Heat of the Moment

But when the sun does shine, it opens windows, doors and hearts. The cab ride to my hotel—a five-minute walk from the harbour—offers delightful glimpses of the city as its colours slowly come alive.

About half a dozen daddies are walking their newborns in cushy prams, and there are signs of lazy activity in the cosy stone-and-brick homes. The parks with olive green benches and flowers nestled among crunchy autumn leaves await their first visitors, while young bicycle-borne Finns sporting colourful tees and sweatshirts hit the smooth roads.

I was staying at Katajanokka, an interesting port area where old storehouses have been converted into restaurants and offices. But the minute I set foot on the road, somebody moved my sun and a crisp drizzle dotted my woollen overcoat. The rain in Helsinki does not drench you. It feels like a spray, the kind they use in parlours to dampen hair before a trim.

But I walked on all the same, past the neo-classical Senate Square—the seat of Helsinki’s history and architecture, and the venue for New Year celebrations and public demonstrations—and into the adjacent Helsinki Cathedral. This one took 22 years to build and if you visit Helsinki, don’t ever come back without a picture taken on the steps of this green, white and gold structure.

Most of Helsinki is relatively new, built post-1917. Walk along the esplanades and you will see modern glass and brick structures vying for space with ancient-looking buildings. Two of the vital, traditional aspects the city has managed to retain are the Market Square and the Market Hall located close to the harbour.

When the weather is good—in Helsinki, this will govern how much and what you will see—the market square is a riot with colourful wares displayed in tents and makeshift stalls.

This is the place to stuff your bags with Finnish souvenirs—woollens, traditional silver jewellery, flowers, fruits and meats. Mall fixations can be addressed by a visit to the sprawling Stockmann—the oldest department store in the region in hard-to-pronounce Aleksanterinkatu.

Another highly recommended place is the Asland islands, an autonomous part of Finland, with its desolate appeal and a grand promenade from where one can spot numerous bobbing boats anchored in the waters. If you take a cruise boat like I did, wake up early to catch breathtaking views of the archipelago as your boat nears Helsinki.

Everything in Finland, as must be obvious by now, revolves around summers; festivals during the time are all the rage. Which is why the sauna is almost a habit. It is the first thing Finnish families build in their homes. A popular summer pastime in Helsinki is picking mushrooms or berries from forests.

But I never found either on my dining table. The Finns always prefer salmon, fish roe or reindeer delicacies.

As a vegetarian, I found myself thanking God for bread and Karelian pie—a thin rye pastry with a rice or potato filling—every time I sat down for a meal.

And then there is the other Helsinki obsession—black coffee, mostly Colombian. I suspect everything that happens in the country takes place between coffee breaks. The Finns have it everywhere and anywhere, before, between and after meals, at homes, offices and restaurants, and most assuredly, during those long waits for a sweet spot of sunshine.