Coffee or not to coffee?

Someone said to me years ago that the strangest thing he found about us Finns was not the mixed naked saunas (and he had experienced the horror of having to sauna with his then girlfriend's Grandma) but the social hold coffee has over the nation. In case you didn't know, the Finns drink most coffee per capita in the world. Surprisingly, Finland is also the tango capital of the world. I don't believe the two are linked as beer seems to work better on the tango front. But more about that later.

That said someone (you know who you are :) also explained to all non-Finns present that it was not unusual for a Finn to drive an hour to someones house without calling first and expect to be greeted by a smiling host with a plethora of baked goods and strong coffee ready and waiting in case someone happens to drop by. Not sure if in this age of mobile technology that is still the case - perhaps you would send a txt or Facebook them first but you sure as hell would still expect the baked goods and coffee.

My 95-year-old Grandma can't get her head around neither my brother nor I drinking any coffee. Surely we must now drink coffee, since our last visit three days ago. Surely you have been fixed, you broken children?! Coffee is the corner stone of Finnish society. What about "Koskenkorva" I hear you heckle. Yes, that too, but more about that while we tango.

Coffee culture in Finland is rife albeit very serious business. Never would you linger in cafes on pavements for hours like the Parisians or buy super-sized Colombia Supremo Valley of Gold blend with a shot of vanilla syrup and whipped cream on the side like the Americans. It's filter coffee all the way in Finland and preferably those aforementioned baked goods on the side. Cafes are often small family run businesses and also serve light salad and soup lunches. The cakes and pastries take the pride of place, are delicious and served throughout the day. It's acceptable to dig into a piece of toffee cake or a slice of blueberry pie at 10am as long as it's served with cup of coffee so strong that the spoon stands up on its own. You would go to a cafe to meet friends or to read the papers, very much like the rest of the world, but you still would not linger - the procedure is short and sharp. You have your coffee and cake, you find out the gossip and off you go - maximum half an hour should be spent on this event. If you want to sit around for hours and put the world to rights, you go to a bar and buy a beer. Or eleven. A Finnish cafe is no place for meandering.

The only exception to the above rule is an outside cafe normally situated in the town marketplace - normally called 'Torikahvila'. I grew up when the summers were long and hot and the occasional trip to town would always involve a stop at Torikahvila to see who was about on their holidays. Us kids would share a bottle of pop and a doughnut which we would promptly feed to the little birds flying about whilst the adults chatted, hugged and smiled a lot more than normal. Torikahvila is a happy place where you can take your time and meet the people you want to see but who you don't wish to make an impromptu weekend visit to your cottage to catch up. Think of it as the town's living room perhaps. With sunshine. Although this has changed slightly  from my childhood as the Torikahvila now also operates at night after bars close. I should imagine there is still a lot of chatting but the hugging either leads to fistfights or sex. Or both.

In London I didn't feel my life was any less fulfilling without coffee than anyone else's. Granted, I may have filled the void with Sauvingnon Blanc but the only time I ever missed coffee was when smelling it freshly ground and you don't come across that too often in pubs. But now in Finland, I feel a social outcast for not drinking the black stuff. If I give in to the (national) peer pressure and start drinking coffee just to fit in, am I being a mug? Or is it a necessary evil to integrate in to the society and to go from a has-bean to a brew friend?

To the manor born... or just bad manners?

For a society as obsessed with good manners as the British nation is, they can be pretty badly behaved. Newspapers (and I use this term loosely as I mainly mean the Daily Mail) are full of stories of half naked Brits, drunk on sunshine and Stella, causing havoc and making their country proud. I am fully aware that often the people in the headlines also have an annual pass to visit certain Mr Kyle, which thank goodness is still only a fraction of the nation. The rest of us just sit back and enjoy the show. So are the Finns any different? Let me tell you that the only time I have ever seen a respectable and professional looking middle-aged lady drink vodka straight from the bottle on the street at 10am was in Tallinn. And she was Finnish. So guess the answer is no.

