Things I still do not understand

After five months, I have still yet to figure some things out about Finland. I often despair that I ever will.

• Getting through a Finnish door. Finnish doors that do not have Push or Pull in any language are my nemesis. Without a Push or Pull (I can read Finnish, Swedish, and others), I often fail to guess from any visual clues. It is embarrassing to fail at a door. Especially a door one uses often.
• Karelian pastries. They look so tasty! My American eyes tell me that these cute little things will be so sweet (uh, the word "pasty" conjures that image). But they are not sweet, and when you disappoint a sweet taste that your mind is anticipating, you suffer.
• Getting off the tram. I know I have seen people exit from the front door of the tram. But I also have seen scores of people who sit right by the front door of the tram -- and when they want to get off, they walk all the way back to the middle door to exit. Even if they are nearly lame, There must have been some rule not long ago about front-door tram exiting. Are front-door tram exiters rebels?
• My incomprehensible Finnish. I have worked hard at learning how to pronounce Finnish. But when I speak Finnish, very often native speakers will look at me for an uncomfortable moment as they seem to be translating in their heads the Finnish they have just heard into a language that makes sense to them. Then suddenly their eyes open wider, and they often repeat what I thought I said. Just improved. The margin for error in oral Finnish must be very small.
  
• Salmiakki. Salty liquorice is not a treat for me; it is an ordeal. But Finns seems to enjoy it, and all types of salmiakki-flavored treats are available wherever you think you should be able to buy something to eat or drink.  My recommendation for future visitors to Finland: start young, and acquire this taste. Your eating and drinking options will grow.

The list of things I do not yet understand is longer, but I will not include everything. I have a few more days in Finland, and I hope to mark a couple more of these items off that list -- and put them on the list of things I have figured out.

Reading Finnish

After a few months of looking at Finnish grammar books and doing all I could in my spare time to learn Finnish, I know I have made progress. Now when the 7A or 7B tram driver announces at Pasila station how long we will wait before resuming, I understand. When the cashier at the K-Market grocery store asks me if I want my receipt, I can reply. And when the clerk at Stockmann's Café Argos asks if I will also have a coffee with my sandwich, I don't have to confess my ignorance.

You gotta admire a guy who shoots
cars plunging off NY wharves.

But then I got cocky. I wanted to go beyond small talk and tackle Finnish literature. I assumed I could read Finnish. Not just signs and posters -- but whole groups of sentences. Of course I knew better than to start with the Kalevala, or any novel, of anything long, or -- well, just about anything that people more than seven years old read. So I bought a 96-page graphic novel: Nick Raider, New York City Homicide Detective. The title was "Mafian Tähtäimessä" and I correctly understood "Mafian" but had to rely on Google translate to tell me that "Mafian Tähtäimessä" meant "Mafia Sights." Taking off the "Mafian" got me "in sight." So the meaning I assume was somewhere between the two! Now I was reading! But my optimism was short lived. Every other panel was a struggle unless someone shot at someone else or a car sped off (I can understand a gun that goes "Bang!" and a ricochet that goes "Twiiing." Even a car that goes "Vroooom." I guess the translator didn't bother to put these into Finnish.). But not every panel can contain a gunfight or a speeding car chase; someone has to talk occasionally between shots and screeches. And it was making no sense to me. I was averaging one page per day, and that includes pictures. So I learned I could not even read a Finnish graphic novel. Yet I am not disillusioned and not giving up -- I just have to pick my Finnish texts more carefully (less words, more pictures?). Now I have invested in the most recent Garfield (aka Karvinen). The plot is easier (Garfield eating lasagna or swatting spiders). And I can finally say that I am reading Finnish.

The five-second rule

Getting on and off the tram is easy. Little children and dogs do it all the time, along with kids carrying skateboards and (older) kids carrying beer cans. Even elderly couples hop on and hop off (yet somewhat more slowly than the kids). However, there is one important rule that we all must obey: the five-second rule. This is how it works. When you get on the tram, you have approximately five seconds to either sit down, or to brace yourself somehow, or to find something that you will be able to grab onto -- preferably a pole or back of a seat and not another passenger. You see, in five seconds, unless delayed by a tourist who has climbed aboard and started to ask questions, the tram driver puts the tram in gear (or something like that) and starts moving again. You would think that a tram, being a large and heavy vehicle on tram tracks, would nudge forward gently as it slowly picks up speed. Even though it is not the same as a drag car burning rubber at the green light, a tram jerks forward as if it were in a race. A race to the next tram stop.

When the tram starts forward, if you are not in your seat, or not holding onto something, or not able to find something very quickly to hold onto, you are abruptly jostled. I have never seen anyone thrown to the ground, fortunately. But riders who forget the five-second rule suddenly pantomime drunken sailors on a storm-tossed ship.

But don't worry if you forget the five-second rule. If you are thrown about and grab at things and narrowly avoid plopping into someone's lap, there is no need to be embarrassed. Remember, this is Finland, after all, and Finns respect your privacy; no one even looks at you as you try to regain your dignity (well, they may look but they will pretend not to). Yes, you nonchalantly clutch the nearest pole and act as if was no big deal to nearly fall down in front of strangers. You'll have your sea legs soon.

Getting the most out of your chocolate-factory tour

I recently went on a Fazer chocolate-factory tour and learned quite a few things I need to pass on to you before your own tour.

The mysterious young man shown in your last orientation film who appears from nowhere with a pass to visit the Fazer factory and then gets a job there is really the 19-century founder of Fazer chocolates, Karl Fazer, who materializes in the present to check on his legacy. Or is he? You may be confused. But don't spend time thinking about it and perhaps even discussing it with other tour goers as did I. Get over it because you have more important tour stops coming up.

