5.07.2008: closing in ...

Last Monday at around 5am, I closed the front door of my flat in Almaty, struggled down the staircase with my Big Red Bag, endured one more terrifying deathride to the airport, hugged two of my favourite students who'd come to wish me farewell*, and departed Kazakhstan. In so doing, I felt as though I was closing the book on a chapter of my life that had been as interesting as it had been challenging.

My flatmate Scott left KZ along with me. He's in Lvov now, soaking up the architectural elegance and going "Phwoooaaa!!!" at beautiful Ukrainian women. And I'm ... er, somewhere else.

Of course, Almaty had no intention of letting me out of its clutches without throwing one more 'Kazakh Moment' my way. As I approached the check-in counter at the airport, I was told that the Big Red Bag was eight kilos overweight, and that I'd have to pay 120 Euros in excess baggage fees. And then the weirdness started - as it so often does following any mention of money. Making his best "Don't worry, we can make it all better" face, the guy at the counter leaned forward and said "Fifty per cent discount". To this I could only respond with a confused "Chevo? Pochemu?"**, but Mr. Check-in evidently saw no need to elaborate. He simply motioned for me to follow one of his colleagues ... to the airport toilets.

I grabbed Scott, just in case this was the kind of scam that involved me getting beaten up, and we set off in pursuit of a uniformed airline official. Once inside the rest rooms, I stood next to the airline guy in front of the mirrors, fumbling in my money belt for the right bank notes while he went "tch" at me for being so slow. (I had a choice of three currencies, since my attempts to offload Kazakh Tenge at the money exchange counter had wiped out the airport's entire supply of dollars and euros, along with most of their roubles.)

Finally I produced sixty crisp euros and handed them over as discreetly as I could - which wasn't very discreetly, since I'm a novice when it comes to bribing airline staff. And? What happened then? Well, the short answer is "nothing". My bags went through at half price, no questions asked.

And that was the beginning of a week of travel, during which I've been slowly closing in on my final destination, far from the mountains, steppes and stretch-SUVs of Kazakhstan.

To begin with, Scott and I flew to Riga, where a sweeping view of the Baltic coastline greeted us on our descent towards the airport known as 'RIX'. From said airport, we were driven to our hostel through well-kempt but almost deserted streets. In fact there were SO few people around that it reminded me of one difference between Australia and the Russian-speaking world: namely, that Australia is largely a "stay in your house unless you've got somewhere specific to go" kind of place, whereas Russia and KZ are both 'loitering cultures', where people simply go out into the street and stand around talking late into the night.

This cultural difference took a bit of getting used to at first, especially in Almaty where most of the smaller streets aren't fully lit. See, in the country of my birth, a group of guys hanging around and drinking in a darkened public place is pretty much a big signpost saying "TROUBLE". But in Almaty it's normal. I passed those groups of guys every night; they never hassled me (except maybe to ask for a cigarette), and I actually grew to prefer this 'street life' to the deserted suburbs of Sydney and other Western cities. I mean, let's face it: standing outside with friends and neighbours is far better for your mental health than sitting inside and being slowly turned into a fearful, gullible hyper-consumer by your TV, right?

Anyway, all these musings faded as we neared the centre of Riga, which was far livelier than the 'burbs of course. Initial impressions were largely good, though we did have a little glitch at our hostel.

To explain: when I booked the hostel online, I'd reserved a private room for myself and Scott, because the price wasn't much higher than a dorm. Our last dormitory experience (in Budapest) had been a little on the sucky side, so we figured "Why not spend an extra couple of euros for the sake of security and a good night's sleep?". But I thought I'd been pretty clear in specifying that we wanted a twin share room. I was therefore quite surprised when the receptionist showed us to our sleeping quarters, opening the door with a little flourish to reveal ... wait for it ... a queen-sized double bed!

Given the fact that I'm an unmarried man in his 30s who had reserved a private room for himself and another male, I can only guess that someone at the hostel had put one-and-one together and come up with "gay couple".

