Boreal Expat

High Gas

2012-03-02T13:02:00.000+02:00

Somerecent news from the States has made me think of a time back at the end of 2007when my sister came over from Georgia for a visit.

Wewere returning from showing her something of Helsinki when I stopped to fill upour smallish family-sized car (seats six), which was down to about a quarter ofa tank. My sister offered to pay for thegas, though we’d only been doing normal driving, nothing really extra on her account. I appreciated her offer, but refused.

Thereason was that, as an American unfamiliar with Finnish gas prices, she didn’trealize what she was offering. It didn’tmake sense for her to pay so much, just because we had driven her around abit. That perfectly routine fill-up, asI recall, cost 80 dollars. For 10gallons of gas. Eight-dollar gas is prettynormal for Finns, but not so much for Americans.

Theaverage price of gas here has gone up even more in the four years since mysister’s visit and is now almost $9 a gallon. Even that price is deceptively low, in dollar terms. If the euro weren’t currently weaker than itwas in December 2007, the price would be more like $10.50.

Priceslike that make it easy for us in Finland to find reports of folksin the States becoming almost apoplectic over the prospect of five-dollar gas almost amusing. To paraphrase Dustin Hoffman in “Wag theDog”: “Five dollar gas? That’s nothing! That is nothing!”

ThatEuropean gas is expensive is well known in the States, and may be one morereason some Americans are chilled to the bone when politicians like Mitt Romneyevoke the specter of the US turning into – God forbid – “Europe”.

Andit’s probably also well known that this price gap is largely due to taxes. Take for example, my home state of Georgia. The current tax on a gallon of gas in Georgiaseems to be 29 cents. Compare that to anequivalent of $3.30 in tax that Finnish motorists pay per gallon, over 10 timesmore. Strip away the tax, and the priceof gasoline here is only one and a half times the current US price.

Likemost Europeans, Finns are used to high gas and are, in fact, luckier than many others,such as the Italians or the oil-rich Norwegians, who are now reportedly payinga dollar more per gallon than the Finns. I was recently in Portugal, where we noticed gas prices were about thesame as in Helsinki, despite Portugal’s generally poorer economy and lowerincomes.

Itseems to me that Finns are quite tolerant of gas prices that in America wouldalmost spark a revolution because, unlike Americans, most Finns see carownership or cheap fuel as nice to have, but not essential for life itself.

It’sno secret that government tax policy here is designed to “shape” the behaviorof drivers, and it seems to have some effect. Most middle-class Finnish families have one or two cars, but not more,unlike in the US where on average every family member with a driver’s licensehas their own vehicle to go with it.

Thosewith cars here are also not as quite as impulsive about using them asAmericans are. They’re not in the habitof hopping in the family SUV to drive three or four blocks to buy a gallon ofmilk. In our family, we tend to use our twocars more prudently than I would have back in the States.

Notthat we completely deprive ourselves of gas-powered conveyance. Between daily commuting, shopping trips, and hobbytransportation, we certainly get enough use out of our cars, though we do tryto avoid really useless trips and combine errands as much as possible. If we need to run to the store just to pickup an item or two, we usually go on foot (a five-minute walk to theneighborhood grocery) or by bike, or do without until the next day. Many people here would do the same as amatter of routine, though eight-dollar gas probably does reinforce thiseco-friendly mindset.

Idon’t want to sound too smug about it (or Pollyannaish), but I tend to thinkthe higher gas tax is fine. Anyincentive to use less fossil fuel can’t be all bad. It might not even be necessary, in the caseof Finland, where many people’s driving habits might have more to do with theirinclination towards a more natural lifestyle than the gas price itself.

Also,it helps that in Finland, like elsewhere in Europe, there are alternatives tothe car. I wouldn’t say the publictransport here is perfect. For example,when I worked at Nokia a bus commute required two transfers, and took twice aslong as driving. And Finland, likeAmerica, has some pretty remote countryside, where bus service is much morelimited.

Still,in Helsinki the bus is often very convenient, especially for trips intotown. A day or two ago, I offered todrive my daughter to my son’s place downtown for a visit, but she refused,choosing to take the bus instead. There’sno stigma attached to riding the bus, even for teenagers. Everybody does it sometimes.

Butin the States, the car is king, public transport poor (and mainly for the poor),and a tax, just tax mind you, of $3.00 a gallon would be seen as draconian, crueleven, and practically socialistic. It’sno great insight that the economic life and lifestyle of Americans have beenbased on cheap gas.

Ifyou ask me, they’ve been spoiled – not that this makes higher gas any less devastatingfor families trying to recover from the Great Recession. (GOP candidate Rick Santorum has even been claiminglately that high gas was the real cause of the Great Recession.)

I’veheard that in Iran super cheap gas helps make up for the shortcomings in thepolitical life of Iranians, and it’s tempting to think something similar of theUS. Like “bread and circuses” in ancientRome, could cheap gas in America be helping to placate a disaffected citizenry?

Okay,maybe that’s going too far. But it sometimesseems that way when you consider the distress over the recent spike in gas prices,which has been cited as a new threat to President Obama’s re-election, despitethe gradually improving economy. Gas isthat important to US politics. When theUS energy secretary dared to suggest that, in the face of rising prices, greaterfuel efficiency should be the country’s goal, not cheaper gas, Newt Gingrich demandedhis resignation.

Idoubt Obama’s critics really think he can personally “control” the price of oil(as Stephen Colbert hilariously implied he could do with a single phone call to“the oil companies”). Still, that doesn’tstop them for blaming him for not opening up every square mile of Americanlandscape to further oil drilling or doing whatever else they think necessaryto preserve the God-given right of Americans to cheap gas.

Cold Storage

2012-02-27T00:07:00.000+02:00

Oneof the advantages of winter in Finland is the deep freeze that exists rightoutside your door. Not everyone wouldreally see this as a plus, but it does occasionally have its uses, at least forstoring food. For example, once a wintermy wife makes sure we carry all our frozen food outside and stack it on theporch while we defrost the freezer.

That’snot all we use the “walk out” freezer for. It’s great for all that excess Christmas foodthat won’t fit in the fridge, not to mention the occasional over-sized pot ofsoup. We regularly cook salmon soup, orthe equally Finnish “hotdog” soup, in batches big enough to last for two orthree meals, which makes it hard to find room for it in the refrigerator. That’s not a problem during the approximatelyfive months of icebox-like weather. Wejust keep the soup outside on the porch, bringing it in to thaw out asneeded.

Afew weeks ago, however, we had to rethink the “porch fridge”. I started to put a fresh batch of soup out forthe night, when I remembered that it was something like -25 (-13F)outside. Needless to say, turning atasty meal of potatoes, carrots and sliced hotdogs into a solid block of iceheavy enough to have its own gravity would be overkill in the food preservationdepartment.

Faced with this realization, I came up with the bright idea of using the eteinen. This extremely common “room” in Finnish houses is unknown in America, atleast in the south, where I’m from. Eteinen translates into English as “vestibule”,but I like to think of it as an “airlock”. It’s basically a closet-sized space between a house’s front door and aninner door that leads to the rest of the house. The idea is that when someone enters a house only one of the two doorsis opened at a time, so that the warm, cozy interior is never directly exposed tothe unforgiving elements outside. It’salso a good place to store boots.

And,in our case, soup. We haven’t heated ourtiny eteinen since we added anextension on our house and started using a different front door. Nowadays, the eteinen doesn’t stay nearly as warm as the rest of the house. As it turns out, when it’s -25 outside, insideour vestibule it’s only about nine degrees (50F), not hugely warmer than ourfridge.

WhileI thought my idea of using the eteinenas a poor man’s icebox was a stroke of genius, to my wife it was perfectlyobvious. In fact, it’s a variation of somethingshe grew up with – the kylmäkomero. This literally means “cold closet”, and it is, literally, a cold closet. A kylmäkomero was an otherwise normalcloset, with a pipe connecting it to the outside, keeping it cooler than therest of the house. When my wife first cameto study in Helsinki, kylmäkomerot werestill being used in the 60s-era dormitory where she lived.

Kylmäkomerot might sound primitive now, and I wouldn't want to rely on them for keeping my beer cold. But, like the root cellars that were traditionally part of every Finnish house in the past, cold closets were a practical, low-tech way of making use of one resource Finns always haveplenty of this time of the year – cold air.

Our pot of soup on the porch.

Election Standards

2012-02-15T17:56:00.000+02:00

The second round of the Finnish presidentialelection was held over a week ago, and I’m only now posting something about it(I’ve been tied up with other projects and chores). Despite a buildupthat included a lot of news coverage, one sedate debate after another, and afair amount of political advertizing, the whole race seemed to be over inthe blink of an eye. Which it kind of was. It started in earnestonly in December, meaning it lasted all of two months, three tops.

That’s nothing compared to the US election, whichafter almost a year into the Republican nomination process, is just nowbuilding up a good head of steam, with another seven months of grandstanding, self-servingrhetoric, and over-inflated egos to go.

President-elect Sauli Niinistö
Photo by Soppakanuuna

Finns don’t much go in for American-style glitterand flash, especially in politics, so voters here were spared the Hollywoodgame-show veneer that campaigning has taken on in the US. Also, there wasnone of the negative advertizing that I’ve heard so much about bombarding American TVviewers this campaign season. And no demagogy – just imagine! (Well, I can’t say for sure whether there might have been some demagogy on thepart of the True Finn’s candidate Timo Soini’s, but I feel sure it neverreached US standards.)

Another amazing feature of Finnish elections is howfast the votes are counted, which I guess shouldn’t be surprising in a countryof just over 4.4 million voters. Still, considering that in America youoften hear the election results only the morning after (or in a certain famouscase back in 2000, a full month later), it’s amazing how fast it all gets donehere.

Forty-five minutes after the polls closed at 8 p.m.on Election Day two Sundays ago the outcome was clear. The entire tally hadbeen completed in a little over two hours, and well before bedtime the officialresults were announced, both candidates interviewed on TV, and the whole thingwrapped up. And keep in mind, these are paper ballots they’re counting. By hand. Nothing electronic.

Still, perhaps the most glaring difference betweenelections here and in the US is the money. The Helsingin Sanomat reported that Sauli Niinistö’s campaign spentsomething like 1.2 million euros ($1.6 million) to win the contest. That’s considerably more than the 710,000euros that Pekka Haavisto had at his disposal, even after an almost 3-fold boostin donations in the last two weeks of the race, including 80,000 euros raked inby a one-time comeback concert put on by the hugely popular band “Ultra Bra”.

Pekka Haavisto, Green Party candidate
Photo by Soppakauuna

Compare all that to the roughly $220 million (€165million) that has been spent in the US presidential race as of December 31,more or less evenly divided between the Democrats and Republicans. And the race is far from over. It’s expected that President Obama’s campaignalone will eventually raise a record-breaking billion dollars. As everyone knows, everything is bigger inAmerican. Still, whether or not a coolbillion is an obscene amount of money, it’s certainly mindboggling, and notjust by Finnish standards.

This Finnish presidential race, though dull by US standards,was more electrifying than recent races. Niinistö’s winwith nearly 63% of the vote would be seen as a landslide in the US, wheremargins are often very narrow. But inFinland, voters have almost always rewarded career politicians, like Niinistö, who’vespent decades paying their dues within one of the mainstream parties. Over the years, Niinistö has held various highpositions in government, almost won the presidency when he ran six years ago, and continues to be popular, so he probably seemed like the most obvious choice for many people.

Againstthat background, the fact that Haavisto inspired enough support to forceNiinistö into a second round of voting is impressive enough. The surge in Haavisto’sfunding surely helped his campaign, as well as the use of social media by hissupporters, such as a flash-mob video posted on Youtube.

For a first-time candidate from a minor party, and one who’sopenly gay (which even in Finland might turn some voters off), Haavisto’s 37% shareof the final vote is totally respectable. That doesn’t mean it’s any less of a disappointment for his supporters,which seemed to have included most people I know (my neighborhood went 40% forHaavisto). My daughter said she and all herfriends would have voted for him if they had been old enough, which should giveHaavisto some solace. Six years fromnow, with the younger generation coming of age, the outcome might be very different.

Finnish

2012-02-06T10:11:00.001+02:00

One of my favorite words in the Finnishlanguage is aina (always, inEnglish). Also such words as jos (if), koska (because), kun(when), and ja (and).

It’s not because they’re all short andeasy to understand, though that doesn’t hurt. No, what makes these very common words special in my mind is a rarequality they all share – rare in Finnish, that is. These words don’t change. Ever. They always, always look the same. This might not sound like a big deal to English speakers, blessed as weare with a tongue so simple that even I once managed to get job teachingit. We take it for granted that Englishwords can be relied on to stay more or less the same, however they’re used.

I only wish the same were true of Finnish,which I’ve been trying to master on-again, off-again for well over 20years. The Finnish language is typifiedby “agglutination”, a word that by the sound of it alone should be a clue thatthe language is going to be a pain in the ass to learn. Heavily “agglutinative” languages, such asNavajo, Turkish, and Georgian (not “Peach State” Georgian), form longish wordsby putting bits and pieces together to express something that we in Englishwould do with several smaller words. Finnish does this in spades.

Take the simple English phrase “the bigred house”. In Finnish, this is iso punainen talo. Fine, so far. If you want to say “in the big red house”, in English you simply add atiny word, “in”. Finnish does itdifferently: iso punainen talo becomes isossapunaisessa talossa. To make thehouse yours, English only adds another small word, “my”. In Finnish, you say isossa punaisessa talossani. Tack on another bit (–kin) asin talossanikin and you get “also inmy house”.

I often think of the difference betweenlearning Finnish and English in terms of rice or meat. For a beginner, learning and speaking Englishis like eating a meal of rice. If youdrop a few grains of rice here and there, you can still get your pointacross. Learning Finnish, on the otherhand, is like eating big pieces of meat, which must be chewed and chewed beforeswallowing. And some Finnish wordsrequire a lot of chewing.

I’ve seen it claimed that the Guinnessworld record for the longest word is the Finnish epäjärjestelmällistyttämättömyydellänsäkäänköhän. This, as you can imagine, doesn’t exactlytrip off the tongue. And it’s not a wordyou’ll likely ever see spray-painted on a wall. Or hear spoken in the sauna or, well, anywhere. The word means: “I wonder if – even with his/her quality ofnot having been made unsystematized”. Ican say without hesitation that this is a thought I’ve never felt compelled toblurt out to any other human being, even in English. (By the way, as any check of the Guinness website will show you, this 48-letter Finnish word has apparently been deposed asthe world’s longest by a 195-character-long word in Sanskrit, another languageI won’t be learning anytime soon.)

Still, Finnish is full of words that canbecome maddeningly long and variable enough, as you can see with talo. While English gets by with only four words to talk about a buildingwhere people live (“house”, “houses”, “house’s”, and “houses’”), Finnishrequires at least 26 different forms of the word, depending on how it’sused. These are: talo, talot, talon, talojen, taloon, taloihin, talossa, taloissa,talosta, taloista, talolle, taloille, talolla, taloilla, talolta, taloilta,taloa, taloja, talona, taloina, taloksi, taloiksi, talotta, taloitta, plussome others I’ve only vaugely heard of.

And, talois a simple case, where the original four letters remain unchanged, unlike theword for “wolf” (susi). Instead of “wolf”, “wolves”, “wolf’s” and“wolves’”, the Finnish susi can bechanged, transformed, contorted into sudet,suden, susien, suteen, susiin, sudessa, susissa, sudesta, susista, sudelle,susille, sudella, susilla, sudelta, susilta, sutta, susia, sutena, susina,sudeksi, susiksi, sudetta, and susitta.

It’s way complicated. And then there are the verbs. While English employs only five forms to getacross everything you ever wanted to say about “speaking” (“speak”, “speaks”, “spoke”,“spoken” and “speaking”), Finnish forces you to learn at least 37 differentforms of the verb puhua. I won’t list them here, but trust me, it’smindboggling.

Of course, there's a system to thismadness, and Finnish packs a lot of meaning into these different wordforms: taloon means “into the house”, taloihin“into the houses”, talosta means“from the house”, etc. It takes a littlegetting used to. Also, because of allthe metamorphosing, the words you see in actual texts may look nothing liketheir basic, familiar forms. Even if youknow the words for “wolf” (susi) and“speak” (puhua), you might notrecognize them in the sentence: Pidin häntä puhuvana sutena -- “Ithought of him as a talking wolf.” Justtry finding puhuvana or sutena in most Finnish-Englishdictionaries. You won’t.

Maybe it’s true that Finnish has anelegant logic and an economical way of conveying a lot of meaning in a few,complicated words. Maybe even those ofus not born into the language can eventually learn to appreciate how remarkableit really is, beautiful even – if only we didn’t have to chew so hard on allthose elegant, beautiful words.

Go Newt, Go Figure

2012-01-29T22:10:00.000+02:00

After lastweekend’s elections in Finland and America, both countries are closer tochoosing a president. In the case of Finland, a lot closer. Practicallydone, in fact. For the US, however, it is still a long slog, butwith some fascinating twists sure to come.

The Finnish pollturned out as expected with Sauli Niinistö getting the lion’s share of thevote, some 37 percent. The Green Party candidate, Pekka Haavisto,also as expected had a strong showing, though squeaking into second place only1% ahead of the third-place finisher, veteran politician Paavo Väryrnen. Niinistöand Haavisto now continue to the next round, to be decided a week fromtoday. Early voting has already started.

A couple ofencouraging things to note from the first round. “True Finn” TimoSoini came in a distant fourth with only 9.4% of the vote, a far cry from thenearly 20% his party garnered in the parliamentary election that shook thingsup so much last spring. However, it might be wise not to read thisas a complete repudiation (almost wrote refudiation there, shades of SarahPalin!) of the xenophobic party that Soini represents. The presidentialrace here has more to do with the individual candidate, not the party, whichhelps explain how Haavisto’s personal popularity outstrips the Green Party’srelatively low level of support (only 10 MPs in a 200-member parliament).

The otherpositive takeaway was the turnout. A few weeks ago, I heard a Finnlamenting how people here don’t bother to vote as much as they should, with atypical turnout (he said) of only 60-something percent. That soundedlow to me, though not bad compared to voter turnout in the US. Averageturnout is around 50% for US congressional elections, maybe more forhigher-profile White House races, which is pathetic for a country that pridesitself as the model of democracy.

It turns outthat the 60-something figure for Finland claimed by my friend is indeed toolow. In the first election round last Sunday, almost 73% of votersturned out nationwide, and even more in Helsinki. I can’t help butboast a little that turnout in my neighborhood was a whopping 85%. AsI’ve said, Finns are a civic-minded people.

While theFinnish election was satisfying, the one in South Carolina was absolutelygalvanizing. I even stayed up to watch the coverage on CNN, whichstarted at one in the morning Helsinki time. When the voting endedan hour later, CNN was ready within minutes to declare Newt Gingrich thewinner, a stunning comeback for the Georgian who had until a week earlier beenbadly trailing Mitt Romney in the polls. Not only did Gingrich beatRomney, he trounced him by 13 points.

The victory forGingrich, which keeps him in the running and denies Romney an early anointment asGOP nominee, was bizarre. And it highlights the bizarre, you couldsay even schizophrenic, nature of the Republican Party in 2012.

