Helsinki

Helsinki is a city on a mission. In a way that might be characterised as quite Finnish, it doesn’t seem to be doing so with any particular fervour. But all around you notice the well-considered municipal improvements. Their Boris Bikes aren’t quite as good. Sorry Scandinavia, you can’t be the best at everything.

Walking around Helsinki at dusk and into the early evening gives said walker a feeling of being transported into an Arthur Conan Doyle story. There is mystery and intrigue in and amongst the mist. The frigid wetness of the air adds a tension to your cold exposed forehead. A murder absolutely could have taken place and we will simply never know. The lights of this city’s many wonderful harbour buildings light up a path for you to follow. It is so excitingly quiet and eminently peaceful, but you might encounter the Hound of the Baskervilles. People say it’s much nicer in the summer but I don’t believe them.

Part of Europe’s historical majesty is the presence of hundreds of very old churches. Once the centres of all-powerful Christendom, they are now the must see sights on any good free walking tour (you know, the ones that aren’t actually free because you’re guilt-tripped into a large tip). Well in Helsinki I was surprised to find that the churches aren’t that old at all - barely 200 years (scoffs in Western European). Inside, although I didn’t find any charming murals of the St Cuthbert, there was a large choir comprised mostly of children not taking the entire enterprise very seriously.

And so to business. The FT did an interview with the Finnish Ambassador to London about their secret sauna and all the diplomacy that they conduct there, sans pants. It was no small part of why I wanted to visit. I longed for the liberation of some public nudity and to subsequently plunge myself into the Baltic Sea. I would be Wim Hoff for the day and I’d certainly tell everyone I know all about how interesting I am now I’ve done a cold plunge. It was with great disappointment to find that saunas in Helsinki book up as early as Fallow of Haymarket, and now mostly mandate the use of swimwear. I got involved nonetheless and spent most of the experience in the sauna with a Texan who wanted everyone to know that “America doesn’t really have any cultural diversity.”

It’s a chilly place Helsinki. I suspect that is true of most of Finland. But it’s a nice cold. The kind of cold that you look forward to. It’s absolute but also highly predictable. It’s a cold that you can tackle head on, safe in the knowledge that you brought enough hats.

The Palace Hotel is somehow both gorgeous and emblematic of the 1970s. It’s funny how that happens. Five years ago I’d never have described the design aesthetic of the 70s as particularly desirable, but I suppose I never imagined I’d wear anything other than skinny jeans. Alongside its Las Vegas-ness, the hotel was memorable because of the four enormous Ukraine flags that sit atop it. I think Helsinki is the closest I’ve been to Russia. It’s hard to believe that four years has passed.