Saturday, July 22, 2006
By the time I'd found my hitchhiking spot on the outskirts of Helsinki, it was already about 9pm. A mundane journey on the metro and a long walk through suburbia was broken up by a phone call from Corinne, my very special friend in London, with some very strange and exciting news... I can't say what it's all about right now.
It was so late that I really thought I would get nowhere, but after five minutes, mum Marja and her two teenage daughters Beada and Saara proved me wrong! The 140 km to Hamina seemed like a walk in the park, we really did enjoy each others' company. Marja was of course all mumsy and protective of her daughters, but at the same time proving to them how open-mindedness and fearlessness can lead to more interesting experiences, and ultimately a richer life, I guess. When talking about their future, I was strongly arguing that some sort of a longish-term experience of a different country - travelling, studying, working or whatever - is one of the best ways to... er... open your mind? Educate yourself? Expand your horizons? I don't really like any of those expressions, but I guess their meanings are generally understood... Judging from their openness and curiosity, I have a strong feeling that her beautiful daughters will "do well in life", however they choose to interpret that.
"Hamina" comes from the Swedish word "hamna", "the harbour", and it's about 40 km from the Russian border. I went to the local watering hole, where I found the delightful Janne (the fifth "Janne" I've met in Finland!) and his friends.
Janne on family ties as the common human denominator.
There is a strong military presence in Hamina due to the proximity to Russia, and some "army-looking" guys also joined us. Marja had warned me about "right-wingers", her polite way of putting it, in this little town, but I was completely oblivious to the warning-signs - they were joking and laughing with us, being very friendly. Janne had to get up early the morning after, and suggested that we'd leave and grab some food, and that I could crash at his place. I was enjoying myself there and turned him down. Perhaps it was his way of saying "get out while you can"...
When Janne and his friends had left, the athmosphere immediately changed - the army guys wanted to find out if I was "with them or against them", and that's when I noticed the swaztikas...
They were very disappointed when they learnt that I've never been to the army and that my opinions may differ from theirs, but they agreed that we could still have a civilized conversation. So far so good. But a few "heils" later, and a "united nordic STRENGTH against our common enemies" with crazed bulging eyes - and my blood started boiling. Exactly at the time when I was about to say something I might not have lived to regret, like "the only common enemy I can think of is you", Corinne called my mobile phone and I used it as an excuse to run outside. I left my camera-bag with them, and I think it's never been safer - they didn't know the depth of my feelings, and I am of course very blond!
I went back inside, calmer, with a determination to hear them out (in exactly the same way I hear everyone out), to capture them on camera... and to see if I could find any love in my heart for them, like I have with so many others.
I spoke to the security guard on my way in, only to realise that he (perhaps!!!) was not entirely unsympathetic to their views. (He did not expressly say so, but as I haven't revealed any names of people or places in this part of the story, if think I can say so with a good conscience.) Still, he said he would help me if I ended up in trouble.
I heard them out and tried to figure out where their hate came from. Again, I think the answer is fear. Fear of many different kinds, not just of "the common enemy" but of a life without purpose, of themselves, of being alone, of having no identity. But I really haven't got a clue.
They weren't too happy about the camera, so I never took it out. Strange, as their "leader" said his aim in life was to be executed as a war criminal. Well, I could have helped him to achieve that!
Did I find love? Not really, but a great deal of pity. As they were leaving, I decided I wanted to shake their hands. Yes I know, very controversial, I'll make a poll in the forum about this when I have the time. Why did I do it? It's difficult to say. I didn't want to hate them, hate leads nowhere. I wanted to love them instead, but I'm not sure I could. I wanted to see how it felt, so I did it. For me, the only really problematic thing about the handshake is that they may have interpreted it as a validation of their opinions. Then again, I'd already made it clear that I didn't share their views. I guess I just wanted to say that I wasn't afraid, that I wasn't hateful, that I won't deny anyone any kind of subjective point of view on anything, just as long as it doesn't become "objective reality", that sharing and debating is always better than censorship (though I wasn't fully able to share my points of view)... And if I hadn't been so bloody white and blond I think they might have been capable of understanding some of that. Was I wrong? Vent your anger in the forum...
