Sunday, August 19, 2006
I enjoyed the waking part of the ferry from Stockholm to Helsinki. It was the closest I have been to being on a real cruise ship. After wandering the decks, searching every stairwell destination, writing through the afternoon, and watching the sun set over the archipelago – a stunningly beautiful place, I dined on a lovely repast of old sandwich and older fruit, enjoyed the free coffee, worked on the ridiculously priced internet awhile, and had a delightful chat with two Canadian boys who were headed to the Rally in Finland and then down through several of the places I had come up through. As always I shared my love for the couchsurfing experience – they, like many, were taken with the idea. I’ll bet they are couchsurfing now as I write this.
No cruise/ferry experience is complete without a trip to the duty free store. I certainly didn’t need four cases of beer or two cartons of cigarettes like everyone else apparently did, but I felt left out not carrying around my own craftily gotten tax free goods. After wandering down every aisle amazed at the frantic pace with which people were buying booze, I bought a pint bottle of Baileys, a pack of cigarettes, and a little box of dark chocolate, from Holland of all places. It would take me a week to eat the chocolates and a month to smoke the cigarettes but the Baileys was all but gone in a day. Nothing can turn a bad cup of free cruise ship coffee around quite like a couple shots of Baileys! As I walked out of the store, small little brown bag in hand, amidst people rolling shopping carts filled with liquor, chocolate, and cigarettes, I remembered a similar experience when I had first moved to Charlotte eleven years ago.
For foreign readers not familiar with American geography and the rest of you who don’t know about Charlotte yet, it is one of America’s fastest growing cities, set in North Carolina but near the South Carolina border, it is about three hours inland from the Atlantic Ocean.. I had moved there at the end of August, otherwise known as the beginning of hurricane season. The first hurricane that moved up the east coast that season sent the Charlotteans into a panic. Now I’m no meteorology expert, but as far as I knew, hurricanes didn’t generally make it three hours inland without being downgraded to a tropical storm. A little rain, maybe some flooding but they didn’t actually HIT a three hour inland city, did they?
Well apparently one had. Hurricane Hugo was a category four hurricane that wreaked havoc on the South Carolina coast in 1989, causing over 7 billion dollars in damage. A strange confluence of weather circumstances across the Carolinas created what was basically a walled alley directly from Charleston to, you guessed it Charlotte. The storm was still a category one hurricane when it blew into Charlotte three hours away. It did a tremendous amount of damage. One out of every three trees was uprooted, tearing down power lines and damaging structures all over the city. Ninety-eight percent of the city’s residents lost power, some for upwards of three weeks. Memories of Hugo were still strong in the minds of Charlotteans, even after eight years. Of course, I didn’t know all this my first week there and watched incredulously as Charlotteans raced to clear the bread shelves and grocers raced to refill them. Not believing a hurricane could actually hit the city but not wanting to feel like a complete idiot if it did hit and I hadn’t done anything to prepare, I went to the store and meekly exited the store, sandwiched between carts piled high with enough foodstuffs to last a month, with a loaf of bread, a pack of D batteries, and a gallon of water. It was, I’d say, an effort in futility since I wouldn’t have lasted more than three days in an actual emergency, but then I knew every person in town had enough to feed me for a month.
Here I was again with one little brown bag, working my way through the shopping carts, this time filled with liquor instead of bread and milk. That is one of the first things you notice about the Finns – they do love to drink. A study indicated the Finns actually drink more per capita than the Irish and the Brits! Little did I know as I watched them wheeling tens of thousands of dollars of liquor off to their cabins, they would be drinking it all later that night! Or at least that’s how it seemed on the walk home – but I’m getting ahead of myself. Actually, I learned later 8% of Finland’s per capita alcohol sales are made in duty free stores, compared to most countries with less than 1%. The researchers can’t even get accurate per capita figures because Finns are known fro making home-grown alcohol, a residual effect of the attempted prohibition of alcohol some years back. Finns are not only serious about their drinking, they are serious about drinking at a bargain!
Back on the ferry it was midnight and the Hot Dance Company was about to start their interpretation of the Moulin Rouge. It was actually a decent little show though it never seems fair to me that the girls are barely clad and hot as hell while the guys are fully clothed and gay as hell. Can’t we have a little eye candy or hope too?! I sipped my drink, smoked a cigarette, and surreptitiously looked around the room to see if there was anyone worth a little flirt. The trip is almost over and I have not met one single man worthy of a one night stand card – I was only allotted about five of those during my morals-development stage as a teenager and I still have two to use before I am old and wrinkled (-er).
