Scandinavia - Finland

July 17, 1996

A Finish to My Finnish

We are leaving Helsinki in a bust, that is with nothing. No water jugs, no vitamin pills, no auto insurance for Latvia, no steering wheel lock, no writing pad, no peanut butter. What we do have is bulging calves from all the walking it's taken to try to find these things. We are now quite familiar with the Finnish word "sauljettu" - closed. Is it possible that every store we go to in Helsinki is closed? Apparently. Arrive at 4:05 - closed at 4:00, arrive at 5:15 - closed at 5:00, arrive at 6:02 - closed at 6:00. We were being proceeded by a series of closed doors (Get Smart played in reverse). The only doors we entered successfully were two days ago, one of them made nearly impassible by the swarm inside.

That was at the Helsinki Tallink Ferry office. I squeezed in sideways and a disgusted looking woman pushed her queue number into my hand and left. Number 69, which gave me an advantage over the five people who had pushed in behind me After the word "serving" on the wall, shining red LEDs blazed the number 41. I looked at the woman to my right. I saw earlier; purposely crossing the street against a "don't walk" sign, (her half-run half-walk imperceptibly slowed). At the doors to the Tallink office she had thrust herself in front of me. She knew!

I counted four travel agents in the small room. A young Japanese couple seated in front of one was going over a lengthy print out - those chairs wouldn't free up soon. An older man was shaking his head at another agaent and two other couples at the other desks looked as if they had settled in for good, bags dumped on all sides, backs pressed into the chairs, hands clasped behind their heads. This could take hours. We pushed against the crowd and waited outside. When our number finally flashed on the wall, we took our seats and in three minutes booked a ferry, handed over our VISA card and walked out with tickets in hand. It hardly seemed fair. I never even felt the back of the chair.

The two other doors that we entered that day were tucked in obscurity. The Baltic Tourist Information center, a one man shop hidden along a quiet street, required a buzzer to access. Down into a courtyard, another door, up dark stairs to another buzzer for passage through the steel, knobless door to the office. At the advice of the man behind that door we arrived at door number 3, the Latvian Embassy, (another buzzer). There we learned that our visit was unnecessary, as American citizens we do not need VISAs.

But since those three doors two days ago, we have been only able to look in through windows, scanning the contents of shelves and counters (could they have what we want?) Now we are leaving Finland with none of the things we have been searching for. We took our money and instead spent it on pizza and beer. When the brain is fed-up, the stomach might as well be too. Nakemiin (good-bye) Finland. And that is the last of my Finnish.