Fazer makes more stuff besides chocolate, especially bread. But you did not come to tour a bread factory (which is made elsewhere, anyway), so gloss over the bread display and move on to the important next stop.

All the chocolate you can eat, candy and bar form, of many different varieties.  Yes, your childhood dream has come true. But there are three rules: You can eat only one piece at a time, you can't take any with you to eat later, and you can't have a drink while eating. And security cameras are pointed at you to make sure you obey. So plan your day carefully before the "tasting" session. Refrain from overeating before arriving (definitely no pre-tour chocolate), avoid eating the chocolates you are familiar with (you already know what those taste like!), and employ a chocolate buddy (someone to help you eat part of the larger bars so you can go onto the next type faster).

Don't be disappointed when you discover you can't actually walk among the conveyor belts and rotating drums of chocolates on your tour, as you probably will imagine beforehand. Hygienic reasons will be given. You are never offered white lab coats, hair nets, and booties. Anyway, would you want to eat chocolates made in a factory where people like you tramp through all day long?

For fun, try to silently guess the jobs of the employees who walk past your tour. Somebody has to taste the chocolate. Imagine yourself being employed as a chocolate taster. Then remember other foods you used to like before you ate too much of them. Shudder.

Grab a basket when you are allowed into the Fazer store to buy chocolate at greatly reduced and thus tempting prices. You will not be able to carry in your hands all you pick up. You can buy Fazer plastic bags (.15) at the check-out counter, but a sturdy canvas bag may be something you want to bring if you have a lot of schlepping around to do on your way back via bus, tram, and metro. Especially if you don't want to do free advertising for Fazer.

The chocolate and cookies you get in the courtesy bag upon leaving the factory will serve you well for your own needs (i.e., when you feel hungry again on the way home). But if you don't like rye bread at all (like me), you have just been given a life-time supply of rye bread (four sandwiches' worth). Find someone who loves rye bread (any Finn friend) and re-gift without shame. The shame would be wasting a great Fazer product.

Probably the best?

Humility and self-deprecation. Two qualities much admired in Finland, I was told before my arrival. And nothing I have seen here has contradicted that portrait. I have already admitted earlier that I come from an In-Your-Face culture; in the US, information comes to you, often blasted at you, in superlatives and hyperboles. You don't have to seek it out, as you do in Finland. Everything in the US is The.Best.Ever -- or it is hardly worth watching, eating, wearing, doing, etc. And you are reminded of the need to be #1 whether you are a brand of spaghetti sauce or an NFL team. After a few months in Helsinki you can actually relax a bit because you know your chances of being assaulted (either physically or mentally) are fewer. You may even let your guard down and not notice when your tram passes the Milliklubi bar & disco and you read the large posters near the entrance that proclaim, but not too ambitiously: "Probably Best In Town." No fancy fonts, no oversized letters. Not even an exclamation point! And then you say to yourself: "Probably? Not the best in town? Just probably?"

So that is how it plays out here. If located in the US, the Milliklubi bar & disco would have to tell you that it is the best in town. Period. No questions asked. But you would,of course, add in your mind: "Well, probably not the best, but we'll see." In Helsinki, you don't need to doubt anyone's claims.

When is it OK to pretend you understand Finnish?

If I dress appropriately and don't make a series of American gestures or sounds, some Finns will assume I understand Finnish. Which is a great feeling until you realize that what they are saying may be important to your finances or safety. But sometimes it is OK to pretend to understand. See if you agree with my decisions in the following situations taken from my life here:

In the grocery store, a short, elderly woman looked at the bags of potato chips shelved high above her. She stood on her toes and reached her full length to get one of the bags. Once she got her bag of chips, she turned to me while chuckling and described in length something funny that obviously involved potato chips on high shelves. Would you have pretended to understand Finnish?

Me: I pretended to understand everything she said and chuckled with her, nodding my head, glancing at those bags of chips high on the shelf, while rolling my eyes. We had a good laugh together.

My justification: Potato chip bags high on shelves where short, old people (like me) can't reach them actually is funny (to tall, young people). The nice woman just wanted to share this moment with me. She walked away, still chuckling, and that stranger who "understood" her plight made it more bearable to be old and short. Or maybe I unknowingly agreed that she should shop elsewhere farther away. Oh well, no harm done; exercise will be good for her.

At the department store I was buying a few items and using my basic, common Finnish: hei, joo, kiitos (hello, yes, thank you) as usual. Suddenly the sales clerk stopped the transaction and asked me something at length. When this happens I usually say "joo" (yes) just to get out of the situation. Would you have pretended to understand Finnish?

Me: I quickly marched out one of my most useful Finnish phrases: Anteeksi! Puhun vain vähän suomea (Sorry! I only speak a little Finnish).

My justification: This is a tricky situation. At this point a sales clerk will often be asking whether you want a bag or want your receipt. Saying "joo" (yes) quickly finishes such transactions because you usually want either a bag or receipt, and you preserve your charade of speaking workable Finnish. However, you need to be careful here! When I confessed my Finnish was limited, I was able to stop from being signed up for a new credit card for which I would not have qualified.

On the tram, a disheveled and intoxicated man sat next to me and started talking. He was not threatening in any way, but he was obviously anxious to give me his opinion on a topic that only he knew about. He was not whispering, either. Would you have pretended to understand Finnish?

Me: I pretended to understand everything he said and made signs of agreeing with him on every point (head nods and positive "hmmm" sounds). After a few moments he seemed happier, and then he went on to another captive passenger.

