July 23, 2009
Lennufirmadele teine põsk
Paar nädalat tagasi oli mul Eestisse jõudmisega omajagu tegemist, ja see inspireeris Ekspressile alljärgnevat kirjutama. Olgu öeldud, et sõnapidaja inimesena võtsin täpselt nädal hiljem sama lennu, jõudes seekord kenasti kohale.
See siin peaks olema lennuarvustus, mis sarjaks Finnairi selle eest, et ta mind üheks pikaks teisipäevaööks Vantaa lennuväljale ööbima jättis ja et ma kell üks öösel mööda lennujaama ringi kablutama ning lennufirma esindajat otsima pidin; tõik, millest selle leheosa toimetaja sai aimu Skype'i tujuteate kaudu. Aga see oleks ju sama, mis pahandada vihmaga sadamise pärast või poriga selle pärast, et ta määrib. Sest kui lendad kümneid ja kümneid lende aastas, siis ikka juhtub, et lennukompaniid rikastavad su elu väikeste marsuudimuutuste või hilinemistega.
Inimese lennureisimisekarjääril on teatavasti mitu taset. Neist esimesel on lennusõit justkui omaette sündmus, mis peaaegu et väärib habeme korralikult äraajamist ja puhtaid põlvikuid. Algajad lendajad tunned selle järgi ära, et nad kuulavad enne lendu turvainstruktsioone, vaatavad peaaegu kogu lennu jooksul aknast välja, teevad pilvemerest pilte ning üllatuvad selle üle, et lennukitoit maitseb nagu niiske villane sokk.
Järgmisel tasemel on lendamine muutunud rutiinseks ühest kohast teise kulgemiseks. Sellised punkist A punkti B minejad ei pane enam käsipagasisse rohkem kui 100 milliliitrit sisaldavaid vedelikke, ei moodusta väravasse saba tund aega enne pardalemineku algust ega klammerdu istme käetoe või naabri külge, kui lennuk turbulentsis veidi rappub.
Ja lennupüramiidi viimasele tasemele oled jõudnud siis, kui lennujaamad hakkavad tunduma hubaste koduste paikadena, kui sinu boonuspunktiprogrammide staatus on kuskil plaatina ja polooniumi vahepeal, kui suudad vähemalt kolmes maailma lennujaamas kinnisilmi liikuda ja oled veidi pettunud kui äriklassi ootesaalis istub keegi "sinu" koha peal (see seal nurgas, kus saab arvutiakut laadida ja kust näeb hästi väljuvate lendude tablood).
Iga järgmise tasemega väheneb inimese võime lennufirma peale vihastada. Viimasesse gruppi kuuluvale reisihundile võid öelda, et tema lend hilineb sihtkohta nädala, mille peale ta lihtsalt sirutab käe hambaharjakoti ja hotellivautšeri järele, ilma et näos liiguks ükski lihas. Esimese taseme lennureisija saaks ilmselt sama uudise peale kreepsu ning teeks oma olukorda hullemaks sellega, et tüütaks kõiki sõpru ja sugulasi oma lennulooga tülide, abielulahutuste või lausa mõrvadeni.
Nii et Finnair, saan aru, et tegijal juhtub, ja pikka viha ei pea. Katsun omalt poolt rohkem lennata, et sellistest intsidentidest veel vähem tülinat oleks.
May 6, 2009
Shanghai travel tips
This is the blog post I never found that includes some tips what to do in Shanghai (when you go there for work and have a bit of spare time to see the city).
A technique that worked well was to have a list of about seven things to see and do in your pocket along with addresses written in Mandarin. Then, whenever I had some a slot to fill I just picked a random destination and a cab driver would take me there for two to three pounds. Cabs in Shanghai are cheap and plenty.
A definite must is YuYuan Garden which is very touristy but also very nice. There's a market where you can buy superb tea and very cheap crap surrounding the garden. Also, there's a touristy restaurant that does heavenly dim sum just next to the garden entrance.
I'd say the urban planning museum is also a must. In any other city or country this would be a boring dusty place. In Shanghai it's a temple to planning and manifestation of ideas. Let the greatest car industry hub in the planet be on this piece of land by 2011. Consider it done! (US and Japan who?) Let a green suburban town with 200.000 inhabitants rise on this marshland in 5 years. Voila! Impressive as well as scary stuff.
