Chapter 1 - Finland
Rob and Leslie’s Adventures in the Nordic Countries and London
18 February 2023 to 18 March 2023
Our traditional holiday selfie
In mid-February 2023 Leslie and I left on a month’s holiday in the Nordic countries. When we left, we knew this would be a new experience. It was mid-winter in countries where it gets SERIOUSLY cold. But we were up for it.
As we left Bowral, little did we know that it would turn out to be up there with the best of holidays we’ve ever had.
I decided to see how disciplined I could be, tasking myself with writing something about our travels every day. I missed a couple of days across our month away but caught up as best I could. It’s not really a travel journal – more of a series of observations and vignettes.
The text below is almost exactly as I sent it, although I’ve corrected some errors and done a small amount of editing, mostly for clarity. And I’ve added some appropriate photos to each day.
I’ve broken this story into its four chapters:
Chapter 1 - Finland – Which is this web page.
Chapter 2 - Norway – Click here.
Chapter 3 - Iceland – Click here.
Chapter 4 - London – Click here.
I hope these glimpses into our holiday encourage you to make a similar trip. Believe me, you won’t be disappointed.
Rob Landsberry – August 2023
Day 1 – 19th February 2023
Hi all
So we’re now on day two of our trip to the Nordic countries, and I thought that while we’re touring around for the next 4 weeks, we’d try to find something odd or amusing, and share it with some of our favourite people.
Leaving on day 1 was hilarious. The plane coming in from Doha had to be rerouted to Melbourne because of the storm in Sydney. Scheduled take off for us was 10pm, but the plane didn’t even arrive until after 11pm, and everyone had to be deplaned (oh yeah…I know all the terms!!), then it had to be cleaned, refuelled and restocked. I told them to forget the full clean and just give it a light dust.
Curfew at Sydney airport is 11pm, but that can be extended, provided there are only 14 extensions a month. We got an extension until 12:30am. But we didn’t start boarding until midnight, and there were 600 of us.
They announced that we’d need to adhere to strict boarding order to make it as quick possible. The staff were literally shouting at us: “Do NOT come up here unless you are called, or this flight will NOT leave tonight”. Oh yes, it’s all fine when THEY shout at ME, but if I make a mildly grumpy complaint about my scotch failing to appear, there’s a high risk they may deplane me mid‑air.
So, staff were virtually pushing us down the aisles shouting, “Stow your luggage NOW and sit down IMMEDIATELY.”
Tick fucken tock…it’s twenty past midnight. The Captain makes an announcement – well, I say ‘announcement’ it was more like a military order: “Everyone, get in your seat RIGHT NOW. Cabin crew immediate cross checks.”
We’re taxiing. 12:25am. The cabin crew are now running to get everything done. I’m seriously hoping they remember to lock the door.
“Fuck the safety briefing," one of them shouted, "we'll be falling at 1,000 km an hour from 37,000 feet! Do you really think the brace position and your whistle and light will help you as your arse disappears through the top of your freakin' head!!??"
That may not have been the exact wording, but I'm pretty sure I heard something close to that.
12:28 - the Captain - "Cabin crew, take your seats RIGHT NOW - take off is IMMINENT!"
And so, as Forest Gump would say, "Just like that - we were gone". 12:29 and 53 seconds. Thereby saving us an expensive layover, and the airline a $1.1 million fine for curfew breach.
And as I looked out the window, I’m pretty sure I saw a handful of locals in their jim‑jams giving us the finger.
The adventure begins. 👍😃👍
Cheers
Leslie and Rob
Day 2 – 20th February 2023
Hello again
I’ve added a few more folk to this, our second holiday email, but now everyone is on as a ‘blind copy’ to avoid you all getting hammered with responses. And again, feel free to delete or ignore this email. I’m mainly writing as a way of remembering what we’ve done during our 4 weeks away because, as Newton’s 4th law of physics clearly states, the capability of one’s units of memory is directly and inversely proportional to one’s consumption of units of alcohol.
