Ten Hours in Helsinki

5:30am: My alarm goes off and I dive to hit snooze. My first thought: can I reschedule my ferry ticket? It’s so early, it’s not even light outside yet. But at 5:35, my second alarm goes off and I grab my phone to confirm that my ferry ticket is nontransferrable and nonrefundable. Getting up is so painful.

5:50am: My Bolt driver looks a little like Putin this morning, if Putin wore a little hat and had red cheeks. A Putin/Santa hybrid, if you will. This probably isn’t fair—I think I’m predisposed to see Putin everywhere these days.

6:02am: Santa-Putin drops me off outside the ferry terminal, and I say “aitäh!” —thank you in Estonian—too early, because it takes me another minute to pull myself and my backpack out of the backseat, during which there is an uncomfortable silence. I say “aitäh” again before I slam the door and speed-walk to the ferry terminal. I use my booking code to print my ticket at one of the Viking Line terminals and then sit down across from an old couple holding several large, full plastic bags. The man and I avoid eye contact.

6:35am: a woman in a yellow vest turns on the escalator leading up to the gate, and I join the throng. As in the rest of Estonia, there is no human there to take your ticket—you scan the barcode and a turnstile lets you through. I’ve scanned my ticket in old fortification towers, medieval churches, and after self-checkout at Rimi, Estonia's budget supermarket chain. The people are only there to stare at you and judge you for not speaking Estonian (I’m kidding—I think).

6:50am: The ferry starts moving, and by this point, I’ve already drank some truly terrible ferry coffee and put my head down on the table to sleep. Nobody else is sleeping, but I don’t care.

why did I waste money on this awful beverage

8:10am: I wake up with a truly nasty taste in my mouth from the ferry coffee. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to move tables, so I do. Then I pull out a travel cube stuffed with clothes to use as a pillow, set a timer for forty minutes, and I go back to sleep.

8:45am: I must be fully rested (no) because I wake up on my own a few minutes before my alarm goes off and decide to eat my breakfast to try to get rid of the taste in my mouth. It’s two slices of leib, Estonian black bread, which is like a softer, sweeter version of Danish rugbrød. The bakery I like, Muhu Leib (leib is bread), has a couple different kinds, and this is the kind with chocolate, hazelnut, and cranberries.

9:15am: we get off the ferry and Helsinki is cloudy, windy, and rainy. My umbrella is pulled inside out multiple times. Helsinki looks kind of like Paris, with wide boulevards and stately building that stretch for whole city blocks.

10:30am: I’m drinking more coffee at a cafe that was near empty when I arrived but is now pretty full. A large, bald man asks me something in Finnish and I look at him blankly, asking “sorry?” He’s asking if he can sit next to me. I tell him of course, and end up moving to a seat by the window so his group can have the whole table. He tells me I don’t have to, but I say I’m happy to, and besides, now I have a street view!

some sunshine welcoming me to Finland!

11:45am: The clouds have temporarily receded and the sun is shining so brightly that I have to take off my jacket. It’s like Finland herself is welcoming me personally: “we’re glad you got out of bed, Charlsie! And we’re happy you’re here! Here’s some sunshine.” I said so to a British couple sitting at a small sidewalk table. They asked where I took the ferry from, and when I said Tallinn, they remarked that they were headed there next. I told them they should get some food at the Balti Jaam Turg, the market where I got my beloved black bread.

I’ve walked for about twenty-five minutes to reach the monument to Jean Sibelius, Finland’s most famous composer and author of my favorite symphony ever. Tour groups crowd the monument—a collection of silver pipes suspended above raw stone—and it takes everything I have not to push one of the guides aside and ask everyone in a loud voice: “SO WHO HERE IS A FAN OF HIS SECOND SYMPHONY?”

the view looking up from under the Sibelius monument

12:45pm:  It appears that I’ve come to Finland’s National Museum just in time, because it’s closing on October 16 for renovations and won’t reopen until 2027. On my way here, I saw a dog with a stick in its mouth that was as least as long as the dog’s body.

