The Final Four

For decades, the area around what is now Kalasatama metro station was docks and wharves.  That's what Kalasatama translates to: Fish Harbour.  As in many Western cities, however, devoting a large portion of the city centre to something as grimy and unattractive as fishing was deemed undesirable, and they were turfed out to the suburbs in 2008.  What was left behind was acres of prime real estate with metro tracks sweeping across the top.

The city had always planned on building a station here, right back to the sixties when the metro was being planned, but they didn't want to construct anything until passenger numbers would justify it.  An offer to pay a third of the costs from a developer came in handy though, and so Kalasatama opened in 2007. 

It's unique among all the Helsinki Metro stations for featuring two platforms on opposite sides of the track, instead of an island; this came about because it was the easiest way to construct a station around the existing bridge.  It's futuristic and glassy but also a little bland.  It looks like more or less any 21st century metro station in the world, as opposed to the distinctive looks on the Länsimetro.

Now I just had to get out of the damn thing.  Since it opened, a shopping centre had been constructed around the station, and I wandered into empty corridors of closed stores.  It was early Sunday morning, my third day of exploring the network, and most of the city was still asleep.  

I can't help thinking that if you have to paint bright orange lines on the floor to guide people to and from the metro, your wayfinding system could do with some work.  Especially when those lines cross over one another. 

After some fruitless wandering, that no doubt caught the attention of the CCTV monitors, I managed to find an exit to the street below.  Around me were cubes of new apartment blocks, massed rather than tall, each one with its own quirky exterior to try and break up the monotony of a district built en masse.  The supermarket didn't open until eleven; the e-scooters were abandoned on the side of the road after Saturday debauchery. 

I walked down towards the waterside, but it wasn't a beautiful stroll by the bay; there were building works everywhere.  Temporary diversions and rough footpaths guided me around to the underside of the bridges.  I knew there was a way up to the crossing, somewhere, but I couldn't seem to find it.  It wasn't a great start to my day, getting lost and disoriented for a second time in ten minutes.

I finally spotted the ramp up to the carriageway in the distance, unsignposted, and crossed the acres of concrete to get to it.  There didn't seem to be a legitimate way to get there so, what the heck.  I walked up the shallow ramp - mainly an access route for cyclists - and found myself on the road bridge with the metro to my left and the cars to my right.

Up here there was a small breeze over the water, just a little, enough to break the stillness of the hot morning.  It was another scorcher.  Annoyingly, the UK was also having a heatwave; when I'm out of the country I want everyone in England to be rained upon so I can sweep back in with a tan and make them resent me.  I wandered across the bridge, then down the off-ramp to a small backroad on the island of Kulosaari. 

The houses hid away from the road, down side paths, along cul-de-sacs, descending to berths on the water where speedboats idled.  Trees guarded them from view but there was still an openness around what were no doubt very expensive properties; no high walls or electric gates to guard the homes.

Sometimes a cyclist would pass but for the main I had the street to myself.  Helsinki hadn't yet dragged itself out of bed, because Helsinki could look at all this any time it wanted.  It wasn't some idiotic Englishman running out of time. 

Kulosaari station appeared on my right, another above ground station, and perhaps the ugliest street presence of all the ones I'd visited.  They'd all had a building of sorts, or something to attract the eye, but Kulosaari hid under the bridge with only the smallest of signs to attract your attention.  I'd passed a couple of signs with a blue P+Metro, telling me how many empty spaces there were at the station.  I guess park and rides are as inauspicious in Finland as they are in the UK.

On the platform though, it was almost idyllic.  Thick banks of trees ran either side of the viaduct, held back by cool blue glass, making me feel that we were surrounded by nature.   

I boarded the train and rode one stop to the next station.  I realise that I've not really talked about the trains on the Metro.  I've always said I'm not a train person, I'm a train station person, but I suppose I should say something about the vehicles.  They're largely big and square, bright red in colour so distinctive, but they are unfortunately constructed with some incredibly uncomfortable plastic seats.  I will never be a true lover of European railway networks until they learn to embrace the moquette.

They are very modern, with next station indicators and LED screens to show you adverts and the weather and news reports.  One thing that amused me was a smog map; as you'd expect for a relatively small city in Scandinavia, these seemed to show "zero" every single day.  There was also that damn girl for Save the Children, and an odd looking man with a microphone who I thought was probably a vanity promotion like that Angelyne woman in Los Angeles, but who turned out to be a road safety ad, somehow.  It was also through these screens that I learned that Helsinki's newspaper, the Helsingin Sanomat, uses a much groovier font for its logo than it really needs to.

