Finnair and YumYums


Unlike my Qantas experience, Finnair is a completely different story. I had been excited to try this ‘new’ airline (new for me anyway), and for months had been telling everyone how interesting it will be to go via Helsinki.

Yeah, very interesting – smaller seats, crappy food (oh my, it tasted so packaged-like it just wasn't funny, and the omelette 12 hours later before landing was like a lump of a rather firm jelly-like substance). The seat-space in front of me greatly decreased even more as soon as the chap in front put his chair back as far as it would go, almost spilling my coke in the process. Perhaps it is no wonder that I never watched a single film on that flight (except for the flight-path every so often) because I just wanted to attempt to get to sleep and the screen was almost touching my nose anyway. And no - I forgot to ask about an exit seat. The Swedish lady next to me, although very nice, slept the whole time (oh, how I envy her) and so I only managed to get up twice during the whole 12-hour flight. Within a few hours after take-off I was ready to disembark quick-smart, even before Phuket airspace, but every hour after that seemed to just drag on ever so slowly.

Admittedly, I did snap a nice photo of the wing somewhere over Siberia just before 4am in the morning, Helsinki time, so perhaps I shouldn’t complain too much...


So I got off at HEL, vowing never to find my backside on a flight longer than eight hours again. Since then, I must admit, I have greatly changed my opinion of Finnair. No doubt I was just tired and grumpy and my sore neck didn't help either. So I do heartedly apologise for the lack of detail in regards to this flight!

I wonder if it’s just a coincidence that, when one looks at the airport codes on my boarding pass, I had just flown from SIN to HEL. Still, the Helsinki airport is situated amongst hundreds and thousands of pine trees, much like Second Valley Forest in South Australia where we often go for holidays, and I know Finland would be a lovely country in which to get out and about and explore. Despite feeling not quite the best at the time, I was looking forward to the day and a half in Helsinki on the return flight.

Much to my surprise, I heard not one word of Finnish (or Suomi.I think they call it) at the airport. I got to the security checkpoint, and the lady said in perfect English “Good afternoon” and “Are you wearing a belt?” Yes, that had to come off and I walked through, feeling slightly looser around the tum. You must remember that this was the first time I had been overseas since the age of 10, and so most such things when it came to regular procedures at airports and with airliners, I had forgotten. I was now 19 years old, embarking on quite the adventure, so I felt. It was like being a newbie once again, one might say.

The Dude on the other side patted me down as if I was a full-on terrorist (unlike the Indian’s 'feather-pat-me-down' at MEL), and seemed to make sure that it was the waistline of my underpants poking above my trousers and not some secret holster-belt..
.
Anyway, moving on. One mustn't keep the Bri'ish waitin'...

I’ve flown to Adelaide several times by myself since the age of 13, so flying solo wasn’t so bad. But, boy! I sure was looking forward to seeing my parents again, after surviving for a week as a bachelor (they had left for Europe a week before me), and then flying around the world. I arrived at Heathrow, managed to find the place where you buy bus tickets to Gatwick, where I was to meet Mum and Dad off their Air Malta flight, and asked the lady (bi’ of a chav-cum-Londoner, like) if there was any discount for students. Laughing she replied, “Oh no, we don’t care about students here!” I was more amused than shocked. You've got to admit, although she was joking, it did seem a rather English sort of thing to say, mon! So, £25 – BANG! – gone just like that, into the British economy...

A white-collared gentleman called Bruce drove us to an old friend's monastery, near Essex, in a fancy black Mercedez-Benz; the interior of which even boasted wooden panelling. All in all, from home sweet home in Lara (near AVV for those with poor geography), to the monastery, it was over thirty-six hours of travelling!.Member OzStamps does more than that with his stints back and forth to South America, but for me that must have been a record.

It was great to see our old friend Mika after almost ten years, and apart from perhaps a slightly longer beard if anything at all, he hadn't changed one bit. He was apparently tired, but he looked really happy and, even, at peace I guess one could say. That’s not surprising, considering the monastery and the grounds and the surrounding country-side was all so lovely and - yeah, 'peaceful' would be the right word. As we sat chatting under some trees, drinking coffee and eating biscuits, some chap walked past and remarked how beautiful the day was. “You feel so happy, and it just makes you go ‘Ah’!”

Not far away, just down the road, is the famous Tiptree jam factory. The café is not that cheap, but even so we, of course, had to have an English breakfast there, not to mention a few scones with jam and generous helpings of cream. It’s been many years since England, but I do still remember the lemon curd. I wish now I had bought some of the banoffee curd (banana and toffee), but that might just have to wait for another time. And there will be another time, what with me and this travel bug.

Another British treat we had to experience again, for old time's sake, was cod and chips, with a sprinkling of vinegar. Unfortunately it seems the batter, or “crispies” as my Grandmother would have called them, is a northern thing because they didn’t ask if we'd like batter. For all you out there wondering why the heck one would have fish and chips without batter in the first place…well, they do deep-fry it, don't worry (in fact, it seems that everything is deep-fried over there). But they lift out all the "crispies" from the deep-fryer, and sprinkle them over your cod (or haddock) 'n' chips.

Durham – well, by golly, what a highlight! Going back to a place which you once called home for three years a good nine years ago feels almost dreamy, like déja vu. Anyone over the age of fifty may not think ten years such a long time, but to one who is only nineteen it certainly feels like a long time indeed. It was great to finally catch up with another old friend of mine too, after so long. We were 10 year-old kids, last we saw each other.

Eating yumyums on the bridge above the River Wear, dwarfed by those “grey towers of Durham”, brought back many memories and the steak and kidney pies still taste exactly the same. Some of the stalls in the Durham Indoor Markets still remain where they were ten years ago. (Isn't it funny, the things you remember?) Our old house still looks rather similar to what it did back in the day, except for the front lawn which is now a paved area, the walls have been mended and there is no laundry out the back. So much for the fire escape out the bathroom window now… And of course, while the New Inn, the pub right next door to our old house, may not be the best place around, the little outside area has been done-up and now looks rather nice and inviting. So, a visit to Durham would not be complete without a John Smiths at the New Inn..