Initially one of the best things about British culture to me was the art of small talk. I used to love hearing people chatting to each other in the street, asking random people how they are, calling strangers "love" or "darling". It felt nicely personal and taking part made me feel integrated. Then I realised that no one really gives a shit about what the other person answers. British small talk is literally all mouth and no trousers. Still, it makes for an harmonious public environment, even if it's all an act. Saying "please" and "excuse me" may be good manners but do manners maketh man?

Having spent some time around young adults or older teenagers - however you view 17-year-olds - recently, I noticed how self conscious the Finnish kids are about chatting to anyone. They skulk about, hiding under their long fringes and woolly beanies, avoiding eye contact with anyone. They walk in and out without saying hello or goodbye - I always make the point of embarrassing them into saying both. I must admit that my interaction with their British peers has been somewhat limited but the ones I have met, have been polite, friendly and open (with the normal self confidence issues that may come with a few spots and a broken voice). Even the rowdy George Green "after school club" meeting outside the newsagents on Manchester Road would say "excuse me" or "sorry" and make way if they saw someone struggling through the crowd. They may have been planning to rob you afterwards but at least they displayed good manners to your face, like true Brits. 

So why this shyness of social interaction bordering on rudeness in Finnish teenagers? All I can think is "To the manor born". Traditionally kids should not be seen or heard in the Finnish society. Kids should be kept confined between the walls of school and home, not to be taken out even on special occasions in case the rest of the nation disapproves. A bit like Vulgaria in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang minus the Child Catcher. So is it any wonder that by the time they are 17, Finnish kids lack basic social skills and feel awkward in normal every day interaction with strangers. This is not to say that their parents have not taught them manners or that they are rude by nature, merely that they have not been set expectations in how to behave and what image to project whilst meeting people. Perhaps this reduces the amount of pressure kids these days are under. Or perhaps it puts them at a disadvantage in this international world we live in.

Those of you who know me well, know that I can be talkative, engaging and relatively social. Those of you who know me very well, know that I have to work at all of the above as it does not come to me naturally. I was once a Finnish teenager after all. But I refuse to oppress my child's spirit in order to conform to the expectations of the Vulgarian nation. I can't see anything but advantage in taking her to restaurants, theatre and giving her life experiences from an early age. She is already a rounded world citizen and is well versed in small talk. Some may say I am putting her up to be a prime target for bullying at school - she will be different to the other children and we all know how much children love picking on someone "different". Whilst I obviously don't wish this for my child, I hope that she will have the foresight and strength of character to carry on her British heritage and keep her upper lip stiff through it all. And always say "please".

There is no translation in Finnish for "small talk". The nearest I can think of is a phrase for "chit chat" which is an entirely different thing. But it is obvious that as we mature as people, we do lose some of the self consciousness we possess as teenagers and actually start feeling more comfortable chatting to other people, we may even go as far as enjoy it especially if talking about other people. I met an elderly gentleman the other day, a total stranger to me, and we ended up chatting for half an hour. Had I been in the UK, we would have spoken about the weather, government and immigration. Being in Finland, we spoke about the weather, Russians and how much debt his neighbour was in. Smaller circles, bigger gossip. 

 

If British small talk is all mouth and no trousers, then Finnish chit chat is all envy and no compassion. Bad manners? Maybe, but when you have no small talk, all is left is gossip. All the way to the manor born.

Who's gonna drive you home tonight?

At the grand old age of 37, I have finally decided to learn to drive. For the past 6 weeks, I have sat in a classroom with ten 17-year-olds every Tuesday and Wednesday evening, learning theory. They must think I am ancient and wonder why I never got my licence when I was young, willing and able. Little do they know that I am still willing and able, just not so young.

