Die Hard Three

Here are the numbers for this trip. Enjoy!

Reading to her was the only way I could get her to fall asleep.

Time Travel: About eighteen hours door-to-door on the way over and seventeen hours on the way back. Total time in-country was exactly eleven days (Finland) and sixty-five minutes (Iceland).

So I’m back in Ottawa after an uneventful fifteen hours of travel. While waiting to collect my luggage at YOW a wasp crawled out of one of the pockets on my purse. I figure she must have been there since Helsinki. I had to kill it right away to avoid it mating with the locals and creating a super-race of pesticide-resistant mega-wasps.

Like me he was exhausted after many hours of air travel.

Like all of my trips a bunch of stuff happened to me that never made it into the blog. So for your entertainment, here is some photos with some captions. And btw, you really should be working.

We found a baby in our hotel room.

My favorite place in the entire world.

Flagrant false advertizing

Got lost in a field – thank God there were no velociraptors.

A rock from the Geological Period.

In English it says “The dead do not suffer the living to pass”

The annual tree of Finland.

And, like the ending of some crappy foreign film that no one will ever see, the blogging for this trip is now over.

You didn’t think I could make it through an entire vacation without devoting at least one post to the local toilets. And it turns out I can’t.

The Finnish summer cottages have a unique toilet system. I have to say it borders on genius – they are very close to solving all our agriculture, energy, and terrorism problems. Toilets, is there anything they cant do?

The answer is “no”.

So the way it works is that it’s like a standard Canadian outhouse with no running water except the area for the… deposits, is not a hole in the ground. The structure is built up so that the… leavings, end up in a pile exposed to air but still shielded from the elements. After finishing with your… expulsion, you simply sprinkle some sawdust-like substance through the hole to help reduce the odor.

Note the vent to help the methane escape.

In addition the human food garbage is mixed with the composting pile. There’s even a nice separate chamber for easy access.

Step one

Step two

Step three

Step four (or zero) – they’re basically interchangeable.

This mixture of food waste and… numbers two, produces a rather high-quality fertilizer (good luck making a bomb out of this stuff Osama!) that one can use to grow food in the aftermath of the upcoming nuclear winter.

Also, the byproduct of this chemical process is methane. And you know what this means: cheap, low-cost, renewable energy to run Bartertown! If you don’t like the concept of Bartertown, talk to the one percent. When we eventually get there, the blame for our predicament will fall squarely on their shoulders.

The worst feature of this particular outhouse was the picture of Peter Mansbridge watching each time I went potty.

So in conclusion, Finnish compost toilets can solve our food shortage problem (fertilizer to grow food), our energy problem (methane to run Bartertown) and our terrorism problem (by eliminating the need for nitrate-based fertilizers – a terrorist staple). Everybody wins!

Except the terrorists.

I make such a big deal about packing only the necessary items and now I want to know why I even bothered bringing my bathing suit. On a completely unrelated note I came up with a sequel for my movie idea.

In part two our hero has to visit with his girlfriend’s father’s side of the family. It’s basically the exact same story as the first one only this time to get to the lake from the sauna one has to pass by an extra-large windows where everyone congregates.

I’ve already started scouting locations. That’s the sauna door on the left.

and from a different angle.

The window

So we’ve scheduled the last couple of days of my vacation at the summer cottage. The gf of course gets to stay here for another few weeks. Cottages in Finland are the same as in Canada but they are just a little different.

The main difference is that there are no hallways. If there’s a separate room it has it’s own entrance from the outside. I think this is one of the reasons they call it “summer” cottage because you need decent weather to get to your bedroom.

They also have a different bathroom situation. For sitting one has to use the outhouse (very scary at night – I brought a flashlight with me, I’m still not sure what for). For standing events, well just like Canada, the world is your toilet.

By far and away the phrase I’ve used here most is “what’s happening”. This happens a lot at the cottage. It’s use is usually preceding by a situation that is something like this

• Sitting around with some Finnish people
• The language being spoken is not understandable
• I’m typing away on my computer (it’s not considered rude if it allows the others to speak in one of their native tongues)
• Everyone getting up and leaving

What’s happening?

Speaking of, we’re about to go visit an abandoned military base and power station. I’m going to bring my camera this time so I can take some photos for the blog. I hope we’re not gone to long. I’ve started a 1500-piece jigsaw puzzle and I need to get it completed before the twenty or so guests arrive tomorrow. It thought the palm trees would be easy. I was wrong. Yesterday we went out in the boat and we ran out of fuel. This time I’m bringing a flare gun just in case.

