FINALLY FINLAND: FINALLY
So, that was just about it.

After the extraordinary few days up at the country house, I came back to Helsinki with Paola and Maija and spent the next couple of days pottering around the city doing nothing in particular.


On one day, I did try to repay even a little of the Rydman's incredible kindness by whipping up an Indian meal for them and a few of their friends. It seemed to go down well, but it was the very least I could do.


And, then it hit me. The day after I cooked for them, I awoke in my hostel bed to find that I could barely move. My body, after nearly three hard months on the road had decided to shut down. I had a temperature, my eyes and nose were running and I ached all over. These things are, as you may imagine, rarely a good sign. So, I stayed in bed and watched Finland’s rather bizarre TV channels all day as I dipped in and out of a fever filled sleep.



By the next day, I was feeling somewhat recovered and certainly hungry enough o get out of bed, shower and make my way to the market square for a plate of fried sprats and some berries I had been eyeing hungrily on a previous wander.





I had a quiet and very pleasant supper with Paola that evening and went to bed early in anticpipation of a 4.30am wake up call for my cab to the airport.

It had, as you can read, been quite a journey. Japan, Hong Kong, China, Mongolia, Russia and Finland. Some memorable moments and some I would like to forget (oh the horror of those Chinese toilets) and some memorable people who I know I shall stay in touch with for a long time to come.

I had only a few days in London before I headed out on the next stage of EAT MY GLOBE to the USA and South America. But more of that later

FINALLY FINLAND: A FEAST FROM A PRINCESSA
The next morning, Henry and Niko had threatened to take me out hunting and I promised that, if I was awake at 6am when they were leaving, I would join them.

I opened my eyes at about 8am pleased to find out that they had not bothered to raise me from my slumbers. My makeshift bed was incredibly warm and comfortable and I suspect that I would have turned their own guns on them if they had tried to make me leave it at that point.


Still, while the rest of the house slumbered, I toddled out to the sauna and washed myself in the water that was still warm from the night before and,after a breakfast of karelian pies, got ready for my big day.


The “big day” as it turned out involved me being deposited back at Pertii’s house to spend the morning with his wife, Kitti, or as she is known by one and all “ The Princessa”


I can, hand on heart, say that The Princessa is one of the most remarkable women I have ever encountered. I got a taster the night before, when we drove Pertii back to his house to find The Princessa and her daughter, Joanna busy preparing some food for a church social. Not, in this case a few sandwiches, but rows upon rows of tarts and pies.


Those of you who have ever read The Darling Buds Of May will know what I mean when I say that Pertii and The Princessa have an element of Ma & Pa Larkin about them, Their house always seems to be filled with people and the incredible smells of Princessa’s cooking seem to permanently fill the air.


That morning when I arrived, she was already hard at work preparing for a Sunday meal to which eleven or so people had been invited. First though, a little tour of their house, which, again, is like something out of a storybook with every nook and every cranny filled with stuff that she has collected. She looked shamefaced when she admitted to being a bit of a hoarder, but their home is a magical place with books tumbling from shelves and knick knacks littering every spare inch of mantelpiece.


The cellar in particular was a wonder to behold. Fileld with jar upon jar of cordials, jams and chutneys joined by birds hanging in one corner and spare pots and pans in another.



The Princessa is as close to perpetual motion as I have ever met and, as we talked she cooked. She ,of course, gave me something to eat and some fresh ginger and rhubarb juice that she had made that morning.

First we talked about the wild ducks that she was going to cook for lunch. Pertii took me outside to help him singe the last of the feathers off them before The Princessa stuffed them with apples, and browned them in a little butter before adding in a little stock and cream and allowing them to cook slowly.



Then we turned to the mushrooms which she was going to produce in three ways, pickled, in a salad with apples, cream and onions and cooked in cream as we had eaten the night before.

At this point, she was going to get really busy, so I left her to her own devices and headed out with Pertii and the Rydman’s who had joined us by now, to go and do a bit more foraging on the hills adjacent to the farm. I have to admit to doing precious little foraging and much eating of the lygon berries that were strewn everywhere. Amazing little things, tart but delicious and holding a special place in the hearts of the fins because of the part they played in keeping people alive in times of post war famine.