(Quite a bit of the museum was out of order eg. one escalator and the thingie that tells you about F1 in China. How very illustrative of the fact that plans don't always pan out the way they should...)
Then there's the Shanghai Propaganda Poster Art Centre. Or rather a small space in an apartment block basement that feature two rooms full of the art of propaganda. It's a bit tricky to find, just drive to the address, find the right gate and look a bit lost (it should come quite naturally at that stage). Then, the security guard will come and point you to the right direction. Once inside, you'll find the full history of China from 1940's to 1970's condensed into seventy or so awesome posters. Tauno, thanks for the tip!
If you're into art and such you'll also enjoy MoGanShan Road, a block of old warehouses which is now home to dozens of art galleries, workshops and studios. It's wonderful to potter around in this 3D maze and get acquainted to the hip Chinese modern art. Take Zengguo Li, whose horse painting pictured above is now forever haunting me. Other notes to self: PEI Lian-zhi and Shi Jian and PengPeng. Highrisers are closing in on the MoGanShan area, though. Even on a Sunday, there was intense construction work going on next door. I'd be surprised if this lovely part of the city is still there in five years time.
The tourist/expat nightlife happens on the Bund. There's plenty of nice restaurants and bars around which are all very nice but there's not much 'Shanghai' there, these venues could be anywhere. There's also Xin Tian Di area which is full of 'international' bars and restaurants and Heng Shan road which is less glam and more local. Except for a bar called Soho there which appears as if Apple's Jonathan Ivy had designed it, after consuming a large quantity of LSD.
And naturally don't forget to have a cheap good massages whenever you can, and enjoy the food. If it's summer go eat at YongFoo Elite where the food is nothing to write home about but the 1920's ambiance is awesome, especially in the garden terrace. A bit of like Ammende villa in Pärnu, Estonia.
Oh, and I was warned about 'tea ceremonies' or 'showing exclusive art work' at the back of a bar. Apparently a good way to part with your money, though I wasn't offered a chance.
January 24, 2009
In 2008 I travelled at the speed of a butterfly
Dopplr is a nifty little web tool that helps you bump into people that travel a lot. I've added it to my profile, too (mind the photo). Dopplr just sent me my annual travel report. It says: You took 21 trips in 2008, which added up to 76,089 km or 20% of the distance to the moon. You spent 116 days travelling. I was surprised at this relatively large number, even with Tallinn, which almost doesn't count as travelling, being my number one destination. And what's funny - my personal velocity for 2008 was 8.68 km/h, which is about the same as a butterfly.
A few ideas sprang to mind
I updated this post a day later. Note to self: writing stuff down in a hurry can miss the point of writing.
January 19, 2009
God bless California
It's difficult to do injustice to a country like the United States but I think I have managed to do just that. I hadn't been to the States a while. One the one hand because there was no good reason to go but on the other hand I sort of thought that even if there was a reason to go, that's not a good enough reason to actually go. Having been to New York and Miami, arguably the hotspots of that great country, and having been unimpressed by both, I was feeling strongly neutral about travelling to USA and was absolutely sure there were about a thousand better places to go to.
This turned out to be injustice. I had come to that conclusion before I had been to California. It was very refreshing to be there, and not just because of the weather. Because it was a short work trip I couldn't see and do enough to write a travel journal or even a travel memo but I did make a mental note not to rule out California as a holiday destination.
Still, one thing that was impossible to miss was that everyone in the States seemed to be talking about Obama, almost as if he is the Messiah. Looking at the state of the country he has to do miracles of similar magnitude, too. First he has to feed about 300 million people (and a few banks and auto makers) with two fish and 5 barley loaves. Then he has to calm the stormy seas of US foreign policy. I wish the man nothing but good luck.
The only time media didn't only talk about Obama was when the commercials were on. In a very non-American way the commercials were mainly about how to turn excess gold jewelry into cash, get a free consultation on credit card debt or advice on paying taxes. On my previous visits they had mostly been about buying a bigger car that would get rid of the existing car's problem of not consuming enough fuel. And hey, maybe it was this shift in the mentality that made this country more appealing to me. Might even try Utah next time.