I realized I had unintentionally, but probably subconsciously, placed myself in a seat between two chatting couples at a bar one level up from the floor with the sitting booths - prime positioning to make it absolutely impossible to hit on or be hit on by anyone. I thought. I’m sure my failure to meet anyone this trip has been some sort of subconscious avoidance. If you had asked me before the trip I would have laughingly replied I intended to sleep my way across Europe. Now it seems I can’t be bothered. If my soul mate shows up to buy me a cup of coffee, I’d be delighted. Anything else, I’ve got writing and traveling to do. At first I was a bit worried about this 180 degree turn around from my life long affliction of being boy crazy, but it has come to be rather comforting to be more interested and passionate about what I am doing than the fantasies I can dream up about prince charming sweeping me off my feet. Prince Charmings never seem to be quite as good as they seem at first glance - I’ll take a good, intelligent man who gets me and likes me the way I am, thank you very much.
So I quit scanning the room and turned my attention to dance floor. As I was watching, someone leaned against my chair, turning it slightly It seemed odd since they weren’t talking to the people next to me and there weren’t enough people in the open bar area behind me that they could have been pushed into my seat. I thought someone stumbled and didn’t pay it much mind. A few minutes later it happened again. I half turned to see an overweight man who looked like he crawled off the short bus, both literally and figuratively. Okay let me rephrase the last line of the preceding paragraph – some prince charming qualities would be nice – at least be taller than me with a waist that is no more than twice as big as mine. The guy said what I took to be “sorry”. I smiled and went back to watching the show. Five minutes later the chair turned again. I ignored it. A few moments later it happened again. There was no doubt it was intentional this time so I turned to give the guy an exasperated look. It was a different guy. Same height mind you, same weight, same not-there look in the eye, but the hair was blondish brown instead of blonde and this guy had a mustache. He said something I took to be an apology, I said “no worries” and went back to watching the show. By the end of the thirty minute show it happened with two other guys – either they were all from the same family or the entire country is inbred. I downed the last of my drink and headed for my cabin for a good night’s sleep. Not. Between the rolling of the ocean and not wanting to disturb the stranger sleeping in the other bed, I laid stiff-backed all night imagining just how much water was around me right now and how impossible it would be to make it above water if the ship rain into an iceberg.
I arrived in Hellsinki red-eyed and bleary. My host, James, was kind enough to meet me at the ferry terminal and walk me to his home. He is actually from Australia but has lived in Finland for twelve years. He was filled with information and observations on the Finns and their history – including the explanation that Finns, a particularly shy people, will turn a bar stool to express interest in someone they are otherwise too shy to talk to. Ah-hah!
A student of the occult and spirituality trends, we had plenty to talk about as I perused his impressive library collection in his impressively small flat. I was admittedly taken aback when I realized this “couch” was in the bedroom, well the only room, as it was an efficiency apartment – kitchen on one end with a partial wall that separated it from the living/bedroom and a small shower with a toilet and sink in it. No I’m not kidding. The bathroom was the size of a shower, tiled in its entirety, with a drain in the middle of the floor, and a single water attachment that serviced both the showerhead and the half sized sink. It was actually a rather ingenious use of space. The living bed room had a large bunk bed on one side, James’ desk on the other and an oversized, what we used to call in college flip-and-fuck chair, that doubled as a couch. It is a good thing we got along well!
James left me to take a short nap while he went to a meeting, returning later that afternoon to cook us dinner while I took a quick walk. It didn’t take long to figure out what I read in the books was true – Fins are a bit funny. Interestingly, I had a very defined image in my mind of what a “Finn” looked like. I don’t know exactly where the image came from – probably in part Irving Stone’s “The Agony and The Ecstasy” mixed in with a Shakespeare reference somewhere, and maybe a Danny Kaye movie. In the indistinguishable clutter of millions of book references running around in my head, I had an image of the Finns as “the weird ones”; the ones who came to court and were just bizarre in their habits and tendencies, their speech and dress. The men were long and lithe, with long pointed but flat ridged noses that ended at a flat edge and a slight tinge of red to their hair and otherwise sallow skin, deep set eyes that gave them a look of the melancholy or sick – that royal inbred look. Don’t you know the first street I walked down – there he was, the spitting image of the picture in my mind’s eye of what a Finn looked like. Cheers to the authors who drew so well with their words. The guy was absorbed in his paper so I didn’t ask if he was descendant from the nobility but I did take a picture.