The laws in Finland, or at least this part, say that anyone is allowed to forage on any piece of land within a certain distance of the owners property. You need permission to hunt, but otherwise, it is open house.

A few buckets full of precious fungi and berries later and we headed back the house where dinner was about to be served. First, however, Pertii, as head of the household gave a speech in the form of an extract from a book. I did not understand a word, of course, but was told that he spoke about the respect man should have for the land that provides his food. Hats off to that is all I can say.


And, hats off to The Princessa who proceeded to fill a table with food until, I am pretty sure, I could see it sagging under the weight of the ducks, the mushrooms (three ways remember, there will be a test later) salads, a carpaccio made of elk, poached fish and home made breads.




In a traditional manner, we went with separate plates, first for fish dishes and then for meat.

It was all good. In fact, it was all wonderously tasty and I went back to the table more times than good manners dictated, but I didn’t care. This was the kind of meal you did not think existed anymore. Food that tasted like it was meant to.

A prime example was a bowl of potatoes. Martina had told me these were good, but she was being too modest by far. These are easily the best potatoes I have ever eaten, small and sweet needing nothing on them at all. No salt, no butter, nothing. I ate well over twenty of them and kept sneaking back to get another finally popping the last one into my mouth as I helped clear up.

After the meal, we retired to the drawing room and had tea with the merest slice of apple tart to keep the hunger pangs at bay.


By now it was late afternoon and it was time for people to head home including Henry and Niko who had to head back to the city.

That left me alone with Maija and Paola which was just fine by me and didn’t seem to phase them too unduly.

We returned to their own house where I was given orders to get the sauna going so I could take first dibs before they did.

I sat on my own in the increasing heat as I fuelled the furnace and took the time to ponder on what had happened on the journey so far. It had been an incredible experience and I had met some incredible people who had displayed astonishing hospitality.

But, I can truly say, that I have never met two people like Pertii and The Princessa before.

And, on that note, I headed off to my deep, comfortable couch to sleep the sleep of the righteous. I am not ashamed to admit, I dreamed of potatoes.

FINALLY FINLAND: WITH A LITTLE ELK FROM MY FRIENDS
I did not really have time to think about the fact that I would probably never set eyes on most of my travelling companions ever again. With hindsight, I am sure some of them will be absolutely thrilled with that arrangement.

I had to be up at 5.30 the next morning to catch my train across the border from Russia to Finland.

I had my ticket, at last and, after a brief cab ride, found myself on my own in a first class compartment for the easy peasy five hour train ride.

Border crossing was a cinch and, after the oddities of border crossing in China, Mongolia and Russia, just waving my EU passport at the Finnish immigration officer was a breath of fresh air. A sort of "welcome back to Europe" if you will.

I passed the time by watching a couple of movies on my computer and, by the time and aging Bruce Willis had saved the world once again, it was time for me to get off and meet my latest new chums.


It may surprise a lot of people, given my ability to annoy, that I do actually have some people in this life who profess a certain level of affection for me. One of them is my rather splendid Finnish friend, Martina Rydman whom I met when I pointed out to her that coming into the gym and doing bugger all every day was a total waste of time.

Despite that unlikely beginning, she has become one of my closest, if most annoying, friends and was determined that I head to Finland when I announced plans for EAT MY GLOBE.

So, she recruited her poor unsuspecting family too and, there I was, standing outside Helsinki station in the pouring rain trying to find her sister, Paola.

Despite the fact that most of Helsinki’s streets had been closed down for some international “no car” day, the ever determined Paola had managed to get close enough for me to lug “Big Red” over to her car and get out of the rain before I was totally drenched.

A quick detour to my hostel to check in and drop off my luggage and we were soon speeding up on Finland’s almost deserted motorways towards the Rydman’s splendid little country pile about one hundred and forty miles to the north of the capital.


Unsurprisingly, I was pretty exhausted by this stage, but was perked up immeasurably by the smells of pea and ham soup bubbling agreeably on the hob and within about two minutes, I was made to feel entirely one of the family and was headfirst into my second bowl of very necessary pottage.


I could, by this point, easily have slept until my name was changed by deed poll to Rip Van Majumdar, but the Rydman’s had other plans for me.

