…….

I have an inordinate affection for Helsinki. The last time I was there was only for a night and my girlfriend and I spent most of it drinking local beer in a little pub before retiring to our room at Omenahotellit, the Finnish hotel chain which relies entirely upon numeric codes and surveillance cameras because it has no regular staff. No clerks, no checking in, no front desk – it was great. I hope the idea catches on at every hotel, motel and hostel between St. Petersburg and St. Paul.

Anyways, something about the city really made an impression on me, which was unexpected since nobody treats Helsinki like a serious contender in a league where Stockholm ranks as heavyweight champ. Plan a trip to Northern Europe and you’ll get a lot of grief if you pass over Stockholm or Oslo, but odds are nobody’ll even mention Helsinki, and if they do it’ll be in a “If there’s enough time” sort of way. Face it, Finland – your capital has less than 600,000 people. It’s cold. It’s bleak.

And I absolutely love it.

Why? I really don’t know. I could say it’s because the people are attractive and well-dressed, but that could be said for all of Europe. I could point out that I like northern cities which feature ports integrated into the urban landscape, not blocked off and isolated like they always seem to be in the states, but Scandinavia is full of them. I guess what gets me is the little things. The quirky little bars around every corner. The massive set of stairs leading up to Tuomiokirkko in Senate Square. The unsettling appearance of so much of its architecture. It’s a pretty city, sure, but it’s got a strange type of good looks.

Don’t tell the Finns, but I guess the city also tugs at my heartstrings because its proximity to Mother Russia gives it an exotic taste my Cold War upbringing taught me to fear. I haven’t been to Russia yet, so most of my observations are probably still inextricably linked to stereotypes, but some of Helsinki’s streets seem like a primer course in Soviet architecture, many of its inhabitants look more Russian than Swedish, and the Finnish language sounds a hell of a lot more like East than West.

Our most recent trip to Finland lasted less than two days. We took Viking Line’s Mariella cruise ship from Stockholm to Helsinki (round-trip, including two nights’ quarters: $60 per person) and shared a cabin with a couple friends on the overnight voyage. I had never been on a cruise ship before and it was scandalously fun. I ate prime rib, drank Lapin Kulta and loitered around the blackjack table in the casino. I watched the sun set over the Baltic Sea from the very top of the ship, slept the night away in the very bottom and stumbled onto the deck in the morning just as the ship eased through the Kustaanmiekka strait into the island-dotted Helsinki harbor.

We only had about six hours in Helsinki, but we made good use of the time. We visited the Temppeliaukio Church, which is carved out of rock; we hiked to the bizarre Sibelius Monument; we snapped obligatory photographs of the stone men statues outside the central railway statues; we visited the postal museum.

On the way back we hit the duty free shops in the cruise ship, where I stocked up on Norrlands Guld, a sampler pack of Swedish Brännvin and some 120-proof vodka.

Back upstairs, all of the restaurants and pubs were decked out in a California theme – Anchor Steam was everywhere, as were American singers and photographs of San Francisco and other Golden State staples.

Later in the night the casino showcased a song-and-dance show. As the music began pumping and the crowd clapped along, an unseen announcer welcome us all to California, “Where dreams sometimes come true!”

Soon the stage was flooded with guys and gals dancing with tie-dyed boogie boards and singing along to The Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ USA.” After a while I noticed that the lyrics sounded English but weren’t comprised of real words. No matter, the crowd ate it up. I did too, until it was time for bed, the ship tugging me toward the Central European Time zone all the while.