And that was the very first time on this journey that I'd felt... if not afraid, at least very uncomfortable.
I walked through a little forested area in the direction of the sea, making sure I wasn't followed, and stumbled upon a quite spooky, abandoned, derelict saw mill.
The "control room" was full of broken glass, but luckily also a broom and some cardboard. With just a tad of insect repellent, it got quite cozy. In a horror film the neo-nazis would of course have turned up with their army of German zombie soldiers from some nearby war cemetary...
The view is what gave this hotel the fifth star.
I was particularly pleased with my choice of accommodation when I woke up to the sound of pouring rain... Which stopped, as if by magic, as soon as I was packed and ready to go.
I had quite a hard time hitching the last 40 km to the Russian border. Sirba gave me a lift to Virolahti, where I was stuck for at least two hours.
Pietari is St. Petersburg in Finnish.
Hitchhiking on a road with a 100 kmph speed limit is not a great idea, but at this stage I didn't have a choice. At least there was a bus stop behind me.
Getting bored and getting into the groove with my mouth harp.
C'mon Mr. Tractor!
Getting more bored and getting into the groove with my mp3-player. You don't need a guitar to be a guitar hero.
What about a lift with the morgue van?
I guess not, I would have to be in this position...
Getting more bored, the dance moves are getting bolder...
...until I've invented a new artform: Hitch-dancing!
Ok, had enough now. What's going on?
Hey - c'mon, gimme a break!
Hellooooooo.... anyone there?
Aaaarrrrggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!
I'm going insane! Will this be my final resting place?
A broken man, just about to give up...
...when Mikko pulled over!
Mr. Motorcross Mikko went way out of his way to take me right to the actual border crossing.
The queue of trucks trying to enter Russia was about 25km long! It has been known to be more than 40km! It will take these truckers more than 24 hours to get through...
Speaking with arms and legs, English and German to a Russian going the other way, I quickly learnt that it was not possible to walk through the border - I would have to find a vehicle. To the amazement of the border guards, I found my hitchhiking spot a couple of hundred metres from the border. They were eyeing me up and down, but didn't intervene. I didn't have to wait long for the craziest bunch of drunken Finns you're ever likely to meet to pull over in their shabby van.
"Norjalainen? Ha-ha-ha! Kom, kom, we help you across the border, no problem!"
To Russia with love...
They make this journey almost every other day, they showed me the neat rows of stamps on page after page in their passports... Cheap Russian booze!
Tapio, Jyrki, Hanni and Samuli - thank you so much!
The Russian visa was the only one I'd sorted out before leaving London. I paid some Russian travel agency based in Scotland a lot of money (about 95 pounds) to deal with all the hassle for me; I didn't have the time to sort it all out myself. It doesn't have to be quite as expensive as that, though. They luckily sent me an actual visa, not just a fancy piece of paper with some nice Russian letters on it that the border guards would have laughed at...
Tapio, Samuli, Hanni and Jyrki were on very good terms with the border guards, and getting through was a breeze. Half an hour, three border controls, lots of paper-work, a few questions (luckily only "are you staying at a hotel in St. Pete?", not "which hotel are you staying at in St. Pete?"), a drive through the strange no-mans-land, lots of Finnish, Swedish, English, Russian and arms and legs later, and we were sat drinking cheap Russian vodka and beer in a tiny bar with some amusing Finns and some very unamused Russians. Tapio desperately wanted to marry the barmaid and insisted that I serenaded her on my mouth harp as he was asking. She didn't even raise an eyebrow, I'm sure he asks the same question every time he goes there :-)
Tapio and Samuli called their Russian friend Dmitry, who turned up in his Mercedes half an hour later - he was going to drive me to Vyborg! I saw some money changing hands, and to my horror I learnt that they had paid Dmitry almost as much as I could have paid for the train from Helsinki to St. Petersburg, for him to drive me about 50 km to Vyborg.
