I just hired a cab driver for an hour – 300 ruble, or nine dollars – and went on a sight seeing tour in Magnitogorsk.

I can’t say that I saw everything – I don’t even know what “everything” would be here – but I did cross the border to Asia, said hi to Lenin (a statue), admired the statue of the Soviet Worker handing the sword that he has forged to the Soviet Soldier, and found out that there’s no McDonald’s in Magnitogorsk, for reasons that I still don’t quite understand.

Something to do with territorial rights, and McDonald’s getting Russia only west of the river Volga.

And somebody else getting the rest. Who? No idea. Tomorrow.

I’ve never understood why anybody would smoke in bed. Any romantic notions that people have about it are wrong, OK? It’s just wrong.

After having slept last night in a room where somebody secretly took a puff or two, I understand it even less. OK, it’s not a puff or two. It’s like there’s an old Russian guy sitting in the chair in the corner, smoking away.

Which is why it’s nice to have a balcony. With a view:

What a fascinating country. And I don’t understand a word. That said, I’ve only been here for a few hours, and have only met Evgeny, Elena, Vladimir, and Igor, and those four just briefly at the airport.

The passport control took a while, because apparently, there are only two daily flights from Magnitogorsk, and both to Moscow. Our charter was one of the first international flights, at least this year.

Not knowing the language is a little scary. And here’s a room you don’t want to enter.

And what are the odds of you watching a junior hockey game in 1994, and have a lady screaming, “PASI!” behind you throughout the entire game, only to find yourself face to face with Pasi, the TV commentator in Magnitogorsk in 2008.

Not sure, but the odds for me are 1:1.

What are the odds of your hitching a ride to Russia on a plane chartered by your old coach, now the GM of the team that you’ll be covering?

I don’t know, but right now, mine are about 1:1.

Off to ‘Gorsk.

(The guy in the photo is that old coach of mine, Juha Junno, now the GM of Kärpät).

Look who I bumped into at the airport!

Yes! That’s right! It’s totally the lady with the green hat and the orange suitcase, and her husband!

Still in Terminal 2, only this time in Helsinki, my city of birth. My city.

The city with the green trams, the hockey arena that smells like a real hockey arena, and the city of the park where I played with my son like my parents had played with me some 30 years earlier.

But now, Gate 29 is calling for me.

Yes, I’m still in Sweden. This far, my adventure consists of a subway ride with drunk Finns, and that’s not much of an adventure to me anymore. Been there, seen that, you know.

It’s been a while since I flew with Finnair, the pride of Finland, and hence, it’s been a while since I’ve been at Terminal 2 of the Arlanda international airport. This terminal is the backyard where SAS, the pride of Scandinavia doesn’t fly from.

Arlanda is the name of the Stockholm international airport, even if, with regular intervals, somebody comes up with a new name suggestion, such as re-naming it Alfred Nobel International Airport.

I want it to stay as Arlanda. I don’t mind naming it after the person who invented dynamite as much as I’d hate to see them go amiss the great slogan I have crafted for them (and tried to get the word of mouth going mostly by repeating it to my wife every time I or we have been to the airport):

Updated version: On Monday, I’ll I picked up my visa, and then I am off to Magnitogorsk for a quick trip to watch some hockey. And this is one of those trips that may be fun to live blog about, so I will do just that.

Join me on my Stockholm – Oulu – Magnitogorsk – Oulu – Stockholm adventure. Come back, and refresh often.