The winner ofthe first 2012 Republican primary to be held in the conservative and religiousSouth is a two-time adulterer who has most recently been attacking the GOPfrontrunner Mitt Romney for being a capitalist tool. Go figure.

Something like65% of South Carolina GOP voters identify themselves as evangelical Christians,the most earnest and in-your-face type of churchgoers in a region that’s notknown as the Bible Belt for nothing. Yet by a margin of nearly 2 to1, this devout demographic voted for a man who has traded in not only his wifethree times, but also his faith. He was born a Lutheran, became aSouthern Baptist while in college, then converted in 2009to the Catholicism of his current wife.

I’m not sayingthere is anything wrong with this; it’s just a bit ironic a deep-red,born-again state like South Carolina doesn't have a problem with it. You could thinkthat Gingrich’s flipping churches is his way of applying free-marketprinciples to religion. If a particular religion doesn’t serve yourneeds, why not shop around for one that does? At least you have thengiven the matter of religion more thought than most people, who usually stickwith the faith that was chosen for them by accident of birth. That's thecharitable way of looking at it. When it comes to Gingrich’s ditching hisfirst two wives, I'm afraid there’s no charitable way of looking at that. Noneat all.

This is besidethe point anyway. It’s not that Palmetto State voters chose Gingrich becausethey admired his freewheeling attitude toward spouses or churches. (Afterall, as people always like to point out, redemption is an important tenet ofChristianity – good news for the occasional politician or clergyman caught withtheir pants down.)

And SouthCarolinians’ enthusiasm for Gingrich probably has nothing to do with hiscritique of Mitt Romney’s money-grubbing business skills, which were dubbed“vulture capitalism” by leftist Rick Perry before he dropped out of therace. South Carolina voters seem to be riled up for Newt mainlybecause they are mad as hell, and they see in Gingrich someone who not onlyshares their blinding anger at Obama and the Democrats, but also is also snarlyenough to fight.

If voters didn’tthink so before, they saw the light when Gingrich lashed out at CNN debatemoderator John King, who had the nerve to ask Gingrich about claims fromGingrich’s second wife that he had asked her for “an open marriage” so that hecould carry on unhindered with his mistress Callista. With that outburst,he won their hearts.

South Carolinamay well turn out to be a fluke, however, since mainstream Republican leaders and pundits have piled on Newt, and polls in Florida, where votingnext takes place on Tuesday, are showing Gingrich back in his familiar secondplace, far behind Mitt Romney. Maybe even yesterday’s endorsementfrom Herman Cain won’t be enough of a boost to save Gingrich. Cometo think of it, a nod from Cain might be the last thing Newt needs.

Anyway, I’llprobably be drifting off to sleep in front of the TV in the wee hours ofWednesday morning, watching to see how Gingrich fares in Florida. Lookingahead, I can’t wait to see what happens with Gingrich on Super Tuesday in my, and his,home state of Georgia – not as diverse as Florida, but not as reactionary(I hope) as South Carolina.

Maybe it doesn’tmatter. I have a feeling that by the time March 6^th rollsaround, karma will finally bite and Georgia Republicans will no longer have theoption of voting for their native, and very prodigal, son.

Horse Races

2012-01-21T21:42:00.002+02:00

It’sfashionable, and totally correct I might add, to carp about how politics – thevery serious business of organizing how people are governed – is all too oftenreduced to a horse race. Who’s up, who’sdown, who’s ahead of whom in the polls, by how many points, yada, yada, yada.

Ihave to confess. I’m one of those badpeople who love to view politics as a spectator sport, which probably points to a defect in my character or at least a sad statement on the state of my life.

So,for a political junkie like me, this is shaping up to be a lost weekend at the racetrack. There are gripping elections inboth the US and Finland.

Well,maybe it’s an exaggeration to say “gripping” in the case of the Finnishpresidential election, which takes place tomorrow, Sunday. Compared to the Las Vegas sheen of recent UScampaigns, the election here in Finland is, let’s say, understated. The numerous televised debates between the eightcandidates have much more in common with Charlie Rose than American Idol. In terms of squabbling, they haven’t evenreached the level of the McLaughlin Group. (I realize some of these public-affairs TV shows will be familiar onlyto political junkies like myself, so starved for entertainment as we are.)

Also,you can make the case that the race for Finnish president doesn’t mean thatmuch, since in Finland’s parliamentary system the president doesn’t have much powerbeyond setting foreign policy.

Still,Finns are generally very civic-minded, so when they go to the polls to elect apresident every six years they take it seriously, as they should. And, with the political landscape in fluxhere, there’s probably even keener interest than usual in the outcome of thiselection. The surprising success of thereactionary True Finns party in parliamentary elections turned Finnish politicson its ear last spring. And the on-goingEuropean debt crisis keeps calling into question Finland’s role in the EU, aswell as all kinds of domestic economic issues here.

Thisuncertainty notwithstanding, there is practically no doubt who will wintomorrow’s election. The conservativeNational Coalition Party’s Sauli Niinistö is sure to be the next president,according to polls, breaking the Social Democrat’s 30-year hold on thepresidency. (As a point of interest,the “conservative” party here occupies about the same spot on the politicalspectrum as the Democrats in the US.) Theweakness of the long-dominant Social Democrats is one of the biggest surprises inthis race, as well as the projected poor showing of the True Finn’s candidate,Timo Soini.

Withthe outcome seemly certain, the biggest question now centers on who will comein second. In the Finnish system, if noone receives more than 50% of the vote, there is a runoff between the top twocontenders. With the vote being dividedbetween eight candidates, it can easily happen. Many people I know are voting for Pekka Haavisto, the hugely popular candidateof the Green Party, hoping he’ll make it to the second round.

Haavisto,who is openly gay, seems to have been propelled to second place in the latest pollsby his personal favorability, which is much higher than the level of supportthe Green Party itself enjoys. As theresults come in on Sunday, we’ll all be watching to see how good the news is for Haavistoand how bad it might be for Soini, who is running a distant fourth in the pollsand has no chance of making it to the second round.

Beforethen, an even more interesting question will be resolved – who wins in SouthCarolina. Like Ground Hog Day, whathappens today will decide whether “spring” has come for Republicans, or if theymight have to slog through six more months of GOP winter. The conventional wisdom is that a win by frontrunnerMitt Romney in this deeply conservative state, and the first in the South tovote, will settle the issue.

Romney’sanointment seemed like a done deal until this past week, when feisty NewtGingrich surged in the polls and bumbling Rick Perry narrowed the field by quitting. I’m on pins and needles about this. I can’t say for sure whom I want to win. I’m hoping that Republicans, after carefullyvetting each candidate and weighing their true devotion to conservative values,will choose the man absolutely best suited to go up against Obama in November,and lose.

ManyTea Party Republicans hate Obama for pushing through “Obamacare” healthinsurance reform, which was largely modeled after “Romneycare”, created by noneother than Mitt Romney. I relish thethought of Tea Party supporters, who want to kick out the president because ofObamacare, having to vote for the man who made the template for it.

Asgreat as it would be to see Republicans face that dilemma, I still worry thatRomney comes across as reasonable (dare I say, sane) enough to be a real threatto Obama. So, imagine my excitement bythe prospect of Newt regaining his vigor in South Carolina and giving Romney areal run for his money. For all his presidentialgood looks and slick operation, Romney lacks the passion that trueconservatives seem to be searching for, the passion needed to win their hearts. Passion is one thing that Newt has – an abundanceof it, in fact. He is so passionateabout so much that it can be heartbreaking at times – just ask the two ex-wiveshe cheated on.

Wenow have the titillating possibility of Gingrich winning South Carolina, stayingin the race and, who knows, catching enough fire and momentum to ride Tea Partyanger and resentment all the way to the convention in Tampa. Thinking what a spectacle a race betweenObama and Newt would be, I have no choice but to "endorse" Newt Gingrich as theGOP candidate. (Now, there’s a gamechanger!) Still, given how surreal USpolitics have become, there’s a little voice in my head that says, “What if he actuallywins?”

Then,sweet Jesus help us all.

The End of Christmas

2012-01-09T00:37:00.001+02:00

This past Friday was one of those days when Finns aretreated to a free holiday thanks to this being an officially Christiannation. Friday was Epiphany, a religious holiday that is totallyunfamiliar to a totally lapsed Baptist such as myself. Still, as a quicklook at Wikipedia will tell you, Epiphany is celebrated by many non-protestantChristians as the day that three visitors from the East arrived at baby Jesus’cow shed, bearing gifts.

The fact the Magi didn’t show up until January 6^th wouldbe surprising for many folks back home (or at least Baptists), since I suspectmost Americans moved on from Christmas already a couple of weeks ago and havenow set their sights on Groundhog Day. Or maybe the Super Bowl.

In Finland, the holiday is called Loppiainen,which basically means “the ending”, and though it does commemorate the visit ofthe Three Wise Men, in reality it’s typically the day when families across theland take down their Christmas trees and decorations. My family oftenhangs onto our tree longer, waiting to throw it out only after almost everyneedle has dropped and what’s left is ready to spontaneously combust.

As on Christmas Day itself, stores are closedfor Loppiainen. Except, maybe not any more. This year,storeowners in parts of Finland received special permission to stay open onFriday because the opportunity for commerce was just too great to passup.

January 6^th may be Epiphany forpredominately Lutheran Finns, but it is Christmas Eve for Russians, who beinglargely Eastern Orthodox follow their own religious calendar. It’s a hugeholiday for Russians and a great excuse for dashing over to Finland to takeadvantage of the after-Christmas sales here. It was reported that onThursday alone 50,000 Russians passed through border crossings in southeastFinland, an all-time one-day record.

This trend has exploded in recent years. Finlandlies less than 180 kilometers (115 miles) from St. Petersburg, a metropoliswith a population equal to all of Finland (about like that of Boston) and hasbecome a shopping mecca for newly affluent Russians. As strange as itmight seem to me, the prices of popular must-have items such as iPads aresupposedly lower here than in the Russian homeland, enticing more and moreRussians to come here to shop. And, they do shop. In a Helsinkimall, a Russian teenager interviewed by a Finnish newspaper explained that shehad 2000 euros (2500 dollars) to spend on her holiday visit here. Or atleast, she continued, her parents were hoping it wouldn’t be more than that.

It is all very different from when I first came herein the early 1980s. In those grimmer Cold War days, the few Russians Isaw in Helsinki where usually gazing out at the city through the foggy windowsof clunky busses operated by Intourist, the official Soviet travel agencyfounded by Joe Stalin, as they made their way to the (formerly)leftist-affiliated Hotel Presidentti, the main accommodations for Sovietvisitors back then.

Out on the street, Soviet-era Russian visitors alwaystraveled as a group, and I still recall seeing them standing, as a group,before a shop window staring at Western goods they could never hope tobuy. There was, however, at least one store in those days where Soviettourists could afford to shop – Anttila, a discount place just around thecorner from Hotel Presidentti and apparently within the hard-currency budget ofvisitors from across the Iron Curtain.

Now nearly 30 years later, Russian visitors come infar greater numbers and are more likely to arrive in their own SUV, not packedin a grungy bus. And they are no different than any other foreignvisitors to Helsinki, except they don’t come only in the warm summermonths. And I suspect they spend more money than the average tourist inFinland, reflecting how live has improved for Russians compared to the 1980s,or at least for some.

Anttila is still around, though today it’s a quitenormal department store chain. Other shops, such as Tarjoustalo and HongKong, have taken Anttila's place as discount retailers, though I suspect theseshops are not feeling the boost from the Russian holiday trade nearly as muchas fashionable and sprawling Stockmann and other swanky stores.

No doubt, the overall boost to sales is good news forthe Finnish economy and certainly a big enough incentive for stores to opentheir doors on Epiphany for those visitors from the East who aren't bearinggifts, but instead looking to buy some.

A New Year

2012-01-07T21:31:00.000+02:00

We’re already a week into the newyear. I guess I’ll get used to it. Sometimes it seems oddto think we’re already two years into this decade, twelve years into thiscentury. A friend of mine often used to repeat a favorite phrasehe’d heard when he lived in Africa: “Time, she flies.” Yes,she does.

We spent this New Year’s Eve even morequietly than normal. Every December 31st when our kids were small,we followed the same well-worn routine. Potato salad and hot dogsfor supper, some sparkling wine for the grownups, and then after spending anhour or so outside shooting some fireworks, we’d come inside to melt tin.

The melting of the tin is an old Finnishtradition. The idea is to melt pieces of “tin” (actually a leadalloy) in a special ladle and then toss the liquefied metal into coldwater. This instantly freezes the tin into any number of random, oddshapes, from which – amazingly enough – you can predictyour fortune for the coming year. A mass of tin with a roughsurface, for example, points to more money in your future.

This is a bit like the tradition back inGeorgia of eating black-eyed peas at New Year’s to ensure prosperity for thenext year. (Coincidentally enough, I happen to be listening to theBlack Eyed Peas as I write this. No joke.)

This year, with our nest even more emptythan normal, we had a subdued celebration. We couldn’t even melt tinlike we used to, after our kitchen renovation this summer. Now wehave an induction stove, which doesn’t work with our aluminum ladle. Ieven considered using my camping stove, firing it up on the kitchen counter, abit like my brother and our hiking companion did years ago in a motel room inGatlinburg, Tennessee, to boil water for hot rum toddies one winter'snight. It wasn’t good idea then, and not a good idea now – as mywife was quick to point out.

I didn’t follow my usual practice ofbuying – against my wife’s wishes – a packet of rockets forthe one night of the year you can legally shoot them. We didn’t evenbother with our stash of smaller fireworks left over from previousyears. Without snow, shooting fireworks would have anyway been a problemthis year. Usually, there’s almost a foot of snow everywhere in ourneighborhood, providing the perfect surface for sticking rockets or romancandles into to hold them upright. This year, there was only bareand hard ground, which requires the use of store-bought or improvised rocket“launchers”. We weren’t motivated enough to buy or improvise anysuch contraptions.

This year, we just enjoyed the potatosalad, hot dogs and sparkling wine, while watching the New Year’s programs onTV, before moving upstairs, as midnight approached, to watch fireworks from thebalcony window.

Obviously, not everyone in ourneighborhood was as deterred as we were by the lack of snow, and the countdownto midnight culminated, as it always does, in a climax of fiery streaksscreaming into the black sky to explode in booming, technicolor bursts.

It’s hard to say whether there were moreor fewer starbursts in the sky this year, though the next morning the airwasn’t as thick with the smell of gun smoke as most years and I didn’t see nearly as much rocket debris. (Often, the last of the blackened tubes ofcardboard that are scattered across the neighborhood on New Year's Eve appear only duringthe springtime snowmelt). In any case, our neighbors treated us to a display of pyrotechnic celebration loud and flashy enough to compensate for our own low-key welcoming of the New Year.

Happy 2012!

Joulukuusi

2011-12-23T22:30:00.000+02:00

Lastweekend we bought our Christmas tree (joulukuusi), a bit earlier than we normallydo, mainly so that our son, who’s on leave from the army, would have a chance to helpdecorate it before he unfortunately had to return to his barracks for the holidays.

Thetradition here in Finland is to decorate the tree only on Christmas Eve itself,but our habit has always been to do it a day or so earlier, just after my in-lawsarrived from eastern Finland with a tree freshly cut from their farmer neighbor’sforest.

A landscape made for Christmas, Repovesi National Park.
Photo: M . Passinen.

Inrecent years, however, we’ve started doing what most Helsinkians do, schlep outto one of the many stores and pick out a tree from those freshly unloaded fromtrucks. Not surprising for a country covered in boreal forests, the supply seems almost endless. For most people here, only one kind of Christmas tree will do, the kuusi, or Norway spruce (Picea abies), though it's also possible to buy other species imported from abroad.

Aninteresting thing about Christmas trees sold in Finland is that most of themare just the leftovers from full-grown trees that have been harvested in thenormal course of commercial logging. Theloggers simply keep the top two or three meters a 30-meter tall spruce and put it aside for the Christmas tree market. As far as I know, almost no trees are grownfor the sole purpose of brightening up someone’s living room for a week or so. Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen a singleChristmas-tree farm anywhere in Finland.

Mylate parents had a tree farm in Georgia, a small one. After they had sold their mom-and-pop dry-cleaning shop and became retired, they decided to turn the unused pasturearound our house into a tree farm. It wasa brilliant idea. It gave them a way to staybusy, especially around Christmastime, make some extra money and -- maybe justas importantly -- interact with the public, something I think they were missing afterthey stopped running a small business where townspeople came and went all day. The farm was a great business for my parents. They had many repeat customers, people whowould drive up from places like Atlanta every year to walk around the farm and find just the right tree for my father to cut for them.

Commercial X-mas tree farm in Iowa.

Georgiabeing Georgia, the trees that my parents grew were mostly white pines (Pinusstrobus). Though it’s a species thatmost Finns would notrecognize as a real Christmas tree, whitepines actually do make fine Christmas trees, especially when carefully shapedand trimmed.

Butwhat seemed a bit too strange for my Finnish wife was how myparents would spruce up the white pines for the cutting season by -- white pines being, well, not so dark -- spraying them with green dye to make them “greener”. America being America, that’s just theway things are done there in the Christmas tree growing business.

Whether dyed, naturally green, or even 100% plastic, you have to admit that once you’ve added the lights, the ornaments, and, not least of all, the presents, any Christmas tree in the home brings the right amount of cheer and excitement for the holiday season.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Christmas tree in Denmark. Photo: Malene Thyssen,
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Malene

The Day the Day Stood Still

2011-12-22T00:41:00.002+02:00

Today is a day that I admit I never once paid the least bitattention to when I lived in Georgia, but has taken on a certain significancefor me since I moved to Finland. It's päivänseisaus,which in the literal English translation would be "the stopping ofday", or as I like to think of it, "the day that day stoodstill". (To be exact, this is talvipäivänseisaus,or “the winter stopping of day”. I know,but it makes a big difference.)

Sunrise at Stonehenge. Photo: Mark Grant.

What this day is actually called in English is, of course, "wintersolstice". It's the first day of winter, the shortest day of the year, and– most importantly for us up here in the near Arctic trying to cope with winter darkness – it is the precise moment when days start, very gradually at first, to getlonger. The worm has turned. Earth will nowsomehow not keep growing darker and darker until there is no hope of a returnto a world of sunlight. There is an endto nights that get ever longer and deeper. We’re over the hump and can now really believe in thecoming of summer.

I’m happy to see the solstice and encouraged that thisis now as dark as it gets, and can understand why (without all the New Age nonsense) this day was important enoughfor prehistoric people to go to elaborate means to observe its occurrence. Stonehenge very possibly wasbuilt with this in mind, as it is aligned to the direction the sun sets at the wintersolstice. In Ireland, I have visited a similar site even older than Stonehenge. Newgrange is a circular earthen mound with a narrow tunnel that allows sunlight to fill a tiny room deep in its interior, but only once a year – at sunrise on the winter solstice.

Without all the artificial light that we now take forgranted, the end of longer nights must surely have been a cause for celebrationfor the ancients. And so it was. Different cultures all over the world have long markedthe solstice in various ways. It’s whywe celebrate Christmas at this time of year, instead of whenever Jesus may haveactually been born.

Newgrange, a neolithic mound in Ireland. Photo: Shira.