From right to left: Tapio; giving Dmitry money; his Merc; my reaction...
I tried to refuse as best I could but they weren't having any of it - they were going to ensure that I made it safely to St. Pete that evening! I think they also may have paid Dmitry to get me a bus ticket from Vyborg to St. Pete, but I wasn't sure and I didn't insist, later on. I gave my sincerest thanks to the Finns and got into the Mercedes.
Saying goodbye to Samuli...
...and Tapio, right. The little boozer on the left.
Dmitry and I were cruising through the endless forests of Karelia at break-neck speeds, and Vyborg's amazing medieval fortress, surrounded by water, appeared sooner than expected.
Vyborg was founded by the Swedish "empire" and has since changed hands between Sweden, Finland and Russia more times than I've changed underwear so far on this trip. Which doesn't really say a lot, I suppose. During WWII, the Russians captured it and shipped all the Finns back to Finland, an act of much resentment. I was told on several occasions, by Finns, that I should watch my back amongst the Russian opportunists that had moved into this void, and that I would meet the "real Russians" further inland. See this Wikipedia article for more info, bearing in mind that it is most likely biased.
Dmitry stopped at the train station and went inside to inquire about the next train to St. Pete. "23.51" he said, either because he'd misunderstood, because he was given the wrong information, or because he knew there was no way I was going to get to St. Pete that evening and that he wanted to get rid of me so that he could keep the fare he had possibly been given by the Finns for himself. I didn't care too much and found a 24-hour bar next to the station with Russian hot dogs and 0.6 l of beer for less than a euro. I was quite tired and didn't even consider hitchhiking - the train was 126 rubles, about 3.50 euros! I drank very moderately to keep my wits about me in this slightly dodgy town. Two Russian guys around my age spontaneously sat down at my table and we talked crap in whatever way we could until 23.40. They walked me to the station and found out that the train at 23.51 was arriving from St. Pete, going to Helsinki, and that I would have to wait until 04.41 for the next train.
At that point I could have looked around for a place to spend the night, but I was absolutely determined to make it to St. Pete that day... well, by now it was already the "next day". The two guys got too drunk and had to carry each other home, quite literally. So I kept on waiting in the bar, and I was joined by Irina who'd just won several thousand roubles on the slot machine, and a cat who refused to leave my lap. I'd quickly noticed that this bar wasn't just a hang-out for the "working girls", it was actually all organised from there! They kept on disappearing for exactly an hour... The two guys had told me that I could have one of the girls for 100 roubles, that's about 3 euros, I don't know if it's true.
Irina: A gem.
Irina was warm, friendly and bright, an absolute sweetheart, her English was passable, she didn't treat me like a potential customer and I didn't treat her like anything other than a warm, friendly and bright sweetheart. I'm glad there was no train at 23.51. I got my notebook out and she started teaching me the Russian Cyrillic alphabet - I really started getting the hang of it! ????? (that's Irina in Russian, if your computer supports the Cyrillic letters...) left for an hour a little after 4, and I went to catch the train.
My notebook... Just to the right of my thumb you can see my second attampt at writing Russian with no help. (I won't even mention the first...) I tried to write "thank you" - "spasibo" - and the only letter I got wrong was the last "o" - I wrote an "a" instead - but only because SAYING "spasiba" is just as common, if not more so, as "spasibo".
The draughty, noisy, ice cold local train between Vyborg and St. Pete had these lovely, comfy Soviet-era hard wooden benches that sent shivers of joy through my body as I fell asleep to the sight of the thickest and most beautiful morning mists I have ever seen, covering the Karelian forests and swamplands as the sun was rising... A gang of about 50 rowdy kids on their way either to a party or from a party deciding to raise hell in the car I was in was the only thing spoiling the fun. We rolled into St. Pete two hours later, luckily not at "2 o'clock" as a Russian guy told me, as that would have made it a 10-hour journey...
And the moral of the story? I wouldn't have accepted a plane or a train ticket from Helsinki to St. Pete even if I'd been paid for it.
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