I start talking about the trains and end up wanging on about a font.  This is why I don't get invited on telly to talk about the railways; I know absolutely nothing, and worse, I'm quite happy that way. 

Herttoniemi station was another one undergoing refurbishment work, though, as you can see from the somewhat battered pipework in that picture, it needed it.  The station opened on the original stretch of line in 1982 and was showing its age.

It was a dark station, buried under a bus interchange and no great looker, and I was unsurprised to learn that it's scheduled to get a new building and oversite development at some point in the near future.  It was also my penultimate stop. 

For the first time on my trip I entered the world of quiet, moneyed suburbs.  In Espoo and at the eastern extremes, the Metro had swung between high-rise estates and the richest islands; in the city centre I'd moved among dense historic streets.  Now I was turning onto single carriageway curved roads, rising up and down hills, packed with trees and small homes.

I was, I have to admit, feeling a little deflated.  My Day One enthusiasm in Helsinki meant that I'd used up the Metro in a quick burst.  I should've made it last - I should've stuck to my plans, in fact - and instead I'd eaten it all up in one go.  That lead to the inevitable hangover on Day Two and the feeling of inadequacy on Day Three. 

For all my bleating about Stockholm's 100 Tunnelbana stations being too much last year, it kept me busy and never stopped being interesting.  It turns out thirty stations is too few for me.  What I really need is something in between the two, or, alternatively, more time to really explore the larger networks.  I've got the bug though.  Three years of traveling across foreign cities has made me want more.  Ankara?  Mexico City?  Sydney?  Who knows where it'll be next?

(As I typed that, the National Lottery app flashed up a little alert on my phone encouraging me to play and folks, that's the only chance I have to ever experience the Sydney Metro). 

They're not big on pavements in Helsinki's winding 'burbs, but it didn't matter; I saw hardly any cars.  One house had its door open, while refurbishment works went on inside, the owners already covered in concrete dust.  Round a corner, the distinctive smell of cinnamon drifted from someone's breakfast, filling the street.  It seemed the ideal way to live.  

I stepped off the road and into a small, dark copse of trees, descending down the hillside.  In the distance I could see a car park and, beside it, the long flat shape of my final Helsinki Metro station.  I stopped at the R-Kiosk and bought myself a Coke then rode the escalators to the platform.

Siilitie was refurbished a decade ago and still felt new and cared for.  It was better than Kalasatama's bland glass and steel though, with interesting use of concrete, and a big circular vent in the ceiling.

I'm probably the only person who looked at that and thought "that really reminds me of the tarantula room in Dr No" but you never know; perhaps there's someone in Finland as sad as me.  I took a seat on the bench and waited for my train.  The Helsinki Metro was done; it belonged to me.  I was happy.

The Lantern Bearer

There were, for many years, various different suggestions for how to get passengers from Helsinki Airport into the city.  Metros, a dedicated underground express line - these were rejected in favour of the Ring-Rail Line, where a new east-west railway passing under the airport connected two existing north-south lines and created a teardrop shaped loop.  This was seen as economically and geographically apt.

I believe the real reason the Ring-Rail Line was built was so that every tourist coming into Helsinki was forced to go through Helsinki Central station, allowing the Finns to show off about how brilliant their terminal was.

Helsinki Central (or, to give it its proper Finnish name, Helsingin päärautatieasema) is a station that is muttered about in nothing but tones of awe and reverence by railway architecture fans.  It was completed in 1914 (though didn't open for another five years, thanks to the combination of World War I, the Russian Revolution, and the Finnish Civil War) and it's one of the finest pieces of Art Nouveau design in the world. 

Soaring curved roofs, distinctive light fittings, elegant glass windows allowing the passenger areas to be flooded with light: it's everything you want from a railway station.  Arriving here after being hustled through airport after airport, pushed and shoved from one stark metal gate to the next, is a reminder that travel can be beautiful and passenger friendly.

It exudes class and beauty.  I arrived on the train from the airport and wandered around, gleeful, delighted, grinning wildly at the detailing.  I even returned on the Sunday morning, when it was quieter, so that I could take it all in without those damn passengers getting in the way.

The Kiosk Hall was having refurbishment works done, because of course it was.  It wasn't possible to see the full sweep of the train shed because of the hoardings.  

Actually, I say "train shed", but the glass roof over the tracks is a remarkably new addition to the station, having been added in 2001.  Yes, the country that is regularly battered by snow and ice and rain made its passengers wait in the open air for their trains; I can only assume that this was due to persistent lobbying by the cafes and restaurants housed in the station.  The rush when your train came in and you could run to it in the snow must've made Euston's swarm look understated.

