5/24/15, “Across the Sea”
Stockholm Arlanda Airport, Sweden (ARN)
Enjoying a Montecristo in an airport smoking lounge with two gorgeous
Swedish girls is definitely the perfect way to end my time in Sweden. After I finish this entry, I will fly across
the Baltic Sea to Helsinki, where I will spend the next day and a half. Today is a travel day, and travel days are
often wasted time. My flight is not
until 3 PM, and yet, I only had enough time for one site, a site that was
thirty minutes from my hotel by metro. I
won’t have much time for activities tonight, though my flight lands at 5 PM,
five hours before sunset. The Olympic
Stadium closes at 6 PM, but I should be able to visit Parliament and have a
night out on the town.
Tomorrow will be
a full day in Helsinki, and I can do whatever I want. My time in Sweden has been rushed, while my
time in Finland will be at a more relaxed pace.
I might even have time to take another jaunt across the sea to Estonia
if I want, but I don’t think I’ll do that, instead preferring to enjoy
Finland. Fika, saunas, vodka, and, of
course, the 1952 Stadium, that’s what Finland means to me. I will make sure to find time to enjoy all of
that, along with visiting the usual sites and getting the usual souvenirs.
I am almost out of Kroner, though I have one
banknote that I might spend on a newspaper, saving the coins for
souvenirs. Finland uses the Euro, and
the exchange rate right now is amazing, so good in fact that I am considering taking
out an extra sum of Euros just to have for when the exchange rate goes up,
though I will not be back in the Eurozone until 2016 I do not think (trips to
Rome and Athens). Alright, enough about
my economic theories.
I slept in today,
and I headed to the sauna. Fuck, I just
realized that I forgot to shower.
Oops. The sauna has a shower, so
I was planning on taking the shower there, but when I went into the sauna, it
did not feel hot enough. Sure enough,
the coals were cool to the touch, and the heat source was turned off. I went up to the room, the shower forgotten,
changed back into my pajamas, and headed down for breakfast. I love the Nordic-style breakfast, the sliced
meats and cheeses and, of course, coffee, it’s all so good, they just need to
learn how to properly cook bacon.
However, I had no appetite, but I forced myself to eat, knowing I would
not have another chance for an Official meal until Helsinki, having decided not
to try to get Swedish meatballs for lunch, something I’m sure I’ll eventually
regret.
I went back up, got dressed for
the day, and went to check out, still groggy.
I headed to the metro, where I saw that the train to Morby Centrum was
coming in 2 minutes. I raced to get the
ticket, and head down the stairs, but it was pulling away just as I got to the
platform. Time was a little tight, and
the next train was not for ten minutes.
Reader, recall that I was still groggy at this point. About five minutes later, I heard a train
coming in the opposite direction. I then
remembered with a start that I wasn’t taking the Morby Centrum heading, that I
was going the opposite direction, back toward Central Station (I can heard my
dad recalling his famous Austria story, “Where are you going?” “Vienna”
“Not on this train, you’re not.”), so I raced across the station,
getting to the train just in time. I
then had to transfer to another line. It
took a while to get to the station, but it was worth not having to get fleeced
on a taxi ride.
I walked to the WHS,
Woodland Garden cemetery, which is noteworthy for its pleasing and novel
architectural style. I took my pictures
at the plaques, lit up a Partagas, and made my way to the VC. I’m not sure about the merits of smoking in a
cemetery, but I was really just walking (with my suitcase, forgot to mention I
had my suitcase with me) along a road through the cemetery, and I wasn’t
exactly ashing on anyone’s grave. I got
to the VC, bought a sparkling water, and made my way back to Central Station,
where I caught the express train to the airport.
After I checked in and went through security,
I headed to Duty-Free. Since this is
considered a domestic flight (Sweden and Finland both being in the EU), I could
not by any of Sweden’s famous vodka, but I did get two 5-packs of cigars. I asked where the smoking lounge was. They do not have smoking lounges here,
instead having what they had in Vienna, these crammed little smoking cabins,
about the size of, how would I describe it, the size of a handicapped restroom
stall. Up to six of us have been in here
at one point. I am the only one smoking
a cigar.
