When I moved to Sweden over twelve years ago, I told my parents that it wasn’t such a big deal because “Stockholm is closer to Helsinki than Joensuu is”. Helsinki was my hometown then, and Joensuu theirs.

It’s true. The distance between Stockholm and Helsinki is 398 kilometers, while the Joensuu-Helsinki trek is a 440-kilometer one (and I know every inch of it).

“You wouldn’t have thought twice had I told you I was moving to Vaasa,” I said. Vaasa, on the west coast of Finland, is 419 kilometers north-northwest of Helsinki, and 492 kilometers from Joensuu. Fair maiden Finland is at her widest at that point.

It was my moving to a country that had a king, and different currency, and a different language – and a different time zone that was the big deal. You couldn’t just get in a car and drive there in an afternoon.

That’s true, too.

I learned it during my first move when I booked a return ticket to Helsinki, and a cruise for three from Helsinki to Stockholm (and back) to make it happen. On a Thursday, I flew from Stockholm to Helsinki to meet up with Dad and Driver Cousin, and his big truck. We loaded it with my stuff, and got on the ferry on a Thursday night. Got up on Friday, unloaded everything, and got back to the ferry that night. On Saturday morning, I was back at my empty apartment, cleaned it up a bit, got nostalgic, then got to the airport and used the return ticket to Stockholm on Saturday night.

I did the same thing when Wife and I (and Son) moved from Helsinki to Stockholm five years ago.

These days, I go back to Finland regularly, and as the family man that I am, I try to plan my trips well, pack in as many meetings and a much hockey as possible, and get back home.

On Wednesday morning, Wife dropped me off at Son’s and Daughter’s school (and pre-school, same building), and I got on the train to the airport. Caught a ten o’clock plane to Helsinki, arrived there at noon. Took a cab to the car rental office, and drove 382 kilometers north to see a playoff game. After the game, I drove 136 kilometers east, (another one of those “classic” distances everybody living in that neck of the woods knows) from Kuopio to Joensuu, to see Dad.

Thursday afternoon, I hit the road again, and drove 401 kilometers south to watch another playoff game. Somewhere around my 800th kilometer Dad called me to tell me that a volcano had erupted in Iceland, and that it might affect air traffic.

“Check it up,” he said.

At the same time, I got a text message from a friend on vacation in Paris, telling me he’d been looking at flights to get back home but that “a big part of Finnish airspace was closed”, according to the news.

My flight was scheduled for 11.45 am on Friday.

I didn’t think too much of it. There I was, just listening to my beloved podcasts, flying down the highway at 120 kilometers per hour, because it’s summer and the speed limits are up again.

Slightly concerned, though, I stopped at a McDonald’s because I knew they’d have free Internet. That Big Mac wasn’t free but that’s another blog item. I read the news, I checked the official information, and saw that my flight was still on, but that Sweden has decided to shut down all air traffic starting 10 pm – until further notice. Depending on the winds, I guess. I also learned that the ash can be really dangerous if it hits the jet turbines, but because there wasn’t not enough info, I decided to wait and go watch some hockey.

The game went to overtime.

On my way to Mom’s place I heard that Finland, too, had shut down all air traffic “at least until Friday afternoon.”

This is where it begins to feel like “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles”, except that I don’t have a shower curtain salesman traveling with me. But I do have Mom.

I chat with Wife and we agree that we both want me to get home as soon as possible. We also agree that we don’t know when that’ll be. I check a ferry line’s website to book a trip from Helsinki to Stockholm for Friday night. According to the booking system, the only thing left is a family cabin for 400 euro – three times the price of my flight, but I want home. When I click to choose that, the system tells me I am not a family.

I check the other ferry line. Their booking system is “temporarily down”. I text a buddy who’s a cook on the first ferry line, but he’s in Stockholm, and can’t book me a trip right then. “Call the booking office first thing in the morning, I know we have space.”

(Turns out cooks don’t know everything).

Of course, there’s a chance I might get on a ferry from Turku, some 141 kilometers from Helsinki, but I also know that ferry leaves really early, “like 7”, that it’s 11.30 pm, I am at least a two-hour drive from Turku, and that I have to leave the rental car in the morning. I have already decided to not drop it off at the airport as I had insisted on doing, but at their city office where I had picked it up.

I go back to the other ferry line’s site, and they have solved their temporary problems. I choose the Turku line, and that the ferry leaves at 8.45. What if there was a train that left early in the morning from Helsinki? I check that. There is. A 5.46 train would get me to Turku harbor at 8.00. Cost: 28 euro for the ferry, 28.80 for the train, and 5 hours of sleep for the body.

Four hours later, I stuff my laptop into my backpack, and head out. With Mom in tow.

Flying down the highway to Helsinki at 120 kilometers an hour again, I go over the plan in my head. To do: get gas for the rental, drop it off at the office, get to train, get on ferry. Wait. “Get to train”? Why is Mom following me, when it’s only a five-minute walk between the car rental office and the train station.

I call her.

“Mom, what were you supposed to be doing now?”

“I thought I’d give you a ride to the station.”

“But, it’s only a five-minute walk. Maybe you want to go back to sleep. It’s 4.30 in the morning, and I have lots of time.”

“Yeah … you do? But, what about the rain?”

“It’s fine, I do have a hat. Why don’t you turn around and go back to sleep?”

“OK.”

I slow down to wait for her, she passes me on the right and we wave goodbyes.

I get some gas, drive through the empty city, park my Mazda, and drop the keys through a slot, with a note that says, “Icelandic volcano changed my plans, dropped off the car here instead. Across the street from Old Fox pub. R”

Five minutes later, I’m on the train. Two and half hours later, I’m in Turku. And if all goes well, in about seven hours, I’ll be almost home again. Eighteen hours after my wake-up call, and six hours later than planned, but there.

Just another bus, subway, and another bus ride to go.