However great the interior is at Helsinki Central, it's the exterior that really blows you away.  Eric Saarinen, the architect, developed and honed a style he'd used for Viipuri station (subsequently blown up by the Soviets during the war) to create a dominant, welcoming building for its city. 

It's friendly, but also intimidating; it reeks of importance.  It's solid, permanent.  Around the station are a load of modern and Brutalist buildings, shopping centres and offices, and they seem unbelievably flimsy next to the brick arch of the station.  This feeling of dominance is only enhanced by the Lyhdynkantajat, the Lantern Bearers: four vast intimidating stone figures either side of the main entrance, designed by Emil Wikström .

They're fantastic, muscular - in every sense of the word - creations, expressing the power of the railways and modern existence.  It's hard not to look at them in awe.  They're Gotham City, but without the dread; I imagine Anton Furst had a picture of them on his mood board when he was designing the first Batman film.  They've naturally become symbols of the city and the railway, and get dressed up for big events and promotions. 

The clock tower behind was the tallest structure in the city for many years, and is still noticeable from all around.  I almost prefer it to the Lyhdynkantajat, but that's because I've always been a massive fan of big clocks.  Yes, I said clocks. 

The western entrance is a smaller, budget version of the front, opening onto a bus exchange.  Trams run outside the front, and there's another bus station on the eastern side around the Rautatientori, or Railway Square.  This is the centre of Helsinki's transport in every way.

The east wing was the headquarters of the Finnish Railways for most of its life, but they vacated in the 2010s and it was turned into the Scandic Grand Central Hotel.  I love a railway hotel, of course, and I managed to get a good deal to stay there.   

This is not a paid advertisement, I promise.  I'm not one of those influencers who is slipped a few grand to plug where they've been (though, you know, if you want to send me a message Scandic, I'm open).  I will say that you absolutely must stay in the Grand Central because it's been beautifully restored.

They're so proud of their heritage that every room comes with a self guided walking tour round the building so you can see all the architectural magnificence for yourself.  You don't get that at the Basildon Premier Inn.   

A wonderful railway station obviously needs a wonderful metro station, but this is sadly where Helsinki falls down.  It's not that Rautatientori - they named it after the square, for some reason - is a bad station.  It's more that it is very much of its time, and unfortunately, that time is the late seventies and early eighties.

Take the escalators down from Helsinki Central's ticket hall and you're transported into a low ceilinged shopping centre.  The transition from the fine craftsmanship above it immediately apparent - this feels cheap. not helped by the stores inside being on the budget end of the market. 

The station is down another set of escalators, in a lower concourse that is the one stab at making it impressive.  It's certainly big, and when I came up and off a train there was no mistaking which was the way to go to reach the city centre.  

Incidentally, at the back of the picture above is a photograph of the girl who would become my nemesis throughout my Helsinki trip.  I don't know how much Save the Children Finland paid to have every LED advertising screen in the city show the same advert for an entire weekend, but I'm writing a strongly worded letter to Princess Anne asking her to check if this is an appropriate use of their funds.

I grew to hate that little girl.  Every platform ad, every on-train screen, every information board, and there she was, switching from sad to happy and trying to look all cute.  I'd see a perfectly acceptable advert for hamburgers or some incomprehensible Finnish television programme and then bam!  Here she was again, staring down the camera and trying to make my long dead heart feel an emotion.  It didn't work.  In fact I loathed her so much I've been considering setting up a charity of my own called called Sod the Children to spite her.

Europe around the turn of the eighties was not a happy place, and Rautatientori feels like it was built as a defensive structure.  It was constructed to not be blown up by terrorists or attacked by punks or covered in graffiti by smackheads.  Passenger comfort and aesthetic virtues weren't necessarily a priority.

Rautatientori's main attempt at charming artistry is its tilework.  In London or Paris, this would mean beautiful neat rectangles of ceramic, arranged prettily and symmetrically; in Helsinki, it's varying shades of brown black and grey wrapped around the corners. 

Why stick to one design when you can have all of them, all at once, in one space?  They definitely won't clash or anything.  It reminded me of the Stockholm Tunnelbana's "bathroom" stations, the ones built in the fifties and also covered in tiles, but there it was much more pleasant.

I'm being unfair.  Rautatientori does feature some artwork along the tunnel walls, but, notably, it's a stylised frieze of the Saarinen station upstairs.  They know what side their bread is buttered. 

For those of you keeping score, by the way, Rautatientori is the third and final station to include English on its signage, after the two universities.  

Helsinki Central is epic, beautiful, and an absolute must-see if you have even the slightest interest in transport architecture.  I loved it and, if you're reading this Scandic Hotels, I am more than happy to accept another trip back to see it again.