Helsinki Airport brain-dump, 24th July

My body clock is in an uproar. I've been in two time zones already today (and in the first one I was still suffering a bit of jet lag), and I'm about to get on a plane to enter a third. I *think* in my real body time it's currently 2am tomorrow! So in today's time it's 11pm in Bangkok, and in the Helsinki airport it's 7pm, and I lose another hour when we fly to Stockholm so we'll arrive just as we leave at 8pm. Hmm... by the time we get to the hotel it will be tomorrow, yesterday!

On another note.. BUSINESS CLASS ROCKS! The uber-reclining/footrest/pillow and blankie/privacy screen/personal air-blower thingie and very fetching blue socks sent me rapidly into the land of nod, altho I was aided by a pre-flight champagne (I love how the 'Other Half' can't be expected to wait for take-off without a nice drinkie, god furbid!), and two very nice gin and tonics while I nommed my three-course lunch. M said 'you'd better stop or you won't be able to walk'. And??? Walking wasn't exactly on my agenda, unless you count ambling up to the dunny, or down to the exit door bit where there's a bit of room for in-flight yoga. I think I slept very comfortably for about 3 hours, waking to find that M's flight socks (better than mine cos they are knee socks, mine are only ankles and not adequate, I discovered on the flight to Bangkok).. had stopped my legs swelling any further than the little bit caused by the Bangkok heat. Another triumph for computer socks.

It's bright daylight here, and there are tanned people with ice-blue eyes everywhere. They all look very healthy and tall and fit and Norsk. I feel somewhat dumpy by comparison, but I blame my woollen trousers for that. They add at least 20 kilos to the look of me ;-)

Earlier today, in another airport far, far away, I succumbed (again) to the lure of the Duty Free goodies. A long and careful inspection of the specials induced me to add a Chanel lipstick to my stash (that only makes two lipsticks, one for each lip ya know ...). Then (you know I'm going to say this) I succumbed to the lure of the pong, again. This time it's something a bit different, instead of a girlie floral I chose a spicy almost men's cologne-type scent. And when I get to Stockholm and unpack my backpack I will tell you what it is. At the moment the bottle is in a clear plastic bag with my other 'fluids', buried underneath my shawl, several books, a banana, a flight comfort pack, the computer bag, and ... oh you know, random junk which must be carried around but which seems pointless most of the time. Crucial, but pointless. Maybe next trip overseas we can confine ourselves to one weather zone, so we don't have to pack clothes which cater for weather ranging from ice floes to egg-frying pavements! Or, shock horror, travel in Australia. At least we could be sure we'd understand the locals....

I should mention that my sinuses are pretty outraged by the prolonged periods in pressurised cabins and very long descents from heavenly heights. I suffered quite badly in Bangkok, not least because our room was on the 38th floor of the hotel, and the breakfast room and restaurants on floors 76, 78 and 85. And the lifts going past the 40th floor were rapid-fire, so the ears were poppin' and the guts were droppin' and I was half-deaf and the left side of my face was MOST unhappy. I spent some time applying hot facewashers, in our room, cos heat helps. It was difficult lying on that side of my face when I had my wonderful Thai massage, but I think the masseur could feel that I was tense lying that way, cos when I turned my head the other way she said 'yes' and attacked my right shoulder. Something to do with which muscles were being stretched by which side of my head I was lying on. I think.

I am looking forward to a Swedish massage, and to the ministrations of masseurs all around the Baltic states. I could be in for some interesting experiences! And yes, mum, if I get interesting bruises I'll take photos. [My mother had a fall onto her face one time, and bruised herself quite badly. For some reason, she insisted on having herself photographed while the bruises were at maximum colour. She sent this photo to her father, who wrote to me saying "I've put the photo of your mother on the mantlepiece. From a distance she looks a bit like a purple fuchsia.". Immortal words.]

M has gone off to hunter-gather a sandwich. His stomach seems to adjust to the time zone changes with instant precision. So he feels that it's dinner time. And because the flight to Stockholm is only an hour, he's worried that we'll only be served a snack. I, otoh, can't think about food unless it's something very small and light, like fruit salad. We had two excellent meals on the flight here - the 3-course extravaganza lunch, and a dinner meal of [only] two courses. The warm cinnamon buns were wonderful, such a tempting scent. AND the in-flight coffee was very nice indeed. The menu even offered cappuccino! I didn't think it was possible to froth milk in a pressurised environment, I thought that's why coffee on planes is always so awful, cos the water can't boil propurry and then the coffee sits around on a hotpad - that's what it tastes like to me, anyway. Maybe Finnair knows something I don't about these things. Whatever it is, I completely approve.

Today brought to you, in this order, by eau de Asian city drain, melange de Duty Free purrfume tester counters, Avgas fumes, lime juice on my smoked salmon, cinnamon buns, and a faint, faint hint of the Mark Jacobs I put on this morning. Yesterday. In Asia. A squillion miles and quite a lot of tablets ago.