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.