Almost on a whim, my three mates and I realised we had no plans that weekend, the last weekend of summer break. While one of them added more milk to our white Russians, and the other two played cards, I took a quick look at the cheapest international flights departing in a day or two. Lots of options were off the table, because we had to find a place none of us had been yet.
What do you know about Helsinki? Only that the indestructible Nokia phones we had as kids came from there. And perhaps that they like vodka. That second one was a stronger argument. Fifty bucks both ways. And a room for four, almost the same. Another good argument. Easy decision.
We arrived after sunset and needed but an instant to drop our bags before heading into town. Two streets down we found a rock and metal cafe, the kind of loud and heavy music that doesn’t seem out of place in a country as dark and cold as Finland. The bartender poured three tall pints of beer for my mates, and I’m not sure whether I got a glass of milk, or a cup of tea. Anyway, my friends were definitely not impressed.
I lost track of them for a while, joining a young couple at their pool table. I hadn’t played in a while, but luckily still managed to pocket a handful of balls without making a fool out of myself. If we’d brought our pool-expert friend from college, he’d have wiped the floor with us. Anyhow, halfway through the second game the Finnish woman with the long blond hair sought someone to take her place, her hand unsteady because of her cocktail. Instead she pulled out an old polaroid camera and instructed me to pose in the dark against the wall. I’m not exactly sure what crime of mine warranted that mugshot.
When her roll ran out I joined one of my mates sitting on the bench behind the window. I’m sure he’d had plenty of tall beers, as evidenced by the spilled foam all around his new glass. Next to him sat a stoic, bald man, piercing steel eyes, listening to my buddy. They’d been chatting for the better part of the evening, and feeling jovial, I decided to introduce myself. I held out my hand, but after shaking it he parried my words a little something like this: “I no speak English, sorry.”
We still don’t know what my boozer friend and the stoic Finn talked about all evening. My mate certainly doesn’t speak any Finnish either. And upon waking up the next afternoon, he barely remembered his night. But checking his phone, he found dozens of forgotten selfies with the anonymous man. He had even added him to his contact list.
I continued the night with Seppe, my tallest mate, after sending the other two home. They’d clearly had enough to drink, and were running on fumes anyway. The first couldn’t remember the room’s entrance code to save his life, but despite his impressive performance, Mr. Boozer remembered it perfectly, reciting it backwards and forwards to prove his massive intellect. The front door was only a stone’s throw away. Seppe and I waved them goodnight, and continued on.
We met kind and lovely people, pulling us to the stage of the only karaoke bar still open at that ungodly hour. We debated for way too long, not able to agree on a song, and when it eventually came, the owner insisted that it was the last of the night. Our newfound friends invited us for breakfast, sharing their chicken nuggets and burgers, waiting for the first train of the day to bring them home. As it would only depart half an hour from now, we invited them to wait with us at the hotel.
They knew the way better than Seppe and I did, visitors in their chilly city. But once inside, we eagerly walked them to the elevator, humble hosts in their own home. After a second’s wait, the door opened, and our Finnish friends didn’t understand as Seppe and I burst out laughing. There, on the elevator’s grimy floor, hugging each other closely to find a trickle of shared warmth, lay our two drinking mates, soundly asleep.