Today we’ve done 19,000 steps each during a fabulous private tour through a magical snow-covered Helsinki, with 8 of those steps of mine being UIS - Unintentional Ice Sliding - which were always accompanied by me pointing at something in the distance while picking up something imaginary off the ground to make it look like I’d done the ‘ice splits’ totally on purpose. Stifled laughter from the more stable pedestrians around me indicated that my attempted subterfuge was all for nought.
Maria, our personal guide for today, not only told us about Finnish history, she actually acted it out, switching voices and body language to swap between playing the Swedish King, the Russian Tsar, the entire Finnish people, the somewhat hated Swedes, and many more characters with equal alacrity.
The best thing we learned from Maria was what motivates the Finns. Having lived through hundreds of years of Swedish rule (until the Russians picked up the baton), the Finns motto is not: ‘Finland - Best country in the World’. Instead they’ve adopted the slightly less ambitious: ‘Finland - Slightly better than Sweden’.
Finns are not at all concerned about what you think of THEM, but they are SUPER concerned about what you think about Finland. To the extent that, had this email been published in the Sydney Morning Herald tomorrow, then the next day it would have been noted with a HUGE amount of pride on the Finnish website that’s dedicated to Finnish mentions across the globe, with the banner headline, “Finland mentioned in Australia!!”
This need for country-based self-worth is summed up in this Finnish joke. So, an American, a Frenchman and a Finn are all together when they see their first elephant. The American thinks “I wonder how I can use this elephant as a weapon?”. The Frenchman thinks “I wonder how how this elephant makes love?”. And the Finn thinks, “I wonder what this elephant thinks about Finland?” This is Champagne comedy here in Finland.
And the last observation today is around alcohol and cultural differences. The Finns LOVE their alcohol. So much so that, not only does the Finnish Government have a monopoly over alcohol sales, but the Government-run bottle shops are actually called ‘Alko’, which seems just about as mean as the Seinfeld observation that plastic surgery for the nose is called ‘RHINOplasty’. Like, “rub it in, why don’t you?“
But here’s the difference between the treatment of alcohol in Finland and Australia. In Finland, as COVID saw businesses being locked down, alcohol was the FIRST thing to be locked down, because the Finnish government was very concerned that there would be huge overconsumption of alcohol, which would lead to mass socialisation, disregard for masks and such.
In Australia, on the other hand, Dan Murphy was immediately given a medical degree, becoming Doctor Dan, and every announcement about what businesses were open during COVID kicked off with ‘bottle shops’. Priorities people.
More soon.
Leslie and Rob
Day 3 – 21st February 2023
Howdy to all and sundry
Today we visited the charming old town of Porvoo. After several mispronunciations we finally realised that it’s actually “Porvo” with a single “o”. I spent much of the day asking a smattering of Finns how they would spell something that was pronounced “Porvoo” with a double “o” sound at the end. No one knew…or, more accurately, no one cared. I can only imagine it would be Porvoooo.
On matters more important, for those thinking of visiting this vast white land, you may have heard that it’s ridiculously expensive here. But no. It’s not ridiculously expensive - it’s crazily ex-fucken-spensive. Below you’ll see a $49.72 burger and chips (the wine was extra). To paraphrase John Travolta as Vincent Vega in Pulp Fiction “That’s a pretty fucken good burger. Don’t know if it’s worth $49.72, but it’s pretty fucken good.”
$49.72 burger - Hotel Kamp, Helsinki
Yesterday someone asked me what the folk who live in Helsinki called themselves. Well the thing is, as I mentioned yesterday, the Finns love to know the world regards them well, so they keep this simple for us. After much research I was super pleased to find out that they are known as Hëlsīnkînavinassîēnsanêssensaânseên. Give it a whirl.
Hey, we’ve been down to about minus 7 during our stay here in Helsinki. And that’s been ok. But the bad news is that we have no idea what minus 24 feels like. That said, the good news is that this time tomorrow we’ll have a much better idea when we arrive in Ivalo, a town way up north and lying within the Arctic Circle. 🥶
Ivalo, northern Finland
More soon.
