Travel and special assistance

As luck would have it, at the end of a three week long Nordic holiday attending a wedding in Helsinki, visiting family in Tampere and celebrating midsummer on the Åland Islands, the day the Englishman and I were packing up the cottage to return home to London via Helsinki (a complicated route from the islands involving an overnight ferry), my back 'went'. I am yet to hear if it is the dreaded slipped disc, but enough to say that my packing activities were suddenly halted.

Although in pain, I could just about walk, so we decided to travel as planned. I had the Englishman to help, and luckily we had just the two pieces of luggage. He could manage with those if I got some help in getting on and off boats and planes.

The first leg of the journey, an overnight crossing with Viking Line from Mariehamn to Helsinki went well enough. We phoned in advance and when we turned up at the terminal a wheelchair was waiting for me. A friendly girl in the Viking ticket office took us on what can only be described as two goods' lifts to the waiting area on the third floor. She wasn't, however, allowed to actually take me onboard so I limped - trying to avoid the small crowd pushing past me - into the ferry. Our cabin was comfortable enough and after a Lonkero (those who have ever tasted this Finnish gin drink know about its restorative qualities) while watching the endless twilight over the Baltic through our cabin window, I actually felt somewhat OK.

As we pulled into a fog laden Helsinki, the shipping company had forgotten about my special needs. The Englishman's very British sarcasm about the impossibility of an overnight miracle cure fell onto dumb Finnish ears, so we had to wait for assistance while the rest of the passengers fought for the few taxis outside. Oh well, at least we got into town eventually, and were able to deposit our luggage at the ground floor of the train station (using a functioning large lift - hurrah). At this stage I was just looking forward to a decent coffee at the Fazer cafe in town, and later a brunch at the Kämp Hotel.

The Helsinki Vantaa airport was in its usual Sunday afternoon chaos. When I asked how it was always thus, the staff replied it was due to many large planes arriving and leaving at the same time (strange thing at an airport, huh?). Luckily BA has its own check-in desk where the staff were sympathetic when the Englishman asked for assistance, while I was sitting on the most stylish - and uncomfortable - airport seat imaginable. Nordic design, eh? After a painful 30-minute wait, we were told the airport staff had forgotten about us. Another 15 minutes later I was picked up and whizzed to the gate, past security and passport queues, by a friendly and efficient member of the airport staff. It took only two goes by the Englishman to see to it that we would get into the aircraft first as my walking was so slow. I was afraid of the Nordic queuing system where no prisoners are taken to get to the front. I'd learned by now that any small shove or push, or a children's pushchair being bashed into my legs, would send painful darts into my spine.

The 3 hour flight was OK. BA aircrew were busy but understanding of my predicament. But at Heathrow it all fell apart. While at this stage I'd been travelling - in pain - for over 20 hours, I just wanted to get off the plane and home as soon as possible. But this wasn't to be. A lift to get me - and a man in his own wheelchair - off the aircraft took the best part of an hour. I was then put into one of those noisy cars which I've often wished would pick me up after a tiring red-eye from NYC and drive me to the passport control. But I tell you, reader, it's not as wonderful as it looks. Because the care of special assistance is covered by several 'agents' at Heathrow. I'm not sure how it all works in other parts of the airport but at least in terminal three, the car dropped me off to wait at an inordinately uncomfortable seat somewhere between the gates and immigration. There were several people at this 'meeting point' who were much more poorly than me, having to wait for about half an hour to be picked up by another 'agent' with a wheelchair. I lost count of how many times the young guy - clearly inexperienced in wheelchair use -  bashed my legs against railing or lift walls, or how much it hurt when he pushed me at speed over bumps and ridges on the floors. I had to tell him to slow down, and to cry out once, before he realised I was human and in pain.

But the problem at Heathrow wasn't just the the lack of experienced staff. According to a lady with a bad leg, who had been travelling with a stick for ten years, the wait for wheelchairs and agents introduces other problems. Taxi drivers outside are kept waiting (and often charge extra for the wait), and by the time the wheelchair is supplied, and the travellers are through passport control, luggage carrousels have been reassigned to the next flight and the unclaimed items removed. All problems, which could have been avoided if the same car had driven everyone to their final destinations.

Needing special assistance truly opened my eyes to how poorly our society looks after disabled people in (at least) the two countries I know. Talking to the other people at Heathrow, it doesn't seem to make any difference if you let the airlines know about your requirements well in advance (which I couldn't do). The service is still poor.

I haven't even commented on the lack of disabled loos almost everywhere, or the number of able-bodied people using the facilities without any shame (this happened to me at Fazer Cafe in Helsinki where, leaning onto a wall and obviously in pain, I had to wait while two giggling Swedish women of my age used the loo before me), or loos in basements where the lift is only accessible through a set of steps (truly ingenious, Hotel Kämp).

After this experience I feel so grateful and lucky to have a temporary problem with my back, because I'm not sure I could cope with another journey needing special assistance.  