I returned to find dinner on the table. There’s nothing like eating a home cooked meal that you didn’t have to cook!! James took me through a brief history lesson on Finland. Aside from the unexplained mental images in my head, I knew nothing about the Finns or Finland. I didn’t know it was ruled by Sweden for eight hundred years or by Russia for over a hundred. Nor did I know that Finland, like many small countries, snagged its independence during the Russian Revolution when the mother country was otherwise occupied. They actually fought in the war on the side of Germany – not, they say, because they agreed with Hitler but because they wanted to fight against Russia. But today’s angst isn’t with Russia but with Sweden. When Russia was in control they let the Fins keep their own money and their own language, and though Russia did build some of their churches on Finnish soil, the Fins don’t have the resentment against them that other countries, like Estonia, do. Instead the Finns resent Sweden. Swedish is the second official language and Finns still take issue with the fact it was required in school. I find all these power struggle stories fascinating. I mean America has always been America. With the exception of the first couple land deals with the Spanish and the French, our borders were pretty much determined early in our history and have always remained where they were drawn originally. The idea that a city was part of Germany one day, then part of Poland the next, or a country ruled by Sweden one day and Russia the next is so difficult to comprehend, and fascinating. James was full of interesting history and information about the Finns and Finland and Helsinki.
Since Finland doors have special locks and keys that can’t be copied, James faithfully stayed by my side the entire weekend, taking all his time to show me around Helsinki and keep me company. First plan on the agenda was Helsinki’s Fireworks Competition. My arrival was propitious timing as they happened to be having a little couchsufing gathering in honor of the fireworks. We met up with a young Finnish man who was visiting from a nearby town, Tina, a vivacious, delightful young lady from Helsinki but living in Amsterdam, a lovely young girl from Russia, and her somewhat demoralizing boyfriend from Holland (who was devastated when I commented, without ill intention, that his Dutch accent was stronger than her Russian accent). After a couple beers we made our way to Helsinki’s second most celebrated night of the year – the annual Fireworks Competition. What is the most celebrated night of the year, you ask? May Day. I told you the Finns were weird.
We made our way with thousands of others to the harbor to watch the competition. The start was a bit disappointing and surprisingly nobody on the pier where we were perched had a radio to hear the music that was being broadcast in time to each competitor’s display. But by the end there had been several impressive sequences and I had even seen a few fireworks I had never seen before. Unfortunately the headache that had begun a few hours before was turning into a definitive migraine. We headed to another bar to meet up with another couchsurfer and his girlfriend but they were just drunk enough to be shouting in what is known as the Finnish Whine and my head just couldn’t take it. By the time I made it back to the apartment I was in agony.
The headache was still with me the next morning and remained until I was on the ferry to Tallinn. I’m sure there is much to appreciate about Helsinki, but it is hard to appreciate anything when you are in pain. I was duly impressed by the churches that flank the port as you enter on the ship – the pristine white Helsinki Cathedral to the left and the imposing red brick Uspenski Orthodox Cathedral to the right. The Helsinki Cathedral, with its white walls and green domed roofs was built in the neo-classical style and is topped by twelve zinc statues of the apostles, the largest uniform collection of zinc sculptures in the world. The Uspenski Cathedral is also topped with twelve candle domes (those Russian domes everyone calls onion domes are supposed to be candles) to represent the apostles and one to represent Jesus. My cathedral luck was reversed - generally people get to see the Helsinki Cathedral inside but Uspenski is often closed. I got only a glimpse at the surprisingly unimpressive inside of the Helsinki Cathedral where a wedding was taking place but actually got to enjoy my first Russian Orthodox service at the Uspenski Cathedral which had a truly impressive array of gilded art inside. I was also taken by the obvious piety of its members. I look forward to researching and learning a bit more about the apparently Christian-based but obviously different faith.
