In July 2004 I'm preparing to travel from Bath, England, to Finland, as I have done more often in recent years, with several aims. Firstly I am going to spend a couple of weeks with Hanna's parents in Helsinki. Hanna herself has been there already for a long time, because as always she is spending the whole summer there. Secondly I'm going for a couple of days to the folk music festival in Kaustinen, a village in the middle of Finland. I'm hoping to see many of my old music friends back again there.
On July 7th, with my large backpack and my small fiddle case, I get into the bus of National Express, from Bath to Heathrow Airport near London. The backpack goes down into the luggage compartment, but about the fiddle the bus driver says: "Just put that into the compartments above your head." Above the seats there are luggage compartments which, just like in an airplane, can be closed with lids.
Already soon it turns out that the fact that the Underground-grid reaches up to Heathrow, doesn't mean that you can get quickly from there to the centre. Station after station I see the time that I still have until my flight dripping away.
So I do still arrive at more or less at the planned time in Helsinki, be it with no fiddle.
I take the train to Kokkola, about 5 hours to the north, and from there the bus to Kaustinen. Wonderful to see all my old friends again! With most of them I don't keep in touch outside of the festival, but I know that I'll always meet them there again anyway.
The festival lasts a whole week, from weekend to weekend, but on Wednesday 14 July I nevertheless already make my way back toward Helsinki, because the next day is Hanna's birthday, and she'll give a garden party and I better be there. Not that I wouldn't want to, of course, but I don't know if it matters what I want...
Meanwhile the train has arrived at end station Helsinki central, five minutes from Pasila. Everybody gets out. At the station I immediately go to the station guard, to report the crime. While the stations guard listens interestedly to my story, the conductor joins us. He has also seen the woman.
At 01:00 I take the night bus to Hanna's parents in eastern Helsinki. Because Hanna was mainly worried that I don't catch that bus (even though I've never missed a night bus), I put her at ease with a text:
That night I sleep very little. The whole night, images are haunting in my head about how I find out, together with the police, who Marita is and where she lives, and how we make a filmgenic invasion in her house, and reclaim the guitar.
The police officer looks a bit strange when I enter with: "Good morning. Yesterday a guitar was stolen from me, but I have the first name of the thief and her son's phone number!"
Her reaction to this does actually suprise me a little. I think that, when you lose someone else's property, it's normal to try with all your effort to get it back. But she seems to see this differently.
Then my mobile phone rings.
We drive to Pasila, enter the Police station, and immediately see the guitar standing behind the receptionist. He explains to us:
Of course, the case still gives rise to a lot of discussions. Is it true what the woman told the Pasila police? To me personally, it seems more likely that she heard from her son that the police had called him about a guitar, and subsequently thought: "Jesus, now the police is (again?) after me, only for a stupid guitar which is hardly worth anything! Let's quickly hand it in, with a good story!"
To close off this story: a week later I take the plane back to London -without guitar, of course- and the bus to Bath. Arrived there I remember what the people of National Express at Heathrow have told me, and report at the luggage department of the bus station, where my fiddle indeed has been neatly stored for two weeks. On showing my passport I can get it back.
I don't know what kind of strange twist of fate it was, that all instruments which I lost this summer through my stupid carelessness and equally stupid forgetfulness, I received back without too much effort. And what kind of lesson should I learn from this? Should I be more careful with my (and other people's) stuff, or is it more convenient in my case to leave, either or not accidentally, a couple of musical intruments behind everywhere where I regularly go, so that when I get back there, I always have a few at hand?
This folk festival has the nice arrangement that if you bring an instrument, and you show that you are willing to take part in the many jam sessions that take place on the festival area, they give you free admission to the festival. This way you have access to most of the concerts, and a lot of fun at the sessions. And who knows me, knows that I am happy to take part in those. They give you also a simple sleeping spot in a room in a school building (bring your own sleeping bag). What more do you want? Thus I pack my fiddle, and make my way to Finland.