October 2, 2008
Ignoring basic health and safety regulations - in Scotland
They call me Ishmael. I will probably never read these words first hand, though I would very much like to read Moby Dick. There's just not enough time to read every book you want to read. Scotland has so far been a destination equivalent of literary classics for me. In my view Highlands would surely be beautiful, wild and almost romantic - but I just had no good reason to go there.
So it is without a good reason that I landed in Aberdeen one beautiful evening just after the sunset and headed off to Royal Deeside, about 50 miles away. The landscape on both sides of the road was beautiful. It's a pity as it was dark as the humour of Scottish comedian Jerry Sadowitch outside and none of that beauty was to be seen.
Travelling with three British lads you would expect a weekend of football shirts, drunk shouting on streets and slapping of waitresses' asses. None of this was on our travel agenda however. It were majestic outdoor activities like swimming in refreshing mountain rivers, golf, clay pigeon shooting and other such awaiting us. Perhaps a whisky distillery or a few thrown in as well.
We stayed at Hilton Craigendarroch. Judging by the name you'd expect a castle where you can feel the centuries gone by, exchange polite formalities with the butler and expose myself to spookiness of local ghost stories. What we got was Duran Duran, Blondie and bright coloured silk ties. The hotel just outside the small town of Ballater is a prime example of eighties yuppie culture. I bet that back in the day its dry slope, pool filled to floor level and ensuite Jacuzzy sparked standing ovations. Now it sparks little more than smirks. We downed our mandatory glasses of scotch, smirking and hit the bed to be in good shape for our morning adventures.
First we went swimming. You can find absolutely picturesque places for swimming in the River Dee. Unfortunately none of them contain even superficially warm water. It's so cold that the more experienced people we met were swimming in wetsuits. Heck, I wouldn't have been surprised had I met a few trout dressed in these.
After a quick swim (I mean it. Quick. Very quick) and a lengthy lunch we thought we'd go ask the tourist information centre about local swimming facilities. I guess we were expecting at least one of the rivers or lochs to be warm enough to swim for more than two seconds at a time. Swimming in Scotland? The clerk dressed in the ultimately old-fashioned suit and who was yet barely 16 was genuinely surprised. He said it'd be very dangerous to swim in these and he couldn't possibly take the responsibility for leading us there. His face expressed concern if not fear so my imagination quickly produced images of underwater currents, needle sharp rocks or even good old Nessie herself. But when we asked about the source for these great dangers he just went: It's very cold. Basic health and safety, this oldest 16 year-old boy ever lived added. My understanding of Scots as fearless wild bunch shattered to pieces so violently it was almost audible.
We returned to the river on our own, without any words of wisdom from the tourist information dude. We thought we'd seen interesting places for swimming when driving around. Or rather interesting places, period. The thing is, the River of Dee passes through a 300 metre gorge at one point and it just happened to be the place which had looked swimmable. There actually were a few places there that didn't seem to involve immediate dangers. Our only concern was that despite the water being the clearest on the Northern hemisphere there was no bottom in sight. The rocks begun about six metres above and blurred into blackness just ahead of us. Still we pushed ourselves off the edge to take a swim above this abyss. When a second later two snake-like creatures started to spiral upwards I set the new record of getting out of the water, at least for people with only nine functional toe bones, the crippled man I was back then. Must be eels, we thought later but suddenly basic health and safety sounded a much more reasonable expression.
A round of heads and tails decided clay pigeon shooting was to be our next entertainment. Being a man, shooting a real gun was obviously fun. I just wasn't sure about the fact that it's not clay discs they were shooting when they invented this noble activity. It was more like real pigeons. My observations of the density of pigeon population seemed to confirm this theory. I saw no pigeons during my four days in Scotland.
We spent our afternoon on a 9-hole golf course in Aboyne. I've never been much of a golfer. Maybe back in the day, when bored shepherds were rolling pebbles down rabbit holes it made all the sense but there's just not enough meaning in the activity for a grown man. Instead of chasing a tiny ball along a huge field one could go surfing, go for a ride of mountain biking or even mow a lawn for lack of better plans. However, walking in a landscape shaped after postcards with the sun shining, it seemed like a pretty reasonable activity. Surviving the water hazard suddenly seemed much more important than the wind forecast, global warming or wars around the world.
