Always wanting to spread sweetness and light, I picked up some candy while I was in Finland, for the folks back here at the office. I followed Tiina's advice on what brand might be representative of Finnish preferences when it comes to boiled sweets and bought a bag of a kind that she assured me she had always enjoyed as a child.
Upon return and opening of bag, am intrigued to note that while none of the wrappers give any indication of the flavours contained within, there is one type featuring an illustration of a lobster. This particular flavour is labelled Krapu.
I shudder to contemplate what taste sensation awaits.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Back on the chain gang
My but it's been a while! And what a full month June turned out to be. As was last June, so perhaps it's just that time of the year?
There was a week in the last month when I'd been in four countries in as many days - which sounds quite jetset but was actually just the result of visa shenanigans taking longer than expected. It also ended up in me having to unpack and pack again between trips in less than 24 hours - which was pure hell as I am, without contest, the world's worst packer. Ever.
The last few days in Dubai seem to blur together (probably due to the three-day migraine that took over most of them) so I doubt I did anything worth reporting.
The trip back to London, via Doha, was noteworthy partially because of the stalker who sneakily took my picture in the Dubai Duty Free and then tried to make conversation off the back of this extraordinarily scary behaviour when he sat next to me in the departure lounge. And the bus journey between the terminal and plane in Doha was so long I was convinced they were actually driving us to London. But apart from that the flight wasn't worth commenting on.
Briefly in London on the Wed and then off to Finland on the Thurs afternoon. KY and I braved the unspeakable horrors of RyanAir (including being asked to disembark as soon as we sat down, because some genius had driven a vehicle into the back of the airplane) to get to Tampere at midnight. At which point, it was lighter than it had been in London when we left three hours previously. Amazing. Then it got pitch dark and pelted down with rain. Oh well.
A short train journey the next day took us to Helsinki and onto the Russian train to St Petersburg. Which was the closest I'd like to get to a military experience. Stern-faced staff and stiff, high-backed chairs coupled with being scrutinised at the border reminded me that although Communism has been out of circulation for a while, the shadow of it looms pretty large over everyday Russian life. A feeling that was magnified when we got into St Petersburg and the locals were noticeable poker-faced and lacking in the general friendliness and willingness to help that usually accompanies addressing dimwitted tourists such as myself.
The weekend passed in a haze of dinners, drunken dancing and sentimental speeches about young Cam - with a lot of (well deserved) nice things being said about our charming host. My personal best moment was getting home in an alcohol-fuelled daze, walking into and getting in the lift of the wrong hotel on the first night. Only the realisation that there was no fifth floor (our room was on the fifth floor) button in the lift alerted me to the fact that I might not be in the Astoria. On the plus side, I was in the Angleterre just next door, so I didn't have to get involved in a hidous cross country trek, looking for the right place.
In spite of being so soundly asleep (read passed out) that I didn't hear the girls get home later (they were not quiet), I got myself up and went to the Hermitage museum the next morning. Which was awesome. Some of the rooms of the Winter Palace truly took my breath away, although I couldn't help the niggling thought that it was indeed the sort of excess that inevitably leads to revolution. Skip past some of the less interesting bits and the museum has an amazing picture gallery with Da Vincis, Rembrants, Picassos, a few Rodins and a host of Impressionist masters.
More excess on Saturday night, although KY, Tiina and I chose the sensible option and headed home before the bridges went up - well, almost, as we had to drive a long way around to find a bridge that was still down (there are nine bridges in St Petersburg. I think). And had to communicate to our Russian speaking driver that we would not be paying him 1200 extra rubles beyond the agreed price of 800, simply for the benefit of being forced to take the scenic route. Have to admit I had a fair few queasy moments wondering if we were going to be chucked out on the roadside and told to find our own way home, but fortunately the driver's enthusiasm for haggling seemed to wane after we said 'nyet' a few times. Loudly and vehemently, to make up for not knowing any other words.
Most of Sunday morning was a write-off but a pleasant afternoon was spent sipping coffee, beer and Jaegermeister (in that order) and eating fried bread at an Australian (presumably in deference to our valiant leader) pub. A quick venue change saw us off to dinner and much toasting over vodka shots. Later we hijacked a short bus (am reminded that the last time I went somewhere with James Weiss, a short bus was hijacked - the boy seems to make a habit of it), had awful singalongs and found ourself at Metro nightclub where the average age (male and female) was about 16. I'm not sure I've ever felt older than I did at this souped-up school disco, so KY and I escaped with Dan and Alex to a strip club. Not sure why this was meant to be an improvement but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
Back at the hotel at about 5.30 that morning, burgers, fries and last minute promises to catch up and keep in touch with all the nice people we'd met over the last couple of days. And I have to say, that is the best thing that came out of the weekend - the dinners, drinks and dancing were all fun, but it was the new friendships that really seem memorable now. We'll see how long that lasts!