About this fiddle I can tell some more. I have an expensive one and a cheap one. The expensive one is to play seriously, and in a safe environment. The cheap one I bought for festivals and such. This is because I like to go to festivals where some playing can be done. On those I have often walked round with an expensive violin; sometimes this was just dangling without any protection from my belt; sometimes I put it down somewhere without constantly watching it. I have often wondered: "How is it possible that nothing ever happened to that fiddle?"
Actually, something has happened sometime, albeit it not at a festival. In September 1999, arriving in the morning by a night train from Milan, I was still asleep, while my luggage were lying beside me. I was woken by the train staff, which came to check the further empty train. Beside me was still all my stuff, except my fiddle. Nicked by a scallywag who saw his chances with this careless sleeping traveller.
Immediately the same week I bought a new one in Cremona, the city of Stradivari and still the Mecca of violin building. This is my present 'expensive' fiddle.
Not so much because of this incident, but more because at the many folk festivals and sessions in Irish pubs that I visit it is actually very likely that something else may happen, I have decided to buy a cheap fiddle. In a little bric-a-brac shop near our house in Bath I bought a fiddle, which doesn't sound amazingly beautiful, but well enough, for £125 including case. This is my cheap fiddle. Although I often regret that at festivals and in pubs I don't have such a beautiful violin sound as at home, this one usually comes along on trips. Such as now.
Two and a half hours later I get out at Heathrow. I still have three hours before my flight is leaving; I can't even check in yet.
Bored, I sit down somewhere, until I get up, with a shock: "Where is my fiddle?!"
Another explanation. Because I know how forgetful I am, I have taught myself the habit of, always when I get up from a public place -terrace, bar, train, etcetera-, having another good look behind me whether I am not forgetting something. And surprisingly enough I manage reasonably well to stick to this, but that is due to an automatism; not because I actually think of doing this. But like I said, the bus had closing luggage compartments above the seats, and so at my regular check I didn't see my fiddle staying behind. And of course, my deplorable memory again didn't tell me: "You had a fiddle with you!"
Aaah darn!! I run to the desk of National Express, and hear that the bus has already left to the centre of London. After a phone call with the driver of the bus, the lady tells me:
"The bus has already arrived in Covent Garden, where it is waiting until it's returning. They have found your violin, but now there is no way to get it directly here. The bus doesn't pass by here again until this evening. But they'll hold on to it for you, and it's going back to Bath, because that's where it's coming from. There they will store it until you come to pick it up."
Pfooee, the fiddle is allright. OK, it was the cheap one, and apparently that was a good thing too, but still it wasn't my plan to lose it now already! And besides: this way now I won't have an instrument in Kaustinen! Can't I go and pick it up myself from the bus remise? Where was it - Covent Garden? I still have about two hours, and apart from checking in I won't have a thing to do here. I should be able to get to central London and back in an hour, shouldn't I?
There is a London Underground line which goes from Heathrow directly to Convent Garden. I take this train, forgetting to ask beforehand how long this journey takes.
After 45 minutes I am at Green Park; which is near Covent Garden, but I nevertheless realise that I really don't have time left to go any further. I have to go back immediately, otherwise I will certainly miss my plane. I get out, and take the tube the other way, back from this pointless visit to London.
During the way back I call on my mobile phone to National Express, who once again promise to hold on to my fiddle in Bath. And I call to the airport, where I ask the airline to hold on to my plane, because I am in the underground and am coming, but I am a bit late! They say they can't do anything else for me than tell me to hurry up.
At Heathrow the tube takes a longer route than on the way out, along all terminals, before I am back again at the right terminal. When I get out there are still 20 minutes before the flight leaves. I speed out of the tube station, and through all long corridors to the check-in desks. I am amazed at how fast I can run with that heavy backpack on my back. (Note: this was before July 2005. Right now actions like this have become mortally dangerous!)
