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.