A little bit of Sicily in Åland

Rosario Brancato of Belissimo Glassbar

Åland islands (where we go on our summer holidays) has always been culturally a funny sort of a place. It's closer to Sweden than Finland, yet is an autonomous part of Finland. It has a rich history of seafaring; it even played a role in the Crimean war when the English invaded part of the islands. There's a small green space in Mariehamn called The English Park as a sort monument.

Yet Åland has remained defensively, almost stubbornly, unique. Even post EU membership, there's still legislation in force to protect the islanders from foreign invasion. In order to own land there, or to trade, you basically need to be Finnish and speak passable Swedish (this, odd as it may seem, is quite rare), or marry an Ålänning. Even having passed these tests, you have to live on the islands continuously for five years in order to earn your Åland stripes.

No wonder, then, that there aren't many foreign cafes or restaurants in the capital Mariehamn: so far during the twenty or so years we've been visiting the islands, we've noticed one Thai restaurant, a cafe/home-made chocolate shop run by a Venezuelan lady, a fast food kebab house, and now most recently a Sicilian cafe/bar.

Bellissimo cafe in Mariehamn

This year's newcomer, a Sicilian cafe called Bellissimo, seems to have arrived without much fuss. When the Englishman and I passed it the first time, we didn't go in as the place looked so unremarkable from the outside. But when shopping with my mother in the town a few days later she dragged me inside. (She's always keen to try anything new in Mariehamn.)

We were welcomed with a loud 'Ciao' from the owner, Rosario Brancato, who was busily wiping the counter. When I spotted an expresso machine and a display of ice-creams and the word 'Gelatiera', I was sold. My mother had in her turn spotted the apple cake. Just as in Italy - or Sicily - the man frowned at the request of skimmed milk, so we had double expressos instead of our usual mid-morning lattes. After a long time at the ice-cream counter I chose the cherry yoghurt whip. And boy, was it delicious (so much so I again forgot to take a picture!). My mother's apple cake was equally tasty.

The choice of ice-creams was overwhelming

The apple cake went so quickly I hardly had time to photograph it...

The ice-cream counter was busy

On leaving, Rosario shouted, 'Grazie mille signora!' My mother turned to him, smiled sweetly, and said, 'Ciao'.

This licensed Sicilian cafe should do well in Mariehamn - all I'd ask is that they advertise themselves a little more visibly to the many tourists - an Italian flag outside would do the trick nicely.

Åland Islands: Glada Laxen restaurant in Bärö

On Friday, the last but one day of our week-long holiday to the Åland Islands we joined my family to celebrate a 75th Birthday by visiting a remote island restaurant, The Glada Laxen, near Kumlinge in Bärö. This restaurant belongs to a number of establishments listed in The Best of the Archipelago guide, so we had high expectations.

Sailing in the Baltic

The weather was sunny and warm - not as hot as it had been in Finland over the summer - but it was perfect weather for a spot of island hopping. We began the journey from our base on the island, Lemland, by driving Northeast via Bommarsund to Prästö, where a small cable ferry took us over the water and to another island, Vårdö, where we picked up a larger car ferry. These car ferries criss-cross the archipelago, with a schedule that 'You need a masters degree in to understand' (comment by locally born and raised birthday boy). All the same as a foot passenger you pay nothing. We left our two cars behind in the deserted car park at Vårdö so all of us could enjoy a drink. Onboard the ferry there was a bar and the hour's or so trip to Enklinge went quickly while we admired the scenery (which I never tire of) and toasted our 75-year-old youngster.

The car ferry dropping us off at Enklinge.

Inside the ferry isn't exactly luxurious, but its clean and roomy.

Once the ship dropped us off on the island of Enklinge, we did feel a little abandoned, but were soon picked up by the friendly owner of the Glada Laxen restaurant, Henrik.

I could quite easily live here...though the commute to London might be a little tricky.

Our host and chauffeur.

First view of Bärö and the Glada Laxen

Onboard Henrik's motorboat we were quickly whisked off to Bärö, a former Finnish coastal guard station. The braver of us climbed the now redundant guard tower, an experience they said they'd rather not repeat.

The top viewing platform had a slatted floor.

The view from the Bärö watch tower 

Because I was still recovering from my op, I stayed put on the sunny but windy terrace and began to study the menu at Glada Laxen.

I decided to have the 'Archipelago bread' with a seafood röra - a mixture of prawns, whitefish roe, gravad lax, dill and soured cream. The other dishes around the table looked equally delicious.

My seafood röra

Gravad (marinated) siik (whitefish)

Archipelago tapas including whitefish roe, dill marinated herring and smoked salmon.

En route from Enklinge our host had picked up some fresh abborre (pike perch) fillets prepared by his fisherman friend on a nearby island (we were in the deepest darkest Åland archipelago). Henrik prepared this local fish simply for our main course by covering the fillets thinly with rye flour and frying them in butter. With a cold herb sauce of soured cream, tasty new potatoes, lettuce and tomatoes from his own vegetable garden, this was one of the best traditionally cooked abborre I've ever had in Åland. Just a  note to save my neck here - nothing beats abborre caught and smoked by the birthday boy in Lemland. Although it says something that he too loved this dish - and he's a man who very rarely orders fish in a restaurant.  

