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.