At Santa's Home

After a night spent in the cold in an armchair, we arrive in Turku. From there we set off right away, again by train, for Helsinki. We arrive in the capital at mid-morning: there's nice sunshine, but the city strikes us for how different it is from the other Scandinavian capitals. It's less beautiful, less elegant, less well kept. The houses, the buildings, are boxy, monotonous: it seems closer to a Russian city — but it is closer to Russia. We sleep inside the Olympic Stadium, which houses a hostel. Helsinki, in the end, we don't like. We're not 21, and they won't even let us into the pubs. The tourist season is dead, there are few people around, and we even have a hard time finding a restaurant.

After not even two days in Helsinki we decide to set off towards the north, towards our first goal: Rovaniemi, on the Arctic Circle, Santa's city. It takes almost a day by train to get there, through lakes, conifers and an endless plain. We even have to do a stretch by bus, from Kemi to Tomio, because the line is interrupted. When we arrive it's freezing cold, your hands stick to the metal if you're not careful. But the hostel is warm and nice. The next morning we set off for the Arctic Circle: we can't wait.

We arrive at the Arctic Circle on a bus on which we met, incredible but true, a guy from Madagascar, who lives right in that God-forsaken place. But not forsaken by Santa Claus, who has his village right on the Arctic Circle line. Lots of pretty girls dressed in red sell us lots of souvenirs, while we also buy the certificate proving we've crossed the polar line. There's also a small tower from which you can admire the view: at the top, a couple from Turin. Once the visit is done, we head back to Rovaniemi, it's time to go south.

We return to Helsinki, spending another day on the train, then we go to Turku and from there the ferry that will take us back to Stockholm. This time we took couchettes and the night will pass in a decidedly different way. At the station in Turku, the usual pretty girls selling fruit: pretty girls, in Scandinavia, are a constant. The country doesn't matter...