Finland was a much more chilled out experience, from start to finish. (Or Finnish, if you prefer...) Helsinki is a nice little city and reminded me a lot of Cardiff, in its size and navigability. Although we stayed in what seemed like the world's most compact studio apartment (Tiina, KY, me and the dog), it was a relaxed time and cosy in an artist's studio sort of way. Which, in actual fact, is what it was. A tram journey through the city and then on to a bbq at Tom's (boyfriend of Viku, in whose flat we were camping) place. A vastly different experience than Russia but thoroughly enjoyable as we made more new friends (or stole them from Tiina, depending on how you look at it) who we expect to see here in the UK in a few weeks. One final night in Tampere (the city Tiina lives in), waffle fries with the best garlic aioli in the world and the holiday was sadly at an end.
Fortunately, the journey back wasn't too hideous and the wet weekend back was spent doing washing (myself and my clothes) and catching up on Buffy. Sunday morning, KY and I went for a very wet (and thus shortened) walk around the Common and then went to brunch with Guri, Rachel (newfound friends from the St P extravaganza) and assorted others.
Good times.
There was a week in the last month when I'd been in four countries in as many days - which sounds quite jetset but was actually just the result of visa shenanigans taking longer than expected. It also ended up in me having to unpack and pack again between trips in less than 24 hours - which was pure hell as I am, without contest, the world's worst packer. Ever.
The last few days in Dubai seem to blur together (probably due to the three-day migraine that took over most of them) so I doubt I did anything worth reporting.
The trip back to London, via Doha, was noteworthy partially because of the stalker who sneakily took my picture in the Dubai Duty Free and then tried to make conversation off the back of this extraordinarily scary behaviour when he sat next to me in the departure lounge. And the bus journey between the terminal and plane in Doha was so long I was convinced they were actually driving us to London. But apart from that the flight wasn't worth commenting on.
Briefly in London on the Wed and then off to Finland on the Thurs afternoon. KY and I braved the unspeakable horrors of RyanAir (including being asked to disembark as soon as we sat down, because some genius had driven a vehicle into the back of the airplane) to get to Tampere at midnight. At which point, it was lighter than it had been in London when we left three hours previously. Amazing. Then it got pitch dark and pelted down with rain. Oh well.
A short train journey the next day took us to Helsinki and onto the Russian train to St Petersburg. Which was the closest I'd like to get to a military experience. Stern-faced staff and stiff, high-backed chairs coupled with being scrutinised at the border reminded me that although Communism has been out of circulation for a while, the shadow of it looms pretty large over everyday Russian life. A feeling that was magnified when we got into St Petersburg and the locals were noticeable poker-faced and lacking in the general friendliness and willingness to help that usually accompanies addressing dimwitted tourists such as myself.
The weekend passed in a haze of dinners, drunken dancing and sentimental speeches about young Cam - with a lot of (well deserved) nice things being said about our charming host. My personal best moment was getting home in an alcohol-fuelled daze, walking into and getting in the lift of the wrong hotel on the first night. Only the realisation that there was no fifth floor (our room was on the fifth floor) button in the lift alerted me to the fact that I might not be in the Astoria. On the plus side, I was in the Angleterre just next door, so I didn't have to get involved in a hidous cross country trek, looking for the right place.
In spite of being so soundly asleep (read passed out) that I didn't hear the girls get home later (they were not quiet), I got myself up and went to the Hermitage museum the next morning. Which was awesome. Some of the rooms of the Winter Palace truly took my breath away, although I couldn't help the niggling thought that it was indeed the sort of excess that inevitably leads to revolution. Skip past some of the less interesting bits and the museum has an amazing picture gallery with Da Vincis, Rembrants, Picassos, a few Rodins and a host of Impressionist masters.
More excess on Saturday night, although KY, Tiina and I chose the sensible option and headed home before the bridges went up - well, almost, as we had to drive a long way around to find a bridge that was still down (there are nine bridges in St Petersburg. I think). And had to communicate to our Russian speaking driver that we would not be paying him 1200 extra rubles beyond the agreed price of 800, simply for the benefit of being forced to take the scenic route. Have to admit I had a fair few queasy moments wondering if we were going to be chucked out on the roadside and told to find our own way home, but fortunately the driver's enthusiasm for haggling seemed to wane after we said 'nyet' a few times. Loudly and vehemently, to make up for not knowing any other words.
Most of Sunday morning was a write-off but a pleasant afternoon was spent sipping coffee, beer and Jaegermeister (in that order) and eating fried bread at an Australian (presumably in deference to our valiant leader) pub. A quick venue change saw us off to dinner and much toasting over vodka shots. Later we hijacked a short bus (am reminded that the last time I went somewhere with James Weiss, a short bus was hijacked - the boy seems to make a habit of it), had awful singalongs and found ourself at Metro nightclub where the average age (male and female) was about 16. I'm not sure I've ever felt older than I did at this souped-up school disco, so KY and I escaped with Dan and Alex to a strip club. Not sure why this was meant to be an improvement but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
Back at the hotel at about 5.30 that morning, burgers, fries and last minute promises to catch up and keep in touch with all the nice people we'd met over the last couple of days. And I have to say, that is the best thing that came out of the weekend - the dinners, drinks and dancing were all fun, but it was the new friendships that really seem memorable now. We'll see how long that lasts!