Plans which included me putting on a pair of Wellington boots. Now, I am not sure about you, but I don’t have much call to ever put on a pair of wellies and certainly can’t think of a reason why I would own any. The Rydman’s have hundreds of pairs and I was soon standing outside the house, resplendent in a borrowed thick sweater, thick Finnish walking socks and the aforementioned gumboots. Personally, I think I looked a bit simple, but they all made sympathetic noises at my obvious discomfort.



The reasons for my new found use of rubber were two fold. First of all, we were about to head into the woods near their house to go in search of the wild mushrooms which proved to be so much of a staple in the local diet and, secondly, and even more fun for me, we were about to go hunting.

In my original plans, I had wanted to join the locals during the elk hunting season. A season, during which, I was told, they kill over 50,000 of the massive beasts. But, by a disagreeable twist of fate, the short season for this happened to coincide with my trip to Kansas city for the American Royal BBQ competition where just about as many animals would be cooked.

So, I had to settle for wild duck hunting which was just fine by me.


Not everybody thinks that hunting is “just fine” and I can certainly understand why. In the UK, much of the shooting I have encountered is the sterile execution of thousands of birds for sport with precious few of them ending up in anybody’s stomach. I would be as anti that as anybody. If all you want is a target, then shoot clays, not something which had a mom and a pop.

On the other hand, the hunting in Finland is quite different. Here, they shoot to kill and kill to eat. Wild birds, elk, deer, rabbit are all, er, fair game and all for the pot. I don’t have and never will have a problem with that. It would be slightly disingenuous given how much I like to eat the end result.

But first, the altogether less controversial matter of foraging for mushrooms and berries as we spent a good hour rummaging around on the forest floor looking for clumps of the incredible wild chanterelles and lygonberries.




We soon had buckets of the mushrooms which Maija, Martina’s mother had promised to cook up for us that evening. I could hardly wait, but it was, by now time for me to go off with Henry and chum, Niko and to meet Pertii.

Pertii is one of those men who you didn’t believe existed anymore. Literally, King of the Hill, he owned the over 125 hectares of land on which we were foraging and has been living off the abundance of the land for most of his nearly seventy five years.

We split into groups, Niko and Pertii went off in one direction and I followed Henry in another. I think we got the bum deal. I stood a respectful distance, as I always tend to from people with guns and Henry set himself up and made like a wild duck with a little kazoo type thing designed just for that purpose.



As the sun began to fall, it got progressively colder and I became progressively more grateful for the warm clothes I had borrowed.

We, much to Henry’s disgust, caught nothing, not even a cold. But, as I came closer to him ( after he had broken his gun, of course) he said

“the others got a couple”

How did he know? I pondered on some instinctive method of communication that men of the woods have developed after being in these environs for so long. Or, perhaps it was a calling system developed for the purpose handed down from generation to generation.

“oh no” Henry explained, digging out his Nokia “Niko just texted me". So there you go. Doh.

And, Niko and Pertii had indeed bagged a couple of beauties which would be ready for the pot after a couple of day’s hanging.



By now, it was pitch black so, after dropping Pertii back at his farm (more of this in the next post) we headed back to our own place to indulge in two more Finnish traditions.

First up, a sauna. Much like the one in Lake Baikal in Russia, this involved stripping down, sitting in an increasingly hot room for about half an hour and then throwing oneself in the nearby lake. Despite the fact that the temperature of the water had dropped to “for fuck’s sake” levels, it was a great way to clean up after the day and I was, by this time, starving.

So, when I saw Niko and Henry nailing a bit of fish to a plank of wood, I was intrigued to say the least.

Loimu, is, apparently a traditional Finnish dish made from, well you heard me, nailing a bit of fish to a bit of wood and dangling it over a fire.





It doesn’t sound so promising, but, when you have fish of the quality of the salmon being prepared and the glowing embers of a fire, the results can only be good and they were. The fish cooked through in the residual heat of the dying fire until it is medium which leaves it juicy and brings out all those bubbly salmon oils that are suipposed to do us so much good.



With a big pot of those mushrooms cooked down in cream and a local beer, it was the perfect meal and the perfect end to a day that I had been looking forward to for a long time. I kept on telling myself there had to be a good reason I knew Martina and, here it was.


The house was full, so my resting place had been made up on a large and deeply luxurious couch. It too was perfect and, as soon as my head………… Well you can guess the rest.