My justification: Most drunk people do not strike up conversations with strangers in order to get into an argument. Rather, these people simply want a sympathetic conversation where you confirm whatever they are saying. It may be one of the rare times when someone actually agreed with him. Perhaps this positive experience convinced him to mend his ways. Or maybe I unknowingly agreed that he should drink more. Oh well, he probably was going to anyway.

It is obviously a case-by-case judgment on whether you should pretend to understand Finnish. You just have to weigh the options and, if you pretend, be prepared to live with the consequences.

When is it OK to be loud on the tram?

I have read that Finns are generally quieter on public transportation than…well, just about anybody. And I have found that to be true, for the most part. Tram users most often mind their own business and stare away in the distance or read something. But there are certain groups that are allowed to be noticeably loud on a tram.

Toddlers: Children who have learned to talk or to sing don't yet have any sense of embarrassment when they want to verbalize their thoughts on a crowded tram. The other day, a mother with a small boy in a stroller came on the tram. For several stops the young boy proudly sang the Finnish equivalent of the A-B-C song (the one that sounds like our version, or maybe ours sounds like theirs, and ends "and now I know my ABCs" but in Finnish, of course). No one paid attention except for me, and I almost had the Finnish ABCs down, but the mother took her child off too soon. Loud children are cute. Except the crying ones.

Teens: They come on in groups laughing and giggling; they sit together and continue to chatter. Even if I could understand quickly spoken Finnish I could not make sense of what these teens find so fun to discuss because they spout bits of words and phrases that mean something to them but nothing to us others. We are not in on this conversation. And then they all jump off the tram together as their conversation continues. Loud teens are not cute, but you have to admire the joy they have with their friends.

Tourists: Tourists talk to each other in their outdoor voices because they are perplexed. Most of their sentences start with "where" (Where are we? Where does this tram go? Where do we get off? etc.). Tourists also often stand even when seats are available, so their voices carry well. English is a common tourist language. And nothing carries better than English on a tram full of Finns. Tourists are not cute but they are funny, and they provide Good Samaritan opportunities at which the Finns excel.

Drunks: Yes, drunks ride the trams occasionally, especially at certain times on certain days through certain areas. And it is not so hard to remain drunk on a tram because riders think no more about popping open a can of beer than they would a can of Diet Coke. Diet Coke may make people talkative, but beer is a sure ticket to being loquacious. Drunks fortunately prefer talking to themselves, but sometimes one will sit next to me and engage me in a loud monologue. I say "monologue" because every time a drunk wants to talk to me, he does not mind if I just listen. Drunks are not cute, but they are harmless if you just make signs of agreeing with what they say.

Mobile-phone users: Every third person who gets on a tram receives a phone call. It must be a Finnish quota or something. The most commonly heard word on a tram is "Moi" (Hello). Then the mobile-phone user is obliged to tell the caller that he or she is on a tram at such-and-such a stop. After the required opening statements are made, the conversation proceeds as if no one else were on the tram. Finns are just like Americans in this way: mobile-phone conversations are carried out in a louder voice than normal. I feel the embarrassment of the other Finns who can understand everything about the phone conversation. Finns never want to get into your personal life unless expressly invited, but on the tram they are forced into familiarity with a stranger's business. Mobile-phone users are not cute, but they do make you wonder if the unseen caller is also on a tram somewhere. You can create funny scenarios in your mind. Mobile-phone users at least make a boring tram trip a bit more interesting.

So those are the types of riders allowed to be loud on the tram. If you don't fall into one of those groups, you must stare away in the distance or read something.

In-Your-Face vs. You-Find-Out

I come from an In-Your-Face culture. In the U.S., you get told a lot: I am used to having information shoved at me in many different ways so that I always know what is going on. I am used to bigger signs, to louder announcements, and to people who talk to me much more often about everyday things. Information comes directly to you.

Something important may have happened here

Finland is a You-Find-Out culture. In Finland, you need to actively seek out information. Signs are smaller, announcements are subtler, and Finns don't want to embarrass you by telling you what you already should know. You need to find out.

For example, if an American grocery store were going to be closed all day on a Saturday (even on Christmas, New Year's, Thanksgiving, or Easter) it would be big news. You would be informed before the event by unmistakable large postings placed on a store's doors where you could not possibly miss them. Then, while shopping, you would be told several times over the intercom. And finally, at the checkout lane, the cashier would remind you, and perhaps so would the person in line next to you because that person is your designated new American buddy for a few moments.

In Finland, I foolishly tugged on the door of my closed neighborhood grocery store on November 2nd. No one bothered to tell me it would be closed on All Saint's Day, a National Holiday, because I should already have known that; no one wanted to express doubt in my competence. And signs, if they existed, were quiet enough to blend into the few others I could translate. Of course, if an announcement had earlier come over the intercom in a Finnish grocery, I perhaps would not have been able to tell the difference between "Bananas are now on sale" and "Please evacuate the building." But I am sure no such announcement was ever made.

What does a person raised on In-Your-Face behavior miss over a few months? I did not know that I had the secret code to get into certain buildings on weekends, keys that would open wondrous doors, discounts on cruise ships, subsidized public transportation, access to a gym, and much more.

So now I am becoming a You-Find-Out person in my remaining time here. Every day I am keen to ask more questions about things that I just might want to do or have. Maybe someone is giving away free candy somewhere. I just have to find out.

Surviving the grocery-store checkout lane

A trip to the grocery store can be an exciting journey into another culture, and Helsinki is no exception. Sure, there are practices that exist here that we don't follow in the states. For example, we are not accustomed to weighing our own produce and sticking a price label on it. And even though we are warned of this practice before we arrive, we occasionally forget or are fooled. The embarrassment is usually brief, depending on how quickly and silently a store clerk will run back to a scale to do what you should have done.

