Valley of the Trolley Dollies

• Discovering, in Peter and Catherine’s vast art museum, that we quite like vast repositories of Art. Especially when the art whooshes past as one’s ultra-efficient personal guide chooses the pieces you really need to see (or at least say you saw!).

• The city of Saint Petersburg feeling, in so many ways, like Miss Haversham: Glory, gold, beauty, and so much dust and cobwebs. The past being smothered by the encroaching years and a sense that the present has no idea how to correct the mistakes, and the future is uncertain.

• Peterhof and Catherine’s palace. How much gold? How much stuff? How much muchness? Suddenly, my own clutter seems almost minimalist. Almost.

• Hitting Helsinki with our new favourite Irishmen (after family, Saint Oscar and Podge & Rodge, of course) and the trans-atlantic cousins. Starting off a little disappointed. Entering the Helsinki Lutheran Cathedral having made some smartarse comment along the lines of “Of course, being Lutheran, it’ll have nothing more than a few pews, an altar, and, if they’re really decadent, a couple of candles,” only to be met with nothing more than a few pews, an altar, and a couple of candles. Having the new favourite Irishmen (after family, Saint Oscar and Podge & Rodge, of course) say “Well, that was refreshing.” Meeting the statement with open-mouthed wonder, and having it quantified thus: “Well at least there was no fucking gilt.” Hmm, a Lutheran cathedral without gilt. If only we had Catholic cathedrals without Guilt. Regretting that the last two sentences only occurred to me six weeks later.

 

• Ending up discovering that, actually, Helsinki, like so much of Northern Europe is a joy. Filled with beautifully angular people, sexy sculpture, great shopping, an interesting local café society redeemed only by two facts: They (the local cafés) serve beer, and the beer is consumed by some extremely fit cute hot and do-able local youth. At 11:45 am. Which is perfectly acceptable by my clock.

• Discovering that Helsinki doesn’t open all its shops because I’ve come calling. Despite the fact that they have windows filled with fabrics, glass, crafts, that I long to fondle and, perhaps, to own.
• Humiliation absolutment, on being informed by paulnrichard that, despite my firm belief, Marimekko is not a Japanese manufacturer of ever-so-slightly hideous, unnecessarily over-and-childishly-designed modern fabric designs, but, in fact, and to the pride of Europe, a Finnish designer and manufacturer of ever-so-slightly hideous, unnecessarily over-and-childishly-designed modern fabric designs.
• Loving, with all my Monty Python, National Lampoon, Surrealist humour, the ‘hop-on-hop-off’ bus tour of Helsinki that was borded, shortly after the visit to the Helsiniki Godawful Bring Back The Renaissance Cathedral that went something like this:

o Those who’d actually read some guidebooks before disembarking: Ohh, let’s get on the bus. We don’t have a lot of time, and at least this way we can see all the sights.

o Those who hadn’t actually read some guidebooks before disembarking: What sights? The place is a Lutheran, Post-Ice-age tundra of closed shops offering tantalising glimpses of local crafts that are out of our reach, snatches of Finlandia played on peoples Nokia Mobiles, and a total failure to provide this year’s immensely entertaining Eurovision entry Hanna Pakarinen, in costume, on the quayside.

o Those who’d actually read some guidebooks before disembarking: Well, there’s the beautiful scenery as the many inlets cut into the city and provide us with a firmer understanding of the constant counterpoint between man and nature. The Senate Square, the Presidential Palace, Parliament House, Finlandia Hall, the Opera, Kaivopuisto Park, the Hietaniemi cemeteries, the surroundings of the Olympic Stadium. Not, of course, forgetting the Sibelius Monument.

• Those who hadn’t actually read some guidebooks before disembarking: Wonderful. And who, in a million years, could ever forget the Sibelius Monument? But it’s a Hop-on-hop-off bus. And, owing to an overenthusiastic enjoyment of the architectural joys of the Lutheran Cathedral, we are, quite frankly, limited to a very strict interpretation of the phrase. It’s hop-on-hop-off, folks. So which one are you hopping off at?

• Leaping off the bus at the afore mentioned Sibelius monument whilst, in the style of Chevy Chase, screaming “They’re waiting for us. Take the fucking picture. Quick (hisss) I hear air brakes! They’re closing the doors. For Christsakes, it’s a monument to their version of Bono!!!” We made it on to the bus, and back downtown in time to meet the boat.

• I looked good in costume for the Midnight sun party.

• A conversation with a boy in the record dept in Ahlens in Stockholm:
  • Me: So, what do you think of the new Per Gessle album? It’s all in Swedish, I see.
  • BITRDIAIS: Oh him… He’s a national treasure. I hate him.
  • Me: Not good then?
  • BITRDIAIS: Well, what do you think of him?
  • Me: I quite like his stuff with Roxette. It’s fun and tuneful and shamelessly derivative, and usually has something I can sing along to and something I can cry along to. But it’s all in English, and I prefer when the lovely Marie sings.
  • BITRDIAIS: So have you heard the new album yet? I can play it for you, if not. On the phones (added hastily, lest I imagine, for a second, that he’s going to play this thing through the shop’s sound system). I mean, I’d hate for you to just buy it.
  • Me: Sure. Thanks. (Listen to first track then take off headphones.) Hmmm. I think I’ll pass.
  • BITRDIAIS: You have no idea how happy you’ve made me. Have a nice trip home.

This entry was posted on Friday, August 17th, 2007 at 11:10 am and is filed under travels. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.