Top Ten Travels 2023

Getting layovered is better than getting laid. If I do it right. The layover, dumb ass. Me and the neph break away from our mothers on a Saturday morning in Sweden — finally grown up; final destination: the Atlantic coast of Norway, Bergen to be precise. That’s a lotta punctuation. Are you even living if you don’t use the phrase “final destination” right before flying? All that said, right said Fred, this flight is two flights. On Finnish air. Don’t call me done, til I’m Finnish. A sweet little treat of an 11 hour layover here in Helsinki. First time caller, long time listener. I hear good things. Independent since only 1917 and yet — the HAPPIEST NATION ON EARTH. I don’t know how they measure it but I measure happy by walking around and witnessing the smiles and quality of life. Food. Transit. Facilities. Fun. Bonus is that’s basically a thrift store Mecca here. True happiness is renewable clothing at discount prices. It’s all here. I did this to myself on purpose. This layover. Better than getting laid. We hit the second hand shops. We hit this Baltic Sea day spa club. Cold water. Warm water. Sauna. Snacks. We hit the downtown food market and munch on fresh seafood. I’m happy.

Almost daily, people tell me go to hell, now I can reply that I’ve been to Helsinki. And back. For shits and giggle, I suppose. A fun little comeback. Nation number 46 at this moment of my lifetime. Same as the amount of times I have travelled around the sun. Finns can see Russia from their house. This layover didn’t need to happen. Plenty of direct flights existed. I wanted this. Like how I hit Belgrade last year. Or a plethora of other places. Gimme 5 or 6 good hours in a city, maybe like 10 hours with airport transit time. I will get it in. I am getting it in. Get. Getting. Got. Gotten. I need to coin a phrase for all this. Some day.