At the check-in desk the lady puts me at ease: "Yes, you would have been much too late, but the flight is delayed, so you're fine." What has delayed the flight, I don't know, but maybe it's an idiot who called to say he was in the underground and would arrive late?
Hanna of course finds my story amusing, and typically 'Max'. But she also feels sorry for me, because she knows how much I enjoy jamming with my music friends in Kaustinen. So she proposes a solution: I could borrow her guitar for the festival. She has an old Spanish guitar, which she doesn't use, and doesn't care much about, so she dares to trust me with that. And she knows that with a guitar I can enjoy myself just as much on a folk festival as with a fiddle.
Thus I leave on Saturday 10 July, very grateful, with Hanna's guitar toward Kaustinen.
Many beautiful concerts, and fun jam sessions. Every now and then, when I feel more the need for a fiddle, I borrow one from somebody, but for the rest of the time I play guitar.
Jamming at a terrace on the Kaustinen Folk Festival (this photo is from an earlier year)Hanna's guitar strings were probably quite old, and soon I break the low E. Separate strings are not for sale at the festival, but whole sets are. Oh well, it's can't hurt to buy a whole set, as a thank-you to Hanna for lending. I buy a set, and replace the broken string. The next day the new string breaks as well. To buy again a new set now seems overdoing it a little. The rest of the days, I merrily play on, on five strings.
I make up a story to tell Hanna: "I have played a very special five-stringed instrument at the festival". This is because she always urges me that I shouldn't even think about buying a kantele, a traditional Finnish five-stringed instrument, because our home is already way too full. (Later, at Christmas that year, I find out the real reason of that ban: her sister Katri gives me as a Christmas present the kantele that she has had to play in her youth, and which she is glad to get rid of.) The circumstances will however turn out to make this story unnecessary.
I take the bus to Kokkola. Waiting for the train to Helsinki of 17:00 I chat a little with a girl who also was present at Kaustinen as a musician.
The train arrives. It's almost empty; I have two chairs for myself alone. During the trip I doze off, as you do after a festival of several days with too much beer and too little sleep.
After each station the train gets a little fuller. After Tampere I am disturbed in my peace by a "Hi, can I sit next to you?" It's a woman of about 30, of the 'goth'-type: white face, black eyes and lips, long black hair, black clothes. And what's more: she's completely drunk.
"Er... yeah, OK," I say, because you're not supposed to refuse this. Drinking from the bottle of beer in her hand, she sits down.
"Do you want a cider?" she asks, putting the bottle of cider that she carries in her other hand before me on the table.
To my "no, thank you", she opens the bottle and leaves it standing before me. After that she starts telling the story of her life. I listen only half, and for the other half I marvel again, like so often already before, at the phenomenon 'Finnish women'. Yes, they come at you, but, note, eager tourist: it's the wrong kind of women that come at you most!
She is not unkind, but not my type, and I am way too tired to be interested in her problems. After about an hour she excuses herself: she is going for a smoke.
Finnish trains were one of the first where smoking in the train became limited to one small confined space per train. Now that meanwhile in many countries smoking in trains has gotten completely banned, in Finland those smoke cabins still exist.
I hear her talking to other people in the smoke cell. But her stuff is still beside me, so she will probably be back. To avoid her I go to the restaurant car. The girl with whom I have been talking in Kokkola and who is sitting in this same compartment, comes along to the restaurant. Completely relieved about the company of somebody at my wavelength, I talk with her over a cup of coffee about guitar playing, singing and dancing.
Thus we pass the stations before Helsinki. To avoid having to face my gothic neighbour ("hey, where were you?") I stay in the restaurant as long as possible.
I receive a text message on my phone. Phil, an old friend of mine in Helsinki, whom I haven't seen in a long time, is tonight in a bar in the center, and this may be the last chance to see him for a while. I text to Hanna that I'm going there first tonight for a while before I'll get home. She replies: "Just so long as you make sure you are available tomorrow for my party!"