Leslie and Rob
Day 4 – 22nd February 2023
Hi all
I feel that yesterday’s offering was somewhat substandard. I hesitate to say it, but I asked Leslie to write it. Enough said.
The reason I hesitate to say it, is that it’s not true. The fact is, it was written by me in haste, between our day trip to Porvoo and the evening’s ice hockey match.
Leslie and I agreed that the ice hockey match between the Helsinki team and a Swedish team, was by far the best we’d ever seen. Of course, that could be because it was our first and only ice hockey match, but it was still good.
It’s a brutal game.
Brutally fast - these guys skate at speeds approaching 40 kph.
Brutally savage - two opposing players will simultaneously slam into the side wall right in front of you, both crashing to the ground, and yet immediately bouncing back up, as though made entirely of rubber. The immediacy around the need for the upright position is clearly driven by the fact that the last man up is likely to lose his fingers to an ‘accidental’ slash from the skate of a member of the opposing team - think Alma taking the axe to the hand of Halliday the bookshop owner in the penultimate Episode of Netflix’s Mr Mercedes (Series 3) - a MUST WATCH show, by the way.
But most brutal of all about ice hockey in Finland is you’re not allowed to bring a beer and a slice of pizza into the seating area. WTF?? This simply will not do. After all, what’s sport all about if it’s not beer in plastic cups and sloppy cold food. Oh yeah, and gambling advertising of course - for the kiddies.
Well, “ei lainkaan” is what I say - not at the ice hockey! So at the breaks, 5,000 people all race out together, chug a beer or two and down a slice of pizza, which is like that Pizza Hut deep pan type from the 80’s. It’s like eating a tiny Tontine pillow filled with cheese and topped with two small slices of pepperoni. And whatever’s left as the game recommences simply gets chucked out at the entrance to the seating area.
Still, we enjoyed the game and our team won 5 to 3. Although without being totally clear about who was who, ‘our team’ became ‘our team’ only as the score moved to 3 to 1.
A delightful taxi driver named Joachim took us to the ice hockey arena, where we were disappointed to find out that we couldn’t take our gun inside with us.
When Joachim learned we needed to go to the airport the next morning, he was super insistent on taking us. Like, a little bit scarily insistent. Finland is riddled with isolated forest, where two visitors could easily ‘stay’ until the spring thaw reveals their frozen legs pointing skyward and all akimbo. I asked Joachim if he’d ever heard of Ivan Milat, but he said no.
Before we left the marvellous Hotel Kamp next morning, we settled our account, only to discover that some bastard had been repeatedly charging double Taliskers and glasses of expensive Shiraz to our room. We pointed this out, only to be shown a bunch of dockets with a slurred signature that looked vaguely similar to mine. These Finns are wily.
And as we turned to leave, the second lady at reception, who’d been busy checking another gentleman out, said to him, “Enjoy the lap dancers.” To which he nodded enthusiastically. What? There were lap dancers? No one told me. I mentioned it to Leslie, who suggested it was probably more likely that she was advising him to “Enjoy the Lapland, sir.” Maybe. It’s possible I acknowledge, as I repeat both phrases over and over until they gradually merge. But I’ll be keeping my eyes open anyway.
Anyway, Joachim appeared at our hotel at the appointed time. Well, I say the ‘appointed time’, but that time had been appointed the night before. And on rethinking, I felt 15 minutes earlier might be wiser. I’d texted Joachim to advise him of that, and I asked him to confirm. He called, and in the finest tradition of true quality service, he berated me as follows, “But the arrangement was in place for 30 minutes of 9…we had an agreement that was mutual. I am somewhat concerned that you now seem to be disregarding that agreement. I will be doing my best, but please have regard to your commitment.”
So, as we waited, I got my lawyer on the line just in case he was needed to work through the more complex clauses in our contract which consisted of, “See you at 9:30 tomorrow.”
Joachim was still on at me when we got into the car, “You do recall our agreement of just last evening, yes?”
I said, “Well yeah, I remember a sort of loose arrangement”. At this Joachim began vigorously shaking his head and wagging his finger at me. “Nei, nei, nei…this agreement could not be described as loose. In Finland an arrangement is only to be changed by mutual agreement.”
