When God made all of us equal in his image, he apparently forgot about the Finns. So seemingly deluded are they that they celebrate Christmas all year round, and their idea of a good time is getting super-heated in a small, steamy, claustrophobic room, before walking out into arctic temperatures in their birthday suit and jumping into an icy river.
A cursory review of the many events organised annually in Finland also leaves one perplexed. The World Cellphone Throwing Championship is held annually in the town of Savonlinna, and prizes are given to participants who can hurl their mobile phones over the furthest distance. Here, the accolade for the world’s worst cellphone maker is determined by noting which brand has been hurled the most number of times.
Next, the World Swamp Football Championship is held at the Vuorisuo bog in Hyrynsalmi every year, where the real contest is not how many goals either side can score or how well they can play, but rather which detergent maker is willing to pay the most to get the coveted sponsorship spots on either side of the pitch.
For the rural folk, the annual Milk-Stool Throwing Contest is held in Finland’s agricultural areas every summer. While the simple aim of the contest is to fling the stool as far as you can, the event is in reality a convenient excuse for underpaid milkmaids to vent their pent-up frustration from spending long hours in proximity of a cow’s bum.
Finally, the Finns are also the proud organisers of the Wife-Carrying World Championships, which commemorate the age-old Finnish tradition of stealing wives from other villages. This, as we know, is in full disobedience of the ninth commandment that “thou shalt not covet your neighbour’s wife”, so if you do land up in hell, you can be comforted by the fact that you will have a lot of Finns to keep you in good company, as you lament about the heat and the 40ºC beers.
The objective of the event is to carry your wife across a track in the fastest possible time. Budding participants are encouraged to train for the event amidst their daily routines: in the supermarket, in the playground, in the gym and especially in the bedroom. Wife carrying, as the event website proclaims, is good for your relationship. The only thing they forgot to mention is the tenfold risk of developing hernia before and during the event, especially if your wife can’t resist cheesecakes.
Inspired by our hosts, Michelle and I decided to enrol for some swimming lessons in the Baltic Sea on the last leg of our vacation in Finland. After checking out of our hotel in Rovaniemi, we headed southwest towards the small port of Ajos near the town of Kemi. There, we boarded the Sampo, a beacon of Finnish maritime history. The ship had been a commercial icebreaker between 1961 and 1987, cutting channels across the ice for merchant ships until its retirement to make way for newer, larger and more efficient icebreakers.
The grand lady now brings about eight to ten thousand merrymakers on day trips from the port every year, slicing its way across the frozen sea, and dropping anchor midway to allow its passengers to experience the thrills and chills of swimming in the freezing waters.
As the ship set sail, the hull moaned and the cracking sound of crushed ice reverberated around the vessel. We were initially seated in the dining area of the ship, peering out at the low sun and the wind turbines that dotted the Finnish coastline. We then inspected the rows of portraits of all the ship’s past captains, displayed in chronological sequence in the dining room. Once we left port, however, we braved the chill outside and proceeded to the stern of the ship. We watched in awe as the Sampo made light work of cutting a channel through the seemingly unbroken slab of ice around us, its Finnish flag fluttering violently with pride.
About an hour into the cruise, we were organised into groups and given a brief history of the ship, before being led on a grand tour of the icebreaker, which included visits to the captain’s deck, navigation room, engine room and other areas of the vessel.
After the tour, we were then herded to some cabins near the back of the ship, where bright orange waterproof overalls were lined up against a wall. The pungent smell of wet rubber was pervasive in the enclosed corridor. “It’s time,” our guide looked at us with a grin, smirking at us as if we were a bunch of suckers for punishment. I could have sworn there was a glint in his eyes, and the outline of a set of horns had begun to appear atop his beanie.
“Let the fun begin!” he announced, as I felt the temperature drop a few more degrees.
As the first batch of tourists stripped off their jackets and shoes to don the survival suits, the fragrance of wet rubber was suitably replaced with the perfume of smelly socks and body odour. By now, the ship had stopped moving and dropped anchor in the icy landscape.
A step-ladder was soon lowered onto the ice on the port side and Michelle and I watched as a new bright orange species of arctic penguins began waddling down onto the ice. They were then gradually eased into the freezing waters behind the boat where they spent their time floating on their backs and posing for the latest edition of the National Geographic.
Oddly, these penguins were useless at catching fish, and most had to be pulled back towards the boat with a long rod as they were unable to do anything more than bob in the water, wave their useless flippers and emit squealing noises. If there was a species of penguin that would never survive on its own in the arctic, this would be it.
It was soon our turn to join in the fun. Orange has never been my colour and we looked suitably silly in the oversized gear. It was almost impossible to walk in the suit without falling, and don’t get me started on the smell…
Once on the ice, we were eased into the water by the crew, and thus began our Finnish swimming tutorial. “Move your arms!” the crew shouted. But because the suits were mostly oversized, we were really just swimming in them and not with them. Most of us needed a little prodding to move around. Michelle and I flapped our hands, trying to move and navigate around the little pool of water. While I had some limited success, Michelle was unable to move at all, for although the suits had sufficient buoyancy and air pockets inside to keep us afloat, they were also relatively heavy and very difficult to manoeuvre. Despite the difficulties and lack of movement, it was strangely exhilarating to be in the frigid waters, surrounded by ice as far as the eye could see, staring up at an equally cold grey sky, and praying that the orange suit came with a failsafe guarantee.
A Taiwanese tourist we met on the trip later described the entire experience as “
” (translated as “paying money to suffer”). That might have been a very apt description of what we had been through, but given the funny memories, I consider the money well spent!