Travel

Plague Diary – Part I

21 March, 2020
Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Travel

Tuesday, March 10, 2020

It was my birthday on March 10 and I had a post ready to go on the day but the internet swallowed it. Alas. It was reasonably quiet as Mr. Waffle was busy and we were off skiing at the weekend (hollow laugh). We went out to Portrane for a peaceful walk along the coast.

We had a cup of tea in the hotel at the end of the walk. Much social distancing but still very much open.

Michael bought me an enormous bouquet of flowers. I was really touched. He went out on his bike to get them while I was taking herself to the dentist to get her braces tightened (fortuitous timing in retrospect). I think he was a bit surprised by the cost of flowers but he bore it bravely.

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

All still pretty normal. My father was transferred to an orthopedic hospital which was very welcome but somewhat surprising.

Thursday, March 12, 2020

The Taoiseach announces schools, pre-schools and colleges are to close. My children are ecstatic.

One of our neighbours put a leaflet in the door offering to do shopping for older people and asking for volunteers to help out. Herself signed up and joined the Whatsapp group. For the moment it appears to be all willing volunteers and no one wanting our services but I suppose that may change.

Friday, March 13, 2020

We cancel our skiing holiday. Aer Lingus lets us change our booking at no cost. We book to go to Rome for a week in October. Fingers crossed. This doesn’t seem like a triumph but by the time my brother-in-law goes to re-book his flights, there seems to be some glitch on the website and he has to spend six hours on hold to the Aer Lingus helpdesk so, could have been worse. We are claiming from insurance for the chalet cost but Mr. Waffle is only moderately optimistic that it will be refunded.

Saturday, March 14, 2020

I drove down to Cork to visit my father in hospital. Normally I get the train but I decided, in the circumstances, that public transport probably wasn’t my best option. France closed the ski resorts. Too late for me. My brother, in Tignes, managed to pick up a flight home from Lyons on Tuesday for €1,000. Maybe the airlines won’t go under after all. I spent all of the three hour drive to Cork listening to Coronavirus podcasts. In retrospect, probably a mistake. My father was absolutely delighted to see me. When I arrived, he was gloomy and downcast and said that it was just as well I had come because he was probably going to die (he is normally not like this at all and appears to believe that he will live forever notwithstanding evidence to the contrary) but by the time I left an hour later he was laughing and cheerful. I was pleased I had come. His eyesight is so bad that he can’t read other than with a special light. He can’t listen to the radio unless the volume is deafening. I spoke to the nurse and she said I could bring in his lamp. I was a bit surprised but pleased.

Sunday, March 15, 2020

There was no mass. It was extremely odd. I went in to visit my father who was much more his normal self and only mildly pleased to see me which, in its own way, was a relief. I had cleaned his standard lamp with antibacterial spray (probably no harm in any event) but when I arrived in to the hospital with it clutched in my arms, I was told it couldn’t be let in which wasn’t entirely surprising but I did wish that they had told me the same thing the previous day. After visiting my father, I drove back to Dublin and listened to another three hours of Coronavirus podcasts. Probably peak panic.

Monday, March 16, 2020

My father’s hospital closed to visitors. I was doubly glad I had gone down at the weekend.

I can’t remember the last time I have been so keen to get into work. Once there, it was mostly logistics, getting any remaining outliers set up to work from home and agreeing various protocols. A lot of people were on leave anyhow as it was the Monday before a bank holiday and many of the rest were already set up to work from home. It was pretty empty.

At dinner, I asked, what we were all going to do in quarantine. Herself said that Shakespeare had written King Lear in quarantine. Setting the bar good and high for us all.

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

Undoubtedly the oddest St. Patrick’s Day I have ever had. No parades, obviously. I woke up the children by going around the house singing, “Hail Glorious St. Patrick” which was poorly received. I announced that we were going to climb a mountain in Wicklow and get some use out of the hiking boots we had bought for skiing. Also reasonably poorly received.

It was nice all the same though.

Since all the cafes were closed, I decided that we would take a picnic. We got a lovely picnic basket when we got married (great wedding present, if you’re looking for inspiration) but it is quite heavy so it only works for picnics where you picnic near the car, if you see what I mean. By the time we got back to the car after our walk to have our picnic the weather had clouded over a bit and we drove around looking for a handy state forest with a picnic table near the car park. We were all a bit hungry as well which is a dangerous time in family life. We drove into a forest car park, it wasn’t ideal but we went into the trees and I spread out the picnic blanket. Herself suggested that I move it away from the barbed wire. It didn’t rain but it was bleak. The vibe was more Von Trapp family fleeing the Nazis across the Alps than memorable fun day out. This picture fails to convey the utter bleakness of the event (barbed wire just out of shot).