The pagan Finnish celebrationof kekri, an autumn harvest festival that may not be directly related to the solstice, was likewise incorporated into Christmas,though it lived on as the main wintertime feast (not Christmas) in ruralfarming communities well into the 1800s, with elements of it still existing today.

While I wouldn’t go so far as to say that the true meaningof Christmas is that the darkest days of winter are behind us, knowing this is so doesgive me a lot of cheer.

Christmas Variability

2011-12-14T11:26:00.001+02:00

It’sonly a few days before Christmas, and I’m finding it a little depressing. It’s been raining for days, the river nearour house is swollen and brown, and outside it’s inky black by four in theafternoon. It shouldn’t be this way. It feels unnatural.

What’smissing is the snow. Big fluffy flakesshould be falling from the sky, not rain, the river should be almost frozenenough to ski on, and even the long nights should be more luminescent, withwhite snow covering everything.

We’vebeen suffering unseasonably mild weather the past month, with temperatures hoveringjust a few degrees above freezing, way too warm for snow. This time last year, our yard was covered in 60centimeters (two feet) of the white stuff, though admittedly that winter was thesnowiest we’ve had in years. As it is now, we’rewell on our way to a non-white Christmas, only the second or third time that’shappened in the twenty-five years or so I’ve lived here. The last time was in 2007.

I’veheard it’s been unusually warm in some parts of the States as well, despite afreakily early winter storm that hit the Northeast in late October. Georgia saw highs of about 20 (68 F) lastweek, prompting one of my Facebook friends to comment that if this was globalwarming, he was all for it.

Ofcourse, as with almost everything else these days, “the weather” has becomepoliticized. My wife, who is ascientist, was recently in a meeting where an agricultural researcher fromKentucky told her how political correctness has forced American universities tochange the way they talk about climate change.

Alreadysome years ago, the term “global warming”, which is in fact a correctdescription of what is happening to the Earth’s climate, fell out of favor. This was because “global warming” made it tooeasy for skeptics to ridicule the idea whenever some part of the worldexperienced weather that was much colderthan normal. The term “climate change” seemedmore acceptable. But, as the man fromKentucky told my wife, today even “climate change” is not politically neutralenough for the skeptics. Now the currentPC term is climate variability. It’s like trying to avoid using the word “war”by instead saying “peace variability”.

Whenthe big storm hit in October, conservative commentator Erick Erickson tweetedsomething to the effect that major snowstorms at Halloween are not exactlymaking a strong case for “global warming”. Being from Georgia, he should knowbetter.

Thispast summer, Georgia experienced extreme drought conditions across most of thestate. Temperatures in Atlanta were overtwo degrees (4 F) above average. Rainfallfor the year has been about 25% below normal, with Atlanta even now having a rainfalldeficit of about 12 inches (30 cm). Waterlevels in rivers and lakes are significantly down. Lake Lanier (the state’s biggest reservoirand a major source of water for Atlanta) is currently eleven feet (over three meters)below the “full” level. The “good” newsis that even as low as Lanier has dropped this year, it is still not as bad asduring Georgia’s last severe drought, in 2007, the same year we in Finlandcelebrated Christmas without snow.

WhileErick Erickson was quick to crow about how (in his mind) an unseasonal winter stormhelps to disprove global warming, I suspect he didn’t come to the oppositeconclusion during the long summer of abnormally hot and dry weather. Nor should he.

Onebad early winter storm or even a whole summer of drought can simply be outliersto the overall trend in the weather. Theyare just single data points. What’simportant is the overall trend, based on a lot of such data points, lots ofobservations over time. I tend to trustthe scientists who have looked at all the data and found the long-range trend clearlypointing to a warmer planet. But thedata point that concerns me the most at the moment is the fact that, onceagain, there’ll be no snow at Christmas.

Helsinki's Senate Square, as it should look this time of the year. Photo by Jonik

Pearl Harbor

2011-12-09T08:26:00.001+02:00

This past week marked the 70th anniversaryof the December 7th attack by the Japanese on Pearl Harbor. Though I wasborn long after that surprise raid, which ushered American’s entry into WorldWar II, the date is firmly planted in my memory – much like “9/11” will beembedded in the consciousness of Americans who were not born ten years ago, oreven yet today.

As a kid, I wasn't so far removed from theevents that occurred on that infamous day. (And let’s face it, I was bornonly 15 years later.) In one sense, I was separated from the event byonly two degrees. The little elementary school I attended employed ajanitor/bus driver named Leroy. I remember this kindly, mild-mannered manmainly for his pleading with us students not to flush popsicle sticks down thetoilets. One day, however, our teacher asked Leroy to come and speak tothe class about something considerably more serious. Leroy had been thereat Pearl Harbor on the day of the attack. I’m sure we woolly-brained kidswere not the most attentive audience, and I don't really remember anythinghe told us then about that day, except that he was stationed at the army basethere. I now regret not understanding at the time what a rare chance wewere given to hear a first-person account of something so historic.

Still, the real reason World War IIfeatured prominently in my young mind was that my father fought in thePacific. A couple of years before Pearl Harbor, my father and a buddy hadleft home (without his mother's knowledge) to join the Coast Guard, partlybecause he felt that war was coming anyway and he didn't want to be justanother raw recruit when it did.

Gunner's Mate 1st Class Hoover Tankersley.

When the Japanese attacked on December7th, my father was on leave in Savannah, Georgia, where his Coast Guard cutterwas stationed. As news of the attack came in, the Shore Patrol scouredthe streets of Savannah to find him and enough of his shipmates to man thecutter and put her to sea as quickly as possible.

The war never really came to Georgia,though, and my father, along with the rest of the Coast Guard, was incorporatedinto the US Navy during the war. He went on to serve as a Gunner's Mateoperating an anti-aircraft battery on a Navy LST (Landing Ship, Tank), a specializedship used during amphibious invasions to off-load men and heavy equipmentdirectly onto a beachhead.

On the way to the action against theJapanese, my father's ship was first used for the more mundane task oftransporting supplies to Hawaii, including a large consignment of beer – whichmy father noted somehow became a little less large as the LST made its way fromSan Diego to Pearl Harbor.

After that beer run, my father's ship,LST-782, took part in one amphibious landing after another in the “islandhopping” campaign across the Pacific, eventually joining the invasion of IwoJima as part of a 450-vessel flotilla. I remember as a kid onceplaying on the top of a six-foot-high mound of clay uprooted by a fallen treenear our house, a mound that we named Mount Suribachi after the volcanic peakthat was the objective of fierce fighting in the battle for Iwo Jima. Even as a kid I had internalized the name of the summit where sixservicemen raised the American flag in a moment captured in an iconic photo madefamous worldwide. Maybe it was because of my father telling us kids howfrom his ship he could see the flag flying high atop Suribachi.

An LST preparing for action in Korea, 1950.

My father's LST delivered its cargo ofequipment, food and ammo via various smaller amphibious craft over aperiod of four days, retiring to anchor offshore at night while the hellish fighting ensued on the island. Onthe fourth day, the LST beached itself on the volcanic sand of the beach andopened its gaping bow doors to bring on casualties and serve hot food to wearyMarines taking a break from the fighting. It was reported that they served 5500 cups of coffee in a 12-hourperiod.

When the war ended, five months later,with the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, my father's ship waspreparing for the ultimate invasion of the Japanese home islands, something I'msure he dreaded, as fierce resistance was expected. When the news brokeof Japan's surrender, the crew of LST-782 was ordered to dump into the sea itscargo of Army jeeps, which would have been used in the invasion.

Dropping the atomic bombs brought the warin Pacific to an abrupt end, as we all know, removing the need for an invasionof Japan that my father might have not survived. It's sobering, humblingin fact, to think that the horrific bombing of two cities, whichextinguished upwards of a quarter of a million lives, might have beenindirectly responsible for my own life being brought into existence – which I dorealize doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things. Still, it doesmake you think about how events, some too horrible to contemplate, thathappened long ago in places we'll never see can ripple over our own lives inunexpected ways.

Red Carpet Finland

2011-12-06T23:09:00.001+02:00

Nations, like people, don’t get to choose whenthey’re born. If they did, I’d wager Finland would have opted for a birthin summertime, a season made for celebrations outside in the sunshine. Itall comes down to an accident of history, of course. Americans can bethankful that the Founding Fathers suffered through the sweltering heat of aPhiladelphia summer to finally put the finishing touches on our Declaration ofIndependence just in time for the 4^th of July.

Finland’s birth in 1917 was not so well-timed. Already with the overthrow of Czar Nicholas II earlier that year, Finland – anautonomous part of Russia – set its sights on even more autonomy. Duringthe pleasant months of summer, chaos ensued in Russia and civil war erupted inFinland. The tumult finally came to a head in the dreary days ofNovember, when the Bolsheviks ignited the second Russian revolution of thatyear and the Soviet Union was born. Finland took that opportunity to rushfor the exits, declaring its independence on December 6^th.

PekkaHaavisto, parliament member and GreenParty

presidentialcandidate, with his partner at last year's party.

The result is a national day of celebration at thebleakest and less fun time of the year. Grillinghotdogs outside in freezing rain or snow during the mere six hours of near-twilightthat passes for daytime in November is no one’s idea of fun. It’s not fornothing that marraskuu,Finnish for “November”, derives from a word that means death.

It’s not due to the weather alone that Itsenäisyyspäivä is a more solemn affair than Fourth ofJuly. The fact that people died in a bitter civil war at the birth ofmodern Finland is still a harsh reality nearly within living memory. Oneway the holiday is celebrated is by somber candle-lit marches along darkstreets. More common is the custom, followed almost without exception, ofevery home placing a lit candle on a windowsill from precisely six to eight inthe evening to commemorate those who died, 94 years ago and since, to ensureFinland's independence.

But it’s not all gloom. In fact, the realcenterpiece of the holiday is the president’s ball, a festive tradition hard tounderestimate for its power to captivate the Finnish nation, especially thefemale portion. It is, in some sense, the Finnish equivalent to thehoopla surrounding the Oscars. The basic idea, which never varies, isthat the president and his or her spouse stand for two hours at the head of areception line, shaking the hands of a couple of thousand guests, who slowlyfile along a red carpet into a stately ballroom while a military band providesa constant background of sedate, semi-martialmusic.

Eija-Riitta Korhola, EU parliament member,

at last year's party.

The lucky invitees include all parliament andcabinet members, high-ranking government and military officials, foreigndiplomats, and captains of Finnish industry (such as, this year, the marketinggenius behind Angry Birds). Also, invited are sports and entertainmentpersonalities who have been especially successful during the year. Theguests move slowly along the red carpet accompanied by their spouses or dates,which – befitting liberal Finland – also nowadays includesame-sex couples.

The entire procession of dignitaries is televised byYLE, the state-run TV station, with off-camera presenters explaining who the most notable guests are and – in true red-carpet fashion – commenting on theirfashion. The more stunning evening gowns are examined in close-up shotsand replayed in slow motion. These will also be featured in the pages ofthe next day’s tabloids, along with other highlights from the party.

Championfigure skater Laura Lepistö, in 2010.

After greeting the president, all the guests wait,packed almost sardine-like, in the ballroom watching the procession until the last honored guests,always the former presidents, have been greeted by the first couple. Refreshmentsthen follow, with the most distinguished guests joining President Halonen inthe "Yellow Salon" for coffee and dessert and polite conversation(also televised).

This is also when the TV hostsbegin on-air interviews with notable partygoers. A popular target for thereporters this year was OlliRehn, the current EU economic and finance commissioner, who had taken a breakfrom trying to avert the complete collapse of the eurozone to fly in fromBrussels just for the party.

After coffee, the dancing starts,with President Halonen and her husband kicking off the first waltz. Asthe evening progresses, the military band ups the tempo with slightlymore contemporary tunes, while cadets stand by to dance with anyfemale guest who doesn't have a date. The dance floor is so crowded that couples can hardly move, but I’ve heard that after thetelevision cameras shut off, the room quickly clears out except forthose who just want to dance.

Parliamentmember Tanja Karpela at last year's ball.

Before the night is through, thecelebration moves to after partieslocated at various Helsinki nightspots, some with television crews on hand tocapture the action. Television coverage continues the next day when oneof the commercial stations airs its own condensed version of the previous night’sfestivities.

For all the self-conscious showiness of the party,it is genuinely considered an honor to be invited and probably a lot offun, not to mention popular to watch – about half the population is estimated to have tuned into last night's ball. And why shouldn’t Finns put on a little glitz and party down (aftera fashion) in front of the cameras. You could say they’ve wonthe right to choose how to celebrate the independence of their nation – despite weather outside that might, just might, tempt some to forsake it for one with a bit more sunshine.

Moon-eyed Finns

2011-11-29T11:35:00.001+02:00

Situatedto the west of my hometown in Georgia is a mountaintop called FortMountain. It’s a spot that alwaysfigured prominently in our summertime visits to the States because of the 3712-acre (1500-hectare) state park that occupies the topof the mountain. When the kids were small, we never failed to makeat least one trip to the park each summer so they could enjoy a round ofmini-golf and cool off in the park’s lake, one of the highest in the state.

At2848 feet (868 meters), Fort Mountain is not an extremely high peak, even byGeorgia standards. But from the west, where the mountain plunges over 2000 feet to a flat, broad valley, it appears like a towering rampart.

Youmight be mistaken in thinking that the striking view from the valley of thisnatural barricade was the inspiration for the mountain’s name. It’s more complicated, and strange, thanthat.

Nearone of the mountain’s summits, a short distance from rocky cliffs that overlookthe valley far below, is the mountain’s real namesake, a primitive “fort” oflow zigzagging walls made up of loose rock. The builders of this rudimentary structure are a mystery, andarcheologists doubt that defense was even its intended purpose. Still, popular speculation is that Spanish conquistadorHernando de Soto’s men might have constructed the walls as improvisedfortifications when passing through the area almost 500 years ago.

Conquistador Hernando de Soto, probably never
mistaken for a Moon-eyed Person himself.

Thenative Cherokees had a different explanation. According to a legend of theirs, the rubble walls were built by a raceof “Moon-eyed People” who lived in the area before them. Adding to the mystery, the Cherokee said thistribe of fort-builders were blond, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and able to see inthe dark.

Somepeople have seen these stories as enticing evidence for the hoary legend that aWelsh explorer, Prince Madoc, sailed twice to America three hundred yearsbefore Columbus and settled among the Indians.

Iused to joke with my kids on our visits to Fort Mountain that they, in fact, are the Moon-eyed People, becauseof their blue eyes and blond hair. Andbecause they, like all Finns, can see in the dark. Or so it seems to someone like me who needsall the bright light he can get.

I’mreminded of this now that we’re at the end of November, it’s dark by fouro’clock, and the very gloomiest time of the year is still three weeksaway. Already for several weeks now,I’ve been going around the house in the evening turning on lights for membersof my Finnish family who somehow haven’t noticed that they’ve been sittingthere for an hour reading in the dark. Beinga Moon-eyed Person certainly has its advantages during these dark Finnish nights – at least you cansave a bundle on electricity bills.

Famous Georgians

2011-11-26T23:10:00.001+02:00

Often when I tell someone in Finland thatI’m from the American state of Georgia, I get a blank look in return. If “Georgia” seems to mean nothing tothem, I offer the explanation of “Floridanlähellä” (near Florida). Everyoneknows Florida.

In the past I’ve tried to correct thislack of Finnish awareness of Georgia by listing (or boasting, as the case maybe) some of the famous people who have come from the Peach State. I even gained a bit of a reputation among my colleges for doing this to ahighly annoying degree.

Foremost is Martin Luther King, who iswithout question the best-known Georgian anywhere in the world. And, of course, there’s Jimmy Carter, whom Finns of a certain age aredefinitely familiar with, though they might not necessarily associate him withGeorgia.

Beyond these two famous men, Finns (and,for that matter, anyone else outside of Georgia) are much less aware of theother prominent folks from the state.

This is where I come in, happy toenlighten the uninformed that renowned Georgians also include Mr. Ray Charlesand Mr. James Brown. Okay, it’s true the Godfather of Soul wasborn across the river in South Carolina, but he lived most of his life inGeorgia. And Ray Charles, the man who made “Georgia on My Mind”such a classic, would deserve to be an honorary Georgian, even if he hadn’tbeen born there.

But, the list goes on, especially in themusical realm: Little Richard, Otis Redding, Gladys Knight, allR&B and Soul legends, all from my home state. Closer to my own time, the alternate musical scene in the college town of Athens-- a liberal oasis in a sea of diehard conservatives -- spawned acts such asThe B-52s and, of course, R.E.M., the best band ever, period. Sorry, Tenacious D.

And then there’s the Georgians who lefthome to make it big in Hollywood, starting with Oliver Hardy, the larger halfof the Laurel and Hardy comedy duo. Hardy briefly attended boarding school in Young Harris, the tiny mountaintown where I went to college almost 70 years later. Other, somewhat more modern entertainers fromGeorgia are Julia Roberts, Burt Reynolds (how could Burt not be from Georgia),and the delectable Kim Basinger. I onceworked with someone in Athens who had gone to school with Kim. She once showed her high school yearbook, where the teenage Basingercertainly looked pretty in her school photo, but not so different at the timefrom many of the other girls in her class.

I realize I’m dating myself badly with allthese references to figures who are already starting to fade from the scene. Or maybe it shows I haven’t lived in the state for a long time. Anyway, the best-known native sons of Georgia nowadays are two that sadlyI’m not proud of at all. And both are running for president.

One of them, Newt Gingrich, is in fact thecurrent Republican frontrunner, which means he is the “anti-Romney” of themoment. (Republicans seem desperate to find some marginallyacceptable candidate who is not Mitt Romney so that this person [fill in theblank] will appeal to Republicans apparently desperate to vote foranybody – exceptmaybe Mitt Romney – who is not Barack Obama.)

Finns might be puzzled by the name “Newt”,especially if they realize that it’s English for vesilisko. Of course, Newt’s simply a nickname for Gingrich’s actual first name“Newton”, but it’s hard to imagine a name more fitting to hispersonality. (And for this I mean no disrespect to actual newts,God bless ‘em.)

As Speaker of the House in the 90s,Gingrich led rebellious Republicans in a failed and ill-advised attempt to shutdown the federal government. A bit later,he was more successful in clamoring for the impeachment of Bill Clinton overhis lying about sexual misconduct – while Gingrich himself (who was 55 at thetime and married) was dappling in a little sexual misconduct of his own with a32-year-old congressional employee. She became his third and – atleast for now – current wife. Gingrich has since blamed his forays into adultery on his overridingpassion for America. Seriously.

Despite all this, Newt has somehow gainedthe reputation of being an intellectual, the gray eminence of the RepublicanParty, which does nothing to mask the belligerent, mean-spirited nature thatmakes him a uniquely unlikable person.

On the other hand, the other Georgianrunning for president appears to be extremely likeable. Too bad he also appears completely incompetent for the job of highest officein the land. Herman Cain is, by all accounts, a likeable guy, apowerful motivational speaker, and – as the former CEO of the Godfather’s Pizzachain – probably a fairly successful businessman. That doesn’t, however, make him presidential material, as recent eventshave shown. His only shtick is a simplistic flat tax plan, branded“9-9-9”, that most economists agree would hurt poor people the most. Beyond that – and a fine singing voice – he’s got nothing.

