How to spend Christmas day

Eating. Later in the afternoon than usual. Allow time for a walk of around 30 to 40 minutes in order to ease post-dinner conscience. Open presents and remember to smile lots because some (a lot) people are far less fortunate. And pick up some sale bargains online, including that nice blue shirt which looks an awful lot like my other blue shirts. But that's the point in being a consumer: we are supposed to buy things that we don't really need; otherwise we'd be animalistic, taking only what we need when we need it. Here is the thing that I (now) own with the biggest differential ratio of size and expense to actual need:

Helsinki has been remarkably warm this year. But England is even warmer. While being the antipathy of "real" Christmas, it certainly made for a lovely walk. Here is a rather nice church, located in the grounds of the manor near where my parents live.

The church has a sad story attached to it. The son of the family who owned the manor was kidnapped in Turkey and held to ransom. By the time the family had got the money together it was too late. So, in memory of his life, they built this church, which stands apart from the rest of the village and has never really been a working church. But it's very ornate, and it's set among some incredibly majestic trees, such as the one below (which happens to look like a person).

Merry Christmas Finland, hello England

It was a choice between 17.15 on Friday (and possibly missing glögi and gingerbread, courtesy of my benevolent workplace) and 7.40 on Saturday (and possibly missing my alarm clock and then the plane). I chose 7.40, had more than my share of glögi, gingerbread and (interestingly) green cheese, and more than managed to wake up in time for my flight on Saturday. My ability to wake up owes no small debt to my parental wake-up call (benevolent, just like my workplace) which negated the need for my army of alarm clocks (four in total). Shortly after arriving in London, and making one or two choice Christmas sale purchases pour petit moi, I met Madeleine and we had a fantastic and super premium meal at the Gilbert Scott in St. Prancas. I considered taking one or two photographs of the wonderfully-restored Victorian architecture that engirdled us while we ate our three-course dinner. But then somewhere in my sub-conscious I am still hoping to become a successful – and very rich – lawyer and taking such photographs would certainly not be consonant with this future me. The real beauty was when I arrived home and saw the tree that my mother had decorated.

Strange happenings, Christmas tree

I woke up this morning to find an interesting ensemble outside my door. I don't have a Christmas tree myself but now apparently the hallway does. I had some friends over last night and I wondered whether they had left this surprise for me. But then they are mostly lawyers and I therefore suspect that such an artistic endeavour is beyond their (conscious) capabilities.

Flims, you're wonderful

While last weekend seems somewhat far away after the week I've had, the trip to Flims was truly an amazing experience. It was my work's Christmas *slash* 75th anniversary bash and within about 30 seconds of arriving at Waldhaus (our fantastic 5* hotel) I knew I had timed my secondment to perfection. The week before had been relatively stormy but the skies were clear, the sun was shining and the snow (brought by the mid-week storm) added a Christmassy-touch delightful to a humble Englishman like me. Of course, I twist the truth here to be more dramatic: by the time we had arrived it was already dark and our trip was relatively arduous (two hour delay due to snow at the we-never-shut-because-of-snow-sleet-or-wind Helsinki-Vantaa airport and the pleasures of flying Blue1). However, when I woke up the following day and heading over to the lobby for breakfast, I was truly in love.

I've been meaning to compile a list of cultural differences for sometime now. When I do, here's one I'll definitely add to my list: drinking songs. Yes, we probably have drinking songs in England, and I probably don't drink enough (or socially enough) to know about them. Indeed I'm pretty sure the Scots must have at least some drinking songs (maybe an adaption of a Burns' poem – but hopefully not). But we definitely don't distribute hymn sheets prior to a traditional black tie event, we definitely don't have ice-cold vodka shots (aka Schnapps) ready on our tables, and we definitely don't engage in rapturous, deep-throated and jocund singing. So much singing went on that I barely had time to finish my dinner. (By the way, I've noticed recently that every time I write the word "finish" I end up writing "finnish". I personally blame Leila White's From Start to Finnish for this particular transgression.) Of course, we all got terribly intoxicated, and of course, I adhered strictly to my work's strict RESPECT THE PRIVACY OF YOUR COLLEAGUES [especially when they are intoxicated] policy, so here is another perfectly innocent and wholly-beautiful picture of Flims.

We also went curling. This is a sport that I understood is popular among certain Scots and which looks incredibly easy on TV (it's like boules on ice and we all know that boules is best described as a past time and not a sport) but which turns out to be incredibly difficult in real life. Luckily I escaped with only my masculinity damaged. One of my colleagues dislocated his shoulder on the ice. Sure glad that wasn't me. Again, I did take one or two amusing photographs, but, since we were probably over the legal limit, I will respect the privacy of my colleagues once again. So here's another uncontroversial picture, this time of the curling hall.