By the time we had unpacked the picnic Michael and herself had already scampered back to the car clutching a bag of crisps each. Daniel stayed on like a trooper and Mr. Waffle and I each clutched a cup of tea from the thermos like drowning sailors who have been recently hauled from the water. I think we have to call it a failure, sadly. I tried to sell it as a bonding experience but the punters weren’t convinced.

The Taoiseach made an address to the nation that evening and I made the children watch. Michael said, “Gosh, these are historic times, somebody could have to write about living through this in the history exam in the future; I could be a person in history (this seems to be a question where they are asked to imagine they are a person living through say, the 1916 Rising or World War II and so on).” It might even be true, I suppose. I pointed out to him that my blog might be original source material for future history students and he said, “Poor them”. You wouldn’t want to be overly sensitive.

My brother got home from France safely and took himself off into self-isolation.

We always do the shopping online on Tuesday night for delivery on Thursday. It turns out we should have planned that a bit earlier. There were no online delivery slots to be had at all. We’ve signed up with a new supermarket which offered the 27th as its earliest delivery slot. Alas.

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

The first day with all five of us at home. It was very odd. The children were in their rooms; I was in the study and Mr. Waffle set up camp in the utility room. I was impressed by the work technology and surprised and pleased at how much we were able to get done. I was also impressed by the children, they had work to do from their teachers and they set to and started doing it.

Daniel and I made bread. We were very proud of ourselves. We finished the strong white flour.

I went out to get more flour from the supermarket. I tried four supermarkets, social distancing the while, but there was no flour to be had. At the rate things are going, it looks like this may be the case indefinitely. I am hoping that we may get some from our online delivery on March 27 but who knows? Did I think we were a nation of bakers? I did not.

Generally, I seemed to be driving the children crazy with my incessant questions about their study routines and asking them whether they had got enough exercise but I felt this was better than their father’s lax regime which would let them stay in bed until lunchtime.

My friend in Paris and I agreed that Daniel would not be travelling to them for Easter. I am now playing chicken with Aer Lingus and hoping that they will cancel the flight and give us a refund. We will see.

Thursday, March 19, 2020

It was Mr. Waffle’s 50th birthday. Poor Mr. Waffle. What an awful way to have to spend a big birthday. We were supposed to be off skiing and I’d booked us in to a nice Michelin starred restaurant for dinner in Tignes. Instead he was stuck at home on lock down. I had bought him a voucher for a rather expensive wine tasting course to be held over May, June and July which now may never happen and I am worried that I may never get my money back. It was a pretty poor present in the time of plague lock down.

We made him pancakes for breakfast. I insisted that he work in the study and I took the utility room which was fine except when one of my colleagues asked me during a video conference meeting whether I was stockpiling Rice Krispies for the apocalypse. I mean, maybe. These were low level treats for a 50th birthday, I feel.

I made French onion soup for lunch and an elaborate stew for dinner as well as the standard issue family birthday cake and between that and work being pretty busy, I was exhausted by the end of the day. I’m not sure that working from home is all it’s made out to be.

Still, we did our best for dinner, we got the good cutlery out and we gave the cut crystal glass ware I got from a friend an outing and we sang happy birthday and we’re all healthy so, he could have it a lot worse, I suppose.

Still driving the children crazy by inquiring about their study routines and forcing them outside for exercise.

Friday, March 20, 2020

I was on a half day and went into the office in the morning to pick up some papers and do some work that couldn’t readily be done at home. While I was there, a cleaner came and washed my door handle and light switch three times. Work is pretty deserted and it is very easy to maintain social distance and I cycled in and out. So, ok, I think but it is very hard to know what’s acceptable.

In any event, the children really welcomed the absence of their mother, however temporary. Cunningly, I had arranged for them to be on Skype with their French tutor (currently on lock down in Paris) on Friday morning from 9.30 to 11.00 so they felt my presence, even in my absence.

Daniel, Mr. Waffle and I played tennis in the afternoon. There are three public courts in the park near us. One was occupied by people playing tennis. The other two were occupied by people playing football: four young men in one case and parents with small children in the other. I passively aggressively started playing on the grass verge nearby to no avail. An Italian woman with two young children came up and I said, “There’s no point looking bitter because it won’t make any difference.” The parents then said, “Come on children, we’d better go, we’re getting the evil eye.” And I felt like a heel. Worse, I think I was a heel. The Italian woman then, fearlessly, went up to the four lads, told them it was a tennis court and not for football, and they could play football anywhere and they just meekly packed up and left to play elsewhere. I was very impressed.

