It had taken me all day, but here it was: the final station on the Länsimetro. It's very similar to its brothers, of course: island platform, red and white stripe, and a light show above your head.
Does it matter when it works, though? Does it matter when what you get is thirteen stations that shine with efficiency, glamour, style? It certainly didn't bother me. Disembarking at Lauttasari was as uplifting an experience as the other twelve stations, a step into a positive future. Helsinki's Western Extension was a wonderful place to visit, and I hope that other cities take inspiration.
Like most of the stations, Lauttasari has two exits, one into a shopping precinct and one in a more residential area. I decided to go through the latter one this time, away from the crowds, for a change. It brought me out on a side street where a tiny arced building had been slotted into the row of buildings.
My attention was immediately grabbed by the giant tent at the end of the road. I thought it must be some sort of temporary arena. Maybe Helsinki had got the rights to the Horse of the Year Show and had to hastily put up a gymkhana. It was only when I got closer that I realised there was an apartment block underneath it. It seems that in Finland, when there's building work going on, they enclose the entire structure rather than sticking some scaffolding on the side. I guess this is a response to the country's harsh weather. Once I'd seen it, I spotted it all over the city. My thought every time was: do they move out while it's going on? Or are the residents of that block all sitting in semi-darkness twenty four hours a day?
I'd left the metro station behind a man and two women, one of whom was pushing a buggy, and as I followed them down the avenue I tried to discern their relationship. At first I'd thought they were all friends, two women and their GBF, but then I noticed the man and the woman with the buggy seemed to fall into step with one another. So the obvious conclusion was that they were a couple, and the man was, against all evidence, heterosexual.
I followed them for a while until, outside a block of apartments, they all parted ways. At this point, the man wandered off into the distance, leaving the two women behind; one handed the buggy to the other and left, and then the final girl pushed the baby into the gardens of the residential block. My final conclusion: the two women are lesbians who split up after the man donated his sperm to conceive the child in the pushchair and they were having a day of shared contact. Scandinavians are so progressive.
I finally reached a stream of traffic at a standstill on the edge of the island of Lauttasari. The bridge to Helsinki city centre was further along and it seemed everyone had decided to go that way. I walked past, much faster than the stopped cars, then darted across to be on the coast side. At the entrance to a boatyard I saw a familiar pink sign on a telegraph pole; the Lauttasaaren walking path I'd briefly used before. I immediately veered off the road and into the boatyard's car park, once again prioritising random wandering over carefully laid plans and personal safety.
I was in the city but also outside it, walking along the coastal path at the backs of homes and streets. Huge lumps of rock burst out of the water to create pools and cliff faces. A woman in a tight costume slowly walked down the rocks and into the water to begin her wild swim in the bay. A swan with its cygnets appeared from under a tree, unbothered by me, knowing full well she could snap my arm like a twig if I got too close.
There was a bench around the corner and I settled into it to finish my bottle of Coke and take in the view. I was having a marvelous time. These little trips away to visit foreign metro systems have become so precious to me. I love the BF, love spending time with him of course, but sometimes it's good to have a completely selfish experience. I was in Helsinki to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and what I wanted to do was look at railway stations, and I was the only one who cared. I could spend all day doing this if I wanted. There was no social awkwardness.
It was also temporarily filling the hole left by the completion of the West Midlands Railway map. I've become used to having these side quests in my life and when one closes I'm left slightly bereft. I've lost a purpose. My hobby has vanished. If you're a stamp collector, or a coin collector, or you collect beanie babies, there's always another one. There's always more.
There's a finite number of stations on a map, and the only way more will appear is if there's a massive million pound investment from government bodies. It doesn't happen every day. Getting the Helsinki Metro map under my belt was helping me scratch an itch. (Get on with opening the Pineapple Road extension, would you, TfWM?)
I lifted myself to my feet and realised, horrified, that sitting down had been a mistake. My body had been reliant on constant movement to avoid noticing how decrepit it was; the parts had been in motion, and they were kept busy. By resting, I'd given a chance for my body to take stock and note what was in need of a pause and it turned out the answer was all of it. Suddenly my feet hurt. And my knees. And my legs. And my back. And my shoulders. Basically everything below the neck was moaning at me. All of it wanted to stop, right now, and how dare my brain lift it up and make it start moving again.
Stiffly I continued to walk, rusty, straight-legged, trying to bend knees that didn't want to bend into movement. I was the Tin Man, only not quite so camp. Slowly the fluids returned to my joints and I was able to walk properly again at my usual accelerated speed, but my feet were still complaining with every step, and my shoulders chafed under the straps of my backpack. I walked back onto hard pavements and onto the bridge to the mainland.
Cyclists burned past me in their dedicated lane (1034 that day; 465,156 in the year to date, according to the electronic sign on a lamppost) and I stepped down into the district of Ruoholahti.
For decades this was an industrial zone, filled with factories and warehouses, plus a working port. In the Eighties though, with the closure of numerous businesses, it was reclassified as an office area, and redevelopment work swiftly began to house corporations here.
Long straight streets were lined with tall buildings and solid blocks of flats. Regimented trees lined the pavements. The tram that intruded looked somehow twee in amongst the solid modernity of the area.
It's a redevelopment that's been going on for so long it's now reached the point where it's being regenerated again. At the centre of the district is the Ruoholahdentori, an open square built on the top of an underground car park. It's one of those open spaces that you know looked fantastic on the renders - all kids with balloons and street entertainers and laughing ethnically mixed couples - but has ended up being a bit of a dead space. The Helsinki Conservatoire occupies one end - stick some culture in there, that'll help - but from what I could see its most committed users were gentlemen who didn't have anywhere else to go to drink their alcohol.
Now Helsinki's council has started consultation work on redeveloping it, encouraging footfall and building new residences around it to create a far more mixed community. It's interesting how there are these waves of developmental ideas that sweep through cities but time and time again they come back to "hey, why not have people live and work and shop and play in roughly the same place so it's an interesting spot to visit all day".
One of the men who liked to drink in public had come unmoored from the Ruoholahdentori and was outside the metro station, shouting about something, nothing, everything, waving at passers by. I maintained a discreet distance for the selfie pic so I didn't attract his attention then dashed inside.
Ruoholahti station was the first proper extension to the west the metro ever got; to encourage growth in the area, the city built a single stop from the existing terminus at Kamppi that opened in 1993. It served as the end of the line until the Länsimetro was built in the 21st century.
I am of course on record as a huge fan of Stockholm's Blue Line. Epic, beautifully designed metro stations - what's not to like? It seems that Helsinki was a big fan too, because Ruoholahti has more than a hint of Blue Line about it.
Rock cavern? Check. Interesting colours? Check. Pieces of art scattered around?
Check.
It is, I have to be honest, a slightly B-list version of the Blue Line. The Tunnelbana is inspirational in its size and breadth. Those cavern stations would be astonishing even if they weren't peppered with odd pieces of art; they're grand and arresting.
Ruoholahti is far more small scale. The platforms are shorter. They're also dead ends - the escalator hall is in the centre, so both platforms finish in a blank wall. Nobody's written a book about the art of the Helsinki Metro, put it that way.
This is not to say that it's bad, don't get me wrong. If this station were in the UK I would be rhapsodising about it on a regular basis. If it was on Merseyrail I'd probably go there on a regular basis to sit on the platform and eat my sandwiches until a uniformed security man moved me on. It was just that the Länsimetro had shown me a distinctive, interesting and very Finnish metro system. Ruoholahti was the Tunnelbana with a different accent, and that wasn't as pleasing.
Be yourself. That's the key here.
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