Day 64: The Day of the Mother-in-Law, 64

Monday 19th September

The closer to home we travelled, naturally the more westernised and normal our surroundings became. It wasn’t the fact that Europe was any more uninspiring than what had come before, it was more the familiarity of what we saw around us. Infrastructure, food, fashion and social decorum were all now very much like what we experience in our day-to-day lives back in the UK, and very different to the likes of Mongolia. Not boring as such but just within reach of a Ryan Air flight. We of course knew to expect this and did not let it detract from what is a beautiful city, Helsinki.

Government Palace, Helsinki

We woke up in the cheapest hostel we could find in the city, the CheapSleep hostel, and arranged to meet up with our old friends Will and Isaac who’s Kenari was still just about chugging along. This was the 5th time on the trip we had re-convened with members of the Thunderbirds/Two and Half Men hybrid team. They just can’t get rid of us, we’re like that soggy bogey you can’t quite flick off your finger. Once the pleasantries had once again been exchanged we set off for some more sightseeing. As was the case with most of Europe, everything was stratospherically expensive. The so-called “CheapSleep” hostel was £18 a night with no towels, a lunch baguette was €12 and at the currency exchange $10 equals only €4 apparently. Rich was swindled out of €6 on commission, that’s enough for a deposit on a 3-bed yurt in Mongolia.

About to give the Beatles a run for their money

Part of the grand plan was to catch a ferry from Helsinki to Stockholm where we would continue to weave our way through Scandinavia. Credible advisors to Alf had spoken of this “mental overnight booze cruise” between the two cities so we obliged and joined the queue in the port. Whilst patiently waiting in line, doing what us Brits do best, we thought we’d tot up the total time spent stationary waiting at borders. 3 days and 3 hours of continuous waiting was the final figure. A long weekend on the Norfolk broads we could’ve enjoyed in that time but instead we spent it battling impatient locals in line for a human library stamp. It’s like spending the time to remove a USB safely, an utter waste of life. But as John Lennon once said, the time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.

Once the boat had set sail we soon realised this was more like a cruise ship than a ferry. Three decks, sprawling shops, a casino and even, to our excitement, a nightclub. Given that the average age of our fellow passengers was around the 73 mark we thought we’d head on down to this “nightclub” and get a boogie on. When we sauntered over to that part of the ship we were met by a sea of fuzzy grey mops jangling their feet beneath them. It was in fact a bingo hall, and legs eleven had just been called.

We stood and watched for a brief moment as all the classic cruise ship stereotypes unfolded in front of our eyes. A plump, middle-aged woman wearing an ill-fitting sailor’s outfit was sat at the front calling the bingo and playing cheesy jingles. As she called “Gareth Gates, it’s number 8” a pair of dentures flew across the room and a muffled shriek of “bingo” pierced the calm air. Just as the lucky winner arose to claim her prize, the famous drum roll began and the opening bars of Cliff Richard’s congratulations echoed through the ship. Textbook bingo.

Holding a pint of Fosters and not really knowing where to look or what to make of Butlins in the Baltic, we persevered and soaked up the atmosphere for a bit. After the bingo had finished the announcer began to introduce the evening’s entertainment. With fingers crossed for Kanye and hype man Jay-Z to suddenly burst through the curtain, we were mildly disappointed to have to settle for a 5-piece swing band. As the double bass player plucked his first note the floor was immediately filled with veteran cruise shippers twirling around in perfect hold. Thinking our contemporary portrayal of a dab-tastic twerking big booty mama would look out of place in this setting, we instead turned our attentions to more familiar territory - the all you can eat, and crucially drink, buffet.

The calm before the storm

For another frankly extortionate fee of €36 we were let loose on the buffet and wine tap. Keen to get our money’s worth we carefully constructed an over-indulgence meal strategy to ensure maximum gluttony and regret. The plan was simple, load up your plate and eat it as you circled back to the start of the buffet, making a pit stop at the bar on your way round. That way we didn’t waste valuable gorge-filled seconds or even ever need to sit down. Belt buckles loosened, bibs assembled and gullets opened wide, we were ready to go.

By the 11pm bell the excessive eating ceased and we were more stuffed than a comatose Paddington Bear at Christmas. Now carrying a few extra spare tyres that may come in handy through mainland Europe, we staggered to the closest seating area - the casino. Isaac fancied his chances at the roulette wheel, and to his credit his long game strategy paid off. But he was no match for his opposite number, a high rolling Fin who wasn’t messing around with the tiddlywink stakes. Just when you thought he’d stuck all on red and lost big, he’d brandish another €100 chip from his back pocket as if it were a spare button. Leaving the retiree to bet his pension away, we called it a night and returned to our cabins for some sleep.   

Posted by: Rich