My sister contacted me to say that there was a case of Coronavirus on my father’s ward. The story moved around a bit and I am still not clear whether the patient was in the room he was in or not. In any event, he is not being tested as he is asymptomatic which is good, I suppose. We’re all a bit nervous. My sister has been talking to him a bit and she says he is good form. He is not answering my calls. Unclear whether this is because he’s screening my calls or not getting to the phone on time.

Mr. Waffle turned up in the kitchen with our Seanad voting papers and we dutifully voted; a plague is no excuse for forgetting to vote.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Still no word from my father. He’s talking to my sister though and he seems fine. Keep your fingers crossed. I thought we might need to self-isolate after visiting him but apparently not.

Otherwise, not a great deal achieved. Herself has decided to paint the ceiling of her bedroom during the pandemic. We got her paint.

How are things in your pandemic location?

Explore the Midlands

9 March, 2020
Posted in: Ireland, Siblings, Travel

For reasons to do with hotel points which are quite complex, my sister wanted to stay in the Sheraton in Athlone in winter. She and I ended up going there the last weekend in February. She said that I was surprisingly ungrateful for someone getting a free weekend away. In my defence, the midlands are not the most beautiful part of Ireland and nowhere in Ireland is beautiful in a cold, rainy February (fight me, tourist board).

Storm Jorge was raging during our trip and most of the midlands was even more sodden than usual so we decided not to go walking in Boora bog which a number of people have recommended but about which, to be honest, I remain a little unsure.

We had an excellent dinner in Thyme restaurant on Friday night which made me feel considerably more warmly towards the midlands than I had earlier. Then on Saturday, we woke up to lashing rain. We drove up to Roscommon to Strokestown House admiring the flooded fields on the way.

That thing sticking up above the water in the middle of the picture is the top of a gate. Once we got into Roscommon, it started to snow which was actually very pretty though hard to photograph as we speeded by in the car.

Strokestown House has the national famine museum which wasn’t bad but covered a lot of generic material which I would have known already. What was more interesting was the local material which dealt with the murder of Major Denis Mahon in 1847. He inherited Strokestown just before the onset of the famine in 1845 and evicted huge numbers of tenants sending many of them to North America on coffin ships. The museum, does, in fairness, point to how heavily indebted the estate was and the Major’s financial difficulties but the evidence points to a ruthless approach to a starving people.

The house itself is very interesting. It’s a (freezing) big Palladian pile designed by Richard Cassels (a man fond of curving wings see also Leinster House in Dublin and Powerscourt in Wicklow). The last of the family to live there was Olive Hales Pakenham-Mahon who died in 1981 and the house is basically as she left it, shabby furniture and all. She was the great-granddaughter of the murdered man. The young man who was our guide was perhaps not an expert on history or all things Palladian but he had his stock of stories about the house which were enjoyable. I asked him about how the murder was thought of in the town now and he was quite reserved on this point. He did say that everyone in the town knew who had killed the Major and two other people were hanged for it but even 170 odd years later he was strangely reluctant to talk about it. I’d say people have long memories around there.

We drove back via Longford town which is somewhat lacking in nice afternoon tea venues but I have to say we got a lot of tea for a small outlay in the Longford Arms and that was something, I suppose. That evening we had dinner in The Fatted Calf, Athlone’s most famous restaurant, and very nice it was too.

In summary, the midlands in February, better than you might expect. Best of all though was getting to spend the weekend with my sister. We should probably try to do it more often.

Funeral Season Continues

12 November, 2019
Posted in: Ireland, Travel

I was up in Belfast last week for the funeral of the mother of a good friend of mine. Mr. Waffle persuaded me that it would be better to take the train than the car and in many ways it was (no parking problems, environmentally sounder, less tiring etc.). It did mean, however, that I was dependent on a Belfast taxi man to get me from the station to the church for 10 am.

A perfectly correctly behaved cyclist went past us and the taxi driver said, “I hate those bloody cyclists; they keep weaving in and out and disobeying the rules of the road.” Could I let it go? I could not. We had a robust exchange of views on the way to the church. In fact we parked outside the church and I could see the hearse being unloaded and still he wouldn’t let me go. I was forced to concede that perhaps we could all learn something in the hopes of getting out before the coffin was carried into the church.

The funeral itself was a nice one. A lovely church (St. Patrick’s, Donegall Street); nice music and readings; and the parish priest knew the dead lady well and is a close friend of her son’s so gave a really good homily pointing out that she had been baptised in the very same church in 1930 and gone there all her life. The priest was also careful to welcome people of all faiths and none which we never bother with in the South. The fact that the deceased had brought up six children through the Troubles was also touched on. My friend does have some slightly hair-raising stories like when he was a little boy, he ran to get his ball from under a car and everyone started roaring at him and a soldier ran over and grabbed him – there was a bomb, apparently, or at least, a bomb scare.