What’s happened to this beer?

Also, flare guns are cool.

Note: NSFW means Not Suitable For Work. If you work in a country that is not the Netherlands or a protectorate of the Netherlands please open this post at home.

I think being sick for three days has affected my ability to generate original content for this blog. I had one idea in my back pocket but as I typed it out I found it to be incredibly boring. Does anyone want to read about the ultra-high water pressure in the Helsinki water system and the shower injuries it invariably causes to visitors to the city? Exactly.

I left the house today after my mid-afternoon nap, preoccupied with trying to come up with something to write about . The GF had arranged a coffee meeting with a middle school friend and we jumped on the tram and headed for the city centre. The cafe they had planned to meet at was closed so we headed off in search of a patio to grab a beer.

After visiting a couple of places we ended up at the cafe at the Kiasma Museum of Contemporary Art. The place looked nice but expensive with a massive reflecting pool out front. For some context, here is a photo.

See, nice.

The hostess had just informed us there were no tables available and as we turned to leave, I saw him. And I knew right away that I had my blog post. With my camera at the ready, I snapped this timeless photo.

Thank you, kind sir.

I’m sure stuff like this happens here all the time – the locals just carried on like normal. No one was frantically trying to shield their kids’ eyes, fumbling with their phones, unable to remember the number for nine-one-one. I thought I just got lucky with my timing. It’s pretty warm out and I figured this dude was from the trades and he was just changing out of his work clothes to put on some shorts to lie in the sun on the grass.

I was half right. He was going to lie in the sun, just not on the grass.

or with any shorts.

That’s it. Nothing else to report. We made our way to another cafe near the Music Centre and as I type this sentence some kids are programming some robots to cut the patch of lawn next to the patio. Normally, in a situation like this, I would pretend to be a reporter and go to ask them about their robots, how they work, who made them, what fail safes they’ve implemented in the event they become self aware and turn on their human masters. But not today. Today is not Robot Grass Cutter Day. Today is Naked Finnish Guy Day.

But isn’t everyday?

I’ve been a bit under the weather for the past few days – I think today is the first day that I’m close to fully operational. I give myself about 70% (same as Death Star II). Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be one of those posts where I describe my illness in detail. But I will say again that one does not want to be sick while traveling. Vacations are supposed to be about relaxing and recovering from the Monday-to-Friday nine-to-five lifestyle that afflicts so many of us. Lack of sleep, an in ability to properly breath, and a general bring-downednees on my travel companions are not relaxing. I understand that no one wants to catch a cold from me (especially in the summer) but yelling “Unclean! Unclean!” when I enter a room is unnecessary.

Another side effect of being sick is that I have not been able to enjoy to the fullest the local cuisine. That is to say the fish. It seems like everything here has fish in it. And I find this strange coming from a family that always treated fish with suspicion.

There’s bones in that – be careful or you’ll choke!

It’s under-cooked – you’ll get sick!

I have since grown to love eating fish (don’t ask me how) and not just Captain Highlightner – all fish.

Anyway, now that I am fit to go out into the real world, we are going visit the hardware store so I can pick up one of these amazing door latches I found over here. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.

I seem to have gotten sick here in Finland. Believe you me you don’t want to get ill when you are on the road – you want to stay in good health.

The problem with getting sick when traveling is that you have to deal with a foreign medical system and non-English drug label warnings. For example, right now I’m taking twelve different medications for each of the dozen or so different symptoms I’m currently experiencing.

• Vicks Vapo-rub for my sore throat
• Honey and water for my dehydration
• Advil for my headache
• NyQuil for my runny nose
• Vodka for my nervousness
• Beer for my awakeness
• Caffeine for my drowsiness
• Tabasco for  my congested sinuses
• Eyedrops for my blurred vision
• Garlic for the wolf bite (rub on the wound once a day every day until the next full moon)
• Asprin to reduce my chance of heart disease (and to keep the Bayer AGA shareholders happy)
• Codeine for my achey-breakey pelvis (got this when I fell down while line dancing at America Town)

Normally I would be forbidden from taking all these drugs simultaneously but because I cannot understand the labels it should be ok.

Itsehoitolaake. Tilapaisiin kipu- ja kuumetilooihin, kuten vilustumissairauksiin ja influenssan oireisiin, paasarkyyn, lihas- ja nivelkipuihin, reumasarkyyn, kuukautiskipuihin ja hammassarkyyn.

