Flight X

As a younger man I did a fair bit of travelling.

I once found myself in Helsinki airport with five hours to kill before my flight. Now as anyone who has spent time in one will testify airports are routinely dull places in which to kill time. Add to this that I had finished the book I was reading on an earlier flight and the batteries on my walkman had died and things were looking rather grim. I therefore decided that my options were

1. Retire to the bar to drink beer and smoke cigarettes
2. Go and find a place to eat
3. Visit the duty free shop
4. Go and explore

Each option was considered in turn with my thinking being…

1. Five hours in an airport bar = drunk passenger and the possibility of being declined access to my flight thus necessitating an overnight stay and the purchase of a new ticket the following morning. Risky and expensive.
2. Airport food is generally shite and prohibitively expensive so this was quickly ruled out
3. As I was already carrying the maximum permitted allowance of cigarettes and I don’t wear aftershave or have anyone to buy perfume for this one was also ruled out.
4. This seemed the cheapest option and who knows what may turn up…

How prophetic this thought turned out to be. After navigating my way around the corridors and concourses past restrooms and prayer rooms I found myself in front of a door labelled sauna/massage parlour. Being rather younger and a little naïve I immediately concluded that Finland was a crazier country than I thought. After all at home sauna/massage parlour is a euphemism for brothel which means that the “masseuse” would clearly offer “extras”.

Confused and somewhat intrigued by this state of events I elected to retire to the bar and ponder this quandary. After a couple of glasses of the local brew (Lappin Kulta) I decided to retrace my steps and pay the masseuse a visit purely in the interests of research you understand. It was my intention to play the ignorance card if things got out of hand (or should that be if things got taken IN hand?)

After sheepishly knocking the door I was greeted by a stunning Norse maiden who clearly was no crack whore. In perfect English she beckoned me in and enquired as to my needs. After staring at her blankly for what felt like an age she took pity on me and listed the services available. I elected to have the “house special”.

I emerged about an hour later exhausted but felling like a $1,000,000.

I am delighted to report that nothing untoward occurred. After a relaxing steam in the sauna the young lady showed me to a table where I lay down and allowed her to knock seven shades of shite out of me for thirty minutes before relieving me of nothing more than a few foreign notes.