I then went for a brief wander about Belfast before heading home on the train. It struck me as pretty depressed (although I suppose nowhere is at its best on a rainy Tuesday in November) and a lot less busy than Dublin or even Cork, and quite pricey too. I don’t quite know why that should be – is it the Brexit uncertainty, the absence of an Assembly, the collapse of industry or just maybe November rain? Poor Belfast.

Holidays – Part 3

14 September, 2019
Posted in: Family, Travel

Friday, August 16

My friend’s house was both huge and central. She stayed at home recovering from an early start getting her husband and stepson out to the airport and – once Mr. Waffle had nobly returned the hired car – we ventured out into Helsinki. We took ourselves to the market for lunch.

On the recommendation of our hosts, after lunch we went out to one of the islands in the bay called Suomenlinna (or Sveaborg in Swedish). Herself pointed out that if, at home, you were told that instructions were only available in Swedish, you would say, “How useless!” However, in Finland where the two official languages are Swedish and Finnish, the Swedish translation frequently saved our bacon as you have some hope of working out the Swedish but none at all of guessing what the Finnish might mean. I digress.

The island was rich in military museums and also boasted a submarine which we visited.

There was a lot about Mannerheim and the Winter War and we became reasonably expert. I was dimly aware that the Finns had fought the Russians alone at the start of World War II (or the Continuity War as it is known in Finland). I am now very aware that Russian invaded and the Finns fought back in 1939/40 and basically fought the Russians to a standstill. Apparently the Finns said, “They are so many/and our country is so small/where will we bury them all?” While numbers are a bit difficult to establish the estimate is that the Finns lost 20,000 men and the Russians some 230,000. Herself read a book on it in my friend’s house while we were there and she was a mine of information. She described how the Russians had so many men and were so indifferent to their welfare that they used to send rows of them across the land mined by the Finns. The Russians would walk along in rows and sing songs of the revolution until they got blown up. After a while they stopped using men and started using horses which, apparently, the Finns found very upsetting. Anyhow Mannerheim led the Finns and they loved him. He was very old and had been part of the Russian army in the Russo-Japanese war. He didn’t like the communists much though. Finland was a duchy of Sweden for 700 years and then part of Russian for 100 years before becoming independent in 1917. There was a super guide who told us all about the Winter War, basically the Finns defeated the Soviets and should possibly have bailed out at that point but when the Germans were fighting Russia on the basis of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, they supported Germany. In the longer run this was poor from a tactical point of view and they lost parts of Finland to Russia in the post war settlement. Did you know that the Russians still have Karelia? Who knew? Well, the Finns I suppose. Our guide’s grandparents were evacuated from there to Helsinki and never got back. They had some Russian equipment captured in the Winter War in the museum. Our guide said that a Russian visitor once asked whether they would give it back. Our guide replied, “When you give back Karelia.” Stubborn bunch the Finns with a difficult neighbour.

I said I would make dinner that evening (as there were five of us and only one of our hostess, it only seemed fair). It was a bit on the late side when we got back and I made a raid on the corner shop for dinner ingredients. I got chicken, green beans, potatoes, meringues and ice cream. How much did it come to, gentle reader? €118. I was not the better of it. Herself said it was the first time she had ever seen me check a receipt. I will tell you now, chicken is dear in Finland.

Saturday, August 17

My friend took us to a wonderful outdoor pool right in the centre of town. Herself opined it might have been the best thing we did on holidays. There was a heated pool and a sectioned off bit of baltic water as well as a sauna (obviously). We swam around in the pools for ages admiring the architecture of central Helsinki. I cannot recommend it highly enough. This photo is in no way representative of the extent of the pools or the delightfulness of the location but it’s something.

Encouraged by my friend, I took a big step and left the boys on their own in the pool for a bit. Call me over-protective. I had a grand old chat with the life guard who turned out to be from Gran Canaria which was a bit of a surprise.

Quite a while into our odyssey – I’d tested both pools, I’d showered outside, I’d sat in a deckchair – I put a hand to my waist and I thought, how odd, I didn’t know there was a seam there and then realised, to my utter horror, that I had left my underpants on outside my swimsuit. It turns out it is true, nobody looks at women over 50 particularly not their family who resolutely assured me that they hadn’t noticed at all.

It was our first time testing a sauna with real live Finns inside. Exciting. They get grumpy if you leave the door open we discovered.

We then went to the nearby market for lunch which was successful beyond my wildest dreams as everyone found something for lunch. Although it does not appear so from the photo, the boys were delighted with the classic ketchup, squid and chip combination.

