KEY POINTS:
There are some things in life that one cannot fully prepare for. We can do the research and study the facts, but even if we expect the worst some experiences will still be a shock to the system.
Like child birth, earthquakes and the hiccups, you cannot fully
prepare yourself for a Finnish winter. Even Finns say that they have to get used to it all over again every year.
After living in Helsinki for six weeks, I am still surprised when I wake up at 9am and it is dark outside.
Sunday, December 21 was officially the shortest day of the year. The sun rose at 9.25am and set at 3.14pm. For me it was also the day after my first "glögi" party.
Glögi is a syrupy red drink, served warm - like an extra sweet version of mulled wine - that Finns drink at Christmas time.
Like work Christmas parties, glögi is something to look forward to for months beforehand, vaguely enjoy at the time and regret afterwards. Along the with poor quality ingredients and high alcohol content, the problem with glögi is that it is so sweet and warm that each plastic cup of the stuff actually makes you more thirsty.
So the morning after a late night with glögi is never going to be very active, especially in the middle of winter. Together they are a recipe for inertia.
But, as I discovered on Sunday, they do go together well. The unexpected upside to the foreboding darkness outdoors is that when hungover, there is no persistent guilt or additional self-loathing for spending the day on the couch.
Outside may be cold and scary, but inside our triple-glazed, apartment-sized oven it is bright and balmy. During waking hours the lights are always on and I don't even know how to turn the heaters off.
This was great, until a craving for pizza finally forced Sanna (my Finnish girlfriend) and I out of the house at about 2pm. Stepping from 23 degrees to 0 is like climbing out of the oven and into the fridge. Not only is it freezing, but as soon as you shut the door the light goes out.
The sun had allegedly risen four hours earlier, but I could see no trace of it. Nor could I see any people. Despite the dense housing, the centre of Helsinki was eerily deserted, as if everyone was hibernating. Which in a sense is what they do during the winter.
When I visited Finland in the summer, there were people out in public spaces at all hours of the never-ending days. But during the winter, everyone disappears into their warm caves.
On the way home, pizza box in hand, we finally saw another couple scurrying along in the opposite direction, also cradling a pizza box.
"Nice day for a pizza!" I said as we passed them, amused that this was the only thing that would draw someone out of their cave on a Sunday.
Like the depths of the Finnish winter, what happened next I had been warned of, but did not expect:
Nothing.
They didn't even look up at us. They probably assumed that we were speaking to each other - but even that assumption is demonstrative.
Compared with New Zealanders, Finns are shy and reserved, especially with people they don't know. I don't even bother saying "hello" to the people I share a building with anymore, so dour is the usual response.
I have seen Finns sit at a party and not utter a word to anyone for hours. The odd thing is that no one else seems to notice, and the Silent Ones don't appear the least bit concerned that I think they look like social outcasts. In Finland, it seems, they are not.
Is there a direct correlation between climate and friendliness, I wonder? Are residents of sunny, hot countries friendlier than people who live in colder regions?
Is Finland the climatic and social opposite of Cuba, with New Zealand somewhere in between?
Superficially at least, I think this theory has merit. When I try to make conversation with cold, possibly hungover strangers on the street in Finland they probably think that I am a social outcast. At any time of year small talk is not big in Finland, but this is especially so when outside in winter.
But I do not think that this is applies at a deeper level. The Finns that I have had the opportunity to get to know over the last six weeks are as friendly as any people I have met anywhere in the world.
Sanna's friends and family are more welcoming and generous that I ever would have expected. They have gone out of their way to make me feel included and at home. On occasion, whole parties will even start speaking in English, just because I walk in the door.
The Finns have a shy nature it seems, but this is not indicative of a cold heart. Once you are in the metaphorical front door, Finns are as warm as their apartments.
- Matt Kennedy-Good
Pictured above: My girlfriend Sanna and our friend Clint brave the Finnish winter.