“And signed, I guess”, I added sarcastically.
“That is preferred, although not 100% mandatory in this case.”
Anyway, away we went to the airport, hoping that I hadn’t angered Joachim to the point where a forest ‘drop off’ may be looking like his preferred destination, even if not ours.
As we drove along, Joachim loosened up a bit, as much as a sober Finn can, and he began to tell us that we should come back to Finland, and he could drive us around. “You should come - in summer - I mean it. Come and visit the archy pell ego - there are hundrets of the eyelandts - so isolated. I will drive you. There are many bridges that join the eyelandts. You will rent a cottage. And we will travel the archy pell ego together.”
Bridges joining the eylandts of the archy pell ego
We’re going, “Yeah, that sounds great Joachim”, in much the same way as you might say, “A Tupperware party - really? That sounds like it will be fabulous” (although as an aside, I do have a bit of a Tupperware addiction).
But for Joachim that’s not quite good enough. He lets a minute go by, then adds, “So when? When will you come? Perhaps next year? Next year would be good. In da summer. Oh, we will have such a good time. But how will we keep in touch?”
I remind him that we have one another’s phone numbers, so he can SMS his email address to me. This is what it’s like being a Catholic - ex or not - you simply MUST be nice to people, even the creepy ones. I believe it was in Luke chapter 4, verses 7 to 9, when Jesus said, “Blessed are the creepy, for they shall make the rest of us look reasonably normal. And the creepy shall take those less creepy to the quiet places that the Lord has created. And lo, the creepy may return from such a journey on their own. Thanks be to God.”
As we arrived at the airport, Joachim was still concerned about the whole contact thing. “But what if my SMS does not work sufficiently - how will we make these plans to traverse the archy pell ego?” I gave him a business card - Leslie’s, not mine. I’m not completely stupid.
Leslie said her goodbyes and made her way towards the crossing. Joachim took the opportunity of us having a moment alone to grab my hand, shaking it enthusiastically, saying, “Oh how we will frolic about the archy pell ego across the eyelandts together in the summer sun. Perhaps the ladies remain in Helsinki. But we still rent that cottage. You and me.”
And as I take my leave, I swear he’s shouting after me: “I will drive you - but there will be no car, if my meaning is understood. You and me. We’ll have the eyelandts, the sun, the archy pell ego, the famous Finnish sow-na which we will visit in the suit that God gave us. I will stay in touch.” He’s waving now.
I’m not 100% sure, but as the automated doors into the airport closed behind me, I believe I heard Joachim say, “There is much love in me to be shared.”
Anyways, as they say, travel broadens the mind.
More soon,
Leslie and Rob
PS Regarding the ‘sow-na’ (ie sauna) mentioned above, I believe that most of us have two misconceptions. First, that it’s pronounced ‘sor-na’, but nei, nei, nei… it’s pronounced ‘sow-na’. And secondly, while most people believe the sauna originated in Sweden, it’s three more nei’s on that one as well. It came from Finland, many hundreds of years ago.
And one final fact – there are 5 million people in Finland, and 2.3 million saunas.
A Finnish sauna. The birch is to beat yourself. The hats are inexplicable.
Day 5 – 23rd February 2023
Hello one and all!!
What a FABULOUS day today was. For a start it was quite a balmy minus 17 degrees. In the words of Jens, our brand-new tour guide, “This is Finnish swimming weather”.
Jens, our Danish guide through Finland and Norway
We’ve now met the group we’ll be traveling with for the next two weeks. There are 18 of us all together. For those who’ve travelled in groups before, you’ll be acutely aware that there’s always one complete knob. He/she thinks they’re way funnier than they are, or they have a knack for offending EVERYONE, or they whinge and whine about everything.
I said to Leslie, “You know, I’m yet to identify the ‘travel knob’ in our group”. She glanced at me, raising an eyebrow, and with a knowing look, and it suddenly dawned on me.
