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.