Having sorted out this misunderstanding ("I like Anthony, but not that much", Scott explained to Reception Woman) we were moved to a dorm, which we shared with a guy who seemed to be perpetually asleep. I saw him out of bed just once, when Scott and I had left the room but I had to pop back and get something. He'd been in bed when we left just a minute earlier, but now he was suddenly up and moving around. As soon as I opened the door, though, he hurried back to his bunk and pulled a blanket over his head. Creepy.

Anyway, we spent a mostly pleasant few days in Riga, enjoying the novel sensation of eating crisp vegetables (which you don't often get to do in Almaty) and admiring the architecture, the statuesque Baltic folk, the lush green city parks and the general euro-pleasantness of it all. And yet ... I don't know, I had quite a cold reaction to the city somehow. It went more or less like this: on the one hand, I kept thinking "Yeah, this area has a nice feeling to it" and "Hmmm, that's a cute building/park/whatever", but on the other hand, I couldn't seem to engage at all.

This may relate somehow to the fact that I'd actually accepted a job in Riga, which was supposed to start in September. See, back in February I visited Ljubljana, where I originally had hopes of finding work for the 2008-9 academic year. I was immediately inspired to dive into the culture there, partly because Ljubljana struck me as being rather fabulous, and the idea of living/working there seemed very appealing. So I learned a little bit of Slovene, mixed it up with the locals, and generally absorbed as much as I could in the short space of time available. It just seemed like the thing to do. But with Riga ... well, it was nice enough, but definitely no Ljubljana, y'know? Plus, when I visited the school who had offered me the job, I was disturbed by how bland and soulless it was. So all of this left me with no desire to 'get beneath the skin' of Latvia's capital and find out more. Still, as I said, it was an enjoyable place spend a few days.

After Riga it was on to Estonia by coach, and an overnight sojourn in wonderful, photogenic Tallinn. Which means that I finally get to be excited, and stop sounding like a jaded traveller :-)

Those of you who've been reading this blog for a while might dimly recall my "Tallinn rocks!" entry, written while I was there in 2006. I pretty much fell in love with the place ... and that was in February, when temperatures were hovering around the -15C mark, and staying outside for more than 10 minutes could give you that special "Er, I think my extremities are about to fall off" feeling. I can now tell you that, in its summer coat of green, Tallinn is possibly even prettier than I remember it. If anyone's planning a European holiday in the near future, I strongly urge you to put it on your itinerary; it thoroughly deserves a place among the continental highlights. And as a bonus, the forests of Estonia have an elegance and mystique of their own, even when viewed from a bus window. Wish I'd had more time to explore them this time around.

*sigh*

Sorry. I do tend to get a little wistful whenever the subject of Estonia comes up. It just ... y'know, really does it for me.

Right, then. One more ellipsis and we're back to the story ...

Heading north from Tallinn, I switched travel modes again and crossed the Baltic Sea by ferry. On the way over, my Big Red Bag - which had been on death's door for a while - finally imploded. First the wheel seized up entirely, which meant that I had to literally drag everything I owned along behind me. Then the handle broke, forcing me to hold two sad-looking metal stumps as I lugged all my earthly belongings onto dry land. And finally in Helsinki Harbour, as my taxi driver attempted to lift the battered red hulk into the back of his Mercedes, the zipper gave way, spilling my clothes out all over the road. "Yay!", I thought. "Luggage shopping in Finland - that's sure to be a feast of bargains!"

As I sat in the taxi I made a mental note: "Too tired to deal with this right now. Coffee first, luggage later". So when I got to the hostel, I just threw everything into the room and went off in search of a café.

Having found a suitable place in the city centre, I settled in with my Russian notes and ordered a cappucino. I'm determined to improve my Russian this summer, so I've been hitting the books since I left Almaty. And I remember feeling quite international and jetsettery as I opened my textbook, sipped my coffee and began writing, having done exactly the same thing earlier that day in another country. Pretentious, I know ... but we're all human, are we not?

One thing I enjoy about Helsinki is the pleasantly 'alternative' vibe there. In particular, as you wander around the Finnish capital, you seem to be at the epicentre of Metal Culture***. Every fourth or fifth guy has the long straight hair, the heavy jewellery and the black band t-shirt, often with nail polish to match. And somehow or other, the Finns seem to pull off this look better than almost anyone else. Even the nightclub scene in Helsinki seems to reflect a love of hard rock and metal (as you can see from the picture, which was taken about two minutes' walk from where I was staying.) It definitely gives the city an edge that it would otherwise lack.