We polished off the day with a wander around looking at art deco buildings and a coffee in the square above the fancy art museum. We didn’t go in but the children climbed on top of it which must be worth some mild art points.

Then back to the house where Mr. Waffle and the children stayed home and my friend and I got dressed up and went out. I have to say, it was lovely to spend so much time with her and have the children get to know her as well. She is my oldest friend and we have so many people and memories in common we spent ages reminiscing and I was quite pleased to have so many of my stories verified in front of the children by a third party.

Alas, we did all manage to get sunburnt though which is an achievement in Helsinki. There I am with herself looking pinkish. Has to be said that no matter what way you slice it, I am at least twice the size of her. Sigh.

Sunday August 18

I signed myself up to the Helsinki scooter app and scooted to mass. I was very proud. Mass was in English (happily) lengthy and crowded and, bizarrely, the missalettes were imported from Dublin.

The electric scooters were a hit with the children also.

In the afternoon, we went to the funfair. Probably not the cheapest outing we’ve ever been on but my friend came too and we sat around and had tea while watching the children undertaking death defying rides and ourselves went on the mildest possible roller coaster.

Monday, August 19

My poor friend went off to the office. Herself and myself went out together. We had breakfast in a local cafe and then took ourselves off to Stockmann (big Department store) where I indulged myself by buying multiple Moomin mugs all of which I got home safely.

We picked up unusual presents in the food market. Reindeer crisps at €8 a packet anyone? My father got the moose pâté. I await his verdict with interest.

In the afternoon we went to the design museum which was not a massive hit with the children other than the chair in the entrance hall which they loved. I quite enjoyed exploring the VR version of the Finnish installation at, if memory serves, the Venice Biennale but they didn’t really go for it. I had a lot of VR on this holiday and, for what it’s worth, I quite liked it when I wasn’t inadvertently walking into walls in the real world.

We went off and had a sustaining cup of tea before heading home for our last evening in Finland. My friend was a really wonderful hostess. She was calm and relaxed and this was more notable as she has a very busy job and she was moving to Brussels the next month (in fact next week will see her in a large house in Brussels which she may yet have the thrill of hosting us in).

Tuesday, August 20

We were up at the crack of dawn for our very early flight. My friend was up to as she was, ironically, flying to the Åland islands that morning. She reported that it was picturesque with great cycling infrastructure. Another time, perhaps.

Meanwhile, we were in very good time for our flight.

Inquiring minds will be delighted to know that I finished the last edition of the LRB which I had brought with me on the plane and stepped off in Dublin unencumbered by any back issues.

We got home to find the cat not displeased to see us; an embarrassingly generous present from our Hiberno-Dutch friends who had very briefly stayed in our house while we were away (they can stay anytime); a copy of a magazine in which Daniel and Michael had their poetry published together with royalties in the form of a €10 book voucher each and, of course, a new issue of the LRB.

Also, we’ve discovered that Mr. Next Door Neighbour’s brother is married to a Finn and lives in Helsinki and so does the brother of the man who cut the boys’ hair on our return home. There’s a lot of it about.

How were your own holidays?

Holidays – Part 2

8 September, 2019
Posted in: Family, Travel

Sunday, August 11

We tested out the sauna in the house. It was fine as these things go. Toasty. The whole set-up was pretty good with the sauna room beside the shower room and a little view from the tiny window of the sauna to the trees outside. I felt like a Finn getting back in touch with nature except that I had to leave once the temperature hit 80 degrees. The rest of the family pronounced the sauna experience tolerable also and we did do it a couple of times but maybe you have to be born to it to really appreciate the sauna experience.

Mr. Waffle and I took a stroll down to the Baltic where we met a mother and son who were swimming away. “Is it cold?” I asked. “Not if you swim every day,” said the mother. “Do you even swim in winter?” I asked. “No, not when it’s frozen,” she said. Fine, right, ok, good point. Apparently there was no snow last winter and it meant that the surface of the ice on the water was so smooth that you could skate from the inlet right out to the open sea and play ice hockey all winter long.

We went and had a look at the local church which reminded me a bit of some of the churches we saw in Denmark last year. A nice woman inside told us that the village where we were staying (Rymättylä – very rural) used to be a stop on the route from Stockholm to St. Petersburg and monied travellers paid for the church. Very nice too with an appealing graveyard as well.

We went into Turku for mass that evening. It was in English. The catholic population of Finland is small and mostly migrant although, I noticed that the celebrant seemed to be Finnish. Apparently all of Finland is one diocese so catholicism is a bit of a minority sport. This led to a long mass which always seems to be the way when catholics are a minority.

