Monsters, Isolation And Large Cocks: My second day in Finland

>> Feb 3, 2010

I was wearing the same underwear as yesterday, hadn't seen daylight in 20 hours and my teeth felt furry and gross -I really missed my toothbrush.  My second day in Finland and my luggage still hadn't arrived, I was not in the best of moods.

Desperate for a shower and some clean knickers I queued hopefully at the hotel reception desk for some news of my suitcase.  I didn't even need to ask, the woman behind the desk just shook her head at me.  I'd come here to work as a ski rep and in a weeks time over 200 tourists were going to be arriving. I needed the stuff in my suitcase to get started setting things up - and I really wanted to clean my teeth.   Muttering unpleasant things about Finnair and Finland in general, I slunk off to breakfast.

As compensation, I piled my plate high with greasy, cooked meats and sat down at a window table.  If I couldn't brush my teeth I could at least take away that awful, unclean taste.  I put a forkful of eggs in my mouth and looked up to take in the scenery.

- What the hell?

I spat the eggs back out, choking.  Some thing awful with crazy, sticky out in all directions hair and wild eyes was staring back at me, inches from the glass. Coughing and spluttering all over my breakfast, I took a gulp of my orange juice.  So did the hideous creature. I stared in confusion.  It took me a few seconds...

- Ah.  That would be my reflection then.  Great.

I pulled my fingers quickly through my hair and looked down at my plate, my cheeks burning.  My hairbrush, make up, straighteners and pretty much everything else I owned were all still in some indetermined place between here and London.

- Bloody Finnair!  Stupid window!  Why is it still so dark anyway?  Shouldn't I be able to see something besides myself?

I checked my watch.  10:30am.

-Christ, doesn't the sun ever come up in this bloody place?

Feeling self conscious, I looked surreptitiously around the dining room.  It was almost empty, only an old couple in matching purple Lycra ski suits had witnessed my humiliation.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  This was the only hotel in town, there was nowhere else to go if the dining room suddenly turned out to be full of people laughing hysterically and pointing at me.  The old man in purple turned to me and smiled, I grabbed a pamphlet that was lying on the table and opened it, pretending to be engrossed, I had no intention of starting a conversation with someone whose bulges were on display for all to see at the breakfast table.

My eyes skimmed lazily over a bunch of boring facts and figures in the pamphlet until one caught my eye.  My heart dropped as I took it in.

'Kuusamo is home to only 17,000 people, around 3 people per square km.'

- A kilometre, that's just over a mile, right?  Three people per square km?  Three?  But...but...what about the parties?  What about the apres ski, bar crawls and dizzying whirl of social events that go hand in hand with ski rep life?  Who am I going to talk to?  Board with?  Drink with?  How am I going to survive the next four months with just me and 200 tourists?  No!.  I can't do it!  I'll go mad.  I'll snap and run amock, slaughtering whinging tourists with a sharpened ski pole...I'll...

I was starting to hyperventilate.

- Okay, okay, calm down.  This is a ski resort.  There are bound to be more than just three people in it.  You've seen more than that already.  There's the waitress, and the receptionist, and the nice cleaning lady you passed on the way down.  Plus that old couple over there...

I wasn't making myself feel any better.

- Well, maybe it's a good thing.

I changed tact.

- Just think.  Long, peaceful, albeit cold, walks through the glistening forests.  Looking out of the window each morning to pristine snow and the occasional wild animal.  No raging hangovers whilst trying to settle disputes over what had and hadn't been included in the ski package.  This could be a great detox, a fabulous healthy break, a start of a whole new me.  This could be...complete and utter bollo...

The scraping of chair leg against tiled floor broke me out of my reverie.

'Hi, I'm Igor.'  A pallid, sickly looking young man had sat himself down opposite me and was sticking his hand out across the table, his sleave resting in my spat up scrambled egg.

'Err, hi.'  I leaned forward and shook his hand, more of a Pavlov's dog reaction than politeness, and a warm waft of last nights booze hit me in the face.

- Oh great.

It doesn't matter where I go or what I do, I am that person who is guaranteed to attract the weirdos and the drunks.  I could sit in a cupboard, or indeed in a praticaly empty restaurant in one of the most under populated countries in the world, and still somehow manage to attract them.  Maybe I need to change to my perfume, or given the fact that my own reflection had just frightened me into spitting food all the table, it could be that this young man had identified me as one of his own.

'You are English,'  he announced with a satisfied smile.  'You know how I know this?'

- Please go away.

I looked around hoping to attract the attention of the waitress but she and the matching ski suit couple had vanished.  It was just me and Igor now.

'You are reading English...things,' he said gesturing at the pamphlets on the table obviously not needing me to actually participate in the conversation.

'Umm.'

'Clever, no?'

'Umm.'

'I am very clever man.'

'Umm.'

'This is why all the ladies love me.  You know why they love me?'

- Oh dear, it's going to be one of those days, isn't it?

'You know why?  You know why?'

I sighed.  He wasn't going to go away.  I felt like beating my head on the table.  I picked up my cup and answered wearily, 'because you are very clever?'

'Yes.  And I have a big cock.'

I choked on my tea, sending an arc of hot brown liquid flying across the table but sadly somehow missing Igor completely.

'I have lots of sex.  I like sex with English woman.'

'Um-mm,'  I managed through my choked coughs as I dabbed wide eyed at my wet jeans with a napkin not wanting to meet his gaze.

'Do you like sex?'

My head snapped up and I looked across the table in stunned silence at his sweaty forehead, greasy hair and bloodshot eyes.  What was this man asking me?

'English woman make the best sex.  I sleep with woman from all over world.  English woman are my favourite.'  He looked at me expectantly.

What did he want, a thank you? An invitation?

He winked.

- Oh sod the breakfast.

"Right...I've, err, got to go and...  I have a thing I need to, err..."  I pushed my chair back and fled from the dining room.  Maybe living without so many people around could turn out to be a good thing.

More posts on life in Finland:
The Arrival.
I know I'm Foreign but...
The Parrot Easting Debacle
Adventures In Potato Gathering
blog comments powered by Disqus

Post a Comment

  © Blogger template Snowy Winter by Ourblogtemplates.com 2009

Back to TOP