Scandinavia is a land of
smokers. They like to drink coffee, and
they love to smoke. Finland is technically
not Scandinavia, but I expect the same is true there, too. There is also one seat here. I have the one seat. I am quite happy about that. Once I was situated, I lit up a Montecristo
and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can finish
my cigar. Boarding begins in 30 minutes.
Helsinki, Finland
It is lunchtime in New York. Actually, if I was in New York, I’d be done with my lunch break by now. My friends and family back home are at the beach or pool or getting ready for barbeques. They have gone to visit family or else are relaxing with their friends. What am I doing? I am smoking a cigar in Helsinki, getting ready to go out to dinner at one of Finland’s premiere restaurants. Not much has happened today, and this dinner should definitely be the highlight of the day (they have reindeer steak). I will pass by Parliament along the way, but that’ll just be a photo op.
I have a
pocketful of Euros, and I expect my bank account to be almost drained by the
time I get back to New York, literally just enough dollars to last me until my
next pay check. It’ll be, I think, yes,
three months, before I embark on another trip that will cost me more than
meals, cigars, and souvenirs. I can
afford to make a small investment in the weak Euro recovering. After I closed at Arlanda, I picked up my
last fika and a newspaper. I finished
the fika before I got on the airplane, but I haven’t looked at the newspaper
yet (it’s in Swedish). It was a very
short flight, only 40 minutes in the air, and I’m not sure if I fell asleep,
but I rested my eyes the whole flight. I
realized that, other than at the check-in counter, I did not have to show my
passport the entire time in the airport.
I only showed my passport to look up the reservation, and I could have
done that at the machine by code.
When
we landed in Finland, there were no immigration or customs checks. In other words, you can fly from Sweden to
Finland with no form of ID. You can’t
even fly from New York to Chicago without ID.
I went straight to the ATM, where I retrieved my Euros, got a taxi into
town, and that was I finally understood why Finland is more continental Europe
than Scandinavia. It’s hard to explain,
maybe it was the road signs, but it felt more like I was in Germany than I was
in Sweden. Granted, the love of coffee,
vodka, and saunas is shared between Sweden, Finland, and Russia, but Finland
owes more cultural influences to Russia than it does to Sweden, I think. I don’t think the Vikings were ever in
Finland, were they? Norway, well that’s
something else entirely. My best friend
had talked about doing this trip as a 24-7 week-long road trip, literally only
stopping to eat, U, and take pictures, hitting every single WHS in Norway,
Sweden, and Finland. In the end, neither
of us were able to do the trip that way, and here I am, getting ready for a
relaxing stay in Finland.
I got to the
hotel, perfectly situated halfway between the Olympic Stadium and Parliament,
an easy walk to each. As soon as I got
settled in, I went straight to the sauna, my muscles store sore from climbing
the fence at the Stockholm Stadium. That
done, I picked out a restaurant, and headed down to the smoking area outside,
where I proceeded to write this entry.
Even though I have a smoking room, this seems a more relaxing place to
write my entry. I am just freaking
freezing. Usually, I’m fighting against
time and battery when writing these entries, but I have enough charge to last
me over an hour, it is still relatively early, and I have about an hour of
cigar left. The restaurant is about
20-30 minutes away. I have simply run
out of things to say, so I shall close and just write some proposals instead.
It is close to midnight, and the sun has set almost two hours ago, but
it is still light outside. Because we
are so far north, the twilight will last for quite some time. Sunrise is in four hours, so solar midnight
is just one hour away. This is another
reason why I so love The North. Other
than Antarctica, nowhere on land in the southern hemisphere has that effect. Obviously, it was more magical when I was on
the ship playing charades at 2 AM when it was as bright as day, but the magic
here is not lost, especially with ABBA playing from my phone in the
background. After I closed, I wound up
reading Quora instead of working.
I left my cigar outside and went up to put on a little bit extra in
terms of layers (socks and shoes, my maroon shirt as a jacket), retrieved the
cigar, and started walking towards the restaurant.
I had trouble finding Parliament, which I
knew to be under renovation. It turned
out that the whole building was blocked off, but I was able to get a somewhat
decent photo before ditching the cigar (Winston Churchill, didn’t mention that
earlier) and continuing to the restaurant.