“Oh, it’s probably me then”. Leslie nodded, somewhat dejectedly. This is quite a responsibility, as I now have to amp things up to a level of knobbiness that I wasn’t expecting. “Believe me,” says Leslie, “you’re up to the task”. I do love her support and confidence.
We were sitting in the main dining and meeting room, waiting for our 12:30pm activity, when David and Cindy, the only two Americans in our group, asked if they could join us. They were grabbing a quick bite before we headed off. They took each other’s hands and said a quiet grace together before they ate.
“I noticed you saying grace just then”, I said with a smile. “Interestingly enough”, I continued, “Leslie and I are Satan worshippers”. Well, damn me if that didn’t give them cause for pause.
Of course, I didn’t REALLY say that, although it was in my head, and with my filtering system having long been disabled, it was wafer thin close to coming out loud.
Instead I told them my favourite Uncle Jack story. He and the family, who lived on the farm at Tilbuster just outside Armidale, would say the rosary every night after dinner. Well, of course Uncle Jack would be pretty buggered after wrangling sheep all day, and he’d often doze off mid Hail Mary. This particular night, he fell into a deeper sleep than usual, and the family soldiered on through the relentless repetition of the rosary, because apparently there’s nothing God likes more than hearing the same ol’ stuff every night.
So comes time for bed and no one can wake Uncle Jack, so they just leave him there by the fire and head for bed. Aunty Celia wakes up about 3am. Jack’s not in bed, so she pops out to the living room. The fire’s gone out and Uncle Jack is snoring away. Celia goes over and shakes him awake, and without missing a beat, Uncle Jack picks up exactly where he left off 6 hours ago, “Holy Mary mother of God…”.
Love that story!!
So, just as I finish that yarn, up pops Clive. He’s traveling alone and is in our group. He’s 79 and his wife doesn’t want to travel – well, at least not with him. For all I know she may be secretly sunning herself in St Tropez with her toy boy, while Clive freezes his nuts off in the Arctic Circle.
Anyway, here’s Clive, on his own. He coughs and splutters telling us he’s had a bad sore throat, a fever, major sweating, and has been feeling unwell for a couple of days. Even our Christian lunch pals from the USA were clearly thinking, “Hey there, hi there good neighbour - what about this for an idea - fuck the fuck off.” In a post COVID world, this seems very sensible.
Managed to catch Clive on one of his more chipper days
After he leaves our table, like the grim reaper himself, we see Clive creeping about, visiting all the tables of our group members, anointing each of them with his germiness via a plethora of splutters, sneezes and wheezes.
“Blessed are those who spread the germiness, for they are the chosen ones, who cause my flock to be brought to me on a timetable much advanced.” A reading from Germinius chapter 6, verse 7.
Meanwhile, David, our new‑found buddy from the US, who’s been watching the reindeer romping about clashing antlers nearby, asks me, “Do you know if we can ride the reindeer?”
‘Rideable’ Reindeer - Inari, Lapland
“Oh yes”, I say. “Leslie and I went out for a half an hour on them this morning.” I still feel a bit bad thinking about that when I later see David being berated by staff as he and his wife were trying to mount two extremely surprised reindeer. (Travel Knob).
So, 12:30pm comes and off we go to dog sledding, or ‘mushing’ as it’s known. When we arrived at the 108 strong dog kennels, we were given some thorough training. “Here the sled is. Dis is da mat brake for the slow stop and dis is da spike brake for da quick stop. Here - dis is da sled for you.”
What the fuck? That’s it. I feel like we may be in the wrong group - the ‘frequent mushers’ perhaps.
So Leslie is all rugged up seated on a deer skin, wrapped in a bear skin, wearing a furry fox hat, and gloves made from puffin leather, and she’s enjoying a hot chocolate. Meanwhile, I’m at the helm of a team of dogs who are keen is mustard to get going. And we’d literally just left the comfort of our van 5 minutes before. Travel Knob one moment. Musher the next.
And I’m thinking, “So, these mats and spikes of which you speak, how do they work again?”
Too late, there’s a lady releasing my rope, and saying, “Now, make sure you take off slowly.”