Tallinn is still a free country

It occurs to me only now that anyone reading this post (or my previous post in relation to Tallinn) may think I think that Tallinn is a country. But I don't. ANYWAY, my work kindly arranged a trip to see my work's friend (aka another law firm with whom they are extra friendly) and that law firm happened to be in Tallinn. And Tallinn most certainly was free this time and most certainly was just as interesting as before. Well, maybe a little colder and a little darker, and with a bit (but only a bit) more snow.

Here's Liberty Square (above). Not sure why there is a Finnish flag in the background.

This is a fully-restored former merchants' house. The protruding steel pulleys were used to hoist salt (which sold at a premium in the North of Europe) and other goods up to the top of the house. The merchants' families would have slept on the ground floor or basement.

 

It might be getting dark but at least we can turn on the leccy. It must have been a pretty miserable (and scary) place back in the 12th century.

Hot yoga, male frontal nudity

I've been trying to find a yoga class since coming to Helsinki. I'm not exactly flexible but I've always intended to become more so. Therefore, when my colleague invited me to attend "hot yoga", my conscience (because of course I don't really want to do yoga – I've done it before and it hurts – I really just want to satisfy that part of me that thinks I should do more for my long-term health) wouldn't let me say no. And class was intense. Hot yoga is yoga but in a hot room. Because the Finnish people really like saunas and someone had the great idea of combining the two. And because the Finnish people are so sporty and in every respect physically superior to me I could barely keep up. And I don't know whether I'll be able to use my knees again. Thankfully (and unlike Finnish saunas) it didn't involve any nudity. Which brings me on to my question to you: are Finnish men preoccupied with male frontal nudity? I avoided all forms of nudity during yoga class and, like any self-respecting Brit would do, when changing for the shower I applied the towel to my waste, slipped my underwear off and—voila!—I was ready for the shower with minimal exposure. But apparently this was amusing to the other Finnish men in the shower room. Did I commit a cultural faux pas? Minä olen Englantilainen!!! I do not want to be unnecessarily nude in front of other men. But the cost is mockery.

First snowfall, Independence Day

Sure enough, the ineluctable winter has begun to set in, and we have our first snowfall here in Helsinki.

Helsinki Boat Club

Kallio – light snow

And it has fallen on the eve of Finnish Independence Day (which, I understand from my colleagues, is a day all about watching black and white television, listening to some Sibelius and watching dinner at the Presidential Palace).

Olso vs. Helsinki

Viime viikonloppuna, kavini hyvä ystavani jotka asuu olsossa. (Last weekend, I visited my good friend who lives in Oslo.) It was his birthday. And he had a party. So not only did I get a tour of Oslo but I also experienced a snapshot of what it's like to live in another Nordic country. Hence my observations are entitled "Oslo vs. Helsinki". And let's kick-off with the Presidential Palace, which is considerably more palatial than the Finnish (bungalow) equivalent and even has a Christmas tree in the centre.

Norway seems somewhat detached, both physically and culturally, from the Finland I've got to know during the last three months. In fact, I actually believe there were more similarities between london and Oslo than Oslo and Helsinki (minus the size, scale and cosmopolitan make-up of London). My ex-flatmate is Norwegian and she said, rather candidly, that Norwegians, especially young Norwegians, had got a little complacent with the cradle-to-the-grave welfare state that has been so buttressed by North Sea oil.  I see a lot of comparisons here to the sense of entitlement that many young English people seem to exude (myself included). The Fins, unlike the Norwegians and the English, have a somewhat different persona. Finnish history is the history of a hard slog and the Finnish national attitude is conspicuously Finnish self-deprecating (at least to outsiders). Of course, having oil is not all bad: take, for example, the fantastic Olso Opera House, which is not only architecturally sublime, but also operated with the most laid back and welcoming Norwegian-vibe possible.

This is the same building, but we're now on the roof. And you can follow it up to almost the very top.

I was greeted by pouring rain when I first arrived. I came from rain in Helsinki and all three of Oslo, Stockholm and Helsinki are pretty miserable in the rain. Which is why I think they're all deviations on a Mancurian-theme. But with nicer modern buildings. This one is has something (or a lot) to do with the Nobel Peace Prize.

Fortunately it had cleared up by the afternoon and on the Sunday, after my friend's birthday party, I was kindly taken to the ski slope (the site of the Winter Olympics) for some fantastic scenery. The train journey (which is akin to the London Overground) was typically Scandinavian. In other words, smooth and pleasant: the opposite to England.

Last year this place was covered in snow. Fimbulvetr – I'm not so sure.

Of course Helsinki "wins" – it has been my home for three months and will continue to be so for the next three. (While you can erase cabin fever from being stuck in a small cabin by simply leaving the cabin, you can't erase cabin fever quite so easily if you've got it from being stuck in a small city for six months.) But I love cities, and seeing another one from the perspective that I saw it was an unforgettable experience. Thank you to Matthew and Ida for a lovely weekend.