An introduction to Finland

Finland is alive with the sound of nature. Or better, the silence of nature.

There is nothing garish or loud in Finland’s nature. Its mountains are the gentle fells of Lapland. Its waters make the sound of clear rivers rushing and of paddles rippling the surface of placid lakes. And the stereotype of the ‘silent Finn’, while probably a little unfair (I have seen many a talkative type in Finland), has its foundation in Finnish people being content without having to say they are.

It is precisely in its quiet and unpretentious essence that resides the magic of Finland’s nature. It has an honest quality that makes it humbling despite the lack of big landmarks, welcoming like an old friend, comfortable like a pair of worn hiking boots, and generous in an almost motherly way. Its deep calm is like that of a temple, and it makes its way inside of you as your breathing slows down, your chest expands, and the creases of your forehead smoothen.

The Finns know it better than anyone else. They are proud of their country and celebrate the wild, open spaces they fought so hard to free from the powerful clutches of Sweden and Russia. You will find them out there most of the summer, headed for their forest cabins, soaking in every drop of sunlight, foraging for wild berries and mushrooms, paddling in their boats, and fishing by the lakeshores. And you will also see them outside during the long, harsh winters, cross-country skiing in one of Finland’s 41 national parks or even just to go to the next town. To help them with the extremes of their country’s climate is the quintessentially Finnish trait of sisu (a sort of determined stoicism, or ‘guts’), along with a little dark humour, and a sacrosanct cultural asset: the sauna.

If this combination of wild open landscapes and genuine people sounds appealing to you, rest assured that Finland will win your heart.

Oh! you can leave the ear plugs home.

My experience of Finland

I visited Finland twice, in very different circumstances.

Spurring the first trip was my friendship with Sanna and Riikka, two lovely Finns I met while living in Venice. I must admit that at that point in my life Finland was not at the top of my bucket list. However, spending time with Sanna and Riikka made me progressively more curious about their country, so a few months after they left Venice, I travelled to their home village of Kauhajoki.

It was summer. The scent of pine and birch filled the air, red and orange berries coloured path sides, and the sun shone - and woke me up - at unholy hours.

Sanna and Riikka welcomed me in the homes of their families and gave me a full immersion in the Finnish way of life. I took innumerable saunas, met pretty much everyone from the small village, spent a night in an authentic forest cabin by the river, ate home-cooked traditional fare (including the much-cherished meatballs and an elk stew cooked by its very hunter), and perfected my pronunciation of hölkyn kölkyn (cheers) while lifting a glass of Koskenkorva vodka.

Basically, for a week I lived and breathed like a real Finn, an experience I will forever treasure. I felt as welcomed and pampered as if I had come to a family reunion.

My second visit to Finland was a few years after the first and couldn’t have been more different. It happened at the end of December, when the country had transformed into a white wonderland. I went for an authentic winter experience, and a deep dive into Lapland’s magical landscapes provided just that.

Trees bowed and wobbled under the weight of layers of snow, lakes rested under a shimmering slab of ice, a chilly wind seemed to know its way under the folds of my scarves (yes, plural), and the sun never strayed above the horizon. On this occasion I couldn’t meet Sanna and Riikka, but we stayed in touch, and all they had previously taught me about their country resurfaced to my memory with fond clarity.

If Finnish people had taken very good care of me before, it was nature that spoiled me this time.

On the overnight train from Helsinki to Rovaniemi, I saw with trepidation the levels of snow increase outside of my berth window. In the following week I hiked in silent forests, steered a sled pulled by huskies among pristine powdery hills, snowshoed among giant snow-ghost trees, and was the object of reindeers' inquisitive stare as they walked unhurried by our car. And all of the time envied the owners of the yellow or red wooden cabins that randomly peppered this enchanted wonderland.

I couldn’t possibly say whether I prefer Finland in summer or winter. Both seasons were so generous to me that choosing one over the other would make me feel ungrateful.

I guess to get to know and love this country one should experience more than one of its versions.
Which is a low-risk decision: any time is a good time to visit Finland.