About 22:00 the train enters the Helsinki city limits. Pasila is the last station before Helsinki central, and this is where my conversation partner gets out.
I go back to the compartments where my stuff is. Feel my heart skip a beat when I see that Hanna's guitar, which had been in the luggage net beside my bag, is gone.
"No!! Where did that guitar go?!" I shout to the compartment full of people.
From various parts the answer comes: "That guitar? That black-and-white woman took it."
"Oh no! It was borrowed!!"
"Yes," a man tells me, "she took that guitar, and was playing it for a while in the smoke room. Later she came back, and in Pasila she got out, with that guitar. Yes, we all did find her a bit strange too. But we didn't know that that guitar wasn't hers!"
To my desperate expression, a woman answers:
"Maybe I can still help a little, because she has been talking to me for a while as well. She even gave me a telephone number, even though I don't understand well what for. It is her son's mobile telephone, because her own was broken, or something. This is the number. And this is her first name: 'Marita'."
Immensely grateful I copy the information.
The man who told me what happened gives me his own telephone number: "Here you are. If you need anybody as a witness, you can call me." Another traveler does the same. The woman who gave me Marita's son's number says however: "Please forgive me that I don't give you my own number. I have personal reasons for that." I forgive her.
The stations guard immediately comes into action, and calls his colleague in Pasila. "Did you see a painted woman, dressed in black, get off the train there, with a guitar? With a white painted face, just like a ghost, you know what I mean."
Yes, the stations guard of Pasila has seen her. But she is already gone, and he can't really go after her.
"Are you coming?" Phil is texting to me.
I'll have to control my eagerness to organise now a raid around station Pasila. I leave my mobile telephone number with the station guard. Determined to go after the guitar tomorrow, armed with the mysterious phone number, I leave the station, and make my way to the bar where Phil is.
Because I don't know how to tell Hanna this now, I am in a way quite happy that this meeting with Phil comes exactly now, and I can put off the confrontation with Hanna a little.
A happy re-encouter with Phil in Pub Angleterre, albeit that I cannot be undividedly cheerful. Phil finds my story quite amusing. He also thinks of a solution: "You can just make of it: 'Look what I got you for your birthday: a new guitar!' "
"I'm in the bus. Damned, everything as gone pear-shaped now."
"Why?" she answers.
"You'll get a new guitar tomorrow."
She opens the door while come walking on, no energy, my empty hands hanging down, a big rucksack on my back, but especially bent under the immense yoke of failure.
"Feel free to get angry if you want," I say.
She doesn't know well what to say. She doesn't get very upset, and wants to hear my story. She is, like me, also a bit surprised that in this country people steal from trains. But she didn't care much about that guitar. She is especially angry at that woman, because of the principle. She doesn't want a new guitar.
"Tomorrow morning I will go straight to the police," I say, "with this phone number we might catch her!"
"Well allright, as long as you're back in time to help prepare for my party."
"Of course I will, don't worry about that."
At 8:00 I have been looking at this long enough, and jump out of bed. I let Hanna sleep and cycle to the police station in Itäkeskus, the eastern city center.
He listens to my story, and says: "Well, we can see how far we get with the information you have. Let's first try to call that number."
Easily said, easily done. He calls the number:
"Hello ... who is this? ... (writes the name down) Yes hello, this is the police of Itäkeskus. Your mother, does her name happen to be 'Marita'? ... Yes? We'd like to speak to her, please. Is she around? ... No? ... Yes, well, the case is this: here is somebody, who has lost a guitar in the train yesterday. And maybe you mother has seen something, or so ... Yes, can you ask her that? ... Well, thanks a lot!"
Now he has the name of the boy, he starts searching with the surname, and with the first name 'Marita' in his computer system. "Let's see ... Yes, that's what I thought. This Marita is known with the police. I have here her name and address."
"Oh, but then we can go after her!"
"Unfortunately we can't do very much. That guitar wasn't very valuable, you said?"