And whooshka, we’re away. And I wonder whether she was talking to me or the dogs, because quite frankly, the speed at which we leave has way more to do with the dogs than me.
Now, we had 5 medium sized dogs. I always thought that there were 10 plus dogs to a sled. But apparently that’s the ‘turbo’ model, and although I’ve had my ‘extensive’ training, I’m not quite up to turbo.
These dogs are not only amazing because just 5 of them can pull two large humans at 14 kilometres an hour, but because they can do that while weeing, pooing, and drinking all at once. No stopping for me, my friends! Just scooping up snow for a drink, cocking my leg for a pee, and opening my bowels as I continue to run. This is what multitasking looks like in the doggie world.
I think dog sledding in the metres deep, untouched, pristine powder snow of the Lapland Forest is quite possibly the BEST day I’ve ever had on a holiday.
I mastered the whole mat/spike thing, switching deftly between toe and heel on both to control our speed, with horizontal ice and snow hitting me in the face, and all the while topping up Leslie’s hot chocolate and checking the status of her blankets.
And we wrapped up the day on reindeer sleds, dashing through the snow – all Donna and Blitzen like.
What a day!!
Apologies for the delay in this report. I will endeavour to get back on schedule, subject to my duties as official Travel Knob, of course.
Cheerio
Leslie and Rob
Day 6 – 24th February 2023
And just when we thought that Day 5’s huskie adventure may have been the pinnacle, we out‑pinnacled ourselves with Day 6’s snowmobile trek. It all started with a training session with Fenn the Finn, who took us through the details of the mighty mechanical marvel we were about to mount.
If our 30 second husky training session the previous day was a Golden Book, then this was the Encyclopedia Brittanica. But I guess that’s the difference between the value of the gear - a $25,000 snowmobile vs two pieces of plywood, a rope and 4 doggies.
The snowmobiles were bright metallic beasts, which brought to mind Ward ‘Pally’ Austin, the famous Sydney radio DJ from the 1960’s, and his adlibbed version of a live read advert which went like this, “Girls, want something hot and throbbing between your legs? Well, get a Honda.” Shortly afterwards, the station manager was seen with Ward saying, “Yes, that’s right Ward - that’s the door just there.”
Now Fenn the Finn was telling us that we would be perfectly safe in his experienced hands, when Leslie noticed that one of those hands appeared slightly less experienced. “Hang on then”, she said “…what’s that?”, pointing at a large bandage wrapped around Fenn’s right hand.
Fenn looked at his bound‑up hand as though he’d never seen the thing before. “Ah, dat? Dat is nothing. I do thees to look tough. Next week it will be on my other hand. I am Finn the Fenn! Hang on….nei, nei….I am Fenn the Finn!!”
He continues to tell us how safe we’ll be, as long as we don’t slide off the track, hit a tree, fall through the ice on the river, slip off the snowmobile, or burn our right hand really badly on the hot engine and have to have a bandage put on it, “a bit like dis one”, he said raising his right hand, throwing his head back and laughing like a lunatic.
Training over, we set off on our grand adventure. The 35-kilometre snowmobile trek was nothing short of amazing. It was two to a vehicle, and we swapped driving duties a few times. We wove through the magical forest on the most pristine powder snow you’ve ever seen. Then, with Leslie at the helm, it was out onto the middle of the frozen river to do some speed runs.
We actually look like we know what we’re doing
Before we hit the river, Clive (the disease spreader, you may remember), asked if the iced over river was perfectly safe. Would it bear up to a dozen heavy machines.
“Oh yesh”, says Finn, “yesh, yesh, yesh.”
Now, one ‘yesh’ is all good. But four ‘yesh’s’ somehow indicates something entirely different, a fact which was only to be confirmed when Finn added, “almost shertainly…all thinks will be fine”….a small gap, “I am almost shure.”
I kept a close eye on the ice and listened for cracking sounds. In my head I had that scene from the opening of the apocalyptic movie, The Day After Tomorrow, when Denis Quaid and his pals get separated by a sudden and MASSIVE crack in the Antarctic ice. Thankfully all went well, and we had a brilliant time.