The dividing bar ritual at the checkout lane was something about which I was not warned, however. I suppose it is an international practice to place a dividing bar (a long, plastic bar shaped so that it will not roll) within easy reach of customers who need to separate their groceries on the checkout conveyor belt. But the ritual here differs from the way it is kept in the states. The person handling the dividing bar makes a social statement. Here is how it works:

Helsinki: After a customer in front of you places his or her groceries on the conveyor belt, that customer puts the dividing bar down after the groceries to keep your stuff separate. The Finn is saying: "I am helping you so that you don't have to bother. It is my turn and thus my responsibility. We live together in harmony." If you fail to put the dividing bar down after your groceries are placed, any customer behind you looks a little miffed at your lack of social responsibility. Or maybe because that customer now has to put down two bars!

America:  After a customer in front of you places his or her groceries on the conveyor belt, you put the dividing bar down in front of your groceries to keep your stuff separate. You are saying: "Don't worry; I won't let my stuff get mixed into yours. By watching out for my stuff I am also watching out for yours." At that point the two total stranger Americans may start a conversation and become best buddies for a few fleeting moments -- but that is another point altogether. If you fail to put the dividing bar down in front of your groceries, the customer in front looks at you as if you were ready to trespass on his or her lawn. And that's why we use fences and dividing bars. But that blunder doesn't necessarily stifle the beginning of a random conversation, of course.

So now I perform my checkout lane social responsibility in Helsinki with a grace that relieves customers behind me. At least until the time the clerk has to run back to a scale to do what I should have done. 

Do not hold a door open for a Finn

Never hold a door open for someone in Finland. No, that's not quite right; it just may seem that way at first. Just don't make it obvious. Finns are attentive in social situations when several people are going one after the other through a public door. But there is a Finnish way of not acknowledging fellow door users. In Helsinki, it is very acceptable to delay a door for someone else. In fact, just like in the states, it would be considered rude to go through a door and let it close upon a person following you. However, in Helsinki, you should never acknowledge the person walking behind you through the door. No turn of the head is allowed. This is not the United States, after all. Do not even consider fleeting eye contact unless you wish to be mistaken for a simpleton who lacks social skills and does not respect the privacy of others. Maybe an American. You somehow have to know when a person is walking behind you (the Finns seem to have this power) so that when you go through a door, you swing the door open a bit wider or let go of the door a bit later so that it is still somewhat open for your follower. It takes some practice. After I tired of the surprise of Finns after they noticed I slowed down, held the door, and nearly looked at them, I began to practice this procedure. It is all in the physics:

1. Plot the trajectories of all people walking around you so that you know with your special radar when one might closely follow you through a door. You may have to predict several possible patterns.
2. Determine your speed and the speed of your nearest follower. Age and weight are factors.
3. Adjust your speed accordingly so that you go quickly through the door without having to keep it open for a follower -- or, if this strategy fails, slow down discreetly so that you cross the doorway and masterfully swing the door so that a follower does not have to start from scratch to open it.
4. If you have gone through this door before, you have the advantage of knowing the door's weight and closing speed. No need to guess. Add this knowledge to your equation.

Of course, in the states, not acknowledging a fellow door user is considered boorish. American strangers often become best friends based on door interactions. In Helsinki, if you hold a door open for a person and acknowledge that person, you have done a very, very special favor. That person becomes somewhat embarrassed by your extravagant gesture and at a loss as to how to return the favor. Please be kind to Finns: do not put them in awkward situations by practicing American door etiquette on them. Even if you do not acknowledge a fellow Finnish door user for whom you have delayed the door, listen carefully. You will most often hear a very nice "Kiitos" (Thank you) directed your way in a subtle -- but grateful -- voice. Your gesture has been appreciated, and a subtle social pact maintained.

How to prepare yourself for future hockey games

Attending one professional Finnish hockey game does not make me an expert, and I admit that any conclusions I draw on that one game may be based on anomalies that may never happen again. But I have nothing else to go on. So to make sure that I survive that next hockey game in good order, here are the rules that I have so far.

1. If you have a ticket for the 3rd level and you ask a concession stand worker on the 1st floor where your seat is, you will be pitied because obviously you do not understand this complicated 1-2-3 level construction of the arena. Avoid such pity by wandering around until you stumble upon your level and seat.
2. Even if the 15,000-seat arena is filled by only 6,000 fans (only a handful who have found their way to the 3rd level), your seat assignment is not "suggested seating" as in the US; your seat assignment is where you sit the entire game. Perhaps even longer. Sets of strangers thrown together by fate will practically sit in each other's laps rather than spread to any open seating.
3. You do not look at or address your new companions because, well, that is just not done. However, you know by your Finnish experiences that they would take off their shoes and give them to you if you were in need. But an event needs to precipitate such gestures.
4. Keep your shoes on at a hockey game. And do not put your feet on back of an empty seat in front of you until well into the 3rd period when such behavior is tolerated.
5. Do not load up with concessions before taking your seat. Concession food is the same as in the US, but most seems to be consumed in the concourse areas. Wait until the 3rd period. The magical last period. Concessions seem to be allowable in the seating area in the 3rd period, and that is the moment to consume a soft drink, if absolutely necessary. During the 3rd period you can also put your feet on the seat in front of you.
6. If you choose to eat popcorn, do not let any drop. In the US, popcorn seems to be everywhere -- on the floor, under the seats, on the seats, in your clothes. It is like edible confetti. But in Helsinki popcorn is eaten as carefully as caviar. Perhaps because each small box of popcorn costs many euros. It is precious. And remember rule #5.
7. Get used to the fact that everyone knows much better than you the lyrics to the English-language rock song snippets played at every available moment when the puck is not being slapped around on the ice. Do not try to sing along.
8. Because legroom in stadium seating is an unfamiliar concept on any continent, leaving your seat while your row mates are still sitting is difficult. Solution: Do not leave your seat until intermission between periods, unlike the US where spectators seem to be encouraged to wander instead of sitting and must have more desperate bathroom needs than Finns. Perhaps because we don't adhere to rule #5.
9. When someone on your team knocks a fellow on the other team off his feet, you need to cheer. When the reverse happens, you need to complain. Hey, sounds familiar! Just like home. Enjoy this international custom.
10. You may not know what the announcer is saying, but if your image is shown on the large scoreboard during a break in the hockey action, it is required that someone next to you tap you on the shoulder and direct your gaze to the scoreboard. And "Kiss Cam" needs no translation. Be ready for it.