But Cain is good at promoting himself andwas briefly the frontrunner in the quest for the “Anti-Romney-Obama”. That was until his star began to fade a few weeks ago after stories of pastsexual misconduct started to emerge and his campaign started to stumble.

The sex allegations now seemed to havefizzled, with no new developments lately, and I think that’s fine. I would hate to see Cain drop out of the race due to unproven claims ofhanky panky with any woman he happens to run across who isn’t his wife. Instead, it is much more fitting that his campaign self-destructs becausevoters finally can’t ignore the fact that, behind his upbeat nature and hisgimmicky 9-9-9 plan, he hasn’t got a clue what he would do as president. His recent flubs at answering straightforward foreign policy questions onLibya have proven just how out of his depth he is.

I think that even more than Gingrich, whoprobably seriously thinks he could be president and actually has some chance ofwinning, Cain is only in the race for free publicity to sell his books andboost his personal brand. Both men, in their own ways, areembarrassments and not the kind of Georgians I would want to brag about – or bepresident.

Fungus of the Forest

2011-11-06T13:01:00.000+02:00

Thisautumn on my regular bike rides through the local forest, I have occasionally encounteredsome earthy-looking individuals suddenly emerging at randomspots from the woods. They were all carrying plasticbags. Some were holding knives in theirhands.

Therewas nothing, of course, to be alarmed about. As everyone here would instantly recognize, these people are mushroom hunters,taking advantage of this autumn’s unseasonably warm and wet weather that has resulted in one of the best seasons ever for fungus foraging.

Chanterelle mushrooms. Photo: Strobilomyces

Finnsare great forest scavengers. Even for urbanHelsinkians, it’s not uncommon to head out to the nearest woods to pick berries ormushrooms. It’s practically a nationalpastime, and another one of the ways that Finns are more closely connected tothe land than, say, the average American would be.

WhenI was growing up in Georgia, my family did its share of berry picking, mostlyblackberries. (Blackberries do not growwild in Finland, where they are called karhunvatukkaor “bear’s raspberries”). My parentswould have us put on sturdy boots and long-sleeve shirts (almost unbearable inthe middle of a Georgia summer) and wade into thorny thickets of blackberry“vines”, sometimes chest high. My momwould make jelly and jam from the berries, and fantastic cobbler pies that Ican still almost taste.

Butmushroom picking is not something that we – or, for that matter, anyone I knewin Georgia - ever did, so I’ve never felt inclined to search out rotten logsfor a little something to put on my pizza. In any case, as long as I’ve lived here, we’ve had enough wild mushroomsin the freezer, thanks to my wife’s parents who keep us well supplied with variousberries and fungal staples, like chanterelles, that they find in theforest.

Poisonous false morels for sale.
Photo: Imari Karonen

Andthen there’s the poison thing. The woodshere are full of delicious safe mushrooms, and others that can kill you in amatter of hours (which may also be delicious, but that’s kind of beside thepoint as your liver turns to goo). So,I’ve been happy to leave the mushroom gathering to the experts in my family, orjust stick with store-bought variety.

Eventhere you might have watch out. A fewyears ago, a foreigner shopping in large grocery store in Helsinki bought some korvasieni (false morels), which aredangerous to even touch but are (apparently) delicious once properly prepared(in this case, that means boiling the piss out of them). As I recall the story, there was no sign inthe store warning that this particular produce was poisonous, since – as steeped in mushroom culture as Finns are – “everyone” here knows this already. Or, it could be that the warnings were onlyin Finnish. (Stores now by law must warn customers in six languages how toxic these morsels are.) Luckily, the unsuspectingforeign shopper survived his encounter with this delicacy of the forest.

Thisis an example of why I’ve never been overeager to go looking for mushrooms onmy own. However, a few weeks ago I joineda group of well-informed friends and harvested my first haul of wildfungi. I picked only one type, suppilovahvero (trumpetchanterelle), a perfectly safe and impossible-to-mistake-for-anything-that-can-possibly-kill-youmushroom that also happens to be highly prized in Finnish cuisine. I sautéed them with creme and served themwith boiled potatoes. Can’t get muchmore Finnish than that.

My haul of suppilovahvero (trumpet chanterelle).

Northern Nights, Northern Lights

2011-10-30T11:51:00.000+02:00

Thispast week we in Helsinki have apparently been treated to a display of NorthernLights, or aurora borealis for the scientificallyinclined. I say “apparently”, since Ihaven’t been lucky enough to see anything through the cover of low cloudsthat’s been hanging over Helsinki every time I’ve remembered to look up at thesky.

Aswith any event that requires peering up at the night sky, Helsinki has the hugedisadvantage of almost never having an actual view of the night sky. Compared, that is, with other parts of theworld. Check out the night sky in the aridAmerican West sometime and you realize just how much of the heavens (the MilkyWay!) folks back in Helsinki have never even seen.

Aurora over Malmesjaur Lake, Swedish Lapland. Photo: Jerry Magnum Porsbjer

Butwhen it comes to the Northern Lights, Helsinki is doubly cursed, because here inFinland the ghostly lights synonymous with the Far North are rarely visiblethis far south. While I have seen nicedisplays of revontulet (the Finnishname, which literally means “foxfires”) a few times in Lapland, I’ve seen them inHelsinki only once or twice in all the time I’ve lived here, and even then theywere hardly visible.

Thatmight be surprising for a city sitting at a latitude of 60 degrees, closer tothe North Pole than well over 99.7% of everyone else on Earth. The thing is, the Northern Lights don’t haveanything to do with the pole at the top of the world. The aurora,which is created when the solar wind streaming from the sun collides with Earth’satmosphere, is spread out in a ring around the magnetic North Pole, which – not tethered to the actual North Pole –has a tendency to wander around. For thelast century or so, it’s been located somewhere in the Arctic wastes of Canada,moving toward Russia. That’s why thoseof us who occasionally carry compasses to different parts of the world have toadjust them from time to time.

It’salso why the Northern Lights are more visible in North America than in Finland. They even sometimes make an appearance in myhome state of Georgia, like this past week when a powerful solar storm pushedthem as far south as both Atlanta and Helsinki. Only, ironically enough, the folks in Georgia had a better chance of actuallyseeing them.

Northern Lights with a rare blue streak. Photo: Varjisakka

Body Parts

2011-09-23T16:31:00.000+03:00

Theway some things are done back in the States make perfect sense to me, and somedon’t. One example of the former is the“right on red” traffic rule that seems to be in force in most states. I’ve heard Finns who have driven in the USrave about this simple rule that allows a driver to turn right at anintersection, even when the light is red, provided there’s no oncomingtraffic. It’s left up to the driver todecide whether it’s safe to proceed. Ithink it’s great. It helps keep trafficflowing and seems to be safe enough.

It’shard to imagine this being allowed in Finland, or for that matter in most othercountries I’ve driven in. I once turnedright on red in Panama City (in Panama, that is, not Florida) after seeing severalother cars do it at the very same intersection. Only, when I made my turn I got pulled over and was requested to pay thepoliceman an on-the-spot “fine” of forty US dollars, neatly concealed in mypassport. Apparently, he was really good at spotting me as a tourist.

Somethingelse in the States that I think makes perfect sense is how – at least in Georgia back in the80s, and probably still today – drivers who want to be organ donors can havethis indicated on their licenses. As Irecall, each time you renew your license at the DMV, you are asked if you wantto be an organ donor, and if so, it is marked on your new license. It’s an elegantly simple idea. Let’s face it, a major source of donatedorgans is, sadly enough, traffic accidents. And what better way to give the paramedics attending your demise a headsup that you are a donor than to have your status clearly indicated onthe license they find among your personal effects.

The Finnish donor card available on-line
and already obsolete.

It's not done that way in Finland, so after I moved here my status as an organ donorlapsed. This Iregret, since making sure my organs can be put to good use if I come to anuntimely end is something I feel strongly about. When I finally got around to asking my wife about how I could correctthis, she told me I just need to pick up a donor card from any pharmacy. That turned out to be slightly outdated info, sincenowadays the cards are (of course) available online and only need to be printed out andsigned.

But,it’s even simpler than that. Until Augustof last year, the law allowed organs to be harvested even without explicit permission, confirmed by a donorcard, as long as the deceased’s wishes were known. A wife, knowing her latehusband would have wanted it that way, could give the okay even if the lazy bum had never got aroundto signing a card.

Such a policy might not fly in the US. But last year Finland, tocombat a serious shortage of organs for transplants, changed the law again to make organ donation even more elegantly simple. Now organs can be harvested from any brain-dead patient, unless they were knownto have explicitly been against donating their organs. In effect, it’s an opt-out system, which ismirrored by several other European countries. I can imagine that certain libertarian types in the US would have fits over sucha policy, but here – where a reported 90% of Finns are personally in favor ofdonation – the switch to the new policy went largely unnoticed. And that seems like a very Finnish attitudeto me.

A Tale of Two EU Capitals

2011-09-18T18:09:00.000+03:00

I occasionally get plenty frustrated with the US Congress, as do most other Americans judging by the pitiful approval rating of only 12% that Congress enjoys today. Its arcane procedures, its filibusters, itsfrequent inability – especially in the current toxic climate – to rise abovepetty politics do little, as they say, to enhance its reputation. I’m reminded of graffiti that I once saw in abathroom in Athens, Georgia: If “pro” isthe opposite of “con”, then what is the opposite of “progress”? Congress!

Parliament's home in Brussels...

Acase in point: an important funding billsupported by 92% of the Senate was recently completely blocked until the lastminute by a single Senator who didn’t agree with some small details in thebill. If the issue had not beenresolved, the agency that oversees all air travel in the US would have beenpartially shut down – for the second time this summer.

Asdysfunctional as that sounds, Congress does have a leg up on the EU's parliament in one aspect. At least it’smade up its mind where to sit. FewAmericans realize (or would care, for that matter) that the European Parliament isconstantly moving between two cities.

Itdoes most of its work in Brussels, where most EU institutions are located and which is consideredby most people to be the “capital” of the EU. However, once a month (except for the holiday month of August) all 736 parliamentmembers pack up for a one-week sojourn to Strasbourg, France, the parliament’sother home.

Andthey don’t come alone. The entouragemaking the twice-monthly 350-kilometer (220-mile) trip between Brussels andStrasbourg reportedly includes 2000 interpreters and other staff member, aswell as some 15 truckloads of documents and other baggage. It would be as if the entire US Congressdecamped once a month to Pittsburg for a week.

Strasbourg,which I understand is a delightful city, is in actual fact the official seat ofparliament. It is the place where, bytreaty, all votes on EU legislation must take place, and is obviously a pointof pride for the French. Since unanimousagreement between all 27 EU countries is needed to amend the treaty, any singlecountry can block any proposal to keep parliament in Brussels, and – it goeswithout saying – this will happen only over France’s dead body.

...and its second residence in Strasbourg.

Thechoice of somewhat provincial Strasbourg as the official seat of parliament is notaccidental, as the city holds a special place in European history and geography. Situated on the border between France andGermany, Strasbourg has been a bone of contention between these two countries timeand time again. Peacetime Strasbourg is livingproof of the reconciliation between France and Germany, and a fitting symbol ofthe union that was formed to keep these two former enemies from going at eachother again.

Symbolismaside, this itinerant parliament arrangement can best be summed up by the precise legalterm, “idiotic”, especially when you consider that the annual cost of thismonthly schlepping back and forth is a reported 230 million euros ($300million). Green members of the EUParliament from Britain have also estimated that, in addition to the monetary costs,the arrangement results in emissions of over 20,000 additional tons of carbondioxide every year. The joke about politicalhot air contributing to global warming just writes itself.

Wild Swimming

2011-09-13T17:00:00.000+03:00

RecentlyI saw a report on a British news channel about the growing popularity in the UKof something called “wild swimming”. Forme this immediately conjures up images of the kind of water play that my kids excelled at when they were small and couldn’t get enough of the wetstuff.

Instead,“wild swimming” in the UK simply refers to the idea, apparently novel for most modern-dayBrits, of swimming in lakes, ponds, rivers, or presumably any body of freshwater that is not a swimming pool. Thereare, according the TV reporter, groups in Britain dedicated to promoting thesport and even guidebooks pointing to the best spots for swimming in untamedwaters. Public-safety authorities havealso taken notice, sternly warning the citizenry to avoid this kind of rustic outdoorsbathing. Maybe there is such a thing as nanny-state overreach, after all.

Fromthe perspective of someone in Finland, this all sounds patentlyridiculous. Here, “wild swimming” iswhat most people do on a regular basis (in summer, that is) without pausing to everconsider the it could possibly constitute a “fad” meriting special clubs,guidebooks or TV publicity.

Tobe fair, you can’t expect overly urban Britain and overly rural Finland to sharethe same attitude toward swimming alfresco. For one thing, with at least 60,000lakes (with a combined shoreline of some 130,000 kilometers – seven times thatof the Great Lakes) and a seacoast supposedly several times longer thanFlorida’s, Finland was made for “wild swimming”. And then, of course, there’s sauna, theFinnish obsession that requires overheated Finns to dip repeatedly in thenearest lake, stream, or hole cut into the frozen surface of the sea. No wonder wild swimming is nothing new for folkshere.

Mywife, who could swim by the age of six and spent much of her youth in the water,didn’t tip her toe in a man-made swimming pool until she was 14. My own childhood, as for many other small-town Americans, was similar. While I did learn in my hometown’s publicpool, growing up we mostly swam in various mountain creeks and lakes, some more secludedthan others. One of our favorite spotswas under a tall highway bridge on Mountaintown Creek, a perfect little swimminghole where the fast-moving waters of Mountaintown joined with a smaller creek topause briefly in a wide pool, almost six-feet deep, before rushing downhillagain.

Anice thing about this swimming spot is its mix of warm and cold water, nottypical in the mountains. Because Mountaintownpasses through a broad stretch of open pasture – one of the most scenic highwayvistas in the county – before reaching the swimming hole, the water is warmerand muddier than most mountain streams when it merges with the cold,clear water of the smaller creek flowing in from the woods.

Besidesrecreational splashing, the hole was also used by our church for baptisms, withthe whole congregation standing on the banks in their Sunday best singing hymns whilenew converts were dunked under the muddy water in the name of the Father, Sonand Holy Spirit.

Thelast time I visited this venerated swimming hole was seven or eight years agowhen my father and I took my sons and nephews there. The spot surely held lots of memories for myfather as well, since the bridge over the creek is where he and his teenagebuddies would hang out back in the 30s.

Onthat visit, the younger generation of our family enthusiastically followed our Mountaintowntradition. The four boys waded right inand had a great time of it, cooling off in a mountain stream and – like theirfathers had done on hot summer days too long ago – swimming wild.

"The Swimming Hole" by Thomas Eakins, 1885.

Nine-eleven

2011-09-11T10:39:00.000+03:00

Photo courtesy: Michael Foran

Ten years. A full decade now ofa world changed in a single day by 19 murderous men. In some ways itdoesn’t seem so long ago; in other ways it’s a lifetime. My kids,especially my daughter who was only five at the time, probably have no realsense anymore of how life was any different before that day.

Of course, it’s not the same for us livingin Finland as it is for Americans Stateside. As far as I can tell,life for Finns has not changed much except in the most superficial ways. Thankfully, therehave been no terrorist attacks here, and no pervasive feelings ofinsecurity. A total of two Finnish peacekeepers have been killed inAfghanistan. Finland was not among those willing to be dragged intothe mess of the Iraqi war.

So, the so-called War on Terror has beenexperienced by my family mostly as trivial inconveniences at airports,inconveniences that barely register with the kids since they’ve grown up withit.

They don’t remember the days when boardinga plane was no more onerous than stepping on a bus, when a person could walkonto an airliner carrying a pocket knife or even – as my father would do – a .22 caliber bullet or two (he would sometimes have those in his pocket, for no particular reason). Removing shoes andjackets to be x-rayed doesn’t merit a second thought for my children.

We’re lucky that, on a very personallevel, the events of 9/11 and its aftermath have not touched us much moreprofoundly than that. Not so far. Even ten years later,it’s too early to say it is quite over yet, as fears of a credible 10^th anniversaryattack in New York this weekend show all too well. Perhaps, itwill never be completely over within my lifetime, and in another 10 years we’llagain relive that day in 2001 with as much emotion as people are doingtoday.

In 2001, I had spent “that day” in anoff-site training session at a conference center surrounded by damp forest onthe outskirts of Helsinki. As I walked to my car for the drive homethat afternoon, I got a text message. At the time, several of mycolleagues at Nokia and I were beta testers for a new mobile phone servicebeing piloted by one of the Finnish telephone operators. As part ofthis new service, we “subscribers” received breaking news headlines three or four times a day as text messages. I’ll always remember that thiswas how I learned of the death of Finland’s iconic comic filmmaker, SpedePasanen, a decidedly parochial event that will always be linked in my mind tothe attacks that took place in the US four days later.

The text message that afternoon read thata plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I assumed it was asmall plane, like a Cessna, a dramatic enough accident considering it involvedthe Twin Towers. Long ago, when I used to play an extremelyprimitive version of Microsoft’s Flight Simulator, I especially enjoyed“flying” my CGI “plane” through the narrow airspace between the Twin Towers. Andnot being a very good pilot, I would sometimes crash into one of thebuildings. It was easy to see how the same kind of freakish accidentcould occur in real life.

But as I drove home, news came over theradio that it was a passenger jet that had crashed into the North Tower, anaccident much harder to comprehend. I called my wife, whoimmediately went online and fed me updates from CNN as I navigated rush hourtraffic. By the time I picked up my daughter from daycare, thesecond plane had hit and we began to realize the truly sinister nature of whatwas happening in Manhattan.

I remained glued to the TV for the rest ofthe day. My youngest son came in from skate boarding and found mestanding in front of the TV, visibly upset. And that’s how Iremember watching the tragedy unfold, mostly standing, unable to sit, as Itried to take in first the horrible images of the fires raging out of control,and then the unworldly sight of the towers falling in on themselves. Irecall saying aloud, mostly to myself: “There will beconsequences.” That sounds absurdly obvious, and it was.

Because we didn’t have a satelliteconnection in our house at the time, I could see only the Finnish news andcouldn’t follow the full story being reported, beyond the stark images thatneeded no explanation. A British friend with cable invited me overto his apartment to watch the coverage in English, and I sat a few hours therelistening to the BBC or CNN until I felt exhausted.

All that has happened since – the wars,the extra security, the changed political and diplomaticlandscape – has now been woven into the fabric of “normal life”, somuch a part of our world that we might often forget the enormity of the eventthat started it. Not this weekend. As each news outlet has aired itsown special remembrance of that horrible event, commemorating the nearly 3000 innocent people who died that day, the footage and images from9/11 bring back to me the shock and sadness I felt in Helsinki 10 years ago as we watchedthe US being attacked.

Bizarre footnote: Finland has one especially strangeconnection to the events in New York ten years ago. It turned outthat for some time, perhaps even years, prior to that September a woman in Finlandhad been a pen pal with Mohamed Atta, the leader of the 9/11 hijackers. Throughthat correspondence she had developed, what was for her, a close personalrelationship with this man, whom she likely had never met.

