Bodhi Bum

So another day, another dollar. And so the world turns. And so goes the crazy days of my life.

Another week finished, another country conquered. Another whole wack of frequent flyer miles to my name. And where, pray tell, does this fine Saturday find me in the great wild world. Well, I know last week I said that I was domestically bound within Germany to the fine city of cheese. Make that Bremen. But as things turn out, and plans get dashed by the powers that be, life doesn’t always go according to plan.

So this week I’m Finnish. Or Finished as the clever Finish people like to play with their puns. What was the response to my innocent question today at lunch, of “Are you Finished?”. Nothing other than “Yes, I am Finish. Where are you from?”. The table of Finns seemed to get quite the kick out of that clever bit of word-play. I think my lack of enthusiasm offended them somewhat.

So I’m back in Helsinki, if you haven’t caught on by now. To recap my week and give some idea of how things go around here. Sunday I caught the flight out of Frankfurt as planned, taking my usual few hours of luxury in the Business Lounge with the free cashews. Ok, one sec. I just have to say that Lufthansa Business Class has really let me down here. I don’t mind substandard service, but when you replace the Heineken bottles with alcohol free versions and don’t tell the customers it can lead to very humiliating circumstances. Needless to say I was rather insulted when after my third beer, being rather impressed by my tolerance, I noticed the fine print. I'm sure the lounge attendants got quite the little laugh at my expense.

Anyways, after my flight across the German countryside I touched down in Bremen and checked into the Marriott. Extremely nice hotel and I was looking forward to a week of comfort in a first class hotel. Of course that wasn’t gonna happen. Next morning I show up at the Bremen office raring to go and what do I get? “Aah, who are you?” says the nice German VP. Turns out I’m the only one left in the dark when plans get changed. So here I am in at work on time Monday morning. Problem is I'm in the wrong freakin country.

So forward on two hours and I’m sitting in the Bremen airport waiting on a last minute flight back out. It was a great visit. I think I saw the local McDonalds and that was about it. So back on the Boeing and watching the German countryside backtrack as I savour my usual red wine and Business Class chocolaty treat. Touch down in Munich 74 minutes later. Of course exactly 11 days too late to catch Oktoberfest, and with exactly minus 12 minutes to catch my connecting flight. But like these things usually go, my mad dash across Munich airport is met by a crowd of slightly perturbed Germans waiting on a delayed flight. My next 45 minutes find me in the nearest pub enjoying a welcome beer with a group of Iraqi oil workers (well, they were German but just returned from Iraq, and strangely enough heading back in six weeks) and a lone Brit just come back from 8 months in Siberia. He seemed particularly thirsty for some reason. Funny the people you meet in airport bars. So back on the plane and back north across Germany for the third time in two days, do a direct fly over Berlin in the dark which was spectacular
(I had visions of American bombers pounding the city), and finally touch down in Helsinki for the second time in a month at just before midnight. Needless to say I was glad to reach my hotel and hit the bed.

So two countries, three hotels, and four airports in two days. I think that’s gotta be some kinda record for me. But all’s well that ends well. I was back into work Tuesday morning, happy that I was actually in the right city this time, and quickly down to work. Flash forward through four days of toil, and here you find me enjoying a well deserved day off (well, I only had to work four hours this morning so that’s a day off for me).

I had an interesting question posed to me several times over the past few weeks which has got me thinking somewhat. It usually comes about in the course of conversation with regular people, and by regular I mean the white picket fence, mini-van in the driveway, 2.5 kids and a dog, 9 to 5 suburban crowd. The reason behind the question usually stems from the utter inability of some people to imagine a life so completely foreign and devoid of stability and personal connections. It's seems strange to me sometimes how people place such emphasis on personal belongings and absolute stability. Like they have to lock themselves away in their homes in protection against adversity and change. Not that there's anything wrong with this way of seeing things. To each his own, and if you need rigid routine in your life to give you a sense of well-being then more power to you and your little piece of sanity in the world. That's not me. Lock me away in a little piece of the American dream with a house to call my own domain, and you'll catch me climbing out the bathroom window.

But in all fairness, people do inquire as to what it's like to live wholly on the road with absolutely no physical attachments (behond my suitcase and laptop) and they really seem to inquire with a genuine sense of interest. Like they really do want to know what it's like. And I always get the feeling I'm inadvertently feeding some inner fantasy I think almost everyone has of just dropping all of life's demands and just hitting the open road. I think many people have this idealistic, almost romantic view of what life could be like. And when I tell them I've bought a villa in Thailand and plan on making that my homebase in a few months, that one usually gets quite the starry eyed reaction.

But then reality usually sets back in and up comes the inevitable question. "How long can you actually do this?". And that's it. How long can someone actually live a life like this. How long is the usual career? 25 years? 30? 30 years of life on the road I think will leave you a very well travelled, but very lonely old man. Also very wealthy mind you, but still damn lonely. So what is the answer. Well, in all honesty you have to go back to my last comment. Money. I don't plan on working for the next 20 or 30 years. Hell, I don't plan on working for the next 10. I'm putting in five or six years of seeing the world, taking full advantage of travelling on some else's dime. And banking every cent that I make. And then I'm dropping out of society and retiring to some tropical island somewhere to live out my days eating grapes and terrorizing the local native female population who just happen to share my island paradise. But yeah, in all truth, this is a fantastic way to spend a couple years travelling the world and making money. Why do you think many guys join the army. To see the world, right? I personally am glad that I can sleep in my nice hotel room and not have to share a bunk with thirty guys in the leaky bowels of a battle cruiser. And I don't have to go to Iraq.

I always thought Santa was resident in the North Pole, but I've been aggresively corrected on that observation by the locals. Seems these Finns are pretty passionate about their Santa. You'd think they invented him or something. Well, actually, I think they did. I'd go exploring for him, but Southern Finland is cold enough for me. And I call myself a Canadian. I think I've been living in the tropics for too long and I've gone soft.

So this weekend I get a breather and don't have to fly out on Sunday for a new country. I get to stay here in Helsinki at least until Wednesday, and then back on a plane for God knows where.
They tell me early next week where I'm going, as they obviously like to keep me in the dark. As long as they tell me where to go before-hand this time, and not after I've flown to the wrong country. I don't mind travelling, but there are limits.

Next report from... ??? You and me both will just have to wait and see.