Blundering, indirectly

Sometimes you blunder, and it is all your fault, but sometimes you also indirectly blunder. And you still must suffer the consequences.

I went to a small restaurant with my traveling companion, who does not wish to be mentioned, so I will simply call this person JH. It was a typical social situation that, in a foreign land, becomes a little more difficult to grasp at a glance. There are practices and procedures that the residents just seem to know by birthright, or they at least have had years perfecting their behaviors. Just figuring out where to order at a counter and in which direction to go can be complicated -- besides what you need to pick up and what you wait to be handed. But I successfully navigated the counter situation and ordered the meals, along with a coffee for JH and a hot tea for me. We were given a small block of wood with a thin wire sticking out of it, and on top was a little number on a piece of paper. The halting but still excellent English skills of the woman behind the counter, along with my experience at Culvers in the US, convinced me that we were supposed to go sit somewhere, display our number, and wait for the meal. Excellent. The meal came, but yet no drinks. I told my traveling companion that we were probably supposed to go get our own because I spotted what looked like coffee contraptions somewhere next to the counter. And where there is coffee, there must also be tea, I reasoned. I convinced JH that my theory was correct. And that is where I indirectly blundered. My generous traveling companion then offered to go get my tea along with the coffee.

A few minutes later, JH returned to our table with a very large cup and a perplexed look. JH said: "I thought I was making some instant coffee, dissolving the crystals in hot water…but I was actually putting your tea leaves into the cup. I realized that when those things didn't dissolve." Well, here I am with a steaming cup of hot water into which has been shoveled who knows how many spoonfuls of tea leaves, which were visibly floating all around, some sticking to the inside of the cup, with a few on the saucer for good measure. Understand that, as a visitor to a foreign land, I try to leave a good impression wherever I go, as if I were some sort of good-will ambassador. I would not hesitate to dump this drink out at Culvers, but here there were no convenient dumping places, and the honor of the United States was once again at stake. JH added: " Try to drink as much of the tea as possible, after the tea leaves settle." Well, tea leaves seem to settle in geological time, not human time; in fact, more tea leaves were floating to the surface the longer I waited. So I gripped the cup and attempted to drink as much of the tea as I could stand. Which was unfortunately not much. Imagine if you cut open about five tea bags and dumped them into a cup of hot water, and let them brew for 10 minutes. It would be the most powerful cup of tea you ever sipped. The caffeine dose would not be recommended by the American Medical Association, and the taste would be somewhat overwhelming. I tried my best, but I had to end up leaving the strange-looking cup of tea at my table. The Finnish servers who would later pick up the dishes probably wondered about the odd tea habits of that American who did not seem to understand proper tea-making procedures. What was he thinking? Maybe he had never had tea before? Anyway, I feel I let down my country a bit. Perhaps I was once again just silently pitied by the Finns.

I did not actually make that cup of tea myself (which probably stained the ceramic tea cup before it was cleaned), but I indirectly caused it to be made for me. And the consequences were that my stomach did feel a bit odd for hours afterward.

You have a 50/50 chance to succeed

I would take 50/50 odds at the casino. Anytime. But those are not good odds to accept for performing what I consider basic daily functions, some of which I have been accustomed to performing for many, many years. Opening doors in Helsinki is a problem for me. I am speaking literally. Doors. Those things that let me go from one space into another space. I thought I had mastered their function long ago and have since become used to simply opening them without having to pause and think. Now I seem to be back at the learning stage.

Doors are very binary: they open one way and close the opposite way (I am excluding "swinging" doors here, because I have had no difficulties with them yet). And it's not that I can't read "Push" or "Pull" in Finnish or in Swedish on those doors that are labeled; I can. But not all doors are labeled, and I did not realize how intuitively I navigated through unlabeled doors before arriving here. So it is somewhat embarrassing to be the first in a group of Finns reaching a door -- and I can't seem to operate the door. I push when I should pull; I pull when I should push. 50/50 odds are not that good, I have discovered. I imagine the Finns behind me thinking (because they are certainly not saying anything out loud): "Where is this man from? He seems to be having an issue with this door. But let's stand here patiently and silently so as not to harass this technologically-challenged fellow. Perhaps he has some sort of disability or psychological disorder."

It must be a mixture of visual clues that counter what I have learned in the US. Many doors in my new environment look identical on either side; both sides have a handle, neither has a push plate, but only one direction is allowed. Do I turn the handle and pull? Do I turn the handle and push? I have mastered the turning the handle part, which is step #1, but I tend to fail at step #2.