Also, it would take too much time to administer each remedy individually so I simply mix them all in food blender with some vanilla ice cream. Now that’s good eating!

So during this visit to the in-laws there were a few rules that had to be adhered to.

1. The Finnish flag is only allowed to be flown on certain designated days (there are about 25 official ones) and it has to be taken down by sunset or 1800 hours (whichever comes first). The only exception is Midsummer’s eve where one is allowed to keep it up until 18:00 on Midsummer Day. You can also hoist the flag on days of significant personal significance – for example a sixtieth wedding anniversary. Note: if your anniversary is not a multiple of five and greater than thirty-five, don’t even bother applying for the permit – you will be turned down.
2. There will be lots of singing. Mostly Finnish folk songs and ballads. Some rap. Nothing in English.
3. Alcohol is verboten! Exceptions include holy communion and the party-van (more on this later).
4. Everyone must go to church. There are no exceptions. The only exception is if you really, really don’t want to go.

Ok, enough of that. Time to discuss the party-van. I know my more political reader was hoping for the *political* party van (sorry dude – boring!). My gf’s grandparents are allergic to alcohol (morally, not physically). So when the big event was winding down (the grandparents had turned in for the evening) we decided to partake in some spiritous beverages.

Throughout the day, I had heard rumours (only whispers really) of an aunt that had a stash of German beer and French cider (?). As the evening progressed I was able to piece together the plan. After the family’s patriarch and matriarch go to bed we would have a couple drinks. I naturally assumed we’d build a campfire, tell some stories, play some euchre, and dance around the maypole not caring that it was June.

But Minerva, the Goddess of Fortune, was not smiling upon us that day – she was preoccupied with something else. It was raining, there were tonnes of mosquitoes, and drinking inside the house was off limits. So we ended up piling into the back of Aunt Jenny’s van (I found out later that this is a tradition) and we had our party there.

Inside the party-van!

It was disappointing for me cause it was really late and it was still light out. I wanted to dance in the midnight sun. The strangest thing about this whole experience was I discovered there exist people who in their sixties are afraid / unwilling / unable to have a beer in front of their disapproving parents.

The party-van circa 23:56

Or maybe they just like to pretend like they’re sixteen again.

In a complete one-eighty from this past weekend, I read somewhere that parents today are now seeking approval / validation / whatever from their children (in North America anyway). The article was warning about the societal pitfalls of spoiled kids growing up to be annoying adults. If what the article says is true, then we have some serious problems on our hands. Personally, what I am most afraid of is the fate of my favourite movie genre: the father-son mind-transfer comedy.

The defining theme found in every film from 18 Again to 17 Again involves the son figuring out what it means to have adult responsibilities – an impossibility in a society that puts values of the teenager ahead of the values of the adult. The moviegoer of the future will not be able to identify with what the characters on the screen are experiencing. Can you say “box office poison”? And I for one don’t want to live in a post-apocalyptic world devoid of new father-son mind-transfer comedies. In such a world the living would undoubtedly envy the dead.

I just spent the past two days visiting with my gf’s extended family at her maternal grandparent’s home in a town about three hours north of the capital. It was like any family reunion you or I would experience. There were many people from many age groups and categories – aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, twins, brothers, sisters, etc. These two babies were born only two months apart.

The older one displayed across-the-board advantages in speed, dexterity, strength, and accuracy when we raced them against each other.

I was shown a wall of photos of all the members of the family at different stages. Note to self: find out what criteria is needed for my picture to be shown.

Facebook circa 1987

Here’s another interesting fact. Every single person in my gf’s family (on her mother’s side) served at least two years in the navy.

Note to self: find out if I will be required to join the navy. Hope it’s not the Greek one.

The house my girlfriend’s grandparents live in was built over a long weekend (more on this later) in 1985. They have a log book that visitors to the house are required to sign. It was neat to watch gf’s signature change from child (block letters, all caps) to junior child (printing) to advanced child (cursive) to early teenager (cursive with flowers) to angry teenager (basically just a scribble) to angry teenager that is old enough be left unsupervised while the rest of the family vistas grandma and grandpa (no entries for about 3 years) to starving university student who knows where to find a good meal (regular signature).

It was a really interesting book. I found this page from the exact same weekend twenty years earlier.

Canada Day weekend!

After seeing firsthand the family history that was contained within this book, I was honoured when they asked if I would sign it. I was nervous but I think it came out ok. I hope they like it.

I wrote it in pen.