Though perhaps no one will ever know thefull circumstances of her relationship with Atta, I’ve understood it wascompletely non-political, only personal, maybe delusional. Beyond that, Iwouldn’t want to speculate about the woman’s state of mind. Suffice it to say that she felt a strong enough personal bond with Atta that, even after his murderous actions on September 11^th, hergrief and sense of loss compelled her to commemorate his death. Apparently, after several attempts, she was finally able to persuade the HelsinginSanomat to publish an obituary for him, I dare say the only oneprinted anywhere in the Western world. Even now, simply looking at theline denoting the date of death – “11.9.2001 New York City” – sends a chilldown my spine.

A very misguided tribute to a mass murderer.

Sharecropping and vice versa

2011-08-28T13:42:00.000+03:00

I live on the northern edge of Helsinki in a suburb called Torpparinmäki, a community clustered around a hill that barely rises above the flat bottomland of the slow-moving Vantaa River. The name Torpparinmäki translates in English to “Sharecropper’s Hill”, which gives a clue to the earlier tenants of this quiet neighborhood.

View toward Torpparinmäki at harvest time.

While on the subject of Finnish place names, many of them, when translated, would fit perfectly with some countrified spots back in the States. I used to live near a part of Helsinki called “Buckwheat Ridge”, which evokes a certain nostalgia for bygone Americana. No doubt, there are scores of prim, upscale, gated communities across the US called “Buckwheat Ridge”.

The Tuomarinkylä Manor house, built in 1790.

The name “Sharecropper’s Hill” perhaps doesn’t carry the same kind of cachet, but it’s still a nice place. This used to be part of Tuomarinkylä Manor, a large farming estate, something close to what back in Georgia we would call a plantation. This stretch of rich agricultural land at the confluence of the Vantaa and Kerava rivers was already a prominent estate by the mid-1700s. The sharecroppers who used to work this land are long gone, but the “big house”, built in 1790, still stands today, restored as a museum. And the land, or at least part of it, is still being cultivated.

Checking out the livestock at Haltiala.

The Haltiala Farm, which butts up against the backyards of Torpparinmäki’s row houses and single-family homes, is apparently the last working farm within Helsinki city limits. It’s owned and operated by the city and is a popular spot for families who want to briefly treat the kids to the sight (and smell) of farm animals. At Easter, the public is even allowed into the stables where the newborn lambs are kept.

Bikers welcome.

Haltiala also operates a small café that has been doing extremely good business all during this summer, especially – for some reason – with motorcyclists. The farm is a big attraction as well for the flocks of geese that have been flying over our house lately to feed among the stubble of wheat and rye.

Associating with the locals.

Some crops have been sown especially to be reaped by a different type of two-legged visitor. Along the road leading to the farm are fields of peas, sunflowers and assorted other flowers that members of the public can help themselves to at harvest time. In the past, I would get at least a bag or two of peas this way, but sadly I haven’t been paying enough attention in recent years and have noticed the fields are open for harvesting only after they’ve been trampled down and mostly picked clean.

Searching for that last pea in the field.

Still, it’s a nice touch, I think, that in Helsinki even city slickers have the opportunity to share a slice of Torpparinmäki’s history and be a pea-picker for a day.

Buyer's Remorse?

2011-08-16T13:16:00.000+03:00

I think it’s great how some figures of speech in English perfectly sum up a concept in just a couple of words. Though I’m sure Finnish and practically any other language have expressions that are just as pithy and colorful, I’d like to think that English is especially inventive this way, being as it is a hugely cosmopolitan and vibrant language. Examples of such vivid word-parings that come to mind are “bar fly”, “mission creep”, and one of my all-time favorites, “pillow talk”.

Lately, I’ve been seeing another such phrase sprinkled all over some of the political blogs I read: “buyer’s remorse”. This is the regret that someone feels after – sometimes immediately after – purchasing something that at first they were probably pretty excited about. Usually it’s used in the realm of car buying, which has also given us “sticker shock” (the unpleasant jolt you feel when you first see the selling price of a car).

Everyone has experienced the let down (another succinct phrase) you feel after realizing the wonderful piece of merchandize you finally got your hands on doesn’t quite live up to your expectations. This has been my standard reaction to any laptop I’ve ever owned.

However, the “buyer’s remorse” I’ve been hearing about over the last couple of weeks has nothing to do with commerce. It has all to do with Barack Obama. Various progressive commentators in the media and blogosphere have started expressing more than mere disappointment with the President’s performance. They have moved on to outright regret over voting for him.

The notion recently gaining some currency among these bloggers is that they backed the wrong horse in 2008 and that Hillary Clinton may have been the better choice. Regrettably, I’m starting to feel the same way.

Don’t get me wrong. I think President Obama is a good and decent man. And honest. I have no reason to think otherwise. I think he’s a smart guy and is much better suited for the job than John McCain would have been. I also think he’s getting a raw deal (another good phrase) from many of the critics who blame him for not being an economic miracle worker.

Or, on second thought, maybe I agree with them. I confess that, with the economic collapse that the US was facing in 2008, I was hoping Obama would be the second coming of FDR. I can’t claim to be a student of the New Deal, but I’ve always had a lot of admiration for Franklin Roosevelt’s response to the Great Depression, admiration passed on to me from my father who lived through those times and seemed to think a lot of FDR, despite not exactly being Democrat himself.

When Obama was sworn into office, I was hoping he was going to rise to the occasion and guide the US through these troubling times the way FDR did in the 30s. Instead, in the face of the conservative backlash following his election, Obama has proven to be far too accommodating to his opponents and, let’s be honest, far too weak a leader to get his agenda across to the American people. With the exception of health care reform, that is. That was a huge achievement, but even then it was only a halfway measure, a compromise – maybe a necessary one, but still a compromise nonetheless and one that didn’t gain him any friends among conservatives.

In almost every confrontation with Republicans, Obama has been far too willing to give ground. Perhaps he does this in the name of being practical or in the spirit of bipartisanship, which was a centerpiece of his campaign. I, for one, wasn’t inspired by his promise to reach across the aisle to the other party, and it’s clear his conciliatory instincts haven’t exactly served him well.

In the 2008 race, I was torn between voting for a history-making first black president or a history-making first female president. I wanted to vote for both and, in a sense, I did. I voted for Clinton in the primary, and was then happy to be able to vote for Obama in the general election. And I was naturally thrilled that he won.

At the time, I would have imagined that a Clinton presidency would have triggered an even fiercer backlash, given the history of the 90s and the strong hatred that Republicans still seem to feel for the Clintons. Now, it’s hard to imagine how the backlash could have any worse, and I can’t help think that Hillary – as tough as they come and no stranger to political tangling – would have at least fought back.

Still, I haven’t completely given up on Obama. I wouldn’t want to see Clinton challenge him for the nomination next year, and I’ll certainly vote for him no matter what. I just hope that, in the meantime, Mr. Obama begins to show more conviction and toughness and a willingness to finally give the Republicans a good dose of what can be summed up by another apt phrase: “whoop ass”.

The Unthinkable

2011-07-29T13:13:00.000+03:00

Anders Behring Breivik’s homicidal rampage in Norway a week ago has saddened many people here and has surely led to a lot of soul-searching as Finns come to grips with the very notion that something so awful could happen to a fellow Nordic country.

The attack at Utøya also seemed to weigh heavily on the mind of my daughter, who is the same age as many of Breivik’s young victims. The question that seems to be foremost on her mind is: “Could it happen here in Finland?”

My gut response is to say, no, of course not. It’s unthinkable that such a heinous act on that scale could ever happen here. But, since I would have said the same of Norway a week ago, I guess we’re all being forced now to rethink the unthinkable.

Not that Finland hasn’t already had its share of senseless gun violence. We have the depressing distinction of having suffered through two tragic school shootings within the past four years – more than any other European country outside of Germany. And the streets of Helsinki have seen at least one car bombing (that I can recall), but that was simply a settling of scores between criminals, as if that somehow makes it less worrisome.

It’s not as if the prejudice towards immigrants that fueled Breivik’s hatred is unknown here. The stunning rise of the Perussuomalaiset (True Finns) party in the last election attests to the anti-immigrant sentiment that appears to be growing in at least certain parts of Finnish society. In fact, a prominent member of Perussuomalaiset, Jussi Halla-aho, a firebrand blogger and now a parliament member, was even quoted in the 1500-page “manifesto” that Breivik sent out just before beginning his killing spree.

The manifesto, from the fraction of it that I briefly scanned, is an impressive document. And not in a good way. Obviously, the product of an obsessive mind, the manifesto lays out, in excruciating detail, precise instructions on how to carry out the kind of atrocity that Breivik inflicted on his countrymen.

It also, as you would imagine, tries to explain his twisted world-view, which in a nutshell appears to be: native Europeans should rise up, violently if necessary, to expel all non-European immigrants, especially Muslims, in order to re-establish a continent of ethnically pure European Christians.

I can’t imagine anyone in Finland – anyone with any grounding in reality that is – sharing Breivik’s grand vision of a return to the Christendom of the Middle Ages. But some of his attitudes and sense of grievance towards his Muslim neighbors are not, I would say, especially remarkable. While many people here, maybe even most, aren’t noticeably bothered by the recent, though by European standards relatively small, influx of foreigners to Finland, it would be naïve to think others don’t view the changing demographics with emotions ranging from annoyance to anxiety to fear to outright hostility. And, of course, there can be legitimate societal concerns about some aspects of immigration, which can be debated peacefully.

But when those legitimate concerns veer off into hatred, then we should all be concerned. Despite Perussuomalaiset's strong showing in spring, I still hope the more hateful strains of xenophobia are not making major inroads in Finland. But how do we know? Under the surface, how can we be sure that some Finns don’t secretly harbor the beginnings of blind hatred? I haven’t heard anything approaching such feelings expressed by any Finns I know. On the other hand, it’s not a topic that has often come up in the past.

What I told my daughter was that there are, of course, some people who are not comfortable with immigration and the changes it brings to Finnish society, the very kind of changes that Breivik rails against. But, I hasten to add that most people, even those with the strongest anti-immigration views, are surely acting only through the political process. It is only the thankfully rare individual who lets their extreme hatred take them to the point of murdering innocent people in cold-blood.

And I believe that, though it doesn’t mean those individuals may not be out there, plotting in some isolated barn in the peaceful Finnish countryside. As Breivik demonstrated with such horrible efficiency, it only takes one person to darken the lives of dozens of families and bring sorrow to an entire nation.

I also tell my daughter that, especially after Utøya, I’m sure the police in Finland are being especially vigilant. I’m sure that more than ever before they’re on the lookout for anyone disaffected and demented enough to hatch a similar plan. At least, I hope they are. I hope we all are.

There has been a lot of talk in the media and in government in the past week about the potential threat that right-wing extremists might pose here and the changes needed to counter it. After Utøya, I hope we will all be less complacent toward extremism and that supporters of the True Finns reflect on the dangerous path their anti-immigrant platform can lead them down. They should.

So, when my daughter wondered if it could happen here, I responded with the same answer that I used to give when the kids would ask – at the beginning of our summer trips to America – whether our plane might fall from the sky. I say, “Yes, it could. But I don’t think it will.” Otherwise, how else could you carry on?

Oslo

2011-07-25T01:25:00.002+03:00

We are still reeling from the horror of the attacks in Oslo and Utoya this week. The thought that someone could slaughter innocent young people in such a mechanical cold-blooded manner, it is truly beyond belief. And the fact that it happened in calm, sleepy Norway added to the shock. It hits close to home to think that a peaceful Nordic country, much Finland itself, could be the site of such an outrage.

Our hearts go out to families of the victims and, in fact, to all of Norway. I can’t imagine the grief they are experiencing right now, especially knowing that it was brought about by one of their own, apparently a lone right-wing extremist.

Early on, when it was “just” a car bombing, it was completely plausible to suspect it was the work of some international terrorist group, though Oslo doesn’t seem the most obvious target for such an attack. While the events were still unfolding, the Norwegian foreign minister, speaking to the BBC, however cautioned against jumping to the conclusion that the perpetrators were Islamic jihadists. He was wise to do so, and we can only wish others in the public space (journalists and bloggers) would have exercised the same kind of fair-mindedness.

At news of the attacks, the American conservative blogger and Tea Party firebrand, Erick Erickson, immediately tweeted: “Terrorist bombing in Oslo. I bet you it was not Lutherans who did it.”

Though he was not exactly unique in making that assumption, something about his tweet struck me as especially smug. The next day in his blog, he admitted he was wrong. But he also objected to criticism he received for his swift judgment, and then took the media to task for insisting on identifying Anders Breivik as a “conservative Christian”.

I’m not quite sure why he found this so objectionable (he explains it in the blog, but I’m not sure I understand it), and I think he might be missing the point. I think that the media, by emphasizing Breivik’s religion, weren’t trying to paint Christians with the brush of terrorism, but rather were attempting to counterbalance their initial speculations that al-Qaeda was behind the killings and discourage the kind of prejudice that might lead to knee-jerk reactions against Muslims in Norway. And by “reaction”, I don’t mean violence. I can’t imagine that someone in Norway would have retaliated violently against the Muslim community there – but, then again, three days ago I would not have imagined that anyone in Norway would have hunted down and shot nearly 100 happy young people.

Interestingly enough, two days before the massacre in Norway, the state of Texas put to death a local man who went on a shooting spree of blind vengeance after the terror attacks of 9/11.

In September 2011, white supremacist Mark Stroman set out to kill “Arabs” in the Dallas area and ended up murdering a Pakistani Muslim and an Indian Hindu. He also wounded a third man. None was Arabic, of course, and none had anything to do with the attacks in New York and Washington.

The sole survivor of Stroman’s shootings, a Bangladeshi Muslim named Rais Bhuiyan, campaigned unsuccessfully for clemency for Stroman. In pleading that his attacker, who he has forgiven, should not be executed for his crimes, Bhuiyan has said, “In order to live in a better and peaceful world, we need to break the cycle of hate and violence.”

To which I – though not able to call myself a Christian – can only add “Amen”.

Desperate Politicians

2011-07-21T15:51:00.002+03:00

As an American living abroad, I probably see the political goings on in the States differently than I would if I lived there. Hopefully, that means viewing current events with a lot less of the “noise” that surrounds everything Congress or the President does. Take, for example, the time Congress saw fit to rename the French fries served in its lunchrooms. In the wisdom of Congress, the deep-fried potato slices, introduced to America by Francophile Thomas Jefferson, were rechristened “Freedom Fries” - a provocative demonstration, if there ever was one, of America's anger over the gall of our Gallic friends not to get hopelessly bogged down in a senseless war.

I recall at the time being embarrassed for my countrymen and thinking how idiotic this must have looked to everyone outside the States (and to be fair, also to a great many people living there).

And here we are again. The drama playing out now in Washington over the debt ceiling looks to me, far from the onslaught of 24-hour cable news, maybe even more bizarre than Americans must find it. I would hate to try to explain it to any of my Finnish friends curious enough to ask what it’s all about (thankfully, no one has).

Here we have the Republican-controled house threatening not to honor the debts incurred by the budget that they approved a few months before. That is, not without concessions from Obama on further reductions in … Wait a moment.

Maybe it’s best to think of it all as a scene from TV, like something from a popular Hollywood sitcom set in an idealized American neighborhood of lovely homes and likeable characters who come together weekly to deal with their whacky, but entertaining, problems. Consider, if you will, Tom and Lynette, two all-American suburbanites who have just had their kitchen completely redone:

* * * * *

Tom and Lynette, with mugs of fresh coffee, are sitting across the counter from each other in their newly renovated kitchen, going through a stack of bills.

“Tom, these are coming due soon,” Lynette says, pointing to the invoices. “And we’re about to run out of cash. We need to talk to the bank about getting that loan.”

Looking serious, Tom hesitates a bit before speaking. “Ah, yeah, about that, Lynette. I’ve decided we’re not going to take out the loan after all. Not before we cut back on spending.”

Lynette is dumbfounded. “Why not? You know we have great credit with the bank. They’re happy to loan us the money.”

“No, we owe too much already.”

“Which we don’t have to pay back for years.”

“No, Lynette. We’re spending way too much as it is. And, you know, things have been slow at the pizza restaurant. We don’t have enough money coming in. We can’t keep this up. You’re going to have to cut back on everything.”

“Food? Clothes? Gas?”

“Everything.”

“The kids’ college fund.”

“Yep, even that.”

“Tom, be reasonable. What if I took a job? The ad agency has been begging me to come back and freelance for them. And it's good money.”

“No, Lynette. More income is not what we need.”

Lynette gives Tom a puzzled look. “Come again?”

“Don’t you see, Lynette?” Tom lowers his voice, squeezing her hand. “We can do this by living more, you know, more simply. We don’t need two cars. We don’t need to eat steak every week. We don’t need to buy …”

“New golf clubs?”

“Let’s not go overboard here.”

“And, if I don’t cut back?”

Tom slaps his hand on the stack of bills between them. “Then we don’t pay these.”

Lynette’s mouth drops. “Tom, if we don’t pay these bills, our credit is ruined. We’ll never get another loan.”

Tom shrugs his shoulders, “So be it.”

Lynette gives Tom a look. “Wait a minute, am I talking to Tom or Eric?”

Tom smiles slyly. “It might be Eric.”

You see, Tom is not a well man. He suffers from multiple personalities that often battle with each other over big family decisions. “Eric” is his brash, reckless personality.

Lynette breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, can I talk to Tom now?”

“What about John?” says Tom, referring to the more mature, slightly more reasonable personality that briefly inhabits his mind.

“Okay, sure. John, what do you think about this?”

“Well, maybe you could do some work for the ad agency,” “John” answers in raspy, smoky voice. “I guess we could use the extra money. But we still have to cut back some.”

“I can live with that.”

But, suddenly “Eric” is back. “Hell, no!” he shouts. “I’ll let us default before I let you go back to work.”

“And we’ll be ruined!” Lynette protests.

Suddenly Tom’s voice takes a shrill, high-pitched tone. This is his “Sarah” personality. “No so fast, there,” he says. “Thought you could pull one over on me, didn’t ya? It’s just a lie that we’ll be ruined. You’re just making stuff up to try to scare me.”

Before Lynette can say another word, Tom’s voice changes once again. “I think I have a way out.”

Lynette cocks her head to one side. “Mitch?” she asks, referring to the name of Tom’s drab but scheming personality.

“That’s right. I think we could agree that you go ahead and get the bank loan, if you want. It’s up to you.”

“And I don’t have to cut back on expenses?”

“Not if you don’t want to. That’s up to you.”

“And you’re okay with this?”

Tom smiles. “As long as I don’t get blamed for it later.”

Lynette raises her eyebrows. “Huh.”

* * * * *

I only wish that following the real debt ceiling fight were this easy. To see how this amazing bit of political theater finally does play out, please stay tuned for the gripping final episode, due to air on August 2^nd, at the latest. Depending on how it all turns out, a special presentation of “The Great Recession, Part II” may air immediately afterward.

Summer break

2011-07-15T17:30:00.000+03:00

I’ve been taking a long break from blogging, mostly due to some holiday travels with the family and a home renovation project that’s keeping us busier than usual for this time of the year. Our family vacation this summer was a walking holiday in the Italian Alps and a very abbreviated Midsummer celebration in Finland, which I hope to write about in future posts. But for now, I’m just happy to be enjoying a glorious Finnish summer.

