Nick and I were getting used to it by now, the wildebeest would start tramping past the door at about seven, impinging on our drug-addled consciousnesses and competing with our swollen bladders for attention. At about eight thirty, the combination would force us out of bed and (eventually) into our clothes for an amble to the culinary delights of breakfast, on this day we had arrived early enough for the bacon rather than the bacon fat of previous breakfasts, though to be honest it was so streaky it didn't make much difference.
A quick word about breakfast, well about Finnish eating in general: Finland, trees and lakes, apparently not much else, consequently most things are imported which leads to some interesting breakfast choices, my favourite was the broccoli and carrot stir fry with water chestnuts, obviously from a five litre can, the last time I'd had this sort of catering was on Malta, where the beef was cuboid.
Another day of high winds and cancelled lifts, so most of us trooped off back to Top Safari and hired cross-country skis, after five minutes and one fall, Paul declared himself ill, and headed off for a snooze and steam, leaving Carole, myself and the Boys to head off in the opposite direction to the previous day, and go to the shut ski slopes, and then up into the valley and the Urho Kekkonen National Park. It was another typical day of cross-country, as I picked up Boy 2, I heard Boy 1, "Look behind you!", I did I saw trees, Boy 2 did and saw the reindeer cross the track. I brusquely pulled him to his feet and poled off.
Several bouts of sibling rivalry later, we ended up at the slopes, the cafe, like the slopes was shut. At this point, and to avoid sibling meltdown, we split up, Carole returning with Boy 1, and me continuing with Boy 2 into the park. Suddenly, a wildlife moment, two reindeer (!)- and later a bird!! (normally I try and stick with one exclamation mark but this was a very unusual occurrence), when we turned round we saw the reindeer again!
Upon arrival back at the hotel we dispatched the Z's to their afternoon of Santa, and husky humiliation. The general idea of running a dog sled, a lot of people find attractive, however, one should first consider the view, think huskies from the rear. Plus the sudden exercise, the tightening of the harnesses, the large breakfast of reindeer superfluity, leads to a mass canine catharsis about half-a-minute into the trip, which has to then be avoided. Apparently, after that everything settles down with the charm of sledging in the dark only broken by mass epidemics of farting, amongst the dogs I hasten to add.
Another day of high winds and cancelled lifts, so most of us trooped off back to Top Safari and hired cross-country skis, after five minutes and one fall, Paul declared himself ill, and headed off for a snooze and steam, leaving Carole, myself and the Boys to head off in the opposite direction to the previous day, and go to the shut ski slopes, and then up into the valley and the Urho Kekkonen National Park. It was another typical day of cross-country, as I picked up Boy 2, I heard Boy 1, "Look behind you!", I did I saw trees, Boy 2 did and saw the reindeer cross the track. I brusquely pulled him to his feet and poled off.
Several bouts of sibling rivalry later, we ended up at the slopes, the cafe, like the slopes was shut. At this point, and to avoid sibling meltdown, we split up, Carole returning with Boy 1, and me continuing with Boy 2 into the park. Suddenly, a wildlife moment, two reindeer (!)- and later a bird!! (normally I try and stick with one exclamation mark but this was a very unusual occurrence), when we turned round we saw the reindeer again!
Upon arrival back at the hotel we dispatched the Z's to their afternoon of Santa, and husky humiliation. The general idea of running a dog sled, a lot of people find attractive, however, one should first consider the view, think huskies from the rear. Plus the sudden exercise, the tightening of the harnesses, the large breakfast of reindeer superfluity, leads to a mass canine catharsis about half-a-minute into the trip, which has to then be avoided. Apparently, after that everything settles down with the charm of sledging in the dark only broken by mass epidemics of farting, amongst the dogs I hasten to add.
I had a shopping obligation and so ended up in the gallery and Moomin shop. They had a lot of lovely glass which I eschewed on the grounds of fear of impalement on the return to the hotel. I bought the Moomin cutlery I'd been sent for, went to the supermarket for more liquorice and a tour of tourist tat.
Arriving back at the hotel, I entered into an in-depth discussion with Nick on why hot rooms make you fall asle...................
........................I am woken by Carole who slides me off for more cross-country, we decide to seek adventure and head for pastures new across the road bridge. The road bridge that is high in the middle. I place my skis in the slots, lean forwards to plant my weight to keep the skis in the track and push gently off. Immediately the burr of the skis in the track ascends to a high pitched whine, the sort of whine that one hears before it is followed by the sharp percussion of overstretched machinery, my eyes begin to water as the wind increases, in retrospect these may have been tears of fright but I think not, I doubt whether fright could have caught up! I press outwards with the skis, a manoeuvre that has no effect what so ever apart from increasing my anxiety, through my tears I see the curve at the bottom of the bridge approaching. THE CURVE! How could I be so stupid, how could I not plan fifty metres ahead! The curve starts, I lean into the bend and smoothly start to flow round it, such elation, as the centre of the bend approaches I lean more, it fails, centrifugal force laughs in the face of my false hope and hurls me from the track. The centre of the piste is, according to my head, "medium to hard", my hat imprints a delightful waffle texture to a small area of snow.
