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On the Road

It was really hard saying goodbye to Carita, her parents, and Ira in Helsinki station as I'd started to feel like one of the family, and they'd made me feel very welcome for the six weeks I'd been in the country. I boarded the train, had an argument with an old woman who was sitting in my seat (which turned out not to be my seat), then went to another carriage and told someone else to move out of a seat, which, again, wasn't mine.

In Tampere I had one last Hesburger, and caught the coach out to Tampere's tiny terminal 2 for my Ryanair flight to London. It was hard leaving Finland as I'd enjoyed it so much, and the people all have a very likeable, crazy streak in them that makes them go swimming in ice or sleep in a hole in the snow for fun.

After a flight staffed by complete bitches (is it just my imagination or are Ryanair actively recruiting psychopaths these days?), we arrived in Stansted, and something about Britain felt a bit like the third world after the slickness of Finland; the immigration staff had electric fires at their feet in what is Britain's most modern international airport. I found a quiet corner, unrolled my sleeping mat, and tried to get to sleep. At 0600, myself and another guy were woken up by one of Ryanair's clinically insane, shouting at us and threatening us to move or get our 'heads knocked off' as he didn't like where we were sleeping (or his job). I sat and chatted to the other guy and we found it funny that we both had exactly the same camping gear and jackets. But we were tired. I moved into another corner, chatted to some of the territory's homeless, and bedded down.

Remarkably, I woke up at 1040, well after all but one of my neighbours had risen and flown off. I grabbed a sandwich, walked outside where it was pissing down, and caught the coach into Central London. There, I had a bit of an aimless wander around, and boarded a coach to Plymouth. I'd been thinking of going to the London Boat Show, but it was just as well I didn't as when the bus passed Earl's Court, Justin Timberlake was playing there instead (though that might have been more interesting than a load of yachties).

Shortly afterwards I passed out and the next thing I knew I awoke with my head on the shoulder of the guy next to me, convinced that he was Carita. As we were now so intimate I thought it polite to make introductions. It turned out he was a trance dj, who heavily recommended a trip to Graz in Austria for its clubbing culture.

Simon picked me up from Plymouth in his lovely new van, and after travelling all day on coaches I realised I could have got a Ryanair flight direct to Cornwall from Stansted for less. But that would have been travelling the easy way.

Comments

The trance seen in Graz in Austria is also known from its gay culture. ;) Hani everytime im not watching you make new "friends" .... i miss you too. :) I love you!!

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