it's nice to be a backseat driver, so that I know if we cross that equator I can holler at the pilot if he could veer a little to the right, please?

I have much work to do, but am still feeling pretty ropy from a hangover. Hair of the dog has already been practiced-who's here to police me if I want a glass of wine at 11 am, after all, it's 1pm Helsinki time, and shouldn't I be trying to go native?

For some reason I can't put my finger on, I am feeling extremely odd about the trip. I haven't been to Finland in a few years, and although I have always liked Helsinki, something about this trip has me feeling off-kilter. It's not just the fact that I am going with my Evil Boss, because I am, but there's something that reminds me terribly of the Long Dark Winter, the winter of my discontent.

I'm sure I will be fine. We've been booked on business class seats and are staying in a five star place (the annoying companion that we have to go on the trip with pointed out to me that this is the finest hotel in Helsinki, and we must stay there, and the reason it is so perfect is Shania Twain stayed there. To which I think-Is this man serious?). I have a list of things to buy, and I love walking around Helsinki. It's a full day of meetings on Thursday and part of Friday, then a flight back home in time for dinner. We are being taken out to dinner on Thursday night, me, Evil Boss, Frank the Scottish wonder and annoying companion guy that drives me nuts. Evil Boss keeps trying to explain Scandinavian things to Frank and I, as he lived in Finland for 6 months. It's doing my head in as I gently remind him that I have been to Helsinki many times and, in fact, lived in Sweden for nearly 5 years, so I think I get the general mojo of Scandinavia just fine, thanks. He's been constantly telling me that I should expect it to be dark and cold, and I think: No shit, Sherlock. I sat on a fucking armchair and drank my way through one Scandinavian winter, how about them apples?

The business class toilet had many fresh wipes in a basket. For reasons I do not understand, I felt it was necessary to load up on those bad boys. I guess they don't expect fresh wipe kleptomaniacs to fly business class but if that's the case, I have news for them.

(Dear Laptop-this is where I ceased writing on you as, predictable piece of lovable shit that you are, the battery started to go. After 20 minutes. Seriously. Proving that indeed, portability is an optional feature on laptops. The rest of this post is all re-cap, baby.)

When we arrive in Helsinki I am asked, for the first time ever, of proof that I have a return ticket out of Helsinki. I have been all over and never once been asked to do this, but I show him my e-ticket with a shrug. I love Finland but historically they've not been especially embracing with regards to immigration-I remember reading that in 2002 they allowed 6 people to enter Finland with leave to stay. I show my ticket to prove I am not among those 6, and with a stamp from the the customs agent I made my way into Helsinki in a cab with the others.

And it's beautiful.

Snow and ice patterned everywhere. A tram moved smoothly up the road, and the darkness sat on the capital like a wool scarf. The hotel was fantastic, an absolute luxury-I even had a chandelier in my entryway, which is a huge mistake as items break within a 3 mile radius of me, in sheer anticpiation of my clumsiness. A chandelier is just asking for trouble (as proof, I offer you my life when I was 15. A chandelier actually fell on my head. It was made of iron, and I had stitches and now have a weird shaped bump on the bottom of my skull to prove it. So yes, chandeliers? Not so much). I had an enormous bathtub and two showers in the room (why, one must ask?) The toilet had its own little room, you know, in case it started to develop a complex, complete with another handheld shower unit whose function escaped me.

Yeah. And that's just the bedroom part of my room. My favorite food in the world is macaroni and cheese-someone like me, I am so not posh.

We went to dinner, I did a bit of shopping (Finland makes Aarikka, which is hands-down the coolest kitchen gear in the whole wide word ever. I collect the duck stuff myself-I've included the link, and there's masses of amazingly cool stuff on the website, so just be brave and click the hypertext with too many vowels because again-I don't speak Finnish. But their kit is great.) That night I sat in my boxers and T-shirt with the window open, overlooking the silent city from the eighth floor. While waiting for a sleeping tablet to kick in, I watched the silent streets and felt the slight draft through the window. I tried to find the silent part in myself that sat through the dark silent Scandinavian winter two years ago. I felt the cloth around me, I could tell that darkness was only a stone's throw away.

So I stood up and went to bed, and slept soundly and solidly all night long.

The next day was the day of business meetings. I dressed up and met the others for breakfast, all of us turned out in our business kit. Evil Boss led the way in the meeting, and I had to rub my eyes as often as possible, as it was such a long day. There was much posturing and preening, and Evil Boss, unable to remember all of the Finns names, simply resorted to calling them all Matti (a common male Finnish name, but alas, not the names of those in the room). When the day was over it turned out we made it all the way through the agenda in one day, so Friday morning would be ours.

Before the meeting I had time to walk around a bit. Regardless of where you are, if you open your windows you can smell a strange, burning plastic kind of smell. That smell? It's my Visa card. We got to know each other well. I visited Marimekko and Ittala. Finnish design is, to me, amazing-clean and simple. I walked around a Christmas market and breathed in the bitter cold air, feeling it sweep out months of London smog from my lungs in one exhale. I don't speak Finnish, Finnish is a language on a line related to Turkish and Japanese, I believe, and my Finnish extends to knowing how to say "thank you" and, for some reason, "welcome!" Lucky for me Swedish is the official second language, and so I can figure my way around as long as the signs have the second language.

We were taken out for dinner, and when the dreaded event was over once again I met up with my friend the sleeping tablet. I waited for it to work again and watched Strictly Come Dancing in my pajamas, the curtains open to the falling snow. I slept like the dead, and when I woke up it was knowing that I had 9 hours of sleep under my belt. I woke, ate breakfast, and walked around the city, taking pictures of the stunning church I had first seen 6 years ago, the trams, the signs, the life that holds Helsinki in motion.

And I was constantly afraid-afraid that the darkness I knew in Stockholm would sink in to the darkness of Helsinki. Afraid that I didn't actually escape the depression, it's just been waiting for me to come back to the archipelago again. Afraid that people would point at me, laughing, saying We know her-she spent a Swedish winter in the dark, motionless and alone.

Instead I came home with a suitcase full of Christmas presents and a business deal done. I came home to a house ready for Christmas ornaments, complete with the Finnish star at the top of the tree that I brought back with me. I came home. The darkness, it's still out there, but I will kick the darkness' ass with my new Aarikka duck keychain, and I will tell myself that not every place I go has to have my ghosts, too.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 07:36 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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