We walked through Esplanade Park, Helsinki’s favorite promenade, which was brimming with street performers on a sunny summer Saturday. There was actually a lady doing a dog and pony show with cats instead of a pony. Yes cats. Trained cats. How do you train a cat? Use reverse psychology? They were being a little resistant (go figure) but the lady did actually get them to go through tubes and climb a pole. One was supposed to jump in a basket held by two volunteers but refused. She finally had to “help” him (i.e. threw him in). I found the Rasta Superman balancing on an elastic rope between two trees rather intriguing and the pre-pubescent circus girls doing gymnastics and body contortion tricks were precious. We took a quick stroll through the market by the harbor which I must say is one of the more impressive street markets I have seen and lovely when seen from above with all its colorful tent tops. If I had more money, less headache, and was alone, I would have enjoyed shopping a bit. As it was, we had an objective – the Suomenlinna sea fortress.
Now this place was cool – a small island set ten minutes away by ferry it is known as Finland’s treasured fortress, despite the fact it was actually built by the Swedes. In 1917, when Finland gained its independence from Russia, they quickly changed the name from Sveaborg, which means Swedish Fortress, to Suomenlinna, which means Finnish Castle. The fortress was built in 1748 to help Sweden counter the ambitions of Russia but Swedish power in the region declined over the next hundred years and in 1908 it was handed over to the Russians.
The Finns have done a beautiful job of preserving the fortress as an afternoon destination for locals and tourists alike. UNESCO agrees having named it as one of their World Heritage Sites. There are numerous museums, quaint cafes, walking paths, and even a small beach of sorts. We stopped at a café for a cappuccino and a damn good piece of rhubarb pie with vanilla cream sauce and watched the boats play in the crystal blue water beyond. People were scattered upon the huge boulders that make up a little inlet, enjoying the last few moments of the disappearing summer. It was too beautiful of a day to be inside museums though we did take a quick tour through the Commandant’s official residence. The one and only Finnish submarine left in the world, the Vesikko, is open to the public on Suomenlinna. Under the Paris Treaty Finns were not allowed to have submarines so the fleet was destroyed in its entirety and sold for scrap. Only the Vesikko remains. We took a quick tour, quick because it is the size of a tin can. I can’t imagine how men lived under water in such a small space! From there we passed through the Kings Gate, a two story fortress wall that originally served as a parade gate for the fortress but has been refurbished several times. On this particular day there was a group of happily drunk teenagers playing a fascinating game on the grass before the gate – I must try this the next time I have a group of drunk friends around me. You all stand in a huddle, arms around the back of the persons next to you. One person puts their foot in the center of the huddle. Everyone else places one foot on top of the poor foot in the center (like what you do with hands before a game). You count to three then everyone lifts their other foot up and tries to balance on the one foot that everyone is standing on with one foot – did you get that? Try it – it looks like fun!
The day was winding down and my headache winding back up so we made our way back into town to a restaurant called Zetor. Now here you will find the funny Finns at their finest - tractors converted into drinking bars and milk pails as bar lights, this place takes ‘redneck’ to an all new level. It’s like Billy Bob’s gone bad. The menu is a newspaper with silly stories that work in the names of the foodstuffs that make up each dish. The stories are clearly supposed to be funny but most require a Finnish sense of humor which apparently I don’t have. If you liked Fargo, you would probably get the Finns. I didn’t and don’t.
Being a good traveler I ate the appropriate regional dish – reindeer and berry stew over mashed potatoes. It was pretty good though now that I’ve played with reindeer I regret having eaten one. I just don’t like the idea of eating animals that will nuzzle you and ask you to pet them. It seems inhumane to eat something that craves love and attention the way we do. Dinner was good but I was exhausted from the day of pounding in my brain cells. I hated to sit out my only Saturday night in Helsinki and especially to miss the Ice Bar but between the $30 it would cost and the pain I was in, I knew it was best to stay home. James tried to honor the Saturday night by at least giving me a shot of Salmiaki – a favorite Finnish liquor that looks like motor oil and tastes like cough medicine. I learned later it is also their favorite candy. They really are strange…. I was tucked in and sound asleep on my little couch bed by midnight.
James saw me off at the ferry bright and early the next morning. He was such a great host and genuinely kind to me. I hated that the headache never let up enough for me to thoroughly enjoy either Helsinki or his company but am glad to have met him and believe I learned something of myself through him. We shared a long hug goodbye and I was off to explore Estonia.
Comments