Onward!!

When we took a riverboat to Greenwich, I didn’t write about the man who worked on the boat. He was the only member of staff aside from the captain, as far as I could tell. His job was to announce the safety information for embarking passengers. That was all. He did this methodically, in a deep London accent, his voice burned by years of cigarette smoke and scotch. Each time the boat stopped to let passengers on, he would recite “Ladies and gentlemen, this announcement is for your safety. This is not to alarm you in any way, but we have a full complement of life vests on board, enough for every passenger. This is in case of an emergency, you do not need to be worried. As we are in constant radio contact with other ships on the river as well as the Port of London Authority, any help we will require will be swift, and we will keep you informed over this intercom system. Again, ladies and gentlemen, I do not wish to worry you with this, but it is for your safety to know.”

Then he went to talk to the captain or to have a smoke on the open deck below.

After stopping at Bankside Pier, a bag was discovered, having been left there by mistake by one of the disembarked passengers. It was taken to the staff, and after a while the man stood in front of us again, microphone in hand, and announced: “Ladies and gentlemen, a bag has been found. Can anyone claim it as their own?” When no one came forward, he looked uncomfortable for a while behind his sunglasses.

“I’m going to go through this bag now, to find out if there is anything that could help us identify who this bag belongs to. I’m going to do it right here, ladies and gentlemen, so that you can see what is going on. I assure you, nothing is going to be taken from the bag. This is just to give us information as to who is the owner of this bag,” he said, beginning to lift items one by one out of the bag. I didn’t pay too much attention, but eventually he announced his findings over the PA.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, it seems that this bag was left by an Australian man, a certain [name I can't remember]. It has his passport and flight tickets in it, for a flight tomorrow back to Australia.” Shaking his head, he continued, “I hope we can get this bag back to him. We’ve already reported it as found to our office, and we will be taking it back there once we return. I am now going to put everything back into the bag, and assure you that nothing will be left unreturned.”

The methodical reassurances of safety, as well as not taking anything from the bag, and him thanking us for informing him of the ownerless bag all felt a little strange. He was a bit shady-looking, but as an employee of the cruise company I had an innate trust of him nonetheless. Even without his assurances I would have expected him to return the bag to the office as soon as he got back. I guess that’s just how he was, possibly with a history of dealing with more unseemly characters.

Only now, when writing this, have I realized that at least part of his running commentary and reassurances must have stemmed from the fact that unattended bags are considered prime indicators of imminent bomb attacks. By telling us what he is doing, he was probably aiming to dispel our possible fears, fears which I hadn’t even conceived of leading me to think that he was a bit strange.

From the start of “Walking in the Air” it takes me around 2 seconds to well up. I can’t recall if I’ve always been this emotional about the story.

It’s interesting that The Snowman has been shown both on British and Finnish television every Christmas since it was made. On that cross-border note, I wish you a happy Christmas and a good new year.

For some reason, I’ve become a lot more irritable since arriving back in Helsinki. I get angry at petty things, like a bus driving past me waiting at the stop. I got annoyed tonight at a group of middle-aged couples – one of whom I recognized as the parents of the twins I went to first and second grade with – clambering onto the bus after clearly a good night out. Instead of finding their stumbling amusing, I wished they would just go away.

Nothing like the above would make me annoyed in London. I remember being like this when I lived in Finland, and a lot of other people are like me too. This country is full of petty hate and jealousy, and I find it sad that I slip back into the mould as soon as I’m back in town. Why, though? Why must Finland really be so negative? Or is it just all in my head?

I come back from three months in London to find that nothing has changed. The same headlines litter the papers. People look the same. Special offers in shop windows haven’t changed.

Then again, why should they? Have I changed?

People who graduated from the International Baccalaureate programme need to get off their high horse. I don’t know where this reputation of the IB as really hardcore and elite comes from. It’s a supranational high school diploma awarded in several subjects in prescribed combinations. Nothing more. The fact that it requires an “extended essay” means that each candidate is required to do independent work on a longer piece, but the material itself is really no different from the level of national programmes, such as the Finnish ylioppilastutkinto or the British A-levels. If you think otherwise, you’re delusional.

Since only a few select schools in Finland participate in the IB programme, its status is somehow mystified and revered. Only students with excellent academic records are chosen to participate, and the schools (SYK in Helsinki particularly, I speak from personal experience) revere their result averages like precious heirlooms. God forbid a class would do worse than any previous one! This tends to produce yapping, loudmouthed pretentious teenage philosophers that proclaim the greatness of the programme and the school long after graduation. Even if they don’t extol the greatness of their school, they do get defensive when called on some aspect of it.

The thing is, once you’re in higher education none of it matters. No one cares how many points you scored or what your subject combination was. IB kids talk about their essays and biology exams like they were the greatest, or hardest, things ever, like they were veterans of some mythical trial of fortitude.

The IB is not special. A-levels are not special. The ylioppilastutkinto is not special. They’re just ways of graduating high school, with different emphases in each. An IB graduate probably does possess deeper knowledge of a subject than an A-levels graduate. None of it matters.

I wish people would get that in their hard heads.

Yes, I met yet another Finnish IB graduate last night.