Finland was a much more chilled out experience, from start to finish. (Or Finnish, if you prefer...) Helsinki is a nice little city and reminded me a lot of Cardiff, in its size and navigability. Although we stayed in what seemed like the world's most compact studio apartment (Tiina, KY, me and the dog), it was a relaxed time and cosy in an artist's studio sort of way. Which, in actual fact, is what it was. A tram journey through the city and then on to a bbq at Tom's (boyfriend of Viku, in whose flat we were camping) place. A vastly different experience than Russia but thoroughly enjoyable as we made more new friends (or stole them from Tiina, depending on how you look at it) who we expect to see here in the UK in a few weeks. One final night in Tampere (the city Tiina lives in), waffle fries with the best garlic aioli in the world and the holiday was sadly at an end.
Fortunately, the journey back wasn't too hideous and the wet weekend back was spent doing washing (myself and my clothes) and catching up on Buffy. Sunday morning, KY and I went for a very wet (and thus shortened) walk around the Common and then went to brunch with Guri, Rachel (newfound friends from the St P extravaganza) and assorted others.
Good times.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Sandlands, you gotta live it everyday
The madness continues as visa shenanigans don't seem to be happening in as timely a fashion as I would like.
A few more days in Dubai appear to be on the agenda, but the laughing gods are ensuring that each extra day is packed with yet another new/familiar adventure.
Thursday night saw me at the Aerosmith concert - it was as hot as Hades, under-catered and not especially well laid out but the boys from Boston ROCKED! Excellent show with way more energy than I'm capable of at easily 30 years younger than any of them. And oh my god is Steven Tyler an unattractive man... still, there was a great rendition of Dream On and lots to sing along to so I won't complain that his exterior was less than ornamental.
A surprisingly full Friday morning followed with a trip up to Sharjah to pick something up from Jamila's parents and then pretty much a full day of work - albeit conducted at Bert's Cafe and then Aimee's house, both in The Greens where Wi Fi access roams free and there are no silly firewalls that won't let me get into my email inbox.
Having volunteered to help out Greg (head of GCI in Qatar) with an event he was working on at the Burj Al Arab this week, I forced myself to go shopping on Sunday but with no positive outcome. Trekked the entire length and breadth of Mall of the Emirates and found a grand total of one item of clothing I didn't hate. Then couldn't find shoes to match. Well, not counting the perfect ones in Jimmy Choo. A late-blooming fragment of good sense kept me from buying them, but it was touch and go for a long minute.
So, in a combination of old and new bits and pieces off I went to the Burj last night to 'help out'. Which, as it turns out, consisted of standing around, sipping champagne, eating foie gras and looking beautiful. All tasks that are fortunately well within the scope of my abilities.
Good to know how some things never change though - at any press event there's always one sleazy journalist who wants to take your picture and tries to give you his business card with his 'personal number' on the back. Not even the Burj Al Arab, it appears, can stem this phenomenon. Which is, in its own way, somewhat reassuring.
Anyway, a few drinks at the Sky Bar later I took myself off home wondering whether I'd be glad to return to work and my humbler natural environment. I'm not. Working for a living is a grossly overrated experience.
A few more days in Dubai appear to be on the agenda, but the laughing gods are ensuring that each extra day is packed with yet another new/familiar adventure.
Thursday night saw me at the Aerosmith concert - it was as hot as Hades, under-catered and not especially well laid out but the boys from Boston ROCKED! Excellent show with way more energy than I'm capable of at easily 30 years younger than any of them. And oh my god is Steven Tyler an unattractive man... still, there was a great rendition of Dream On and lots to sing along to so I won't complain that his exterior was less than ornamental.
A surprisingly full Friday morning followed with a trip up to Sharjah to pick something up from Jamila's parents and then pretty much a full day of work - albeit conducted at Bert's Cafe and then Aimee's house, both in The Greens where Wi Fi access roams free and there are no silly firewalls that won't let me get into my email inbox.
Having volunteered to help out Greg (head of GCI in Qatar) with an event he was working on at the Burj Al Arab this week, I forced myself to go shopping on Sunday but with no positive outcome. Trekked the entire length and breadth of Mall of the Emirates and found a grand total of one item of clothing I didn't hate. Then couldn't find shoes to match. Well, not counting the perfect ones in Jimmy Choo. A late-blooming fragment of good sense kept me from buying them, but it was touch and go for a long minute.
So, in a combination of old and new bits and pieces off I went to the Burj last night to 'help out'. Which, as it turns out, consisted of standing around, sipping champagne, eating foie gras and looking beautiful. All tasks that are fortunately well within the scope of my abilities.
Good to know how some things never change though - at any press event there's always one sleazy journalist who wants to take your picture and tries to give you his business card with his 'personal number' on the back. Not even the Burj Al Arab, it appears, can stem this phenomenon. Which is, in its own way, somewhat reassuring.
Anyway, a few drinks at the Sky Bar later I took myself off home wondering whether I'd be glad to return to work and my humbler natural environment. I'm not. Working for a living is a grossly overrated experience.
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