I never really knew how to appreciate summer until I moved here. In fact, the last few years I lived in Georgia I had grown to hate summer – it was way too hot and way too long – and I couldn’t wait for the first crisp mornings of autumn.

Here in Finland, I can’t get enough of the season. By definition, it can’t get too hot here for my taste. I say that, though to be honest we were sweltering a bit last week when temperatures soared to nearly 30 degrees (about 85 F). We don’t have air conditioning in our house and only one tiny table fan, so on those few really hot days (by Finnish standards, that is), we have to rely on cross ventilation. That’s usually enough, though it was so hot last week that, even with all the doors and windows open wide, it started to get sweaty inside. The only thing that helped were occasional trips to the basement to cool off.

But those days are rare here, and this year we were also lucky enough to avoid the other, darker, side of Finnish summers – the nonstop rainsqualls that can last for days. Fortunately, we were in Italy the week in June that the Finnish summer decided to take a nasty and wet detour. Other than that, Helsinki has been experiencing an exceptionally fine summer. In fact, while rain showers and even thunderstorms have hit other parts of the country, Helsinki has been by-passed completely, and it’s actually become a bit too dry here.

As someone who grew up in the southern US, I find it quaint how much attention gets paid to the few thunderstorms that do occur in Finland. Unlike Georgia, where there can be almost daily storms in summer, Helsinki gets maybe only half a dozen thunderstorms in the whole season. (My daughter and I were caught out in one of those while kayaking last summer.)

It’s true that, lying on the coast as it does, Helsinki has more moderate weather than the Finnish interior. Still, nowhere in the country do you experience anything like the kind of violent weather that often rakes across parts of the US, especially in spring. And Finns should be thankful for that. So far this year, at least 15 Georgian have died in severe thunderstorms and tornadoes. A relative living in my home town recently found a piece of paper from the town of Piedmont – 135 kilometers away in neighboring Alabama – that was carried and deposited by the storms that swept through southern states on April 27th killing over 300 people. Nothing like that happens here in the calm climate of Finland.

Even when a Finnish thunderstorm does form, it’s a much more sedate affair. Back in Georgia, a typical day in high summer often starts out clear, hot and humid, with the heat building up until by afternoon towering thunderheads loom above. Then a storm lets loose with some serious thunder and lighting, and everything cools down until the next day.

In Finland, this same cycle can also take place during the hottest part of summer, but in slow motion. Here we’ll sometimes have three or four days of non-stop hot and sunny weather that eventually results in a whole day of more-or-less stormy, at least rainy, weather followed by a few cooler, cloudy days before clear skies return. Compared to Georgia storms, it’s plain boring.

Still, as much as I enjoy watching the spectacular displays of lighting that we often have back in Georgia, when you consider the tragedy that sometimes comes along with it, I guess I can’t complain about boring, and never-too-hot, summers in Finland – as long as there’s plenty of sunshine.

Glory Hallelujah

2011-05-19T18:30:00.002+03:00

What a weekend we had in Finland. By coincidence, two big events that could bring some international glory to Finland took place over the weekend. The first was the Eurovision song contest. The name Eurovision means nothing to folks in the US, but for many in Europe it’s a legendary pop-culture institution, though just as many people probably also see it as something of a joke.

Eurovision, a yearly contest pitting the best pop songs European nations have to offer against each other, was around long before Idol was even a glimmer in someone’s eye. The contest was conceived in the mid-1950s as an entertaining way to unite post-war Europe. Or rather post-war Western Europe. Before the fall of the Iron Curtain, the only Communist land to take part in Eurovision was Yugoslavia, which joined in 1961, the same year as Finland.

From its first broadcast, when only seven nations took part, the show has evolved into a gaudy extravaganza expanded to include over 40 countries – especially thanks to the breakup of eastern European countries into smaller states – and watched by an audience of well over 100 million worldwide.

All competing countries have the same voting rights, even tiny places like San Marino (pop. 30,000 – which incidentally would fit, with room to spare, into the stadium venue of this year’s contest in Dusseldorf). Even tinier Vatican City, as an active member of the European Broadcasting Union, would qualify to participate, though it never has. I’d love to see what kind act the Vatican would come up with for Eurovision, though I suspect the Holy See would find the whole thing a little too tacky to ever take part in.

And often it would be right. While some song entries are stirring acoustic ballads or operatic solos, most of the acts in recent years tend towards the highly energized, highly choreographed, highly sexualized, and even highly farcical. In fact, farcical often seems to do quite well. For example, donning giant gnome hats, as the Moldavian entry did this year, might help an act stand out among all the cookie-cutter boy bands and clones of Céline Dion and Shakira strutting across the stage.

Even the winning acts don’t typically stand out for very long after the show ends. Céline Dion is one who actually did. Canadian vocalist and future Las Vegas attraction, Dion won the contest in 1988, representing Switzerland. That goes to show that when it comes to the Eurovision song contest, nationality is fungible. Another well-known alumnus is ABBA, which launched its international career after winning the 1974 contest with “Waterloo”. These two are the exceptions, however, with most winners usually fading from global view rather quickly.

And doing well in the contest doesn’t even always come down to having a decent song, as very often the voting is based on cultural and geographical politics. Countries tend to give most of their votes to their closest neighbors, or at least to songs they can understand. This has historically worked against Finland, especially earlier when contest rules called for songs to be sung only in the national language. This made it difficult for Finland to garner many votes, even from like-minded Nordic countries, because no one outside the country could understand the lyrics. (To be honest, for some Eurovision songs, not understanding the lyrics can be an advantage.)

Finland’s peculiar language might help to explain its tradition of always doing badly. In nine out of 45 Eurovision contests, the country has come in last place, three times receiving no points at all. This is why the 2006 contest was a seismic event, with Finland blowing everyone away to win the top spot with “Hard Rock Hallelujah”, a monster hit by a thematic band called Lordi. I guess you could say it was a freakish win.

This year, Finland’s entry was Lordi’s polar opposite, a fresh-face singer-songwriter of 20 named Paradise Oskar, who sang “Da Da Dam”, a song about an idealistic young boy setting out to save the world from ecological disaster. (Disclosure: Paradise Oskar is a friend of one of my sons.)

The song was a breath of fresh air, I thought, with a clean, positive (though perhaps slightly naive) message. Almost unheard of for today’s Eurovision, the song was written by the singer himself and, bucking the trend even further, performed without the aid of pyrotechnics or impossibly leggy dancers. Not even (gasp) a wind machine. And it was certainly catchy enough, I thought, to do fairly well in the contest.

We were encouraged when Paradise Oskar came in third-place in the semifinal earlier in the week. Still, like most everyone watching the show on Saturday, we were realistic enough not to expect a repeat of 2006, though an outcome near the top ten seemed possible. Sadly, it was not to be. “Da Da Dam” came in 21^st place behind the winning entry from relative newcomer, and seriously peripheral European, Azerbaijan.

It was a result that I think doesn’t do real justice to Finland’s entry. To be fair, the Azerbaijani number wasn’t too bad and more typical of Eurovision fare. (It was bought from Sweden, where there is something of a cottage industry in Eurovision songwriting.) And it came in first place in the semifinal, just 30 points ahead of Paradise Oskar, which makes the Finn’s poor showing in the final even more disappointing. I chalk it up to Eurovision politics.

The other big contest of the weekend was a much more serious one for ice-hockey obsessed Finland. For two weeks every spring, the Ice Hockey World Championship brings out the ardent fan in almost every Finn. I admit I’m only a fair-weather hockey fan, and certainly no expert on the sport. To be honest, I only get interested when the high-stakes championships games roll around and the international rivalries heat up.

Finland has long been a hockey powerhouse, though this isn’t always reflected in its performance in the world championship finals. While the Lions – as the country’s team is called – have won a total of 11 medals over the years, it has won gold only once, a distinction it shares with – wait for it – Great Britain, a country probably associated more with hockey of the “field” variety.

Though Finland has reached the finals in almost half of the last 20 championships, the gold medal always eluded it until 1995, and has continued to do so in the ensuing 16 years since that first taste of gold glory. Some have attributed the long dry spell to a tendency of the Finnish team to choke under pressure, especially when playing archrivals (and neighbors) Sweden and Russia. Whether that’s true I’ll leave to be debated by others who know the game better than I do. What I do know is that this serial disappointment has left a serious bruise in Finland’s national sporting pride.

So, it was with huge anticipation that we sat down on Sunday night to watch the Lions face off against eight-time championship winner Sweden. The history of grudge matches goes way back for these two. The play was fiercely even in the first period, which ended scoreless. Only about halfway through the second period did the puck find the net, deftly delivered by a Swedish player who ironically has a Finnish surname. In such a tightly contested match, the goal could have been a psychological blow for Finland. Then, with only seven seconds left in the period, Finland evened the score, setting up the third period to be a tense all-or-nothing battle.

It didn’t take long to see which way it would go. Less than three minutes into the period, Finland took the lead after scoring in a spirited two-man attack. Then almost without a beat, a lone Finn broke away half a minute later to charge the Swedish goal and narrowly miss scoring. A mere 47 seconds after that a scuffle in front of the Swedish net produced Finland’s third goal, essentially sealing Sweden’s fate. The Finns didn’t let up, pummeling Sweden with three more goals. It was impossible to sit still for the rest of the game.

Winning the gold, and doing it by giving Sweden such a thrashing, unleashed wild scenes of spontaneous partying the streets of Helsinki have rarely seen. The next afternoon over 100,000 exuberant fans gathered in front of a hastily erected stage at South Harbor’s market square to welcome the team home, cheering as the jubilant – in some cases perhaps a bit too “jubilant” – Lions celebrated on stage with President Halonen. A visiting colleague of my wife’s, who witnessed the throngs in the streets and stayed at the same hotel as the Lions, reported that the party was still going strong, and loud, at four the next morning. Being from Canada (winner of 24 gold medals), he might wonder at such celebration over just one long-awaited, but absolutely glorious, victory. Or maybe he understands it completely.

Thin Ice

2011-05-11T12:45:00.000+03:00

When my children were small, they religiously watched Pikku Kakkonen (“Little Two”), a TV program that I dare say enjoys the undivided attention of the entire Finnish-speaking population of preschoolers every afternoon around five-thirty. (Swedish-speaking youngsters are probably likewise riveted to Pikku Kakkonen’s linguistic counterpart, BUU-klubben.) Pikku Kakkonen has been an institution on Finland's channel two for over thirty years now and – like most shows aimed at very young viewers who don’t mind predictable programming at all – the show has an amazing timelessness to it.

For decades, one sure sign of the changing season is the little public-service announcement added at the end of Pikku Kakkonen for a few weeks at the beginning of spring. The short animated spot stars a boy and teddy bear – who, along with a moon, fish, ghost and a TV-shaped bird, form the mosaic of the show’s logo. As the spot opens, the bear and the boy are playing in the snow across a lake from the TV studio and are interrupted when the bird summons them to hurry back. Presumably, they need to take their places in the logo before the show signs off.

While the boy does the prudent thing and walks around the lake, the impetuous bear decides to cut straight across to the studio, as he’s probably done dozens of times during the winter when the ice was thick. But now it’s spring and the ice is thin. Near the other shore, he falls through to the frigid water underneath and is saved only by the quick action of his friend. The boy demonstrates the correct rescue technique by flattening himself on the ice to reach the floundering bear and extend his scarf as a lifeline. The bear pulls himself onto the fragile ice and, lying flat to distribute his weight, carefully rolls safely to shore.

The animation ends with the teddy bear, recovered from his ordeal, joining his friends in the logo and solemnly intoning: "Varokaa heikkoa jäätä." ("Beware of weak ice.")

The animation is quaint, but the message is deadly serious. Throughout the long winter, the ice of countless lakes and rivers is usually more than strong enough to bear the weight of anyone who ventures out on those inviting, flat expanses of white. Skiers and the heaviest of ice fishermen can safely travel across the ice in many places, even on the sea in certain spots near shore. In some places the ice is strong enough even for cars and buses. But once the days turn longer and milder, it’s only a matter of time before – although the snow on the surface might look unchanged – the ice becomes treacherously thin.

Every year, the spring thaw brings tragedy to some Finnish family, a sad reminder that despite the welcome sight of emerging crocuses and tender leafs spouting on the birches, the coming of warm weather also has a deceptively dangerous side.

Reds

2011-05-01T15:00:00.001+03:00

The first time I saw Helsinki, the city I've ended up spending half my life in, wasn’t from a plane overhead or from one of the ferries from Sweden that dock at South Harbor. Instead, my first glimpse of the Finnish capital was inside a movie theater in Athens, Georgia. On the big screen, as it were. It was at a showing of the newly released movie Reds, which my Finnish girlfriend had been especially eager to see.

This epic film from 1981 chronicles the career of journalist and devoted communist, John Reed, apparently the only American to be entombed in the Kremlin in Moscow. Directed by and starring Warren Beatty, along with Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson, Reds is based on the book “Ten Days that Shook the World”, Reed’s firsthand account of the Russian Revolution of 1917.

"V.I. Lenin lived in this house in 1917", plaque in Hakaniemi.

To report on the happenings in Russia, Reed traveled through Finland, which was still part of the Russian Empire, on his way to Petrograd, the former St. Petersburg, arriving just in time to witness the tumultuous events that led to the takeover by Lenin’s Bolshevik Party. The title of the book Reed wrote about his time in Petrograd is no exaggeration. The course of history was indeed radically changed in those few weeks, though in this post-Soviet era it all begins to feel like ancient history.

(By the way, it’s funny how in the States the color red – the “brand” of socialists and communists throughout the world – has recently come to symbolize the conservative Republican Party. A small example of American exceptionalism, if you will. If you think about it, it gives a whole new meaning to the “Red Scare” of the 1950s and Republican Joseph McCarthy’s Communist witch hunts.)

At the time Reds was made, almost a decade before the collapse of the Soviet Union, filming behind the Iron Curtain was apparently no easy matter to arrange. Beatty’s film was just one of several Hollywood productions over the years that used Helsinki as a more accessible stand-in for St. Petersburg, Moscow or some other place in the USSR.

Helsinki doesn’t make its appearance until about halfway through the three-hour movie, as Beatty and Keaton, in the roles of Reed and his companion Louise Bryant, finally make it to Petrograd and are driven through its magnificent Palace Square (played here by Helsinki’s Senate Square). With an Empire Style architecture that mimics the look of its Russian counterpart, Senate Square does a well enough as a cinematic substitute for St. Petersburg.

On his way to the real Petrograd, Reed followed in the footsteps of Lenin who had passed through Helsinki a few months earlier on his return from exile in Switzerland. When the revolutionary government in Russia cracked down on the Bolsheviks, Lenin retreated to Helsinki to lay low for a few months. There is a plaque on the corner of Hakaniemi Square marking the building where he stayed as a covert guest of the Helsinki chief of police, a fellow Bolshevik.

The "capping" of Havis Amanda, May Day Eve.

Hakaniemi has long enjoyed a reputation as a leftist stronghold. It has been the traditional home of Finland’s Social Democratic and Communist parties, as well as all the major trade unions. I recall when I first came here, even the large advertisements on the buildings overlooking the square added to the leftist atmosphere. There were the corporate logos of Interflug (the state airline of a former country called East Germany), Intourist (a travel agency founded by Joseph Stalin), and Pepsi (the cola of choice in the Warsaw pact, not that there was really any choice about it.). Of these, only the Pepsi logo remains high above the cobblestones of Hakaniemi.

Despite those changes, Hakaniemi Square is still the traditional site for leftist rallies and gatherings, especially at May Day, the international workers’ day. (In the US, May Day is ignored entirely, in favor of the all-American non-socialistic Labor Day in September – another bit of expectionalism.) Hakaniemi serves as the starting point for the May Day Parade, where supporters of labor unions, leftist organizations, and assorted socialist and communists parties march a couple of kilometers to Senate Square to listen to speeches made from the steps of the Cathedral. Nowadays, the number of marchers has been greatly diminished from the early 80s when almost a quarter of the Finnish electorate voted communist.

Today, the worker-related celebration of May Day is more like a minor sideshow to the real focus of the holiday, namely huge crowds of students – past, present and future – having a good time. May Day Eve is the closest thing to Carnival in Finland. While you won’t see as much samba dancing as in Rio (in fact, none), the sea of revelers in their white student hats, still generate plenty of gaiety with the help of lots balloon, streamers, noisemakers and, of course, alcohol. For first-time visitors, it can be alarming to see such crowds of normally reserved and restrained Finns filling the streets and publicly losing all their inhibitions. The evening’s main event takes place at the Havis Amanda Fountain near South Harbor. To roaring encouragement from the crowd, university students – often suspended from a construction crane – place a large white student’s hat on the bronze statue of a nude mermaid at the center of the fountain.

In recent years, we’ve chosen to skip the chaos at Havis Amanda and instead celebrate May Day at home. And we seldom ever watched the May Day Parade, most recently in 1989 when my very pregnant wife and I decided to follow along as the ranks of leftists decked out in red and carrying red flags and banners marched earnestly to Senate Square. Though the route of the march isn’t strenuous by any means, the act of walking that far was for my wife physical enough to kick off a labor movement of an entirely different type. The next morning our first child was born. Six months later the Berlin Wall came down. As far as I’m concerned, they were both equally world-changing events.

A curious American at the May Day rally, Senate Square 1983.

Nuclear options

2011-04-28T14:01:00.000+03:00

We’ve been having great weather in Helsinki recently, unseasonable warm for so early in the year. Highs this past week have been in the mid- to upper-teens (mid 60s Fahrenheit), approaching summer-like weather. In that respect, it's eerily reminiscent of the pleasant weather we had 25 years ago today. April 28, 1986 was, like today, nicer than usual for late April, thanks to warm winds blowing from the south. It was so warm, in fact, that my future wife and I opened the windows of our downtown apartment to enjoy some fresh air, something we wouldn’t usually do until a month or so later.

Normally, I wouldn’t remember anything so mundane as having a window open on a particular day, especially a quarter of a century ago, but there’s a good reason this detail has stuck in my mind. After all, that was the day the news broke that elevated levels of radiation had been detected in Finland and Sweden, levels apparently high enough to raise some concern. Everyone was advised to stay indoors and keep their windows closed. We promptly shut ours, ending our premature fling with mild springtime air.

Chernobyl's core on fire.

The announcer on the evening news explained that the source of the radiation was a mystery since officials in both Finland and Sweden had confirmed that their nuclear power plants had suffered no accidents or leaks. The obvious suspicion was that the radioactive fallout was coming from the Soviet Union, spreading into Scandinavia on the prevailing southerly winds. The Soviets, naturally enough, were denying knowing anything about it. But even before the news anchor was able to move on to the next story, he was handed a fresh bulletin with the news that Moscow had indeed owned up to a nuclear mishap having taken place on its territory.

Over the next few days and weeks, the story behind that alarming spread of radiation slowly emerged, as the horrifying catastrophe at an obscure place called Chernobyl came to light. The worst nuclear accident in history had begun on the previous Saturday, a full two days before the warm air coming from the south had enticed us to open up our windows. For two days, no one on this side of the Iron Curtain (except perhaps the CIA) knew that, 1045 kilometers (650 miles) to the south from my apartment, the devastated hulk of a nuclear reactor in the Ukrainian Republic of the USSR was spewing radioactive cesium and iodine into the atmosphere.