The other main course chosen by our party was lamb raised by Henrik himself. I don't eat lamb - one of the few things I don't like - but according to the Englishman it was delicious.

The small kitchen at the Glada Laxen

 For pudding we had yet another traditional local dish: Ålands pannkaka.

The Åland pancake was served with whipped cream and lightly stewed blueberries.

About half way through our meal we were joined in the otherwise empty restaurant by three sailors. They were in good voice, singing schnapps songs. 

When they found out the cause for our celebration, they promptly got up and sang 'Ja må han leva' - the birthday song in Swedish. After we'd chatted about the food for a bit, we suddenly realised we had acquaintances in common. One of the sailors had also studied at the same university as I did (although a good few years before me) and we knew some of the same tutors. 'It's a small world,' commented the Swedish speaking Finn from Helsinki. 'Or a small archipelago,' I thought.

This is definitely the best way to visit the Glada Laxen

Henrik delivering us back to Enklinge to catch the last ferry of the day back to Vårdö.

The position in the middle of the beautiful Åland archipelago and the clean, fresh taste of the food at Glada Laxen receive top marks from me. Also the food wasn't over salted, as is often the case nowadays in Finland and Sweden. However, I was a little disappointed in the surroundings: the terrace had seen better days. In a top restaurant people expect high quality furnishings as well as good food. White plastic flower pots and mis-matching, chipped chairs won't do. The dining room inside too needed some investment; there were paper napkins, the glass-topped tables were easy to clean, I'm sure, but wouldn't inspire a picky customer. The menu was good, short and not too pricey; but the cost at the end was the same one would pay in Mariehamn, Stockholm or Helsinki.

Would I visit Glada Laxen again? If I was sailing past, yes, if nothing but for the friendly, all-accomodating service and the excellent, fresh fish.

Bye, bye Henrik and Glada Laxen

Holiday packing

This is me unusually organised. But look at the size of the suitcase!

There was an article in the Daily Telegraph yesterday which struck a cord with me - and annoyed me in equal measure.

According to research the average woman overpacks a suitcase by 26 items. It seems we, as a gender, use just half of the things we take with us on holiday, the rest being 'just in case' items. (The Daily Telegraph Saturday 9 July 2011)

If you've read my previous posts on this blog, you'll know I'm always struggling to know what to pack, whether I'm going for a short city break, for a skiing holiday or even just for holiday 'at home' in Åland.

But, why on earth would anyone wish to know this about women's packing habits? The survey was carried out by a internet comparison website, so I guess there was a commercial reason for it, but it's not exactly a surprise is it? Every woman who's ever been faced with the task of filling a stupidly small suitcase with all the items she thinks she'll need during a week or two in a strange location knows that it's almost impossible to know what to take and what to leave behind. Ideally I'd like to pack my whole bedroom, rather than having to make a decision ahead of time on my outfits.

Also, is it just women who overpack? Are we still so divided by gender? The article didn't mention how men pack. In our household certainly there is a huge difference - the Englishman and Son regularly underpack, forgetting to take essentials like underpants (happened last holiday), or shampoo, and then borrow these items from Daughter and me. (No, not the undies). This being so, I'm not sure why it offends me to read that women's packing habits have been singled out. Perhaps it was the tone of the article, making us seem simple and stupid by carrying articles in our suitcases that we don't ever use. There was also a comment to say how 50% of women find it difficult to stay within the designated luggage limits.

I cannot but help to believe that a lot of money was paid and many productive working hours spent on a useless survey which produced a most predictable result.

Holiday packing: capsule wardrobe time

I'm hopeless at packing for a holiday. First of all I can't do it much ahead of time because the weather where we usually go (Åland Islands in Finland) is always unpredictable, and I have to wait until I have a proper reliable forecast. At least that's what I tell myself, because the real and embarrassing reason is that I can't pack until I feel in the right state of mind to do it.

'You can't base every decision on your emotions,' some wise (or not so wise) friend once told me.

Since we are leaving for our midsummer holiday in two days' time I thougth I'd start the packing with getting a few things in the Net-a-Porter sale. (Where else should one start?). But, I've just been on the phone to them and they say despatch can take up to 72 hours, so I may not get the few crucial items (Marc by Marc Jacobs handbag, Mulberry scarf and Alice by Temperley twill cotton jacket) before we go.

Panic.

Hence, this morning, though I don't feel like packing yet, I forced myself to start the process by laying out the pieces I know I'll want to take. If I could get together a 'capsule wardrobe', I could build on from that.

What do you think - am I on the right track?

Hobbs maxi dress, Castaner black wedges, blue DKNY wrap cardigan (which starred at yesterday's pigeon episode at England's Lane Books), Uniqlo cargo shorts, Citizens of Humanity white jeans, Current/Elliott cropped chinos, Rebecca Minkoff bag. And my Mac, obviously!