Rauma on a fine day
Finland has always been a mystery to me due to low attendance and lack of intelligible facts about local attractions. Left alone with a free Sunday afternoon in Finland, it was decided to advance in the direction of the nearest large (by their naive standards) city.
The map of the area said that the sultry northern village of Rauma lives and does not blow in the nose just a miserable 25 km from me. 25 km for a pedestrian is a figure, but for a cyclist 1.5 hours of exercise.
The shabby saddle creaked again and, having equipped with a backpack and a mustache “under the Boyarsky”, I set off. A map peeped on the Internet promised me one “short man” along the way, with the help of which 25 km would miraculously turn into 19. And this is already much better. But we never met this “short man” who was not clean at hand, and I had to load the pedals with my weight as it should be for the entire 25 km. The road was amazing. Birds are green and +15. Summer, by Finnish standards. Greenery covered the horizon, the heavenly vault miraculously dived right behind the densely populated oases of birch trees. Pedaling, dreaming. The benefit of cars this weekend morning was also not in bulk.
The bike held its own, despite the slight sobs of the joints and the ornate figure-eight on the front wheel, which periodically rubbed into the confidence of the front fork. The seat was more difficult. Already after 10 km, I realized that after this trip I would walk a little strange, listlessly waddling from side to side with a protruding posture.
The city met with signs and deserted people. I parked my bike at the central church and rushed headlong into the Old Town. This is the official name of a part of the city's buildings, made exactly 570 years ago. And the one near which I so impolitely parked my 2-wheeled partner turned out to be the Church of the Holy Cross. Built for a Franciscan monastery after a fire in 1640, it miraculously passed into the possession of the Lutherans. True, no one will tell us what the Franciscans thought about this case. The church also celebrated its 500th anniversary this year.
The old city turned out to be pretty and obviously did not look its age. The stone paving that made up its road had little to do with bicycle somersaults, although it was quite responsive to hikers. Having made a small circle of honor and photographed the most spicy angles, on the central square I came across an information bureau located in the building of the old town hall, the foundation of which began to be poured already in 1776. There he got hold of a map and operational information on the subject of museums and attractions. In the same place, I was enlightened that Rauma, for the presence of such an old city of historical significance, UNESCO marked with its finger, on the subject of world heritage. Well, it turns out that I have a nose for the machinations of the sensational UNESCO.
Rauma does not shine with the presence of a great museum heritage, which includes only 4, except for the house-museums in spirits: "He lived, dined and died here... and from that moment we did not touch anything here. "
To my awkward questions about the state of affairs in the countryside and the lack of a population on the streets, they evasively answered that, they say, in Rauma in the summer, this is normal. Moreover, today is Sunday, so don't expect the public before 12.
So, almost alone, I had to taste the dust of the old city, focus the graceful landscapes of the union of greenery and a wooden frame and look into different nooks and crannies, specially, probably, designed for excessively elongated noses of tourists.
Feeling the cold and indifference of the empty streets, I had to pay a visit to the nearby maritime museum. By the way, in Rauma everything is not far away, because. the city, with all diligence, counted no more than 35 thousand of its inhabitants. And if its old part is colorful and very attractive, then the rest of the newer part could no longer offer something similar to a foreigner, but modestly gleamed with a couple of shops and well-paved roads.
So, having made a couple of strategically correct turns, I came to a small structure with a tower in the form of a lighthouse. The museum invited inside with half-open doors, promising not a boring excursion into the souls to the furrowers of the deep sea.
At the entrance, a nice girl, pierced several times with metal objects in the head area, asked what kind of ticket I would like to buy: a sexually mature ticket for 8 or a student ticket for 5. After asking her who is considered to be a student here, I no doubt took a reduced ticket. The fact is that I also agree with her that a student is a form of life, not an age. And if even at 42 you have not lost your youthful interest in what is happening around and 2 times a year you think about whether to master another diploma, then you continue to live your student life to the fullest.
As the theater begins with a wardrobe, the museum for me began with a toilet. Although I apologize, in the maritime museum - this is a latrine. The latrine impressed me, so I had no doubt that the museum would be solid.
The museum was not huge, but was much larger than it appeared from the outside. During the tour, you can visit about 8 halls equipped with almost everything you need to know about the sea and its inhabitants. The museum, despite the name itself, did not sit idly by, but talked, whistled, gurgled with water, clanged metal and hummed with ventilation pipes. He tried his best to demonstrate his mobility and lack of complexes.
