Londonward

I’ve been back in London for a day, and there’s very little keeping me here at the moment aside from realities of money and such. Last week was my first visit to Norway, and it will definitely not be the last. It is an absolutely amazing place, and at least down South where I was the people are friendly and really, really cool.

I could ramble about bands I saw, people I met, things I did (I tried wakeboarding for the first time) but it’s still a bit of a jumble inside my head. Though I threatened to, I ended up writing next to nothing over there since I left my journal at the “base camp”. Suffice to say that the harsh reality of London hit me square in the face upon landing and made me wish I could bask in the Northern sun, breathe in the fresh sea breeze and smell the rain in the forest instead of looking at mustard-coloured brick, suffering in the stifling heat of traffic and public transport and smelling exhaust and body odour. Take me away from all the people!

I’m about packed and set for my flight to Hovefestivalen in Norway. It’s going to be a week of music, new people, messing about and hopefully lots of fun. Through some amazing contacts I was able to secure a free ticket, meaning that I needed to get my now-redundant ticket sold. Luckily I’ve received news that someone was interested in buying it for slightly less than market price, which suits me fine. After all, I was prepared to pay full price for the thing.

I can’t say I haven’t been apprehensive about how my scrounged, improvised and generic equipment is going to compare to the gear seemingly all Norwegians are endowed with. After all, I originally came to London with just a suitcase and another bag and, though the clutter has piled up since then, I’m no mountaineer or explorer. I’ve been checking the weather report warily several times a day, and if it doesn’t absolutely piss down with rain I can see myself managing - assuming the tent holds water.

I’m leaving the house at seven in the morning, which I realised is the earliest I’ve been up for like a year. Days in a student’s life in London start no earlier than nine. Not that I mind - I was just noting the fact. I’m taking the bus to Liverpool Street and since I splashed out on tickets for the Stansted Express train, I’ll enjoy a nice 45 minute train ride to the airport. For some reason I’m more nervous than usual about traveling. Usually I’m just excited to get going again. It’s my first ever flight with Ryanair, maybe that’s got something to do with it. Maybe I just can’t subconsciously accept that a free flight will actually carry me all the way or something.

I don’t know how contactable I’ll be over the next week. If you absolutely need to get in touch with me, I’ll have my Finnish phone with me (as my English phone doesn’t seem to like roaming). I guess you can expect a load of photos and rambling once I get back. I’ve got a notebook with me, and I’ve planned on scribbling inane journal-type things in it over the course of the next 7 days.

To those that celebrate Midsummer: Hope you have a great time and the weather favours whatever you do.

Some friends dropped by where I work to ask if I’d come down to the pub with them to watch the group-deciding game between Sweden and Russia in Euro 2008. Anyone who knows me can tell I’m not hugely into sports, but since I didn’t have anything else planned I thought why not go.

Now, I’ve never understood the generally prevalent Finnish attitude of “It doesn’t matter if you win or lose as long as Sweden loses”. It just seems like a xenophobia-perpetuating, ignorance and herd mentality-fuelled idiocy that’s not based on any kind of rational thought. Finland’s not in the competition so I was honestly interested in how the Swedish team, composed largely of older and more experienced players fared against a younger and highly technical team like Russia. It wasn’t pretty - even a layman like me could tell Sweden was playing as if in a daze, letting obvious chances pass by and having honestly terrible defense.

If you’re Finnish and are rubbing your sweaty palms together now, gleeful in the knowledge that Sweden is out of the tournament - OK. Feel free to tell me that I’m an idiot for having sympathy for the team, and for my Swedish friend who proceeded to drown his sorrow in several rounds of tequila. I bet he’s still going in a club somewhere, with me having bowed out voluntarily. I’d just like to know what exactly it is that makes you think that way. Colonial rule that for its part ended over a century ago? Jealousy of some sort? Honestly, what?

Anyway, I’m off to bed. I’m going to have to balance tomorrow on a precarious budget and without going overboard on the party juice as I still don’t trust my tummy all the way and I’ve got a week of Hovefestival to consider in a few days.

“Kai, what does this say?” asks a librarian colleague of mine shoving a pile of papers in front of me. It’s in Swedish, bibliographical details of a book published in Helsinki.
“Ummm.. border issues in Karelia 1918-1920, that sort of thing,” I reply.
“What’s that?”

I show him Karelia on Google Maps, explaining all that used to be part of Finland before the war. He nods and places the sheet into the “approve” pile, moving on to the next item on the list.

There has been an occasion where I’ve grabbed a Russian book he’s wondering about, read the Cyrillic title and asked him whether he’s going to keep the book. “You read Cyrillic? Why did you not tell me this earlier?” was his question. My answer? You never asked. So now I’ve had my say in what books the British Library of Political and Economic Science has chosen to keep or purchase. Ultimately trivial, but you’ve got to get your kicks somehow.