The walk took me through downtown Helsinki and gave me some clarity into
what I want to do tomorrow. I got to the
restaurant, and I realized once again there was more in common with Germany
than with Sweden.
I got the “Taste of
Finland” appetizer, a sampling of four different local specialties, and the
reindeer steak, along with a local beer.
The appetizer sampler was delicious, the reindeer even better. Meanwhile, I was scrolling through Tinder
(more on that later) and Facebook. Of
all the people from the Antarctica trip, there is only one whom I absolutely
certain I still love. While we were on
the ship, she was like a big sister to me, and she is the one person whose
posts make me smile more than anyone else.
She is Moscow right now, and she posted a picture of herself in a killer
dress (not revealing, just killer, as in an amazing dress). I Commented on it, “I think my heart just
skipped a few beats [heart eyes emoji],” not exactly the kind of the thing a brother
would say to his sister, but not the kind of thing that I would say to someone
I had romantic interest in, either.
Alright, more on that later, too.
The waitress then asked if I wanted dessert. I got some bilberry (not blueberry)
concoction, which somehow took half an hour to bring out. Did they have to go pick the bilberries? It was Germany all over again, and I’m sure
it was intentional, but I just don’t understand why they think I wanted to sit
there, scrolling through my phone for half an hour waiting for dessert. If I was with a date, that would make sense,
yes, but to wait half an hour to bring the dessert out for someone sitting
alone makes no sense. Maybe they just
don’t have separate policies. Should I
just learn to start asking for my desserts to be brought out right away? Is that even appropriate? The dessert was delicious and worth the
wait.
I lit up a Cohiba for the walk
home, and I saw the evening star. What
did I wish for? The same thing I have
been wishing for since the Clinton administration. I then sang the first few bars of “When You
Wish upon a Star.” As I was walking
back, I found a spot with a better view of Parliament. I guess I can take my picture there tomorrow. I also found my souvenir shops, and I saw the
Olympic Tower. I’m going to punt on
Estonia, preferring to save it for when I can do a proper Baltic trip (Tallinn,
Riga, Vilnius), and I have even more clarity on how I’ll spend tomorrow.
I then started to become concerned that my
best friend hadn’t texted me all day.
Did I do something to piss him off?
Maybe there was a Jewish holiday?
Yep, that was the case. He would
be off the grid for three full days, which meant that I need to make sure he
had an epic Snapchat reel when the holiday was over. I put on ABBA and started singing along to "Dancing Queen." After I sent my Snaps, I
wondered with whom I could share this magical experience. There were plenty of people in my contact
list who would have appreciated, but I knew who would appreciate it most. My former co-worker, the one I’ve come to
love like a sister. I was right, and we
texted back and forth quite a bit. The
electricity in the hotel is going out at 1 AM, and I’m not sure if the Wi-Fi
will stay on, so this cut into the time significantly, but I didn’t regret the
decision, not at all. We finished
texting, and I lit up my Ardor and proceeded to write this entry.
Alright, the love and beauty sections. I’ll start with beauty, using the Tinder
example for a specific reference. To my
readers over 30, Tinder is a dating app that is based on the shallowest of
premises. You see a picture of the girl
and swipe left if you’re not attracted, right if you are attracted. If you both swipe right, it gives you the
option to message her. Returning to my
statement that Sweden has the most beautiful women in the world. Perhaps the metric would be the percentage of
women I’d swipe right using Tinder in that country? I was not surprised that I swiped right far
more frequently than I did in New York.
However, here in Helsinki, the percentage was similar to New York. Granted, this a very shallow and subjective
method for testing the theory, but it seemed to hold. For my further ideas on beauty, I refer my
reader to last year’s entries from this time.
Okay, love. That is so much more
complicated. These girls I have
mentioned that I love like sisters, why?
Why do I love them? I can point
to no rational reason. I love them like
sisters, and they make me happy whenever I get a text from them or see their
posts on my social media, but that is for irrational reasons. Two of them I now have rational reasons for
loving, the text exchanges we have bringing me great value, but I loved them
both long before we had these daily text exchanges. I am hereby forced to conclude that love can
be irrational, despite what Rand might argue, and it would irrational to dismiss to
irrational love for one simple reason: we are irrational creatures. There is no such thing as a purely rational
man. John Galt does not exist. On that note, I close.
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