In the train

It is Easter time, so I went to visit my Father in Lahti, where I originally come from. I took the train, both directions, leaving Helsinki on Saturday evening and again returning yesterday in the Sunday afternoon. Both times, the train was quite full, which surprised me. After all, the holidays had started already several days earlier, and I expected the train to be rather empty, since everyone had already left or would yet not return. I proved myself wrong - the train was packed on both occasions, mostly with youngsters, probably not wanting to spend the whole Easter vacation at their parents' house, but just a day or two, out of a sense of obligation.

On my way there, I was concentrating on a crochet project, long overdue, for a summer pullover, minding my own business, and the journey went swiftly and with no occurrences worth mentioning. On returning, however, I chose to sit in the restaurant carriage - even though I really enjoyed visiting my Dad, I felt tired since I hadn't slept well during my stay, if at all. And in any case, it is usually stressful to be on the travel, however short-lived. So I felt exhausted and decided I needed a drink.

In the restaurant car, there were again quite a bunch of people, some heavily drunk, and the noise was remarkable. However, I was determined to sit down and started glimpsing for a free seat with least bad options, while standing in line for the beer, my choice for the day. Finally, I sat down next to a middle-aged lady and opposite a young girl.

The girl was beautiful in a way that spoke of intelligence, probably a university student. She tried to look mysterious, and had, in a demonstrative fashion, placed a book with an intimidating title on the table, 'The Geography of Fear' by Finnish writer Anja Kauranen, popular among the younger readers at least. Not reading, the girl was keeping close watch of her fellow travellers and every now and then making notes to a small red notebook, placed in her lap, in tiny yet decorative handwriting. She reminded me of myself as a 'fervent young intellectual' as I liked to see myself in those days, and I smiled in secret. In any case, she had created a clever ensemble of how to pose herself to the eyes of others, and I could but admire the outcome, despite its apparent naiveté. Or maybe I have just become cynical?

Some men were making comments to us on the next table, but we didn't much care about those lads. Rather, the hassle provided me and the middle-aged lady the excuse to start talking to each other. She turned out a colourful personality, having also visited her parent, namely her mother, and was more or less in the same state as myself. We talked about this and that - why I mention all this here is that finally, we ended up talking about shoes. She too was an enthusiast, and started commenting on my brown, well-worn Peter Kaiser shoes which I had chosen to wear for the trip, for their comfort. We shared opinions about appropriate usage of high heels - when to choose them and when not to choose them, and about taxis as a more or less obligatory accessory to any pair of very high ones. We also exchanged some hidden secrets of the trade (since wearing high heels can be compared to labour at times) - on how to ease the pain and lessen the dangers of wearing heels.

It was a fun trip, thanks to this lady, and it felt like it was over almost too soon. Here the practical German shoes are pictured with my cat, who just wouldn't stay outside the camera range but wanted the attention the shoes were annoyingly receiving, instead of her. So she became the most perfect accessory to complete the setting for this little still life :)