My strategies to avoid being embarrassed by a door:

• practice with an important door when no one is around and memorize its function
• always approach a new door without witnesses in order to avoid social pressure; flip a coin and choose push or pull
• follow, never lead, a group approaching a door
• if leading a group up to a door is inevitable, pretend to get an important phone call and step aside for a moment to answer, and then follow

I refuse to accept defeat and will someday be an expert door user in Helsinki. Finns will no longer hesitate to follow me into the next room.

Be predictable

Americans seems to cherish characters who are unpredictable. Such people are "fun" and "spontaneous." However, in the wrong context, unpredictability is a trait that can physically injure someone here.

It's no secret that everyone bicycles more than Americans, and it is not for more exercise, it is simply an additional and necessary means of getting somewhere. As in any large city, more people walk and bike, and on Helsinki's countless paved or graveled paths that seem to go everywhere, walkers and bicyclists often share some space. True, there are sometimes clearly delineated bike lanes and pedestrian lanes, marked by white lines and unmistakable images of who should be doing what on which side. However, there are also many paths that are not marked, where users are free to employ any part of the path they desire. Those people on foot stroll on any side of the path, left or right. And bicyclists pedal along any part that they want. But when I say "pedal," understand that I mean "pedal very fast at high speed." Tour de France qualifying speed. One thing that I observed here is that bicyclists are not going from point A to point B at a leisurely pace on these paths (as we tend to do on paths in the US). They are often going at breakneck speed (i.e., they could break their neck if they crashed). These bicyclists are on a mission, and gender and age makes no difference.

My first few weeks walking the same paths as bicyclists were very nerve-wracking because I was unaccustomed to bicyclists coming up behind me and whooshing past almost before I knew what was happening (and, yes, they do make a whooshing sound at that speed, and a whooshing sound is not pleasant when it is a surprise). I marveled that I was not witnessing serious crashes between the many walkers and bicyclists sharing the paths; the two groups seemed always to know where the others were at all times -- often a few inches apart. Several times I almost turned left or right into a whooshing bicyclist who had to swerve a bit at the last moment to miss me. And it is not that much easier to avoid a bicyclist coming toward you; you simply have a few more milliseconds to imagine the coming pain. Yet to the credit of Finns, no bicyclist yelled at me for making such a blunder. Because it was a blunder, a serious social blunder, I soon began to realize. The key in this ballet between speeding bicyclists and plodding pedestrians was in the predictable patterns the pedestrians use when moving. 

So this is what I finally concluded: you can walk on any side of a path without fear of being struck by a bicycle as long as you are predictable. That means no sudden moves to your left or right, and no expanding your arms when you are making an important point. Remain on a straight path, do not extend your arms or personal possessions too far from your body, and the bicyclists can plot their whooshing around you with uncanny skill and grace. Bicyclists trust the pedestrians not to suddenly change course, and the pedestrians trust the bicyclist not to hit them. A perfect social pact in a place where cooperation is cherished. I now walk along these shared paths with perfect ease, because I have made this pact, and no longer do I associate a whooshing sound with a near miss…but rather as a reminder that my predictability allows me to move somewhat gracefully among these people.

The kindness of strangers

Sometime help comes from where you least expect it.

Flashback to late August 1982. I am standing on the platform at the Frankfurt train station waiting to get on the train to the airport. I have my bag and suitcase, and am obviously a traveler. I see a very old, frail, somewhat ill-dressed woman standing 30 or so yards down the platform, stealing glances at me. I am saying to myself "Please don't come over here and talk to me." Then the woman approaches me and, in broken English filled with concern, tells me to come over to where she is standing because we both are waiting for a Kurzzug (literally a "short train"). I am unknowingly standing in the wrong place -- and if I remain where I am standing, I won't be able to get on the train.

Now back to late August 2013. I am in Helsinki sitting contently in tram #9 in the growing twilight, on the way home. A small and old disheveled man boards and sits nearby, glancing at me occasionally. I am saying to myself "Please don't come over here and talk to me." Suddenly the tram driver makes an important announcement -- in Finnish. I know it is an important announcement because he speaks for more than two seconds. All I can understand is "May I have your attention" and "Thank you." Nothing in between. The tram then stops, and almost all the passengers start to get off. A few remain in the far back of the tram, but just a few. I, of course, must have a perplexed look on my face. Have we been asked to disembark? Has the driver just told us that a bomb will explode if his speed falls below 50 miles per hour? [Note: I have never seen a Helsinki tram exceed 15 miles per hour, and we could go around Helsinki for weeks at such speed, so I discount this last theory.] Not knowing for sure, I sit fast. I have been in the Paris metro before when public announcements have been made because of accidents, strikes, mechanical failures, etc. But I knew what to do because (1) I understand French and (2) Parisians complain loudly at being asked to disembark. But the Finnish passengers are all silent as they get off, not a look of complaint on their faces. The old, disheveled man is the last of the group to step off. But just before he goes out the door, he turns to me and, in broken English, says: "You tourist? Must get off now." When I don't immediately move, he repeats, with concern (and pointing at the door): "You tourist? Must get off now." Aha! I understand even the most basic request when repeated twice with a hand gesture! So I get off. He can offer no explanation in English, but when another #9 tram pulls up less than a minute later, I figure out that we were asked to change trams.

My mistake was not in my lack of Finnish skills (although better skills would have helped). My mistake was once again, unfortunately, on a different level.

I don't know what happened to those four or five other passengers who chose to remain in the rear of the tram (probably out of ignorance; they had no good Samaritan). Perhaps they are still on the ill-fated #9 circling Helsinki at 15 miles per hour.

Read before you eat?