We had wandered around Turku before mass and been a bit underwhelmed. It was drizzly and cold and everything was closed. We decided to go for pizza after mass and found a pizzeria which closed at 7 – it was then 6.55. Why, why would you close your pizzeria at 7? A nice random Finnish man took pity on us and directed us towards a local pizza chain. It was the most depressing experience. The place was horrible and the pizza was dear and bad. I ordered the pizza Berlusconi with reindeer meat. It was developed in response to Berlusconi’s comments about Finnish food. If you ask me, it’s not exactly a riposte.

We shook the dust of Turku from our feet and went home. We had the comfort of beautiful views as we made our way back to our island home.

Monday August 12

Inspired by the hardy Finns, we went swimming in the Baltic. Poor Michael found it just too cold and Daniel slid in very slowly from rocks on the edge of the water but it was quite enjoyable and we got to have a sauna afterwards like real Finns.

Scarred by our trip to Turku we decided to have a mild outing to Naantali about 20 minutes away. It’s a seaside town where the Finnish president has his holiday home. And seriously, why wouldn’t he? It was the most charming little place and I was utterly entranced. Sadly, herself was feeling a bit tired and stayed back at the house and although Mr. Waffle and the boys tried to enter into my enthusiasm, I could tell that their hearts weren’t in it. I loved every aspect of it, from the marina to the cute wooden house lined streets, the adorable shops sellling (holy mother of God expensive) tourist tat and the lovely church.

After the wild excitements of Naantali we had a quiet evening at home playing some of the many board games Michael had brought along with a steely determination to spend time with his family playing them.

Tuesday, August 13

We all took a morning dip in the Baltic. I can recommend this.

We had considered going to Turku that afternoon but I was still a bit scarred after our Sunday experience so we went back to Naantali instead. It was still charming but, I have to concede, it is small and I am not sure that its charms really warranted a second day. Herself was charmed though and we did get inside the church and the local museum.

Some of the churches had little miniature ships hanging from the ceiling. On inquiry as to why, I was told that there is a lot of fishing in Finland. I don’t know. I’m not entirely convinced.

I always have a soft spot for a local museum and this one was appealing in a mild way as it was an old house done up as it would have been 100 years ago. The exhibition of wallpaper through the ages was hard going though, even for me.

For dinner that evening, Mr. Waffle succeeded in making Yorkshire pudding and it would be fair to say that this was something of a highlight for the boys.

Wednesday, August 14

We had a quiet day at home as I put some serious effort in trying to get through a mountain of back issues of the London Review of Books which had been piling up in the hall for a good six months due to pressure of other business. I took them all on holidays and swore they would not come home. I’m not sure that they are designed to be read in quite this way but never mind.

We had a swim in the Baltic and later herself and myself went to look at a local junk shop. It was surrounded by houses getting rid of things (Kirppis – in case you need to know). The kind of stuff that sits in attics for years. But the cost! When I saw the IKEA festive biscuit tin on sale for €7, I knew that there would be absolutely nothing I would consider buying. Herself invested heavily in copy of Jaana 1975 which featured a story on the new Miss World who was previously Miss Finland at ludicrous expense. The vendor was able to tell us about Miss Finland’s grandchildren so she’s clearly still a big figure locally.

I said to herself that we might as well have a look at the church since it was nearby and she observed, “Oh I see, it’s like the trains at the station, one train can conceal another.” Anyhow, she was spared as the church was closed.

Myself and Mr. Waffle went for a walk leaving the children to their own devices which was quite pleasant for all parties.

Thursday, August 15

I couldn’t help pointing out to the children that in Italy this is Ferragosto, the height of the summer holidays but in Finland the children were back to school and the countryside felt quite autumnal. This insight was greeted with indifference and we went for a last swim before packing up and heading for Helsinki.

On our way to Helsinki, we stopped in Turku for a couple of hours. Oh regret. Although Turku on Sunday night had been utterly miserable, we had sadly misjudged it. It was lovely; we walked along the riverbank. We had a really good lunch in the centre and there was loads to see. I wished fervently we had gone back earlier.

We all went on a compulsory trip to the cathedral.

There was a thing signed by Mannerheim. I cannot believe I had never heard of Mannerheim before visiting Finland. I feel very ignorant. He’s big in Finland.

After this, we split forces. Herself was really keen to go to the modern art museum and the rest of us wanted to go to the castle (ok, the boys didn’t want to but they definitely wanted to more than they wanted to go to the modern art museum). I felt a bit daring setting her off to find the museum using Google maps on my phone but Mr. Waffle pointed out that she had been around Paris on her own and she was probably alright in a small university city in Finland. Fine. She was fine. We went to the castle of which I have no pictures (did it even happen then?) as herself had my phone. Mr. Waffle took a couple but it’s just not the same. We galloped around the castle a bit as Mr. Waffle began to worry that we would be late for my friend in Helsinki. “She’s known me all my life,” I reassured him, “she will expect me to be late.” He was not comforted.