On our way back, we had a stop at a souvenir shop in Ivalo’s town centre and given that I couldn’t see the need for yet another reindeer scrotum coin purse, or a pair of deerskin undies, I took myself off to the local bottle shop, to grab a couple of souvenir bottles of vino.
Now, in what’s obviously aimed at helping the Aussie traveller, the Finns have been kind enough to Aussie-fy the names of many things. For example, the postal service is ‘Posti’ - just like at home. And as I mentioned earlier, the bottle shops, all of which are owned and controlled by the Government, are simply called ‘Alko’. Too easy.
I think that calling the bottle shop ‘Alko’ is a great idea. It’s not so much about what you BUY there, it’s more about what you END UP AS if you visit too frequently. So we could change the names of ‘McDonalds’ to ‘Fat Bastards’. The lolly shop would simply be called ‘Cavities’. And those dismal poker machine rooms would be referred to as ‘Sad Fuckas’. Brilliant.
But I digress….
Back at Alko’s in Ivalo. I grab my booze and head up to the checkout, where the lady immediately starts to talk to me in English. How do they know? Do tourists have a special smell? It’s only been 6 days, and we’ve been keeping clean and fresh (ish).
“You look just like one of our politicians back in Australia”, I tell the checkout lady.
“Oh really??”, she smiles, quite excitedly. “You must show me the picture.”
Now, it’s at this stage I realise that I may have inadvertently dug myself a massive hole in a relatively short amount of time. I’m now desperately trying to think of two things - a different, and more attractive politician who looks vaguely similar, or somewhere where I may have seen a decent photo of Pauline Hanson. Faaaarrrrkkk. Keep digging.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any internet connection”, I say.
“Oh dis is not the problem - for we have the wifi that is free…not even the password is needed”, says the flaming redhead standing in front of me, as eager as the beaver who is eager.
Right. There’s the bullet. Now bite it. I find the best picture of Pauline I can. And I quickly flash it in front of her, so she doesn’t get too long for close examination. It’s a bit like that scene in Tootsie where the assistant director says to zoom in on Dustin Hoffman all gussied up as Tootsie, and being filmed for the soap opera, only for the director to shout, “not TOO close!!!”. Some things don’t bear scrutiny. Ms Hanson is one of those.
“She’s a fabulous politician”, I say, as the Catholic need to please again bubbles to the surface, “Very left wing, with an amazing social conscience, and the wit of Oscar Wilde.”
Geez Rob, if you lay it on much thicker, you’ll have to dig this poor woman out. Anyway, she seemed well pleased as I leave.
There will be more soon, as tomorrow we venture yet further north.
Love to all
Leslie and Rob
Day 7- 25th February 2023
Please remember that these emails are not mandatory. In fact, just email me if you’d like to be taken off the list. I’m mainly doing them to assist our abysmal memories, and I also thought they might make some folk consider taking this AMAZING holiday.
So the good news is that we may have two new contenders for the designated and important role of ‘Travel Knob’. You may remember that the Travel Knob is that person who seems to make an appearance in virtuality every travel group.
I feared it was me, and of course, that may still be the case - I travel and I can be a knob, ipso facto…’travel knob’. But Mick, a proud Bundabergan (or perhaps it would be better to call him a proud Bunderbogan) is itching to take over. Mick is 79, but he wants everyone to think he’s 58, a ruse even Stevie Wonder would likely see through.
So, there’s a toboggan run at Ivalo - a hill of about 100 metres, followed by an icy stretch of around 200 metres for the slow stop. We all had a crack, but Mick is keen to take things a step further by going down HEADFIRST. He’s freaking 79. Dem bones! 😱😱
Mick’s wife Jann, originally from ‘da Nezzerlands’, says, “Now Mick, you’re not 17 no more…dis is just showing off. If you end in da hospital, I will be leaving you here, and continuing on dis trip.” She leans over to me and says, “In Netherlands we call this tough love…what about in Australia?” I tell her that we would call it self-centred disregard for a partner that only 45 years of wedded bliss can engender. “I prefer da Dutch”, says Jann.