I gather myself up and wait for Carole who will be walking. While I wait I try and remember if that lump at the base of my thumb was always there. Carole does not appear. Eventually I climb up the the track of death and mount the top of the bridge, Carole is standing at the bottom of the other side with one ski, the other, in the face of my demonstration of the implacable nature of gravity and moments (physics not empathy), has run away and hidden itself somewhere in the bushes. Eventually it consents to be found, and we both walk over the bridge to continue. After a brief perusal of the serried floodlit cliffs that constitute the way forward we declare discretion and head for home.
After dinner it starts to snow, so Nick and I contemplate staying in the hotel, I decide to try the Lonkerot, it is grapefruity and refreshing.
As promised, more on Lonkerot: generally speaking there is a lot of Government control on drinking in Finland, beer appears to come in three strengths (up to 5.5% is my guess, though "2" at 4% is normal) but then there is Lonkerot, this is gin which is diluted to 5.5% with soda and (normally) grapefruit, thought "red berries" is also available. This retails at the same price as beer but is, as you can see, generally stronger and always comes in 500, as opposed to 440, ml. Therefore to get more bang for your buck you drink Lonkerot, which is why you can spot huge miners and the local skinheads (huge minors) supping away on cissy grapefruit soda.
Tonight in the bar there is "entertainment", an Irish songster is attempting to work his way through his set but has become the karaoke machine for the girls from Esprit Holidays, when they leave him alone he starts wearily on his "Top Ten Lugubrious Greats", we put on coats and boots, and head to Parmino. It has started to snow, about 8 cm so far.
It is Friday, the lifts are open, so Nick and I head off for the slope, as we sit on the chairlift a skidoo goes past - and waves. We ski down to the beginners. slope and mooch around with the boys for the "morning". They will be having an extra catch up lesson later, so Nick and I return to the hotel, I leave Nick to snooze and head off back to the slopes sans skis. I have decided to take advantage of the longest toboggan run in Finland all 1300 metres of it. This requires finding a toboggan, riding the chairlift up, and tobogganing down without breaking anything.
The bottom of the slope is littered with abandoned toboggans, so I pick a Nick-size blue one and skedaddle down the pavement until I have to walk. Eventually I arrive at the bottom of the chair and approach it with my faithful but moribund steed, they slow it down for me to get on, now all I have to worry about is the dismount at the top. They slow it down for me again! So far so good. It is 14.15; dusk. I stagger around the top of the fell, the freezing wind grabbing at my toboggan, looking for any sign of a run, I do find a cross-country track but I'm not falling for that again. Eventually I pop into the cafe and ask, "It starts between the two signs that say you do this at your own risk." Well, naturally, it would. In the gathering dark I find two signs in Finnish, that appear to read the same. I move forward and find a dead straight firebreak running through the forest - for 1300 metres. I now have to make a choice: broken leg? - Maybe. Broken neck? - I think not. I adopt the seated luge position and start. The first bit of steering and braking precipitates a jet of snow into my face and down the front of my jacket, causing my already adrenaline-shortened breath to be shortened even more. I stop, allow most things to return to normal, pray that I'm not being watched through binoculars by a man on a skidoo, and resolve not to brake again (the phrase "on pain of death" drifts into my mind but is immediately sent packing). I adopt the "luge-recumbent", pick up my heels, and watch the trees metamorphose into a dark green blur, until I run into a large drift. I restart and manage the rest of the descent in one seamless ride - with aerial sections that make me glad that I'm flat, 5' 6" is short enough, let alone any spinal compression. The whole was rather like Disneyland i.e. it takes you 25 minutes to get there and the whole thing lasts less than two.
I return, pick Nick up and head off for another pub, the Terenpesa, where we find the cheapest and biggest beer that we will find. In the evening Paul, who is now semi-recovered from his illness and the trauma (physical and mental) of cross-country skiing buys us dinner. It is much better than the catering though I fail to have the liquorice ice cream (which I last had in Brescia, Italy, for those of you that want to know).
The last day of skiing dawns (for want of a better word) and after the lesson we meet up with the Boys (I include Paul here), and offer to take them up the mountain and down one of the floodlit blues. This is managed with great aplomb, apart from the last steep section, which is "managed" with great trepidation. however, such is the draw that we have to do it several more times. On the last run I turn to see Paul aiding Boy 2, as I watch I see his skis cross and slip backwards, they ping off, only after pinging his knee, I decide to do the run once more to see if I can help (experienced skiers will know that it is preferable to wait up to forty minutes to render aid rather than having to go forty metres back up the hill - which can take the same amount of time) but they have sorted themselves out and limped off by the time I get there. The skis are returned.
This evening is the evening of the "Gala Dinner", a cross between British and Finnish Christmas Dinner. The smoked beef is particularly delicious and I say so to the waitress.
"Ohh, it is not beef, it is....." a rather startled look comes into her eyes, we are after all, waiting for Santa to arrive ".......... another animal."
"Oh is it that other animal we don't talk about."
She stares at me, tears of gratitude pricking the corners of her eyes, "Yes."
Santa arrives and the Boys are given pencils and a photo opportunity for Christmas. We slope off before the Disco gets going but after we've been forced to sing (and Santa has been forced to listen to) Jingle Bells. Paul comes out with us to the Parmino and we fail to get beaten up by the four skinheads who share our table. Then we go to bed, we have to be up about three weeks before dawn in order to get to the airport to be delayed on the runway while we search for some people who are apparently lost, though how, in Kittala airport, is a mystery.
On the flight back we get Journey to the Centre of the Earth, sorry Center, it's rubbish. Nick will get back home about 13 hours later. Poor soul.