We collected herself from the museum where she had a great time after some initial difficulties gaining entry due to not fitting readily into any of their categories of visitors (too old for a child; no card for a student; too young for an adult and unaccompanied by a family). Herself announced that she lay awake in bed last night wondering who was in charge in Algeria and that this is the kind of thing she had been suffering from since the loss of her phone. What to say. We sped on to Helsinki. I texted my friend that we might be late. She was delightfully unconcerned. I noticed that St Petersburg was signposted which was a bit weird but not for the Finns, I suppose.

We arrived safely in Helsinki and our hosts were ready for us with dinner and lots of beds which were both very welcome. One of them gave up a bed for us which was particularly virtuous but he and his father were leaving for Dublin in the morning so they assured us their sacrifice would be short-lived. It was noble all the same.

Part 3 detailing our Helsinki stay is coming. Stay tuned for further Finnish excitement.

Holidays – Part 1

7 September, 2019
Posted in: Family, Travel

Wednesday, August 7

We booked flights on a Wednesday because they were cheaper. I was a bit displeased as I would have liked to be away slightly longer but on balance, we decided it was worth it.

We entered into complex arrangements with our neighbours in relation to feeding their hens and our cat. I always feel slightly upstaged by their ambitious holidays However, after the year when they climbed Kilimanjaro, I felt that they could hardly do better. “Where are you going this year?” I asked. “The Galapagos and Easter Island.”

I digress, our flight was at 9.25 in the morning which wasn’t too bad. We were a small bit late leaving home due to a fruitless search for the Brett Easton Ellis book herself was reading which was nowhere to be found. Then we missed the turn off for the long term car park – another 10 minutes gone; then the bus to the airport took ages to come. The upshot of it was 9.50 before we got to the airport and check-in was closed. I had a look at the hard-hearted Ryanair woman behind the desk and decided that resorting to tears would be utterly useless. In fairness, we’d probably not have made it to the gate in time at that stage. Alas and indeed alack. Mr. Waffle was heroic. Though grumpy when made to be late by his family now that the hour had actually come and our combined indifference to his punctuality concerns had made us miss the wretched flight, he was pretty zen and booked and paid for another flight that evening with unimpaired amiability (so much for economical Wednesday flights). I was filled with guilt. My friend in Helsinki sent me this and I could not but concede that it was apt:

Herself in correspondence with her friend told her about the missed flight and her friend said, “I didn’t know that happened to real people.” Fair. Although I am forced to point out that subsequently her friend’s father fell while refilling the car with petrol when they were on holidays in Norway and broke his hip. That doesn’t happen much to real people either, I can tell you. Friend was round yesterday and she says he is up and hobbling about and keen to spread a story that his injury was sustained climbing dramatic Norwegian mountains. After this exchange, the Princess’s phone died. I was pleased and quite surprised to see how well she managed without it for the next fortnight.

Our re-booked flight was for that evening so we took ourselves off to Malahide castle for a consolatory breakfast and the kids re-acquainted themselves with the playground where they had not been for several years. I bought a new anorak. It was actually surprisingly pleasant given the context.

Then we went home. Our cleaner had been hard at work on the house all morning and, cravenly, we hid in the car when we saw her leaving on her bike, too mortified to explain our idiocy to her. She already has a pretty low opinion of us already. We found that she had, as instructed, completely cleaned out the fridge. Alas.

We got in some food. We found Brett Easton Ellis misfiled with the school books and mid-afternoon we turned around and went back out to the airport allowing ample time to check in.

Of course, then, instead of arriving in Tallinn at lunch time, it was nearly 1 in the morning and we were all a bit tired and sorry for ourselves but we got there. It was some comfort that a taxi from the airport – for the five of us – only cost €13.40.

Thursday, 8 August

We woke up in Tallinn as planned. We stayed in a lovely Airbnb in the old city with the mandatory sauna – big feature in the Baltic, lads. The old town is very touristy and there weren’t really any shops other than ones selling souvenirs – amber, trolls, linen and knitwear are all big. And I imagine that, if you are from Tallinn you might not love the way that your old city centre has become essentially a tourist zone but we were tourists and we absolutely loved it. There were no cars in the city centre and it was small, clean (remarkably clean) and seemed very safe. We were able to let the children wander on their own which we all enjoyed.

