Journey starts from Abergavenny, 607am (urggggh death). I get on the train at newport, heading for Reading, with shortbread, a heap of caffeine and homemade sandwiches - you know in the Harry Potter film where Ron reveals a transparent bag of squished sandwiches to devour? That is how it is, while people pass me with a lovely aroma of paninis. The woman opposite me, who knows my dad, offers some ginger biscuits. Oh, lovely, but no, I am fully armed with enough british cuisine..or something like that.
Get to Reading, get to Gatwick - flight delayed. Ok, panic - what if I miss my Helsinki connection? Anger expressed, I head for roubles anyway, might as well be prepared...'there are no roubles in the airport'. Ok. Crap. Head to another desk, when through check-in and get them there instead - ok, odd and thank goodness I'm optimistic..anyway, don't hang around you have the roubles, head for lunch - In 'Armadillo' (nice joint, if it's not a chain brand, it should think about expanding)
I wander a little, head for boarding which takes fooorevarrr. British flying truly is a bit of a mess. Please, just get me on my flight and get me out of here, I have been waiting for hours...
Sit at the front in an aisle seat, in the hope of getting off the flight promptly - a middle-aged guy who is by the window has the same idea when he sits in my row, a seat between us - he tells me he can't WAIT to get to Helsinki, must be like me, both of us fed up of the British way of doing things. 'It's the british way' - bollocks. Lots of iced tea and on-off sleep later, I awake to see Norway and am just absolutely in awe. Cannot believe I am so far north. I expect it to be cold when I get off, but I hardly notice as all of a sudden, I become some baywatch person, it's like I need to save the world in five minutes, I am THAT eager to get into check-in in time.
So I run off the flight, there is a looong long wak to get the luggage (I am such a noob in airports)
Speed it along from arrivals to departures (I refrain to use the word 'run', if you are reading this, you know that running is a big fat no. Apt adjectives.)
After going to a lot of wrong desks and 'oops'-ing my way around, I reach the correct desk and I find some chill, veeery laid-back Finnish staff, who are charming and tell me not to worry, I have plenty of time (I don't, as I find, but I am cutting it fine anyway..)
'Di'n't have time to print off e-ticket, been travelling for hours, can you help me pleeeease?'
'mm, of course, give me a second...' I choose the window seat - I want to see St Petersburg as we land...and finally we are breaking the surface and on the road to normal, no frantic and immediate actions please...
I check in about TEN MINUTES before boarding. I mean, how does this happen? In Britain, you have to faff around and wait in mile-long queues and tell them everything you do or don't have - I literally find the desk, dump my stuff, announce that I have no liquids, walk through, onto flight BOOM. SCORE.
I get onto the flight and am greeted with "здравсвуйте!" - I forget where I am and am like 'hiyaaaa', show my passport and get a migration card. Again, I've a seat between me and an estonian man..who is slightly giving me the eye. I give evils back (thank you, dad, for the genes), fill out the migration card and get Harry Potter out in order to give a hint that maybe, just maybe, I am not interested...
Russian flights are much much better and feel swifter than British airlines. They give you a sweet beforehand, and then offer complimentary drinks and a chocolate bar, which is rather refreshing to get at the start of a flight, especially after all the chaos I was faced with and given how tired I was by now (My day had started at 5am - in English time, it was now about 530pm - 740 in Helsinki) The check-in is much swifter, the boarding, there is an indoor smoking lounge in Helsinki airport, there are CURTAINS on the flight, you have a remote to call for assistance (very tempting to press but I remember that I am now 20 years old and to grow up).
Although the passport control? It takes an absolute century. You get a bus from the plane to the passport control, where everyone from the flights crams into about 4 queues where their passports and immigration cards get checked and you can finally go through the gate to your luggage.
Finally, when we come out of the passport control, and find our luggage which has probably had a long and enjoyable ride around the conveyer belt, I find люда, who is charming (and who thankfully, enjoys speaking english - great for me, who has a mushed mind after over 12 hours of travelling) and she is also much younger than I thought she'd be - I was told I would be living with a babushka (60/70years old), she tells me later that she is 35 (though she looks about 10 years younger - golden hair and a youthful face)
We leave the airport and head to 'her fellow' who will drive me. Now, you are warned in France that cars do not wait for you on the pedesrtian crossing, much unlike Britain where a vehicle must stop, if someone is waiting at the crossing. Here, it is different again, as the approaching car PARKS on the pedestrian crossing (like France, cars will not stop for pedestrians either)
I get very confused when we get back to hers, as I now have to pay him. Wait, I thought he was your 'fellow' (I thought this was like a boyfriend, or at least a friend) so what am I paying for? Uh, turns out he is a taxi driver. After a very awkward conversation and goodbyes, I am told that her flat is on the 8th floor. I think CHRIST ALIVE I am going to be jelly after dragging this up - they have a lift in this flat, thank fuck. Oh yes, I am reminded that this is not the UK....
I meet her mother, нина, who does not speak a word of english - a bit irritating at times but it's ok, we can point at things, I'll buy a dictionary and we can point at that...no trouble... So люда - who is probably exhausted by now - has to translate, the poor thing, because my russian is so very poor on arrival. Eat pork and fried potato and bread, tea... and I am told that breakfast is at 8 on the dot (lol, no breakfast for me then....) and dinner is always at 9, but that breakfast is at 10 on sunday, due to the fact that I am now a zombie. We watch the Russian version of 'who wants to be a millionaire' - lose track, go to bed around 12.
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