A lifetime dream come true – a summer vacation in Finland!
Our young Finnish friend had escorted us all over the beautiful city of Helsinki. It seemed that everywhere we looked, blue and white flowers were springing up, echoing the colors of the Finnish flag. We toured the cathedral near the Gulf of Bothnia, marveled at the Rock Church (literally built into a rock), then proceeded to explore the war museums on the four islands that nestle in the harbor. What an education in Finnish history, especially circa 1939 when the Finns so bravely resisted the Russian invasion of Karelia. Greatly outnumbered, they fought off the Russians through the winter snow of 1939-40 in white camouflage, on their cross country skis. This “Winter War” was followed by the “Continuation War” fifteen months later. These wars are still vivid in Finnish memory.
Now we were headed to our friend’s childhood home. The road stretched out to the north of Helsinki in the endless summer light. As we left the city and its suburbs behind, thick forests of birch trees closed in on either side of the road, growing upwards toward a brilliantly blue sky. Forestry management is a big part of Finland’s economy, and foresters have a talent for growing trees vertically. An occasional reindeer meandered across the highway, practically the only traffic we encountered. Within a few hours we reached our destination, the tiny farming town of Heinavesi, Hay Water in English. The family greeted us and graciously welcomed us into their farmhouse with typical Finnish hospitality, complete with a cup of coffee and something sweet. Then they settled us in for the weekend.
I was thankful for my husband’s childhood Finn, as contrary to popular opinion, English is not widely spoken north of Helsinki. He was told that he spoke “storybook” Finn, which made sense as his 1890’s immigrant grandparents’ language would have evolved over the years in Finland. When we stopped for coffee, he asked the young waitress, in his best Finnish, if the coffee was “fresh”. He couldn’t understand the look of horror on her face. We later learned that the word he used now meant “bloody”. Of course! Bloody meat on the farm was fresh! It makes perfect sense!
The next few days were filled with delight. Wild raspberry picking in the woods, long talks around the table, a tour of the small village and a pancake feed at the local Lutheran church. But the big event of the weekend was the Savu Sauna.
We had heard the rumors of the Savu Sauna, so famous in Finnish lore, reputed to be intensely hot and sooty, due to its purpose as a smokehouse. It just so happened that our hosts had a friend who summered near a lake that had one on site, and we were invited to share the experience. This woman loved to camp out for the summer, as many Finns do, surviving without electricity or running water in her little cabin. This summer home of hers was only accessible by boat, so all five of us climbed into the rowboat, carrying the makings of an outdoor picnic. We motored around a few bends in the lake and there it was.
The men and women took turns in the sauna. The savu sauna was hot indeed, but we soaked up the heat for as long as we could endure it, then ran down to the shore and plunged into the lake. What a feeling! There is nothing quite like the cooldown after the intense heat of the sauna. A delicious numbness sets in. Dunking in a bath of ice water would not have been a problem. That is probably the reason for the Finnish custom of rolling in the snow after a winter sauna. I was subsumed in forest and water, light bouncing off the lake all around me in myriads of diamonds. Would it ever get dark again? Would winter ever return? Would snowstorms really blanket this enchanting place? It seemed impossible.
Our host had been busy preparing a feast in a large hibachi perched over the open fire. Chicken and veggies on a bed of rice, smores for dessert. More freshly perked coffee. Evening light lingered as we sat and chatted, sharing the outdoor dinner. Did food ever taste better? Finally, as darkness drained the color from the blue and green around us, we piled back into the boat for the voyage home. That’s when the outboard motor decided to die and we were forced to row all the way home. This was a good task for my strong Finnish husband, who got us back home with no small effort.
A few days later we headed further north to Kuusamo, the city on the Russian border from where my husband’s father’s people emigrated to America so long ago. There we searched graveyards to no avail, although they were full of tombstones labeled “Karjalainen”. Strangely enough, we found Turkish food there, some of the best I have ever consumed.
Heading across Finland, we drove to Lohtaja, from whence came the Marjamaa’s, my husband’s mother’s people. It’s a beautiful little town on the west coast. Again, no luck in the graveyards, but we did find a tiny old church and I wondered if his grandmother might have attended there as a child before coming to America as a teenage girl. I paused in the evening light and tried in my paltry Finnish to comfort a widow who was weeping over her husband’s grave.
We continued on to Turku, a lovely university city. Our hosts there, retired professors, were a wealth of information on Finnish culture and history. Both had many stories of their childhood during the war years, enriching our understanding of the hardships endured by these brave people. We toured the majestic cathedral, and found a small museum in the upper level that contained one of the first Finnish New Testaments, translated by the priest Michael Agricola in the 16th. Century.
As wonderful as all of these sights were, as enriching as the history lessons I absorbed, as enchanting as the beauty of a Finnish summer, nothing was quite as evocative as that magic plunge into a crystal clear lake. It lives in my memory as though it were yesterday.