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FINN-ishedRemarks on a Trip to Helsinki
Fair play – they don’t expect anyone to speak their language. I am convinced it came from outer space, like the bulky rock formations that you find everywhere in town. A foreigner who masters the Finnish language must be a genius. The locals don’t know how privileged they are. Growing up with an outlandish language shapes your brain. Once you’ve got the hang of it, Swedish is next. By then you have the linguistic edge on all other Europeans who struggle to learn and speak their own tongue properly. It’s either that extraterrestrial gift or a rare cerebral disposition which enables them to pick up English over the weekend, even learning German is a piece of pi** (pardon my French). Finland ranks high on the PISA list and after a week in Helsinki I know why. Every single Finn is a potential Nobel Prize laureate. As soon as they realize this, however, they turn to drink, scared of their own intellectual prowess. If it weren’t for that deeply rooted fondness for alcohol Finland would rule the world. Similar remarks have been made about the Irish, but their bilingualism is a myth, hardly ever matched by reality, apart from Irish-English street signs. In general they pick up German easily, partially owed to similar Celtic sounds. Perfect multilingualism on all levels of society is as absent from the Emerald Isle as it is from Germany. Ask your average German bus driver, elderly shop assistant or young supermarket cashier the simplest question in English and they will shy away or begin to mutter incomprehensible mumbo-jumbo. In Helsinki everybody has a great command of the English language, and they switch with admirable ease from one language to the other without blinking an eye. Whether it’s the S Market till girl (“You speak English? You need to weigh them. I’ll do it for you”) or the number 6 tram driver telling you how to check your ticket for validity (“If the light is red, it’s old”), they all speak English – and they have such mystical names like Sanna, Satu or Sini. I have always nursed a visceral interest in languages, but Finnish seems impossible to crack. The Metro of 24 March 2011 has an article on the theft of bicycles (polkupyörävarkauksia). I showed that compound term to a guy I met at the Arkadia bookshop. He belongs to Finland’s Swedish minority, learned Finnish at the age of 4 or 5 and of course he speaks fluent English: “You were here [in Helsinki] before and you came back?!” I told him of my hunt for a very long word in Finnish and when I showed him my prey he said: “Now you found it!” At the same time he thought “it’s crazy”, stringing so many words together. Well, our “Fahrraddiebstähle” isn’t that much shorter, but at least everybody who speaks Swedish will understand the term. Looking at Finnish vocabulary is frustrating, you cannot derive anything, you cannot draw on any other language for interpretation. The Arkadia bookshop is run by a Frenchman, Ian Bourgeot, who is fluent in Finnish and whose English is impeccable in every respect. Chapeau! He converses charmingly in various languages as if it were the easiest thing in the world. I’m sure that most of the time even he himself was unaware of which language he was using at the moment. People like him would be hopelessly overqualified for any job in Germany (as we take pride in abominable mediocrity at all echelons). The shop is a multinational haven (with excellent coffee on the house) and Sylvia and I ended up buying a bag full of second hand books, amongst them H. V. Morton’s In Search of Scotland (22nd ed., 1936). Ian offered to answer any question pertaining to Finnish life and culture and he hosts a large variety of events (gigs, readings, etc.). On leaving I felt that Ian must have devised an accurate psychological profile of his clients, derived from all the books bought and all the things said. Helsinki street names sound like mean Nordic witches (the ones in Prague are more like melancholic women). I found most of them easier to pronounce when read backwards – and to a modestly tuned Germanic ear it still sounded the same. Please forgive my ignorance! In Harry’s Bar the landlord who is the spitting image of a Leningrad Cowboy after a very close haircut was shouting at another man. After a while I realized they were just having a very amiable conversation, albeit in Finnish. The sheer melody of their dialogue was the echo of an Irish pub fight. Our notions of friendliness and harmony need revising should we really want to get to the nature of the Finnish language. As a visitor you have quite a few sources of inspiration whilst in Helsinki. First, their TV channels (e.g. YLE TV1) show a lot of English stuff (evening news in a Scouse accent; Men Behaving Badly; Upstairs/Downstairs) with Finnish subtitles – good for memorizing the odd idiomatic expression. Second, there are newspapers and magazines in English (e.g. Via Helsinki; Helsinki Times; Six Degrees – Finland’s English Language Magazine). The latter sports a section headed “Finnish After Dark – Learning Finnish they don’t teach at school”. Äijä (noun) means Old Codger/Dude in English, according to issue 3/2011. Finally, try making sense of the items on your sales slip. It helps improve your everyday Finnish. Meat ball (jauhelihapihvit); matches (tulitikut); stuffed cabbage (kaalikääryleet). If you want to learn about the Finnish soul (and pick up a few expressions such as “haista vittu”, too vulgar to be translated here), read James Thompson’s Snow Angels. Seen through the eyes of an American (who speaks decent Finnish) this thriller is a first-class holiday read. (Incidentally, the author makes an appearance at the Arkadia on March 30.)
Nice to know: The express bus driver to the airport claims that Finns love alcohol because of the long and dark winter months. In the summer they keep on drinking due to many festivals and even the Estonian ones must not be exempt. An evening in a downtown Helsinki pub is exorbitantly dear, Harry’s Bar sells half litres of Lapin Kulta starting from 4€60, most central places pour a large Karhu (“bear”) for €6. Lidl sells pint cans of Estonian lager for 1€80. Luncheon, however, is way above German standards. Everywhere in Helsinki, you may choose from Nepalese via Finnish to Thai and fill your stomach for about €12 including beverages. We’ve been to a good many restaurants (ravintola) and all of them had at least one brand of cider on the menu. There seems to be ample demand for it. Pop Idol (DSDS in Germany) is simply called Idol in Finland. One of the contestants is Stina Girs, she looks like our Lena and Nena put together. The quality of the show is tantamount to ours. No comment. 8 days roaming around Helsinki and no public phone. Blame it on the mobile phone era. The Finnish lottery is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year. My favourite exhibit at the National Museum (entrance fee €7) is the skeleton of a Greenland seal, killed by a wooden harpoon tip (also on display) 4,000 years ago. Be forewarned: on noticing that we didn’t understand a word of Finnish even the drunken bum on the tram came up with “you have fifty cent?” Kiitos (thank you)!
Recommended: Arkadia Oy International Bookshop, www.arkadiabookshop.fi Harry’s Bar, Liisankatu 27, Helsinki Ravintola Aangan (Nepalese Cuisine), www.aangan.fi
(Wednesday, March 30, 2011)
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