Interestingly enough, 650 miles is only slightly further than the distance between Three Mile Island, the site of America’s own worst nuclear accident, and Athens, Georgia, where I was living at the time. Though both alarming, the difference between that 1979 accident and the one seven years later is that there was only a partial meltdown at Three Mile Island and no massive explosion rupturing the plant’s containment structure. And, oh yes, unlike Chernobyl, TMI actually had a containment structure, which apparently was a small luxury that the Soviet designers, in their wisdom, had decided to forego. Consequently, the release of radiation from TMI was minuscule by comparison.

Still, Three Mile Island was scary enough at the time to add a little extra fear factor when I saw the movie China Syndrome soon afterward. In that movie, Jane Fonda, Michael Douglas and Jack Lemmon go up against the corrupt builders of a nuclear power plant to uncover defects in the reactor that threaten to cause a deadly core meltdown. Lemmon pays for this with his life. I recall that, with the reality of TMI fresh in our minds, it was a relief to emerge from the theater and find the streets of Athens still calm and apparently radiation free.

In the all-too-real drama of Chernobyl, the disaster was far more sinister and the immediate safety of those of us in Europe far from certain. My mother tried to reach me by phone for a day before finally getting through on the jammed lines. Despite being the first non-Soviet territory to be raked with Chernobyl’s fallout, shifting winds meant that Scandinavia got off relatively lightly compared to more distant countries like France and Germany. The parts of Ukraine and Belarus closest to the blast suffered misery that wouldn’t be fully known for years.

The accident, bad as it was, didn’t seriously dampen Finns’ commitment to nuclear energy (though that’s far from unanimous). This seems even more remarkable considering that half of the nuclear reactors operating in Finland in 1986 were built by the Soviets and were of the same basic design as Chernobyl. However, the Finns are not fools, and had insisted on extensive modifications to the reactor design, not least of which was a containment structure.

After years of living here, I’ve become quite sanguine (or you might say complacent) about nuclear energy. In a cold country with large demands for electricity and few renewable sources of energy, nuclear power begins to look surprising green compared to the other options. Finland’s four reactors generate at least 25% of the country’s domestic electricity production, roughly equal to that from coal- and gas-fired power plants. Though the ongoing catastrophe at Fukushima probably gives everyone here pause, plans for a fifth reactor are going forward. While the prospect of another horrendous meltdown is only one stupid mistake, design flaw or natural disaster away, it helps to think (and hope) that they remain relatively rare.

Easter in Finland

2011-04-24T16:45:00.000+03:00

The great thing about Easter in Finland is that it’s always a four-day weekend, thanks to the fact that, as the most important holy day in the Christian calendar, it’s also an official public holiday. And it’s not just one holiday. Besides Good Friday and Easter Sunday, Finland also celebrates Easter Monday, something unheard of in the Baptist church I was raised in.

Practically everything shuts down here on those days (the Saturday in between being a normal day), especially all the stores – meaning you need to do some strategic grocery shopping if you want to make it from Thursday to the following Tuesday without resorting to an emergency run to the local gas station for milk or ketchup. Or mämmi.

Mämmi served with milk.

Mämmi is a dessert eaten only at Easter and most likely only in Finland and Sweden, and it has a distinctly ugly appearance that makes it the butt of quite a few jokes. A thick, dark, pudding-like concoction made of malt, rye flour and molasses, mämmi is not the most appealing dessert you’ll ever see, but it is fact quite tasty. Personally, though, I prefer the other Easter dessert, paskha, a white frothy custard introduced to Finland by the Russian Orthodox Church. Still, the most popular Easter sweet has to be chocolate. My favorite is the Mignon chocolate egg, produced only at Easter and as far as I know nowhere else than Finland. The unique thing about this treat is that it’s a real, intact eggshell – filled with chocolate – that you peel as you would any hard-boiled egg.

Being such a long holiday, Easter is a popular time for Finns to make a quick trip somewhere with the family. We’ve occasionally used the four-day weekend for trips to Lapland, where there’s often still plenty of snow for some late-season skiing. I have friends who are doing that right now, though as late (and warm) as Easter is this year, I have to think the skiing might be a little dodgy right now, even that far north.

The presence of snow on the ground is just another difference between the holiday here the Easters of my youth in Georgia. When our children were young, they did their Easter egg hunting inside the house for the simple reason that searching for chocolate eggs in the snow outside just isn’t all that fun, or challenging. They tend to stand out against all that white snow. Another difference is the trick-or-treating that takes place on Palm Sunday, when children – mostly girls – dress as witches to go door-to-door exchanging decorated pussy-willow switches for candy. The connection between this and the crucifixion of Jesus still escapes me. But, then again, you can say the same about the Easter Bunny and dyed hard-boiled eggs.

Mignon chocolate egg starting to hatch.
Photo by Tiia Monto.

Even in secular Finland, Easter does also have a religious side. It might be one of the few times during the year that many people actually step into a church, though based on the televised service I saw on Friday, it’s not anything like at capacity crowds. The Orthodox church – which, to be honest, tends to exhibit a bit more flair than the Lutherans do – makes the celebration more participatory. Part of the Orthodox Easter ritual is for the entire congregation to chant and bear lit candles as they follow their priest in a procession circling the church several times. It can be quite a spectacle, though I have to confess I’ve only seen it on TV occasionally. In my family, we have concentrated only on the cocoa- and sugar-based rituals of what is a thankfully long holiday.

Happy Easter, everyone!

Finnish Election Drama

2011-04-21T13:18:00.000+03:00

This past weekend, the first this year with weather pleasant enough for some serious yard work, Finland held a parliamentary election. To someone like me, who doesn’t pay that much attention to Finnish politics, these once-every-four-years polls are usually unremarkable, especially when you compare them to the circus that US politics has become.

Finnish politics has been dominated in recent decades by three main parties: the National Coalition Party (center-right), the Center Party (well, the name says it all), and the Social Democrats (center-left). To be honest, I couldn’t reliably say what the differences are between these three, beyond the basic philosophies indicated by their location on the political spectrum. For example, the National Coalition Party (Kokoomus, in Finnish) is generally more pro-business than the other two, while the Social Democrats are likewise the most pro-labor of the three.

Fittingly for the consensus nature of Finnish politics, these three parties mostly agree on the main issues and squabble only over details. At least that’s how it looks to me. All three are decidedly in favor of Finland’s social-welfare system. All three support a foreign policy of neutrality and strong international cooperation, though Kokoomus comes closer than the others to envisioning Finland joining NATO. And all three are squarely behind Finland’s liberal stance on equal rights.

Timo Soini, leader of the True Finns.
Photo by Soppakanuuna

This isn’t much different from the way the US political scene appears to folks over here. While Americans might like to think Republicans and Democrats represent diametrically different approaches to government, Finns wouldn’t necessarily see big differences between two. I would disagree with that view, especially considering the 180-degree direction the Dems and GOP have taken on health care and other issues recently.

Politics here in Finland is, of course, not limited to two parties, or even just the Big Three. Voters can also choose from a dozen or so other parties of varying sizes and political beliefs. Among the smaller parties that garner enough support to actually make it into parliament are the Swedish People’s Party (historically advocating for Finland’s Swedish-speaking minority), the Left Alliance (the most-mainstream of the parties that survived the turbulent history of Finnish Communism), the Green League, and the Christian Democrats. A relative newcomer to these also-ran parties is the so-called True Finns Party, or Perussuomalaiset in Finnish. I’m not sure why this party’s name is invariably translated as “True Finns”, since it actually means “Basic Finns”. Maybe that somehow doesn't sound as sexy.

Sexy or not, Perussuomalaiset has been turning heads since Sunday, and not in a good way. I’ve always found elections in Finland to be fairly sedate affairs. Campaign ads on TV are nothing like the overly produced spots you see in the States. Most candidates rely on newspaper advertisements and election placards that are displayed side by side in large, purpose-built aluminum frames set up on sidewalks so passers-by can check out the candidates from different parties. Flags fly on Election Day itself, and there’s notably higher foot traffic past our house as more people than normal – even for good weather – stroll by on their way to the little hilltop school that serves as the polling station for our neighborhood.

Voting itself is simple. You just write the number assigned to your candidate in the circle printed on an otherwise blank paper ballot and drop it in the box. Non-Finnish permanent residents, such as myself, can vote in municipal elections, but not in national races. After the polls close, the election results dominate TV programming, but the vibe is extremely low-key compared to the Las Vegas glitz of US election coverage. The votes are usually all counted and the winners declared well before midnight, and the results themselves are, from my point of view, always a bit ho-hum.

Not this Sunday. To the shock, and I mean that literally, of most people I know, the True Finns won a landslide victory. They didn’t come in first, or even second. For this renegade, protest party, a third-place finish was enough to upset the apple cart of Finnish politics. By winning 19% of the vote nationwide, the True Finns added a whopping 34 parliament seats to the mere five they held previously. Only five seats shy of the 44 won by first-place Kokoomus, the True Finns came surprisingly close to putting their charismatic and eloquent leader, Timo Soini, in the driver seat of the next government. This has surely scared the bejesus out many Finns.

Voters checking out the candidates.

It’s not as if the True Finns came out of nowhere. The party was founded in 1995, from the ashes – so to speak – of the populist Finnish Rural Party, which had fizzled out after its own charismatic and eloquent leader stepped down. Until this Sunday, however, the True Finns have had at best a marginal influence on Finnish politics.

It’s tempting to compare the True Finns to the Tea Party in the States. There are similarities. Both are protest movements tapping into grass-root dissatisfaction with the current state of affairs. Both hark back to a more “traditional” past, and both gleefully thumb their noses at the political establishment. But while the Tea Party is fixated on lowering taxes and shrinking the size of government, the True Finns seems to be fully in favor of the welfare state and progressive taxation, which makes it positively leftist. What sets the True Finns apart from the mainstream Finnish parties is its more blatant appeal to nativism. It is skeptical of the EU and favors restricting the flow of new immigrants, at least those who come here on humanitarian grounds. These views, to say the least, are not shared by most Finns, but are nonetheless signs of a worrying trend in this country. Whether this trend eventually propels the True Finns to more shocking electoral wins and an even bigger role in government will have to wait until another springtime Sunday, four years from now.

Taxes

2011-04-15T16:02:00.000+03:00

Last November one of the richest men in Finland visited my daughter’s school to join the country’s foreign minister in a small ceremony kicking off “Mission to Finland!”, a campaign to boost Finland’s international brand image.

The wealthy businessman on the little stage in the school lunchroom was Jorma Ollila, the former CEO of Nokia and the man widely recognized as responsible for transforming that company into the world’s biggest mobile phone maker. While Ollila has since retired as the head of Nokia, he still has a day job as chairman of the board, not only of Nokia but also the oil giant Shell. And he’s still being well compensated – by Finnish standards, that is. This best-known titan of Finnish industry made just under 6.1 million euros ($8.5 million) in 2009, making him Finland’s number one salaried employee for that year.

I happen to know this because, as for practically everyone else in Finland, Ollila’s taxable income is a matter of public record. Every autumn, the Finnish tax authorities make available data (income, capital gains, and tax rate) for all taxpayers making over €10,000 ($14,000) in the previous year. Opening up such information to anyone who cares to ask for it is a kind of transparency (or, as many in the States would see it, lack of privacy) that might well be unique to Finland.

It also uncovers a rich vein of data that the news media can mine for juicy tidbits on how well the Finnish well-to-do are doing. Just after the 2009 data became available, the Helsingin Sanomat, the nation’s biggest daily, ran its traditional four-page spread profiling the top earners in different niches of public life. At the centerpiece of the paper's coverage are two lists, one ranking the 50 individuals with the biggest paycheck and a separate one listing those true capitalists who make most of their money not with a salary but from stocks and other capital gains.

It’s no real news that ex-CEO Ollila came in at the top of Finland’s wage earners, a position he held in 2008 and, for that matter, probably since the 1990s. The total tax rate on Ollila’s seven-figure salary, combined with his €222,000 in capital gains, was 45%, allowing him to pocket a net of €3.5 million (less than $5 million). For comparison’s sake, The New York Times has reported that last year’s median pay for 2000 CEOs of major US firms was $9.6 million.

In the top-fifty ranking Ollila is in familiar company. Eight of the earners on the list are Nokia executives, which seems to me to be a bit fewer than in previous years. One of the fellow Nokians is Ollila’s successor as CEO, Olli-Pekka Kallasvuo, who earned €4.75 million ($6.6 million) in 2009. When I used to work at Nokia’s glass-and-steel headquarters in Espoo, you could see these two mobile-phone millionaires almost daily sharing a table in the company canteen at lunchtime with a couple of other top Nokia bosses, often right next door to your own table. I always loved that kind of “common touch” atmosphere that seems typical at Nokia.

Even perched as they are at the top of the list of high earners, it would be wrong to think Ollila and Kallasvuo are the richest Finns. When you add investment income -- for example, from stocks -- nine other individuals made more than Ollila. Most belong to old-money families, with the owners of the Helsingin Sanomat publishing group most prominent, including the group’s biggest owner who earned €16 million ($22 million) from his investments in 2009.

In addition to the top-fifty list, Hesari (everything in Finland has a nickname, including newpapers) ran small articles highlighting those who made the most in different fields. In sports for 2009, it was a golfer who earned €305,000 ($425,000). If you think that’s a pittance compared to what athletes in the States make, keep in mind that Finland’s wealthiest sports stars, including Formula One drivers and a couple dozen NHL players, mostly live abroad in more taxpayer-friendly countries.

In the arts, the top spot for 2009 went to the conductor Jukka-Pekka Saraste, who pulled in €603,000 ($841,000) to rank 160th among all Finnish wage earners. Again, as with the biggest sports stars, Saraste, who has spent most of his career working in Toronto, London and Oslo, pays most of his taxes abroad. The highest-paid Finnish writer and the biggest-grossing pop musician each earned around half a million. Sofi Oksanen, the prize-winning author and currently hottest young talent in Finnish literature, ranked 296^th with her nearly €480,000 income.

Hesari also lists the top ten earners among trade union bosses and their counterparts in industry organizations (€286,000 for the chairman of the Finnish teacher’s union, versus €420,000 for the head of the forestry trade group). The paper especially notes that a lobbyist for the nuclear-power industry made €140,000 in 2009, almost as much as the government minister responsible for overseeing that industry.

Other details give a similarly revealing look at who's making the most money and how. For example, number nine in the wage-earner list is a 30-year-old professional poker player who – maybe quite literally – raked in a pot of €1.7 million ($2.4 million) in 2009. Or, consider the fact that only four women made it into the ranks of the top 100 earners, with the best-compensated female coming in at number 40.

While broadsheets like Hesari take a more-or-less journalistic approach to the release of tax information, the tabloids here go a step further to satisfy their reader’s inner voyeur by publishing the raw data for thousands of ordinary citizens, in fact, anyone making more than €150,000 ($210,000). If that’s not exactly “ordinary”, it’s quite a bit closer to it than someone making €16 million.

The newspapers, of course, are simply packaging info that anyone on their own can request from the tax authorities, even for those of us making less than €150,000. I’m not sure how you go about doing this, or how often those people who always wondered what their neighbors or co-workers were making actually go to the trouble of finding out.

Apparently, there is a market for such information, however, especially if you cut out the middleman (or in this case, the taxman). Showing a certain enterprising spirit, at least one Finnish company was until recently offering a service where mobile phone users could send a text message requesting the income info on anyone in the tax authority’s database and have their curiosity satisfied in a matter of seconds.

It was no doubt a profitable service, but has now been shut down due to privacy concerns. Disseminating public information about private persons is one thing, but profiting from it by making it so damn easy perhaps crossed the line.

P.S. As tax rates seem to be a never-ending obsession for most Americans, especially today April 15^th, it’s interesting to see that tax rates for Finland’s top-fifty earners in 2009 ranged from 31% to 51%. Some Americans might find this confiscatory, but here such rates seem generally accepted as important for keeping Finnish society moving forward. Happy Tax Day, America!

Golf in April is the cruelest sport

2011-04-08T22:30:00.001+03:00

I’m not a golfer, and in fact I have a certain prejudice against the sport. But even here in Finland I can’t help being keenly aware when the Masters Tournament in my home state of Georgia rolls around every April. It’s not that I care who wins, because I don’t, not even slightly – though I used to think Tiger Woods was cool.

Grounds of the Augusta National Golf Club.
Photo by pocketwiley

I wouldn’t even remember that the Masters takes place this time of the year if not for the fact that I sometimes happen to see brief reports about it on CNN. Despite myself, I can’t ignore those TV reports from Augusta, with their footage of the world’s top golfers in shirtsleeves – shirtsleeves for Christ’s sake – strolling over perfectly manicured green grass, often with flowering dogwoods or azaleas in the background. And all that sunshine. It just doesn’t seem fair.

Springtime in the South is amazing, an unfolding display of flowers and scrubs blossoming everywhere you look, woods turning green almost before your eyes, and nights filled with the pulsating sound of invisible tree frogs. At least that’s how I remember it. Spring is what I miss the most about Georgia and is something best not brought to mind when in Finland we still have thick snow on the ground in April and where any semblance of spring – or what passes for spring here – is still a good month away.

That’s why those springtime images from the Masters being broadcast into my living room every April always remind me of how nice this season really can be when it’s done right. When I look out the window on a typically gray April day here in Helsinki, such reminders just seem a bit cruel.

April in Helsinki.

Roots I

2011-04-03T10:40:00.000+03:00

I tend to take some exception to the notion of American exceptionalism. Or at least the way it’s sometimes used to rally folks around a certain jingoistic view of the US. The belief that America is exceptional – uniquely different from any other country in the world – is an article of faith among the majority of my countrymen. It’s a staple of many politicians’ talking points and not something to be hidden under a bushel if you aspire to higher office. For example, because Barack Obama doesn’t talk about the concept as much as some of his conservative critics think he should, they have questioned whether the President believes sufficiently in the exceptionalism of the country he leads.

Germans immigrants arriving in America, 1874.

Many Americans interpret “exceptionalism” to mean the US is better than any other country in the world. Whether this is true for every single facet of life in the US is a topic for another day. (Hint: it ain’t necessarily so.) But I do feel one part of the American story clearly set the US apart from most other countries, especially those in Europe: the United States is a nation of immigrants, some fresher off the boat than others, but newcomers all the same. (Not counting, of course, the some two-and-a-half-million Native Americans who trace their origins back to the continent’s very first human inhabitants, nomads who crossed over from Asia thousands of years ago seeking new lands.)

The rest of us descended from much more recent nomads who came for much the same purpose – to make a new life in a new home. It goes without saying that such bouts of restlessness have swept through all peoples around the world at one time or another. Soon after the Ice Age, the original inhabitants of Finland migrated from an ancestral homeland, much further east in present-day Russia, to relocate in this cold corner of Europe, while their distant ethnic cousins settled in the warm, arid plains of Hungary. I’ll leave it to the Finns to decide whether they took the right turn in that move.

Europe has undergone many such migrations in a dizzying game of geopolitical musical chairs, with different tribes and peoples constantly changing places over the centuries as they pushed themselves or were pushed by others or otherwise just drifted onto new real estate. Compared to the days when the likes of the Huns and the Vikings were stirring things up all over Europe, the continent has been mostly static for some time now – despite all the redrawing of maps kicked off by the fall of the Iron Curtain. This is why most modern European nations have tended to identify themselves along ethnic lines in a way that America does not. Except for some spots where a minority group spills across a national border, France is the land of the French, England is the home of the English, and so on.

