The Hillbilly Viking

Finnys

I have never seen so many young, thin, blonde, aloof, beautiful women in one place in my life. It’s like a Taylor Swift concert is perpetually letting out in the streets of Helsinki. They’re simply everywhere, traveling alone and in packs. We’ve resorted to referring to them simply as Finnys, which is verbal shorthand for Finnish, skinny bitches. Yes, at its root, it objectifies, but it’s mostly accurate, and I’m not perfect. 

Admittedly, I’m personally enjoying the visual, but I am perplexed by the confluence, the sheer quantity. Is there a Finny factory just churning out Aryan supermodels day and night? Is there a hive?

I believe the answer lies in the food.  Say what you will about the well-known benefits of a Mediterranean diet, the Finny diet of smoked salmon, shitty coffee, and gin-based cocktails seems to be a one-way ticket to the catwalk. 

This is just theory, mind you, but it’s the same diet I’ve been living on for ten days now, and when I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the sauna door last night, I noticed that my hair (back, nose, and ear) has lightened considerably, and I swear that my breasts are just—I don’t know—perkier. 

Coffee

I’ve read over and over that Finns are the largest consumers of coffee per capita in the world. Many Finns drink up to ten cups throughout the day. Since my Finnish grandparents had a pot going from sunup to sundown most of my life, that checked. I think my grandfather’s ashes were interred in his Stanley thermos. 

Subsequently, there are no shortages of coffee outlets here in the city, since Helsinki also embraces the people-watching, outdoor cafe culture of most other European capitals. I’m a coffee drinker, too, so I looked forward to randomly stopping at sidewalk cafes throughout the day and enjoying a fresh cup of Joe while counting Finnys and recharging my solar panels in the ever present, Nordic sunshine. 

Well, nice thought but lousy execution. With the exception of Starbucks, Finnish coffee is absolute reindeer piss! I believe it’s generally a combination of Nescafe instant and the water they rinse the bidet wands in. 

Finland continually rates as the happiest nation in the world. I don’t know the exact metrics involved in coming up with that title, but potable coffee is definitely not among them. It does, however, explain why all these happy people generally have such sour demeanors.

Stink Eye

Finns, in general, are not a particularly gregarious race. As a matter of fact, their stoicism is a national point of passive aggressive pride. On the street, they do not make eye contact, smile, respond to uninvited chatter, or show any outward emotion not otherwise exhibited by a well-rested, morning after, character from Invasion of the Body Snatchers. If drive-by shootings occurred here, I feel Finns wouldn’t even duck. They would just purse their lips, briefly glance at the shooter with contempt, and bleed out. In short, they are my grandparents in public. 

So, I’m used to it. Hell, I am it. I hate gratuitous conversation, and now I know it is in my DNA. On the other hand, it’s driving Patty nuts. My wife’s goal in life is to smile at and directly acknowledge every human she sees (and most animals), and then exchange emails. Oh, and hugging. Everyone gets hugged. 

Opposites indeed attract.