Tur­ning to Fin­land

The har­dest way to go home

I can hard­ly be­lie­ve it, but I am de­fi­ni­te­ly on my way home. The most fea­red tun­nel near Smørf­jord, Skarv­ber­get­tun­nel, has be­en ta­med. In for­mer ti­mes the road was not tar­red and there was no ven­ti­la­ti­on and not a sin­gle light for about 2700 me­ters.

I had had to go this way twi­ce had I not ta­ken the fer­ry boat from Ham­mer­fest to Ma­gerø­ya. From Rus­se­nes to the ca­pe the road is a dead end. I spend one night in the youth hos­tel of Lak­selv, one of the most im­pres­sing hos­tels I have ever seen, and drive on to Ka­ri­gas­nie­mi, whe­re I pass the bor­der to Fin­land.

To me, Fin­land is the gre­at di­s­ap­point­ment of this trip. Not that the Finn­jet fer­ry to Ger­ma­ny is ful­ly boo­ked in the end. It is the at­mo­s­phe­re that is stran­ge. There is hard­ly any chan­ce to camp out­si­de of cam­ping si­tes. Most land is pri­va­te ground and, con­tra­ry to Swe­den, you are not wel­co­me to camp there. And there is al­ways a fo­rest bet­ween the road and the la­kes - so you won't see any for mi­les though being ve­ry near. And the sce­ne­ry is ex­tre­me­ly mo­no­to­nous all along the way.

The cam­pings are re­al­ly good, the best I've ever seen. There is wood and a fire place, hot sho­wers, sto­ves and other use­ful stuff. Af­ter 100 mi­les this is qui­te re­so­na­ble. And the wea­ther is not ma­de to make me smi­le. There is rain on the air and one day, near So­dankylä, I have to ride 70 km through pou­ring rain. I ta­ke a day off to dry my clo­thes and to re­wri­te the dia­ry.

Ro­va­nie­mi is a town near the po­lar circle. Af­ter 3760 km I cross this li­ne for the se­cond ti­me. Now I am hea­ding south. I spend the night at the cam­ping of Ro­va­nie­mi and quit ear­ly in the mor­ning. I fol­low the bu­sy ri­ver cal­led Ke­mi­jo­ki, pass by Ou­lu and soon I find my­self on the way to Hel­sin­ki. The wea­ther is im­pro­ving.