The weekend of our majestic stay in Scotland coincided with Highland Games. Games for rugged-looking men in kilts to throw huge stones, logs and other inventory around. During shot put, which as we all know need revolving around one's axis, which further raises some requirements for clothing I discovered that the legend that Scots don't wear underwear with kilts is true. There wasn't even a hint of underwear. Just don't ask about sports shorts under kilts, Adidas seemed particularly popular.
Over the centuries a perfectly normal athletics competition had developed in addition to throwing big things around mindlessly. Maybe just the democracy involved was a bit out of the ordinary - everyone could compete. And perhaps the level of competition. One of us four signed up for running the mile in a condition that probably wouldn't have allowed him to drive - and won third place.
The Highland Games was obviously filled with the sound of bagpipes. There's something great about a large orchestra marching between mountains and playing a Scottish tune. But if many bagpipe players play many different tunes around you the greatness turns into something that drives you mad, as if a fly had flown in your ear. Scottish soldiers apparently always played bag pipe before a battle - no wonder they were considered a wild and crazy bunch.
Talking of soldiers it's an interesting factoid that Scotland has never ever been conquered. The above mentioned fighting spirit and the mountainous terrain probably played a key role in this. But I reckon the reason can be something much simpler. Perhaps at some point the invaders realized that why bother when the food gets progressively more tasteless and rain as well as women get progressively stronger.
The nightlife of Ballater, or rather the total lack of it, is something to be seen and experienced. It is about as lively as a wounded sloth. In one of the two bars there was karaoke on Fridays and there was beer available. In the other one some guy played bagpipes to a bunch of other guys in kilts, and there was beer available. In small town bars like this, where air is filled with above average curiosity towards strangers you'll start noticing details such as knives in socks that apparently are part of traditional Scottish costume.
In such vibrant atmosphere it was only logical that the three pounds we won from the "Who wants to be a millionaire" terminal became one of the highlights of the Saturday night. Who needs Las Vegas when such festivities and rushes of endorphin to the head can be experienced in Highlands!
And the fact that we ended up at an after party both nights probably deserves a medal. Both of them reminder me of a large family reunion. No-one was actually invited, there was some old beef in the air - and yet everyone was conversing, smiling on the outside. Parties to remember, definitely. Especially for those of us that had to escape through the window. (Not to mention any names, but don't worry Tim - what happens in Ballater, stays in Ballater)
We absolutely could not have left Scotland without visiting a whisky distillery. This hour left my personal health exposed to great dangers. You see, I like calvados and cider since my visit to Normandy, I smoke a cigar every now and then ever since I've been to Cuba and I like bubbly, especially after staying in Champagne with a friend from school a few years back. I wasn't sure my liver could take on yet another guilty pleasure. Nevertheless we bravely entered the Royal Lochnagar distillery and I'm relieved to announce that so far so good - just a few sips have disappeared from the bottle I bought back.
And that's it really. In conclusion Scotland is a gentleman's paradise in which to play golf, shoot clay pigeons, take long walks in fresh air and discuss global (or should I say colonial) matters in old castles. It's not so good for stag nights. In fact, the latter would probably be much more fun in an empty car park.
August 28, 2008
Travel report
In the last month I've ticked two names off my would-be-nice-to-see-some-day travel destinations: Scotland and Ibiza. You'd think they are diametrically different but there are quite a few similarities. Mountains, beautiful nature and lots of not-so-wanted Brits around. Contrary to my prejudice Ibiza can be a nice chillaxing place. My two cents on that island:
More on Scotland soon, the travel journal is already with Eesti Ekspress and a team of twenty linguists are busy translating it into English.
And you just gotta love Ryanair, even with their website looking butt ugly and pricing policy as transparent as a tin coffin filled with mud. This week they're selling tickets at ridiculous prices. A return ticket to Dublin or Newquay, Cornwall costs 10 pounds, including taxes and such. That's so little I got tickets for both for the same weekend. If the surf is good I'm off to Cornwall. If not then the capital of Ireland it is.
