Life in the Fast Lane

And why, you may be asking, has Helsinki airport suddenly got a “fast lane” down the main concourse? Nobody seems to pay it much heed. Those two ambling tossers up ahead are dawdling along like they’ve got all the time in the world, and one of them is walking into oncoming traffic. As I’ve been barrelling down it in the last few months, I have bulldozed through clouds of clueless pensioners and slowpoke Swedes, none of whom have bothered to look down at the Red Lines of Danger.

Helsinki’s “fast lane” is a laughable Band-Aid over a problem of Finnair’s own making, in which flights from smaller cities in Finland, transferring to the non-Schengen gates at the other end of the terminal, have often been assigned outrageous transfer times. I have been dumped on several occasions at Gate 4 as my London flight has already started boarding at Gate 42, a transfer time that the airport’s own signage assesses at 28 minutes.

On paper, it’s a 40-minute transfer time. In reality, if someone has trouble stowing their skis onboard in Kajaani and the plane’s just a few minutes late, you’re going to miss your flight. As it is, you sprint across the airport, risking a heart-attack and “fast lane” collisions. To add insult to injury, when I arrive, panting and sweating, at my connection, a text shuffles onto my phone warning me that it might be a bit tight. Yes, I KNOW, but if I’d stopped to read the message, I would have missed it. There is literally not enough time to piss. Something they might have liked to mention when they sold me the ticket.

Finnair will grudgingly offer new tickets to you if you miss your flight. On one occasion, I was told that the next flight had been cancelled, but if I wanted to wait at the airport for five hours, I could get aboard a four-hour bus home. I decided to pick up my luggage and just get the train, at which point I was refused any compensation, because of Reasons. And if you want to escalate any complaints to the ombudsman, you have to do it in Finnish.

So if you’re flying to or from the Finnish hinterland from abroad, via Helsinki, check the transfer times on your ticket. Forty minutes is a joke. Get another flight. Nowadays, I usually just get the train to Helsinki. It takes longer, but I am not flirting with death or discomfort by trying to meet their physically impossible transfer times. One day, this is going to kill someone. But not me.

Jonathan Clements is the author of An Armchair Traveller’s History of Finland.

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