Sometimes life goes by too fast and a good intention suffers. I was determined to understand everything on the packages containing the food that I ate in Helsinki, and I dutifully got out my dictionary or Google-translated all those interesting words beyond what I could already identify. After all, I sort of pay attention to what's on the food packages in the US. I wouldn't think of consuming something I couldn't identify with certainty. So if I was planning to eat something here, I found out just exactly what was included. A clear picture on the package was great, but not all manufacturers felt obligated to illustrate their foodstuffs. But my good intention to translate words on food packages suffered after only a couple of days because I started to go hungry. Now I'm not talking about translating the fine print and the list of ingredients; I don't even bother with those in English. I'm talking about those big words, sometimes in all caps, that you see on packages…such as the one on the side of my yogurt:

UUTUUS!

Finnish words like this are basically easy to translate because they are being used in simple ways (that's to say, not in a sentence where syntactical demands just complicate the word -- such as using it as a direct objet! and forget about direct object and plural!). So "uutuus!" is nothing more than "new!" and is found on about 50% of the packages in my local grocery store, on a rotating basis. But then there are those words that appear prominently on packages containing food you can identify (there is a picture, and the packaging is transparent), yet the words do not match what you have learned to associate with the food. Such as cheese, which is "juusto." On the cheese package I just bought tonight, I read emblazoned across the front:

SYDÄNYSTÄVÄ

I knew that "ystävä" was "friend," but what was this package trying to convey? After I ate some (oops! there goes that intention again), I looked it up to find out what kind of friendly cheese I consumed. It meant "bosom buddy." Which, for me, is now strangely associated with cheese. So I have to confess: I have started to look for pictures, prefer transparent packaging, and trust the good intentions of food manufacturers (after all, they can't be out to sicken the public they depend on, can they?). Besides, the cheese package told me that it was "parempi valinta" (better choice), and my bosom buddy would not mislead me. Maybe someday I will figure out what the "10" means.

Tomorrow morning I am going to toast some bread whose package screams:

NYT ENTISTÄKIN HERKULLISEMPI!

I don't care if it means "NOW WITH MORE REINDEER PIECES!" -- I can see a picture of the bread, I can see the actual bread, and who makes bad-tasting bread in Finland?

Author's note: "NYT ENTISTÄKIN HERKULLISEMPI!" means something close to "NOW EVEN MORE DELICIOUS!" I finally broke down and looked it up.

Trammit!

I am already pretty good at train etiquette in Finland, especially since I had practice years earlier in Germany and France. Trains are trains: ticket, track, number, etc. You get on, you get off. You would think that such experience would transfer to using the tram in Helsinki. I had a tram-awful day yesterday for my very first tram day, I and am not afraid to admit it. I learned my lesson(s) and will move on.

Lessons:

• Know your tram schedules. Although the tram stop is almost right outside my door (I could throw a rock and hit it), my obsessive-compulsive nature forced to me to go out and wait a full 15 minutes in the very chilly Helsinki morning before getting on a tram. Now you would think that 15 minutes is not much time, but realize that the tram comes by about every 15 minutes. So the click-clack of the last one should have been ringing in my ears before I even left my door. And Helsinkians seem to know their tram schedules so that they don't need to stand around needlessly. Not much to do at a tram stop unless you want to read the tram schedule. Ooops, too late!
• Don't build up high expectations of how a tram should sound when you are riding it. You hear the click-clack when you are outside the tram. Inside the tram you hear a sound that you will associate with what you remember as a kid when you played with those electric model race cars. But then you will realize that the common denominator is electricity, so you can imagine yourself riding in a model race car (one of your childhood fantasies; admit it), so I suppose this is a draw.
• Do not attempt to get off at the point where the tram changes drivers. You can't. And this point is often 20 feet from where you are supposed to get off. It can be confusing, especially if you fear being transported all the way to the next stop (oh well, maybe some 50 yards, not like to the next city). But only the tram driver can get off and his/her replacement on at these designated points. You need to go another 20 feet before disembarking.
• Just like a train, you can pay when you get on the tram if you don't have a ticket. But don't assume that the fare is what you paid for the exact same route (in reverse) because, perhaps, you bought your 1st fare from a machine. So if you have math phobias and math-performance anxiety about having to count in public with people lining up behind you, it does you no good to have your exact amount ready in advance. Just make sure you have plenty of change, two free hands to bungle your coins around, and a cheery "Kiitos" to say to the driver when your painstaking math-centric challenge is completed.
• Take your ticket that you just bought from the tram driver. You may not need it again unless you plan to transfer (except maybe as proof that you can count). But if you don't take your ticket, the driver will become very worried about your mental condition, as if you were walking off without your passport or residence permit and just didn't care. Unacceptable behavior.
• Do not stand up to get off the tram until you are sure that you have passed the last stop before your stop. If you do, you end up standing while the door opens in front of you (thanks to the driver), which remains open until the driver finally realizes that you are obsessive compulsive and have probably been standing near the door for several stops. You will catch the driver's "Really?" expression in the rear-view mirror. Try to descend with some dignity when you reach your stop.

But, all in all, my day was successful if you consider that I got from point A to point B and back again. And today will be a better tram day, I just know it.

This is slurped?