Also in evidence on the night I arrived were hordes of EMOs - or, more accurately, an immense queue of them winding around an entire city block, which I spotted as I was being taxied to my hostel. Later in the evening I wandered through the part of town where I'd seen the EMO throng, and quite a few of them were still milling about. It looked like they were trying to get in to a gig, and I was curious to know which artist had attracted them in such huge numbers. So I went up to a pink-haired, kilt-clad girl and said "Excuse me, why are you all here tonight?". She replied by giving me a "How can you not know the answer to that question?" look, and saying "Brgl-kh'mrll-aak! are playing" (where "Brgl-kh'mrll-aak!" = the name of some Scandinavian EMO band that I didn't quite catch). I responded in the only way I could, feeling very old and out-of-touch-with-the-kids:

"Oh? I've never heard of Brgl-kh'mrll-aak!. Are they local?"

The girl's facial expression underwent some slight modifications, the effect of which was to alter her message from "How can you not know ...?" to "Then what the Hel are you doing in this part of our Sinki, you clueless old man?".

I decided to leave it at that and walk away.

Still, so much hair spray, velveteen and pink nylon in one place! It was cool. I mean, I know EMOs aren't universally beloved - some of my goth friends, for example, absolutely detest them - but personally I find them rather cute, like little gothic plush toys. They remind me of going to goth clubs in the 90s, and seeing the 'Baby Goths' who would inevitably turn up in such places: 15- and 16-year-old, smallish people with their hair lacquered into unlikely shapes, the girls bouncing around like silver spheres in a pinball machine while the guys leaned on things and tried to look artfully serious. Koroche: I liked the Baby Goths, and from where I stand EMOs are basically the new them. Shoot me down if you like, but that's my opinion.

Anyway, most of my time in Helsinki was spent doing dull and practical stuff (buying new luggage, hunting down the Australian Consulate etc.). However, I did manage to squeeze in a visit to the Kiasma Gallery, which hosted one of the best exhibitions of contemporary art I'd ever seen back in 2006. Kiasma wasn't quite as spectacular this time around, but it was still worth a visit, notably for the artwork pictured. This was some kind of motion-sensitive doo-hickey, feeding information to an enormous screen which occupied a large room. The screen displayed multiple refracted images of anyone who stood near the room's centre. The result was like watching yourself become the crystals inside a kaleidoscope. And while this was happening, your body movements also affected the music in the room, which was of a faraway tinkly electronic variety. It was all very mesmerising.

And then this afternoon, to complete the journey (almost), I hopped onto a super-clean, super-modern train, broke my personal landspeed record (now standing at 225km/h) and headed northeast to where I am now. I still haven't quite reached my destination - there's an extra 15km to cover tomorrow, and I don't yet know how I'm going to do it with all my luggage - but I'm definitely closing in.

(... nearly there ... nearly there ... nearly there ...)

Ok, location revealing time. Have you heard of a town called Imatra? No? Ok, well, don't be alarmed: neither had I until this morning. And yet I currently seem to be in it. There's really nothing special about the place, to be honest, but let me tell you one (and possibly the only) remarkable thing about being here. Imatra is one of the largest population centres in the region of Karelia - a place of myth and legend, and one which I've dreamed of visiting for years. And in the next entry, I'll tell you why.

Until then: hei hei! ****

... to be continued.

* To Sveta and Aisulu: you guys rock! See you both in August :-)

** "Huh? Why?"

*** You've probably noticed that I'm not a metalhead, but I do feel a vague sense of kinship with them. It's partly because I was 'attached' to one for a decade or so, during which time I met many other metal folk and came to appreciate various aspects of the subculture (though the homophobia always pissed me off). It's also because metal folk tend to love music as an artform, and listen to it closely on both a technical and emotional level - so with a 'smart' metalhead, you can have a great conversation about almost any kind of music.

**** Finnish for "hi" and "bye".