"No, not even 100 euros. But it has emotional value."
"Right ... no, I'm sorry, but this is a too small offence for a house search. Now if she had stolen valuable jewelry or something, it would haven been different. But now we can only hope that she will cooperate herself. If she doesn't do that, that's where it ends."
"But I could myself, without the police, go by her house?"
"In principle yes. But the address I can't give you; that is confidential information. I have it here right in front of me," pointing at his computer screen, which is just turned away from me so that I can't see it, "but I can't give it to you."
Darn, so close, and now I still can't get there. The officer sees my frustration, and says:
"I'll help you a little further. Here you have the telephone, and the woman's surname. With this I actually already step over the line, but never mind. Just call to the public address information service. Everybody can do that. Now if they there can give you her address, then you have received it in a legal way."
Full of hope I call the information number, and ask for the address that belong to this name. Yes, they have it. While I repeat it out loud and write it down, the police officer says, looking at his computer screen: "Yes, that's right, that's what I've got here."
With this statement he probably stepped over the line again. Because now I already received everything from him which reasonably is possible, and probably more than is allowed, I call it a day now, not to get him into too much trouble. I cordially thank the policeman for everything, and go outside. Standing by my bicycle I call Hanna to report the situation.
"... so I already know where she lives! Now I can go round there, and then I may well get your guitar back!"
"No you don't", is Hanna's opinion. "On my birthday, you would be here to help me with my party, and you're not now going to do all kinds of things to get that guitar back."
"But it's only ten in the morning, hey, there is still plenty of time to prepare your party!"
"You've been away already half the morning. No way; you're coming here now."
Well, it's her birthday and her guitar, so I decide to obey. I cycle back to her parent's place, where I wish her happy birthday and hand her her present (because that I still do have, as opposed to two years ago ... but that's another story).
"Today it's my party. Tomorrow, or later, we can still go round there to claim that guitar back."
"But tomorrow it can be too late; then she may have sold it already!"
"Actually I don't care about that guitar. I just want that woman to suffer because she has done this."
"Hello, is this ... mister van de Kamp?" I hear.
"Yes?"
"This is the Police of Pasila. You were missing a guitar?"
"Yes...?"
"Well, here it is."
"W-what?"
"Yes, it was just brought in here. You can come to pick it up."
"Really?! Wonderful; I'm coming!"
I hang up and say: "Did you hear that, Hanna? If I now go quickly round Pasila, we'll have your guitar back!"
"Hmm, well, then let's quickly go by there with the car."
"Yes, a woman came to bring that in. She said, that yesterday in the train she had only borrowed that guitar for a moment, and when se wanted to return it, the owner was gone; she thought that he had gotten out already. Then she took the guitar with her herself, and brought it now here."
"Oh ... that way; really?"
We gratefully accept the guitar. On our way home we buy in a music shop a lower E-string. Around midday we're back home, with guitar, and still amply on time for the preparations for Hanna's garden party which starts at 15:00.
At the party I play the guitar, for enterntainment and to make sure that people are happy that that guitar has been re-acquired so quickly (although you can never be sure you don't obtain the exact opposite effect ...!).
On the other hand, if it was really her intention to steal the guitar, she surely had a strange way of working. An example from the handbook for thieves, how not to do it.
Well, maybe this typically Finland. The level of criminality is low here, and that of alcoholism high. Here, you run a higher risk that you glass of beer gets stolen than your wallet. And for the rest you run into a lot of depressed drunk people -just as many women as men-, who are only looking for human contact and further don't know so well what they want. Maybe this was one of those.
Either way, professional criminals would say of this: "Well of course, this way it's not going to get anywhere with criminality in Finland, if before stealing something from the train, they first make themselves known to the entire compartment, and leave their name and phone number!"
"But ...", the servant says carefully, "there is a storage fee that you have to pay."
"Oh; how much is that?"
"£1.50."
"Whoow; that I can just afford, I think."
I haven't quite figured this out yet.