April, 1996 (continued): I was in Finland (for the first time) to spend a couple of days working with programmers from the national radio station, YLE.
On Monday morning, Arto Veräjankorva (Head of Radio Program Development) picked me up for the hour’s drive to our meeting site.
For my first day, it was a great introduction to Finland’s physical beauty. The temperature was a comfortable 50°, the sun was shining, and there was lots of snow on the ground. The drive took us past plenty of forest area, and the fresh air felt great.
On the way, we stopped for a cup of coffee (Arto ordered coffee; I, of course, had Diet Coke) at a restaurant perched on the bay. As we sat and looked out upon the frozen bay, I saw one of the most memorable sights I’ve ever encountered:
Way out on the ice — perhaps 300 yards away from the shoreline — stood a single, lonely bicycle resting on its kickstand. There was no one and nothing else near it; just the parked bike. (Arto guessed it might belong to an ice fisherman.)
That day’s seminar, attended by a couple of dozen of YLE’s programmers from across the country, was held at a country retreat called “Haukilammen Toimintakeskus.”
The proprietor eyed me as something of a novelty, telling me, “You’re probably the first American ever to have been here.”
Finns have a reputation for not being overly talkative, and that image is pretty accurate.
That doesn’t mean they are unsociable. They just don’t believe in talking when they have nothing particular to say.
As one who experiences “small talk” as a foreign language I never could hope to master, I find this trait to be highly appealing.
During our drive to the countryside, for example, there were long stretches where neither of us had anything to say, so we didn’t say anything. No awkwardness, no discomfort, just enjoying the scenery and our own private thoughts.
(Arto told me that when it comes time for marriage, a Finn looks for someone with whom he can be silent for the rest of his life.)
Once inside the meeting room, prior to beginning the seminar, perhaps a dozen of the attendees individually came up to me, introduced themselves, and welcomed me to Finland.
In all of my travels over the previous decade, this was the first time that happened.
Usually a couple of people will introduce themselves during a break or after the seminar, but for so many individuals to take it upon themselves to welcome me before I had officially been introduced to them was, I thought, remarkably thoughtful.
Lunch consisted of meatloaf, boiled potatoes, mixed vegetables, and hot blueberry soup. I had never before heard of blueberry soup, much less tasted it; it was quite nice.
But my Finnish adventures had just begun…
Next Installment: A Helsinki Westside Story…
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My grandfather on my mom’ side was Finnish. You’re assessment of Finns is correct…he didn’t talk unnecessarily!
Blueberry soup is the best! We can order this even from our vending machine at our station! But the best one is homemade of course…
@Priit: Your radio station has a vending machine that serves blueberry soup?
That’s second only to the my first visit to BBC Radio Scotland, which had a swimming pool inside the building.