Figuring out something new in a different language is fun and sometimes challenging. I have never had trouble before with French, German, Spanish, Latin, and even Greek. But Finnish is especially "fun" and "challenging." I am encountering too many words that seem to defy translation, but these words are used in everyday situations, so their meaning must be known to the five million or so speakers of Finnish. Google is great and all that (although read my post "A slap in the face for .99 euros"), but I also know very well how to use a dictionary, and I have several Suomi/Englanti dictionaries. So when I saw a seemingly simple phrase on a McDonald's poster advertising a strawberry shake, I assumed I could translate it: Tämä on ryystö. I already knew the "Tämä on" part, which is easy: This is. I was happy I could learn a new, common word that I could use with "This is" and impress everyone with my McDonald's street talk: Anteeksi, tämä on ryystö! But this is what? "Ryystö" was not the word for "shake" (that word is "pirtelö," and it is on the poster). So I figured the word must be an adjective that was informal (slang) for something like "great" or "tasty." Well, I spent way too much time (that's to say, more than five minutes) trying to discover the meaning of this word. Google Translate informed me that "Tämä on ryystö" means "This is ryystö," which I can't deny, but I know there must be some real meaning behind that word. The word sort of looked like the verb "ryystää," which means "to slurp," but it was not a conjugated form of the verb like you could expect (This is slurped?) because I checked: http://www.verbix.com/webverbix/Finnish/ryyst%C3%A4%C3%A4.html. Is it a variant (This is slurpilicious)? At least I learned a few more words trying to figure out this one, and "ryystö" is now on my list of words to ask a native speaker. The list is growing.

UPDATE: A very nice Finnish person explained this to me (Thank you, M!). The Finnish verb for "to rob" is "ryöstää," which is very close to the verb "ryystää." So it is a play on words. This is robbery (the cost is so cheap?) and this is slurp (what else do you do with a shake?). And now I know enough so that I don't use this phrase in public unless in line at McDonald's, and probably not even then.

A good skill not to have in Finland

I had the chance to take typing class in 1970 -- but at that time, people typed on manual typewriters. And who needed to learn to type, anyway, unless you wanted to be a secretary? So I never learned to type, and when personal computers came around in 1985, I was left behind. I could never keyboard. Touch typing? Ha! I needed to look at the keyboard for every key I pressed. Every key. Then I would look up at the screen to see if I pressed the key I had intended to press. And sometimes I had not. But I continued to grind away over the years, and I type a lot. And I correct a lot. Yet I always was jealous of those people who look at the screen while their fingers dance over the keys as if they had eyes on the tips of those fingers.

When I started to use keyboards in Finland, something just wasn't right. Even though I still had to look at the keyboard to find the right keys, I had to look a little longer. Some things just weren't where they seemed like they should have been. Of course, I couldn't say so for sure because every day I sat down at a keyboard, I was like one of those poor amnesia patients who can't remember anything they learned the day before, and they have to start every day from scratch. But I realized that I must have developed some simple, basic instincts of where certain keys were located. The letters were still in the QWERTY locations, but other keys such as @ ; / + " < > ( ) { } [ ] & etc. took longer to find. Keys I use all the time in my work. Well, my "typing" (yes, that's what I call it) was slowed down a bit, but just imagine how my typing would have looked had I been a touch typist! This is how it would have appeared had I not kept my eyes locked on the keyboard:

• Please e.mail me at helling"yahoo.com
• 4 ; 5, but 5 : 2
• And then he said _Hello!_
• 3 ? 4 ) 7
• I-d come by if it wasn-t so late.
• Get the !!"%&& away! (which replaces !!@%^^, so I guess I can still curse easily on my Finnish keyboard)

Finally, something important I should have done decades ago would have simply slowed me down even more today. Success! Now I type better than ever before *really!(.

A slap in the face for .99 euros

Sometimes I like to know what I have done after I have done it. For example, I like to figure out some of those items on my grocery receipt, you know, the items that I just bought. Some of the Finnish words I already know (parsakaali is broccoli), some words I can figure out (kuskus), but some words are completely mysterious. I evidently bought something called a "korvapuusti" this morning but I couldn't remember what it was -- so of course I tried to Google Translate the word when I got home. Yes, I'm aware of the poor quality of computer translations, but this was just one word, for goodness sake. Usually not a problem. So I took a chance. The Google Translate answer was: "slap in the face." And this slap in the face cost only .99 euros, which made it quite a bargain! However, I swear I wasn't attacked in the grocery store. And, besides, I doubt if anyone in Helsinki would slap me in the face for less than 5 euros. Translate fail. Lesson: Be aware that even the simplest Finnish words can be easily mistranslated. So how to find out what I really bought? I just plain Googled it and was sent to the Wikipedia page for cinnamon roll, which included a nice picture of a korvapuusti. Which really means "slap on the ear," by the way. Or at least that's what Wikipedia says, and its picture resembles something I actually did purchase. I also bought a "rahkatasku" for .89 euros -- but I am still working on that word.

How do you turn this on?

Turning things on and off is an important and usually incredibly simple skill. Very intuitive, especially after decades of practice. Turn a knob, push a button, click something, clap your hands (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Clapper), etc. So nothing makes one feel more frustrated when that skill is lacking. All I wanted to do the first day we arrived in Finland was to turn on the burner of an electric stove, an UPO. Four knobs, four burners. Two knobs for the oven. One extra knob that seemed to serve as a timer. Should have been easy, and that is what I assumed. Half an hour later, I was almost ready to give up. No amount of turning those different knobs seemed to work. The oven was no issue; I got that turned on right away. But I didn't think I should try to boil water in the oven.

I had instructions -- but all in Finnish. I was almost ready to try clapping. Finally, by some effort and pure luck, I read on www.upo.fi (with the help of Google Translate) in the section on "cookers" (it wasn't the best translation) about "safety" and "timer." So that is what the extra knob was for. The burners would not turn on unless the timer was turned on…for safety! When the timer goes off, so do the burners.  No burners get left on for kids (or me) to place their hands upon later and receive 3rd-degree burns. No way do I turn on the burners, leave the apartment, and wonder hours later if I turned them off before leaving. And so now I can boil water on demand in Helsinki.