Train Thoughts

This is an old Soviet "local train" with leathery bench seats and windows that only sometimes open. It makes that clickety clack noise that lulls you to sleep.

Each station has a station signaller who wears an over sized bright red captains hat. She ceremoniously waves the train clear. The ticket inspectors are also a Soviet hangover of bureaucracy because I can see that after the tickets are bought, checked and stamped, the inspector also marks us on and off the train. The inspector is another Russian stereotype of obligatory dyed hair, and clipboard and this time a gold trimmed blazer.

Travelling between carriages is exciting because the ground rushes beneath you in the train joins. After several drinks, you can feel like Indiana Jones (I remember this from the Moscow St Pete journey!)

The toilets are, to me, preferable to the Eastern European / Turkish loos, which smell far worse than anything in the Middle East (because these one's don't flush!) I smile when I remember earlier at the station, the heads popping up over the typically Russian too short toilet doors... Anyway, this train loo sports a wooden seat, too wide to straddle and painted in black stuff that comes off if you should sit on it. The open window flashes bright green scenery as you try and co-ordinate the buttons and levers to try and get the trap door to take it all away, and if you're lucky, deliver some water.

In contrast, trains in Finland are sleek and modern. They are also said to be faultlessly effecient. Except on the way to the airport where I chose to take the pendolino to avoid the previously ill fated Ryanair bus and to try and have a beer with the Irishman (who ironically was stuck on a roof).

The train was late out of Helsinki and took half an hour to get to Pasila, which isn't even beyond my house! I had already ruled out making the plane, to manage my expectations even when we were transferred to another train which offered to eventually move and even take us to Tampere.

My scarred and wisened taxi driver was keen to follow my order of "airport, as quick as you can" but at the end of the day, he is a Finn and he can't break traffic rules. (I know it can be done; I saw the Irishman on the way back from Kuusamo!) The last 3 kms, with 3 minutes until my flight leaves, are spent behind the world's slowest Honda driver. It's so bad, I end up legging the last few metres leaving a cheering taxi driver and a bewildered Honda, only to find the flight is closed. I catch some ground crew, walking away and beg and plead and threaten to cry.

They radio ahead and allow to let me through. At least the Finns break some rules... !

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