Ship models, ship inventory, navigational equipment, spare parts for ship devices and machine mechanisms, as well as models of sailors engaged in a wide variety of work created the effect of saturation and reality. Much can be turned on, twisted, listened to. Well, if I, lucky, would have rummaged in Finnish, then no doubt I would have listened to the revelations of the sailors, the notes of the captains and the stories of the cabin crew and boatswains about the nature of navigation of that time. Although for those who are especially slow thinking in Finnish, there are subtitles in English. To visit for 4 euros, a tablet with an audio guide is issued to help, but I was interested without it.
Particularly piquant was the moment when in the last room the privilege is given to turn the crankshaft of the engine by hand, after which the diver in a weighty space suit, standing quietly nearby, comes to life and in a mysterious voice pours you information about the state of the underwater bottom at the dive site. Or something like that.
At parting, you can buy a couple of souvenirs, which, surprisingly, cost the same as the entrance ticket. At the exit from the museum, the captain's cabin, rebuilt with a separate cockpit, beckons with its open door. Aristocratic manners with a lounge for gatherings and bedrooms are already caught here. Although all this, squeezed into ship dimensions, is an unbearably small square. On such beds, you can only sleep sideways, and in the room it is only in a sitting position.
Coming back to the streets already after 12, I realized that the city was slowly coming to life. The avenues were filled with pedestrians, and the playgrounds with little Finns. It was high time to think about the meal.
Cafe Labamba offered a buffet for 12.90, which was not cheap by our standards, but quite reasonable for Finns. I was not the only one who thought so, so a few dozen more especially hungry people crept up to the lunch meal to hustle with me. I wanted to capture the local cuisine and some local specialties. The plan was drowned in plates of pasta, gravies, sausages and a large variety of vegetables. There was no smell of any local delights, and if there were Russian signs, it would easily have been brushed away as a cafe somewhere on Bolshaya Morskaya in our city. There was also pizza on large and for some reason oily pans. The pizza was edible, but it was noticeable that it was not a professional performance, although not the worst. I was also a little surprised by the presence of cabbage rolls here, which I had never met abroad before.
At the end, there was a slight incident with a coffee machine. The fact is that a note in a language I did not understand really meant nothing to me, while after pressing the big button the device began to spew clouds of steam, spitting hot water bursts into the cup to the frightened exclamations of the waitress in the spirit: “He pressed it”, "Oh my God! " and “What will happen now! ”. After the device ran out of steam, a waitress who came to her senses crept up to me and explained that what, they say, is not clear - it is written that it does not work!
I was removed from the apparatus, given a cup with some kind of instant coffee drink and urgently asked to learn Finnish so as not to get into a mess. Selflessly vowing to study Finnish the very next day, and after finishing my coffee, I stepped back into the shadows of the streets and roadside shops.
By the way, this cafe, in addition to the children's menu, also had a good range of alcoholic beverages. But it only worked until 8 pm. Something doesn't add up. What time do Finns begin to load their hearts with alcohol, if by 8 they are asked to disperse in a good way? And what kind of opening hours are they from 12 to 20. Does it smell like a dining room schedule with casserole for breakfast and cutlets with buckwheat porridge for dinner?
By the way, the shops never opened that day. But on the way back, already in the old town, I came across the only sports shop that that day loudly promised a 50% discount to any buyer of shorts and underpants. Since I already had panties on, I limited myself to wonderful shorts with a discount for 22 euros, which, by the way, will emphasize my individuality, social status and my position on the state of affairs on the issue of minorities in parliament.
Pulling up to the parking lot of my bike, I noticed an unhealthy stir in the area of that very church. So this is where the conscious part of the public was hiding from me that morning! All immaculately dressed representatives of different generations, armed with flowers, cameras and modest smiles, were waiting for the end of the service. At the end of it, a group of suspicious teenagers in identical light clothes, carrying a cross in their hands, headed towards the local cemetery. This transition was accompanied by joyful cries and hoots of parents, encouraging their no longer small creatures.
I did not become infected with the general mood and join the group of dressed up residents of the city. Moreover, my traveling-expendable uniform, along with a rust-eaten bicycle, did not meet the requirements of this Sunday procession. Taking advantage of the commotion around the main gate, I slipped away unnoticed in a northwesterly direction, preparing to pedal again for a good 25 km. The last 10 were very difficult. The creak of the saddle springs resonated unpleasantly in the soft tissues of the pelvis, and the bones ached from the fixed position in the form of "uncomfortable". But the frank landscapes of nature and the singing of local flora brightened up my bike tour back.
Rauma was remembered for its stormy vegetation, the central streets of the old city and the unhurried drawn-out rhythm pulsing in the hearts of Raumites. Those who come here for more than a couple of days must definitely impress fishing, forest and water walks. Almost everyone here is engaged in fishing (after the permit obtained in the city), the forests are conducive to walks at different distances, and more than 300 islands invite you to boat trips or boat trips.