By now Mick is back - way back - ready for a massive run up to the green tobogganing mat that’s about 25 metres in front of him. We’re all encouraging him to get going, except Jann who is tut-tutting and berating him in Dutch.
Mick and Jann (centre)
Then suddenly, Mick’s away. And he’s not just running, he’s sprinting, his wiry frame rapidly approaching the green mat, as we all cheer him on. Then about a metre out, he comes to a complete stop and lowers himself headfirst onto the mat, losing all momentum in the process.
You know how Aussie cricketer Nathan Lyon approaches the bowling crease at some pace, only to stop just short, and look to the side? It’s like he’s running up to bowl and suddenly thinks, “Geez - did I turn the iron off?” Well that’s Mick.
Having lost all momentum, he has to push himself off with his hands. And down he goes. The thing is, old Mick has a significant proboscis, which is not ideally suited to face first tobogganing. Anyways, he carves out a nasal trench all the way down, returning to claim total success with all having gone ‘according to plan’, his tattered bloody nose suggesting that the plan may have been flawed. Anyway, at least he gave it a crack.
The toboggan run - and ‘yes’, that’s right - it was minus 21
Now, our second candidate for Travel Knob is…??? You know, I can’t remember her name, and she’s the only name I can’t remember from the 18 of us. Let’s call her Sylvia. She arrived late, and our guide Jens talked to us all about her at breakfast on day two, “So, Sylvia has been super stressed and incredibly busssie at work over the past 6 months and she needs to unwind, zo she will not be speaking wiz anyone, nor does she want to make the eye contact, and she will be eating on her own.”
Question is, why book a group tour? Anyway, Sylvia wears her headphones all day every day, appears mysteriously from nowhere, disappearing with equal mystery. She’s generally leaving a meal just as the first of our group arrives. I’ve managed to elicit one very quiet ‘thanks’ as I held a door open for her - but I assure you, no eye contact was made. Sylvia is safe. Can you be the group ‘Travel Knob’ if you avoid actually being IN the group?
On a separate note, we’ve had heaps of outdoor activities over the past few days. And they’ve all required significant clothing. Leslie and I counted the individual items we had on the other day, and it was 22 - each!
Think of the last time you had 22 separate bits of clothing on. The day before we left Bowral, I had 5 bits of clothing on - including two thongs.
Every bit of our body has at least two layers of clothing cover, some up to eight. Let’s look at the feet first - boots, woollen boot inserts, normal ‘Bowral’ socks, and thick woollen socks. That’s four layers.
But the nether regions! Ah the nether regions. Undies, thermal long johns, woolly pants, and outer waterproof dacks, then the upper body thermal extends down to cover afore mentioned nethers, as does a flannelette shirt, followed by a waterproof jacket, with an inner thermal insert layer. That’s EIGHT layers.
That sounds all cozy and warm - and even in the arctic wind and a minus 21 temperature, it’s pretty damned good….until….
…it’s time to go for a wee. This is not JUST about layers, although of course that’s an issue. But it’s more about ALIGNMENT. The ladies amongst you may not understand this, but the gentlemen who’ve read the list of layers above will know what I mean.
There’s a willy in there somewhere, but you have to align four separate flys of varying sizes to access it - the outer waterproofs, the woolly pants, the thermals, and the undies - all while navigating the jacket, shirt and thermal. This is like delicate surgery.
You need to plan ahead. “Hmmm, I think I may want to have a wee about 12:15pm….so I need to get started on the ‘exploratory stage’ about 11:47am.” So far so good! But this is NOT an easy life.
We will power on as best we can on this amazing journey, all the while feeling truly blessed.
Love
Leslie and Rob
And so ends our time in Finland. For the Norwegian chapter of our trip, click here.
Leslie and Rob’s Adventures in the Nordic Countries and London (holiday travel)
Written by Rob Landsberry, with photos by Rob Landsberry and Leslie Jolley, last updated 12 August 2023