My friend who lives in Helsinki and with whom we were to stay later in the holiday was actually in Tallinn with her family for a couple of days. They were familiar with the lie of the land and we met them for lunch which was very nice. Their accommodation featured a rat trap in the entrance hall with smelly corpses and, though my friend was stoic, I was quite glad that this was not a feature of our place as it might have tipped me over the edge.

We did mildly touristy things as we were in the city centre and it wasn’t very effortful.

Some of our number felt that the climb up to the Orthodox church wasn’t worth the effort but I liked it.

Definite highlight was having an afternoon snack of dumplings in a cafe in the square. Not your traditional afternoon snack but welcome all the same. Mr. Waffle has recreated them at home. Huge success.

I did not expect this at all but the food in Tallinn is excellent. Really good and cheap too. It was a Hanseatic league town (in the course of our visit, I frequently wished I had paid a bit more attention to a podcast on the Hanseatic league which I listened to earlier this year) and a cross-roads for trade and spices and even in Soviet times it was very popular for food with Russians and eastern Europeans. Who knew?

After dinner we sat up on our rooftop terrace and admired the view. Pretty good all round.

Friday, August 9

I gave herself my phone to investigate possible breakfast locations. Her own phone had broken and I was surprised and pleased by how well she managed for the next fortnight without a phone; although she was forced to read every book we’d brought with us and even finish “Catch 22” which she has been reading for months with no apparent enjoyment.

She came good and we went to a lovely place leaving her brothers behind in bed. The lure of a good cinnamon bun was insufficient to tempt them out. Their mistake. While herself went off for a wander in the market and her brothers stayed in bed, Mr. Waffle and I went on a tour of Reval (did you know that Tallinn was always Reval and only changed its name to Tallinn 100 years ago? There’s a whole world out there). The tour was pretty good – a bit gimmicky but interesting all the same. I wish I had prodded the boys out of bed as there was tons of audience participation which, Michael at least, would have loved.

After lunch at home we went to a hotel which apparently does a very good tour involving KGB spying equipment. I say apparently as we had failed to book and there were no tours we could get on until the following day when, alas, we were leaving. We went for a restorative cup of tea in a nice cafe which herself had unearthed in her internet researches and then decided to go to the museum of occupation instead. It was a half hour trek away under the merciless Estonian sun and we arrived red faced and exhausted. The museum was interesting enough in its own way. A lot of interactive stuff, including a mock up of a soviet era flat where you could look in all the cupboards and a VR headset which allowed you to furnish your flat from a relatively limited range of options.

Then back home to play board games with Michael who had brought several and was determined to get value for his efforts.

We went out for dinner in a lovely Italian restaurant by the city walls recommended by our friends. There was an Italian waiter and it was a relief to both of us to speak in Italian. He said his Estonian was only middling. I sympathise.

Saturday, August 10

We said goodbye to Tallinn with some regret. We would not at all have minded another couple of days there. As we were leaving I saw that the former KGB interrogation cells – now a museum – were across the road from our Airbnb. Possibly for the best to have missed that.

We took the ferry across to Helsinki. The ferry ride was pleasant and only took about 3 hours. The ferry was enormous and very similar to the ferry we used to get to France; the fact that the latter was a Baltic ferry before being purchased by Irish Ferries may explain that. Aside from the explosion of the open jar of jam which one of us had packed in our bags in Tallinn, the journey was uneventful.

We presented ourselves at Helsinki railway station to pick up our hired car. We weren’t in any rush but we should have been. We turned up at 4.29 and the woman behind the desk said, “We close at 4. We gave you until 4.30, if you hadn’t turned up we were going to lock up.” The Finns, telling it like it is. In fairness, we were very pleased to get into our car and herself opined for the first but not the last time on the holiday that the Finns had been unfairly maligned as being on the surly side.

We got a sat nav after our immensely positive experience with last year’s built in sat nav which Mr. Waffle absolutely loved and we had christened Sybil because, you know, it was good at prophecy, it sounded a bit like a Sybil and we’re notiony. The new sat nav was not good particularly on the way out of Helsinki. “Maybe we should christen it, to make it feel better, what might we call it?” “Unsybil,” said herself from the back.

We got safely to our island Airbnb south of Turku which itself is in the South of Finland. This part of Finland is very island rich. We have friends who live on the Åland islands which we thought were nearby and thought we might visit them. Spoiler alert, we did not, it’s a five hour ferry ride and ferries are irregular.

The house was across a small rural road from a lake but access was not easy as all access to the lake was via neighbours’ gardens and they didn’t seem to take to tourists tripping through.

The house was lovely with most of the bedrooms downstairs and a big room upstairs so that it felt like living in a tree house.

More soon. Hold on to your hats etc.