Such national identities can make for rigid attitudes towards newcomers. Until about ten years ago, Germany did not grant citizenship to second- or third-generation Turkish residents who had lived all their lives in the country. I’ve had British friends tell me that England is not an immigrant country, meaning the growing population of citizens of Pakistani or West Indian descent doesn’t really seem to fit in there.

America is different – if you will, even exceptional – in that there is no such thing as an “ethnic American” (again, except for Native Americans). You can’t distinguish an American from a Nigerian or Nepalese just by their physical appearance. And no wonder. Unlike almost any other country, the US is made up of people from every corner of the globe who, despite sometimes facing prejudice and hostility, have found a new home in America. This includes Finns.

Little Italy, New York City, 1903. Photo by Debivort.

On a dresser in the apartment of my wife’s almost 100-year-old aunt in Turku, in southwestern Finland, sits a gilded mantel clock, a family heirloom that belonged to her late husband. He was born in New York City in the early 1900s, a child of one of those emigrant families that crowded into the five boroughs in a period immortalized by many a Hollywood film. This young New Yorker’s parents, however, eventually decided to return to Finland, which shows that not all the huddled masses who came to America necessarily found it to their liking.

Of course, many transplanted Finns did. Some years ago in Yellowstone National Park, we were walking among some hot springs and smelly fumaroles when a couple of elderly women overheard my wife and kids speaking Finnish. Excitedly, the pair approached us to introduce themselves as third-generation Finnish-Americans and to try out the fractured (and quite old-fashioned) Finnish they had, more or less, learned as children.

Like these two delightful ladies, most Americans are proud of their roots and happy to claim the different nationalities or ethnic groups that make up their heritage. I know Americans who are Greek-Irish or German-Irish or Dutch-Indonesian or Japanese-Finnish. Such ethnic mashups aren’t at all unusual, especially in certain parts of the country like the Northeast, where the pots of New York and Boston have been melting for centuries. By contrast, the southeastern US where I’m from has always seemed a much less diverse place, populated mostly by only two hyphened forms of Americans, Anglo and African.

That is rapidly changing. Alabama, South Carolina and other southern states that haven’t traditionally been home to large Hispanic populations have, over the last ten years, seen a doubling of Latino residents. Georgia now ranks 10^th nationally in terms of the number of Hispanics living there.

These statistics only confirm what anyone has been able to see for themselves in my small hometown in the Georgia mountains over the past 10-15 years. Every time we have visited in recent years, we’ve noticed more and more short, dark-skinned men, often walking along the highways into town. These newest arrivals to the county are Central Americans, mainly Guatemalan, who originally came to work in the local chicken-processing plant and apple orchards. It’s quite different from my childhood, when practically the only Hispanics living there were professionals – including our only surgeon and veterinarian – who had fled Castro’s Cuba.

Today, the Latino migrants to my hometown are willing to do less-desirable manual labor to make a better life for themselves. Like my own ancestors, they are reliving that classic – and, let’s be honest, not always easy – story of folks looking for new opportunities and putting down roots in a new land.

Conan, God of the Finns

2011-03-14T14:00:00.000+02:00

One of the weirder places where American and Finnish pop cultures have met – and there aren’t really that many to begin with – is a TV studio at Rockefeller Center in New York City. It was here, the home of the late great “Late Night with Conan O’Brien”, that a beautiful friendship began in 2006.

In a gag typically quirky for the show, Conan decided to insult every country on earth, alphabetically, a few nations at a time, all for the purpose of eliciting hate mail from the more obscure corners of the world where his show was broadcast. (This is not unlike what some bloggers do.)

Finnish fans didn’t wait for their insult. They jumped the gun by flooding Conan with love/hate mail even before Finland’s turn came. Now, queue jumping isn’t in the Finnish character. Far from it. Neither is anything that smacks of calling too much attention to yourself, so I can only take this outpouring of mail as a sign of how genuinely popular the redheaded Irish-American comedian is among Finns.

While I would personally chalk this popularity up to Finns’ own quirky sense of humor, Conan quickly came up with a different interpretation after he realized the uncanny (some might call it “cosmic”) resemblance he bears to Finland’s president, Tarja Halonen.

The freakish similarity between the two has provided plenty of fodder for Conan’s writers, with Conan convincing himself that his resemblance to Halonen had made him a “Golden God” in the eyes of the Finnish people. He even meddled in Finnish presidential politics to ensure Halonen’s reelection by airing on her behalf some amazingly tough-minded campaign ads. No, make that simple-minded. Anyway, it was all in good fun. (I wasn't able to upload the ads, but you can view some of them by searching "Conan supports Tarja Halonen" on YouTube.)

For a victory lap following the epic success of his campaign, Conan actually visited the land of his people to bask in the love, or just very strong enthusiasm, of adoring fans and to meet personally with a grateful, or at least bemused, Halonen. She’s a good sport, it seems.

Alas, Finland hasn’t seen much of Conan since he was unceremoniously ousted from the “The Tonight Show” last year. His new show, “Conan” is not carried by any of the Finnish TV channels, and even worse, in this age of Internet, full episodes of the show cannot be streamed from Conan’s website due to some mysterious legalities. For Conan fans, this is a hugely unhappy situation, maybe even unjust. And Conan himself is obviously starting to feel the strain of separation from his most loyal fans on earth, or at least the most loyal fans who have a president who looks like him.

Last week, he finagled a way to break down – if for only one week – the legal barriers that deprived Finland of its Conan fix, allowing Finns to stream the show and enjoy a series of Finland-themed gags. I was only able to catch a couple of these sketches, the best of which was his whacky setup of the hit video game “Angry Birds”, where players use a slingshot to propel flightless birds against enemy pigs. On the show, Conan played a giant-sized version of this Finnish creation, with the twist of disguising the evil pigs with masks of Snooki and other “stars” from “Jersey Shore”, making their destruction even sweeter. Only a pop culture icon, and self-appointed God of the Finns, like Conan O’Brien could dream up a way to bring bits of Finland and America together like that.

Women

2011-03-09T18:22:00.001+02:00

Yesterday was the 100^th anniversary of International Women’s Day, a fitting time for a few words about the state of sexual relations in Finland. As a man, I’m obviously not in a position to say whether Finnish women should be satisfied with their lot in life. I wouldn’t presume (or dare) to speak for them. On the surface, however, it would seem that women here have enjoyed some considerable successes.

Back in 1997, Hillary Clinton paid a visit to Helsinki as the American First Lady, a full decade before her campaign to be the first woman to occupy the White House in her own right. She came closer to that elusive goal than anyone yet, and eventually was picked for the still-powerful position of Secretary of State (the third female to hold that post).

Prime Minister Mari Kiviniemi
(photo: Sebastian Derungs)

But in 1997, she was merely the First Lady, and still a year away from the public humiliation her husband would force her to endure. During that June visit to Helsinki, Clinton met with three top Finnish government officials at the US Embassy: the foreign minister, the defense minister and the head of the Finnish central bank – the Finnish counterparts to Hillary Clinton, Robert Gates

and Ben Bernanke today.

All three of these high-level Finnish officials were women. This obviously impressed the First Lady, who publicly speculated at the time about how long it would be before women were similarly represented at the highest echelons of the US government. One of the women she met was Elisabeth Rehn, Finland’s first (and so far only) female Minister of Defense, who had three years earlier

almost won her own presidential bid. Another was Tarja Halonen, then Foreign Minister, who did succeed to become Finland’s first female president in 2000.

While Halonen’s two-term presidency undoubtedly has had huge symbolic value for women’s rights, the truth is that in Finland’s parliamentary system, the president holds relatively little power compared to the Prime Minister, who – as of June of last year – now also happens to be a woman. Mari Kiviniemi is the second of her gender to hold that office. The first, elected in 2003, resigned after only 69 days in office due to improperly leaked documents her campaign had used to discredit the opposition. (Apparently, political dirty tricks have no gender bias.) Together, Halonen and Kiviniemi today form the public – and decidedly feminine – face of Finland in world affairs.

The prominence of women in government reflects Finnish national politics generally and is likely rooted in this country’s long history of progressive gender politics. While still an autonomous Grand Duchy of Russian, Finland became the first European state to grant women the right to vote, in 1906, coming in third behind the apparently even-more-egalitarian New Zealand and Australia.

The same year, women also won the right to run for Finland’s nascent parliament, giving them more complete political rights at the time than anywhere outside of Australia. Nineteen women were promptly elected as the world’s first female members of a national legislature. Currently, 79 women are parliament members, which amounts to just under 40% of the 200-member body. Compared that to 17% for the current US Congress.

World's first women parliament members, 1907
(courtesy: Ministry for Foreign
Affairs of Finland)

Not everything revolves around politics, though, and women here may feel that other aspects of their lives fall short of true equality. (There again, it’s not my place to say for certain). With some notable exceptions, business in Finland is still dominated by men at the higher-management levels, and salaries are probably still far from being equal. But I think the social-welfare system here, which offers paid parental leave of up to ten months (seven of which can be taken by the father, which I did when our second child was born), a guaranteed job afterward, and guaranteed daycare, does go a long way toward giving women decent options for balancing family life with a career outside the home.

Still, no country is perfect, and it seems that even here women can be held to a somewhat different standard than men, no matter how impressive their accomplishments might be. The US ambassador to Finland who had arranged Clinton’s meeting with the trio of Finnish leaders in 1997 later recounted in the Huffington Post how they had discussed with Clinton the kinds of bias they still faced as women.

They told the First Lady about not being able to join their male colleagues in sauna (the steam-filled backroom where the real wheeling and dealing was said to be done in those days). Probably even more frustrating was the fact that, unlike the men, they also had to put up with a local media that sometimes paid far too much attention not to the political positions they were espousing, or the policies they were implementing, but rather the styles of dresses they were wearing.

So, what else is new?

Cold

2011-02-28T15:01:00.001+02:00

For much of this month, Helsinki has been sitting at the bottom of a high-pressure cell of air so cold that it had begun to feel oppressive. We enjoyed two weeks of temperatures around -25 centigrade (-13F) and below, with highs on most days not much above -18C (0F). Further inland and to the north – far from the moderating effects of the sea (even if it is frozen) the chill has been much deeper. A seasonal low of almost -42C (-43F) was measured in Lapland on February 18^th, right on the eve of the annual “ski holidays”. This is when schools in Helsinki close for a week and the city empties out as many families head either south to warm spots not known for their skiing, like the Canary Islands or Thailand, or – against all human reason – northward into the heart of coldness to ski in Lapland.

The upside of the frigid weather we’ve been experiencing is that for a couple of weeks we've had clear, blue skies. This, along with days that are getting noticeable longer, gives us an abundance of sunshine that many parts of the world take for granted, but that Finns can usually enjoy only in the dead of winter when it’s “too cold to snow”.

Local ice-climbing spot in Helsinki.

Of course, strictly speaking, it can never be too cold to snow. But for practical purposes, once the air here gets much below -20, it usually can’t hold enough moisture to form snow or even clouds, allowing us – for a few weeks at least – to live under a dome of blue winter sky, instead of a low ceiling of monotonous gray vapor. The aridity of the cold air also has a downside for someone like me. Such extreme lack of humidity turns me into a walking static-electricity generator. I electrify everything and everyone I touch. Also, the cold air quickly dries out skin left exposed too long, resulting in me going around most winters with my hands bleeding from countless small cracks. I managed to avoid that this year -- that is, until a week ago when I shed my gloves for twenty minutes to help someone jump his car off.

When I first contemplated moving to Finland, I dug out a world map to check the location of my future home. Upon seeing how far north Finland really lies, my first thought was: “How in the world does anyone live up there?” It was a perfectly logical reaction for someone who grew up in the temperate climate of Georgia.

While my home state does share the same latitude with such scorching places as Morocco, it doesn’t mean we’re unfamiliar with cold weather. The “Siberian Express” cold fronts that barrel down through the US from Canada almost always reach the northern part of Georgia, giving us a short-lived taste of real winter. My family’s fishpond would freeze over most winters for a few days, though with ice strong enough to bear the weight of nothing heavier than a cat – a fact that inquisitive minds couldn’t help verifying by luring an unsuspecting pet out onto the ice to test it.

Very occasionally, temperatures even dipped briefly to zero Fahrenheit, which always was a big deal and could have been a real hardship for us in Georgia if it had ever lasted more than a day or so. I recall my father getting frostbite once from trying to loosen the frozen water pipes at his dry-cleaning store to keep them from bursting. In ordinary winters, we managed well enough though, even if our house, like most in the South, was admittedly not built for prolonged cold spells. We made up for the lack of effective heating (or even any real insulation) by sleeping under thick quilts and electric blankets.

Still, we could take comfort during the coldest part of winter by looking at the weather map and thinking it could be worse. We could be those poor bastards in Fargo, North Dakota, which was point-blank in the path of the Arctic blasts coming down from Canada. There, they had to contend with mind-blending temperatures like 40 below.

With temperatures like that (and Canada to the north only a mysterious terra incognita on the weather map), it was easy to think that Fargo was at the very northern edge of human habitation. And, the fact is that when you look at a map of population density in North American, it seems most Canadians live in a band of territory just north of the US border, almost as if huddling next to the US for warmth. I doubt the Canadians would see it that way, however.

With such preconceptions, we were naturally skeptical of the possibility of life anywhere more than a day’s drive north of the desolate Dakota plains. By comparison, Helsinki is practically the North Pole. It’s almost as far north as Whitehorse or Yellowknife or some other forgotten (but apparently colorful) outpost of civilization, where I imagined the few people who somehow ended up there must have struggled to cling to life.

View from Helsinki's frozen Töölö Bay.

But, that’s continental North America. Europe is different, thanks to the redistribution of warmth by the Gulf Stream, which begins in the sun-baked straits between Florida and Cuba. By transporting warm Caribbean water to the far northern Atlantic, the Gulf Stream helps moderate winter weather that would otherwise be as bitter as Saskatoon’s. This is partly why Portugal, at about the same latitude as Boston, has a pretty enviable climate in January instead of one that gives New England its well-deserved reputation for winter sports.

It’s always been nice to think that warmth from the part of the world where I grew up was helping to make my new home livable. There have been some worries of late, however, that this flow of heat to Europe might not be as unrelenting as it seems. Some studies have suggested that the Gulf Stream has slowed in the last couple of years by as much as half. In October, a meteorologist in Poland predicted that this slowdown would trigger the coldest winter in Europe for a thousand years. That is truly a frightening thought, raising the specter of a second “Little Ice Age” like the one that disrupted life in Europe beginning in the 1300s.

The last couple of days have now been near freezing and, despite the two feet of snow still on the ground and the serious deep-freeze we had the last two weeks, there’s a real sense that winter is about to break and the slow change toward spring has started. Unless things get very ugly very quickly, we can safely say that – at least for this year – the threat of being hit by a frost not seen in a millennium was just very, very bad weather forecasting.

Bloody Food

2011-02-07T01:55:00.000+02:00

While it wasn't exactly a New Year’s resolution, my family decided to go on a diet of only fish and vegetables for the month of January, mostly as an experiment to see if we can reduce the amount of red meat we eat. That’s easier for some of us (read my wife) than for others (that would be me). By the way, this idea is a variation of the practice widely professed by some Finns of swearing off alcohol for at least a month following the festive Christmas season. There’s even a name for that tea-totaling custom, tipaton tammikuu.

Our break from meat wasn’t an ironclad prohibition. My daughter was of course served meat as part of her school lunches, and my son elected to opt out of the whole thing. That said, for an entire month our family meals – meaning dinner – consisted only of plants and creatures no higher on the evolutionary ladder than a herring.

Medieval-era herring fishing in neighboring Sweden.

The change of diet wasn’t exactly a huge stretch for us. Like lots of families in Finland, we already eat fish pretty regularly. Finns do like their fish, be it fried, baked, boiled, grilled, smoked, raw or even pickled. (However, they don't seem go for fermenting our gilled, water-breathing friends, as the Swedes do.) And most grocery stores offer an excellent variety of fish, from large slabs of salmon to finger-sized muikku. And, of course, the ubiquitous Baltic herring.

There’s no prize for guessing the reason the popularity of fish in this country. Surrounded on two sides by the Baltic Sea and pockmarked with nearly 200,000 freshwater lakes (mostly concentrated in the east where my wife is from), Finland has always enjoyed a bountiful supply of fishy protein close to home.

Still, my family typically consumes less fish than beef or chicken. (We’re also not big eaters of the other favorite meat for Finns, pork.) So it nonetheless took some adjustment to switch temporarily to life without meat. The biggest hardship for me wasn’t so much being unable to eat the stuff, as it was figuring out what to cook in its place.

I do most of the cooking in our house during the week, thanks to me currently being a stay-at-home Dad, and sad to say I’m no Jamie Oliver. I can fry your basic ground beef – essential for our mainstays of pizza, macaroni casserole (makaronilaatikko), burritos, etc. – and chicken for stir-fry dishes. I can also make a pretty mean hotdog soup, and when it comes to pea soup, I’m able to open a tin can alongside the best of them.

With meat off the table, however, the limits of my culinary range became as painfully apparent. I quickly found you can serve fish sticks or salmon soup only so many times during a given month. And the obvious choice of all-veggie meals – though healthy and appetizing in theory – turned out to be challenging for this accidental chef. My attempt at a soy and lentil concoction was tasty – well, editable – but its presentation suffered a tab from being indistinguishable from canned cat food. Cheap canned cat food. Word of this dish spread even to my daughter’s friends, who had to see for themselves the food so gross that only a cat would consider eating it – if only it contained meat.

Blood pancakes with lingonberries.

Now that January is behind us, I can breathe a little easier when suppertime approaches, though we’re committed to continue reducing our meat intake and I’m determined to learn how to cook veggie dishes that are not so foul as to make a vegan backslide.

In the meantime, we’re back to our more normal, easier-to-prepare menu. Our first meaty meal was my mother-in-law’s meatballs, which I can confidently state are the best in the world. The other meat-ish dish we allowed ourselves is one we don’t often eat nowadays, verilettu. This traditional Finnish pancake made with pig blood – that’s right pig’s blood – used to be a staple in our house when the kids were young. That was back when you could still buy dry blood-pancake mix, which made it easy for busy parents to quickly whip up a batch of verilettu for hungry youngsters. Just mix with water, fry in a skillet, and serve with lingonberries on top. Of course, my kids chose to break with traditional and instead smothered the pancakes with, what else, ketchup.

For some years now, the dried mix has disappeared off the store shelves, why I can’t say. But, small ready-made blood pancakes, about the size of silver dollars, are still available. This is what we recently served with supper for the first time in quite a while. The kids were not enthusiastic. Obviously, they have lost their taste for this Finnish delicacy, with or without ketchup. Or, maybe these modern-day mass-produced, overly processed pancakes aren’t quite the same as the ones they remember from their childhood.

In any case, my wife found them acceptable. And she remembers a time when verilettu were prepared the old fashion way – that is, with fresh blood. In those days, people made the pancakes with pig's blood that they bought from the local butcher shop and brought home in buckets. Buckets of blood. Picture that for a moment. If that doesn’t nudge you toward taking a little break from meat yourself, then nothing will.