I know almost nothing of Finland’s national history except I’ve seen memes about Finnish soldiers sniping Russians during the Winter War, when the Soviets invaded Finland in 1939. You, dear reader, are likely in the same boat, so allow me to educate you.

The land now called Finland was originally occupied by a collection of hunter-gather tribes in the north (the Sami, who retain their own language and culture today) and farmers in the south. After a ton of fighting during the Middle Ages, Finland became part of Sweden. Swedish became the language  of the elites, and Finnish was looked down on. Today, about 5% of Finns consider Swedish their mother tongue, and Swedish and Finnish are together the official languages of Finland. Russian and English are widely spoken too.

In the 18th century, Sweden and Russia started fighting, and Russia wanted Finland as a buffer zone. In 1809, Finland became officially part of Russia, but it had the special privilege of being an autonomous Grand Duchy. Russia kept nudging Finland to become more Russian, but they didn’t force it. They were just happy to have someone between them and Sweden.

But Finns slowly realized “maybe we don’t need Russia,” and so when all the Bolshevik stuff happened, Finland took the opportunity to declare independence in 1917. Lenin had more than enough on his plate, so he said “fine, go,” and Finland has been independent ever since.

I think this is the National Library, but I’m not sure. It looks nice!

2:30pm: I decide to have some food at a cafe across the street from the museum, but it takes me forever to cross the street because there is an ungodly amount of construction, just like in Tallinn (and, for that matter, Chapel Hill). The older couple at the table next to me is Finnish, in town for a crafts fair (thrilling!). The woman tells me, somewhat noncommittally, she likes Finland because there is more space here than in the rest of Europe.

3:45pm: I stop at a chain store that I remember from Copenhagen to buy some shampoo, because I know they’ll have it. I also get a chocolate bar even though it would be much cheaper to eat the chocolate in my backpack, but here we are. There’s a concrete bench next to a few pubs that are already humming, and I sit down to eat the chocolate bar.

It’s hard to describe how different Helsinki is from Tallinn. Tallinn is like a little island (the old town) surrounded by construction, houses, and industrial spaces turned into hipster meccas. Helsinki is all grand buildings—both old, like the art-nouveau city blocks I saw this morning and the neoclassical government buildings, and new, like the glass and metal symphony hall.

the aforementioned concert hall

5:00pm. I’m sitting in the precisely-manicured Esplanade Park, which also looks very Parisian. Pretty soon it will be time to get on the tram to head to the ferry terminal. I buy a tram ticket on my phone, and the app warns me at least five times that there’s an €80 fine if you’re caught on board without a ticket. I pay the €3.1 for an adult ticket.

5:50pm: A stunningly attractive Finnish man who works for the ferry line helps me print my ticket at the terminal because something is wrong with my online booking. After I smile my most charming smile at him and leave, ticket in hand, I go to the bathroom. There, I scowl at my reflection. I haven’t yet learned the Estonian for “zit cream” and my forehead is covered in acne. Well, that’s how it goes, I’m afraid. I'm sure I stared at him too.

6:50pm: I board the ferry and head up to the sun deck, where a seagull greets me. Once the ferry leaves (it always leaves ten minutes before the scheduled departure time, take note of this), the wind really picks up and the bird fights to stay on board. Eventually he gives up and lifts his wings to catch the wind. My hair whips around my face—still no ponytail, thanks cast—and I watch the lights of Helsinki recede. The sun has just dipped below the horizon, and night is falling. The ferry leaves a large, white wake and I think about how cold the water must be if I’m this chilly on the deck. Titanic inevitably comes to mind. I look around. If I’m Rose, there are no obvious candidates for Jack. Some teenagers (no), a dude with face tattoos (no) and three old men in biker jackets with beards (definitely no). The ticket counter guy is already too far away. Goodbye, Jack.

8:30pm: We’ve got about forty-five minutes to go on the ferry, and they’ve made two announcements warning us to be careful walking around because the waters are so choppy. My mom would be terrified, but I think the waves are soothing. I’m ready to go to sleep, rocked into slumber by the swells of the Baltic Sea.