My Mum doesn't drive and after my parents separated, we never had a car. So if I had gone through driving school when I was 18, it would have meant finding the money to pay for a licence and also to buy a car so I thought I would wait. Didn't think I would wait 20 years and still have the same problem but never mind - the thought of walking around in -30c is enough to forgo our next holiday to fund a car purchase.

Living in London, you don't need a car. Say what you will about public transport but it does get you around and is often easier than driving - when it's working at least. The only time I ever missed having a car was when food shopping but the again, with the Ocados of the world, that needn't be a problem either. Of course having a car makes your life easier but I never felt it was too difficult without one either, it's just something you get used to. I am guessing that if you have been used to having a car and then no longer have one, it would be more traumatic, like misplacing your iPhone or missing a limb. Well, that is one and the same really.

I did have a moment of blind panic during my first driving lesson. I was asked to turn right at a junction and suddenly I had no idea which side of the road I was meant to drive on. Not ideal, I understand, but let me explain myself. I never realised  how conditioned to the London commuter rules I had become - we all know that we walk on the left hand side of the escalator, stand on the right. The escalators themselves go up on the left and down on the right. You go in through the left of revolving doors and emerge out on the right. Well, it's the opposite in Finland - and the rest of Europe I should think. So I have managed to annoy several people walking around town, passing them on the wrong side or walking straight into them when trying to go up the wrong side of the escalators. This makes me think that the police and my future fellow drivers may be beyond annoyance should I have another brain fart and not know which side of the road I am supposed to be on. At that point knowing the road sign for reindeer is not going to do much good.
 

Which makes me think - perhaps I am only just willing and not able - and definitely not young. And perhaps I should just stick to Driving Miss Daisy.

No smoke without fire

Finally my musings continue...

Finns love a fag. They are everywhere. Smoking hot, even in freezing cold, sleet and snow. Everyone smokes. Kids, grandads, builders, office workers - you name it, they smoke it. Given the drinking culture in London, I would expect more of my friends there to sneak out for a cigarette after a few too many G&T's but I honestly can't think of more than two people I know in London who smoke and even they only do so occasionally. Here you can't seem to get away from the (filthy) stuff.

The topic of smoking in your own back yard or private balcony has long dominated the local newspaper columns with smokers obviously ranting about their right to do whatever they please in or outside their own home and the anti-gang raving about the dangers of passive smoking and the disgusting smell. Having grown up in a smoking family, it's no surprise to me that neither my brother nor I have taken up the habit. I tried so hard to like the taste but trying a cigarette twice in my life was twice too many. And don't worry, I am not going to get on my high horse and start shouting health warnings and attaching photos of cancer ridden lungs here - each to their own. Anything can give you cancer these days. But living in a block of flats and having smokers as neighbours is pretty annoying. The smell does get in, and I can smell it in my lounge. So much for the right to do whatever you please in your own home.

Cast your mind to 1998. Or if it doesn't stretch that far, even 2004. Remember walking in to a bar and thinking "It smells like a brewery in here"? No, didn't think so. The wall of grey cigarette smoke would greet you at the door like an old friend, masking any vomit inducing smells lurking in the floorboards and on the slightly sticky tables. And once you emerged back out in the real world, your old friend would catch a lift with you and stay overnight unless you showered in industrial strength soap when you got home. The smell of stale cigarette smoke must be one to of the most awful smells to wake up to. That and vomit. 

These days you can indeed smell the spilled beer when you walk into a pub. Those of you familiar with the grand establishment that is the Henry Addington at the Wharf will know that when the pungent stench of spilled Stella mixed with the aniseed aroma of Sambuca hits the back of your throat as soon as you walk in, it can make you nostalgic about the good old days before the smoking ban. But in the one day of summer London gets every year, when everyone wants to enjoy their Pimms outside while working on their non-existent tans, it's the smokers that win the battle and the rest of us just have to swallow the smoke. But when it's -30c in Finland and the smokers put on their ski wear, gloves and hats to enjoy their nicotine hit outside in their smoking "prison", I can't help but feel that the non-smokers have won the war.