Atlantica - 01.07.2004, Síða 25

A T L A N T I C A 23
Adark, depressing image of
Europe’s second northernmost
city, derived, oddly enough, from
the Helsinki-based Jim Jarmusch classic
Night on Earth, sat in the back of my
mind as we arrived, flying in over end-
less pine forests. Finland is far away, it’s
cold, it’s dark for half the year and it has
the world’s highest suicide rate.
And yet, I’d heard fabulous things
about Finland. From the very, very few
people I knew who’d been there. It has
forests, lakes, World-famous design,
moomintrolls, saunas and funky music.
(Even if they always get 0 in the
Eurovision song contest.) Whom, exact-
ly, does one believe?
The warm summer breeze that wel-
comed me to Helsinki was the indication
that I had severely underestimated this
city.
In fact, Helsinki has a surprisingly pic-
turesque city centre, with colourful
stately houses surrounding a harbour
filled with yachts, ferries and sailboats, a
bustling market square and towering
church spires in the distance. Not the
depressing eastern-block style I was
expecting, but something very reminis-
cent of Stockholm and Copenhagen. My
first stop: the Academic Bookstore on
Pohjoisesplanadi, a main street. Second
stop: a sandwich grabbed in the base-
ment of Stockmann, a department store
right across from the book store. I felt
like I was visiting Harvey Nichols’ trendi-
er cousin. So much for far-away Finland.
My first impressions were of a stylish,
sophisticated and very cosmopolitan
city.
There’s a surprising three-hour time
difference between Reykjavík and
Finland and before I know it, it’s six pm.
The snapper and I go to a swanky
restaurant/bar called Teatteri near the
department store. Here, I could be in any
big city. It’s a chic, airy and spacious sort
of place featuring trendy chairs, gauzy
curtains and ubiquitous lounge music
streaming from the speakers. Beer is a
surprisingly cheap affair, and so is the
blond, round woman sitting opposite
me. She’s completely drunk and stares
at us giggling. The inescapable occurs:
she locks the photographer in her foggy
gaze and starts up a conversation. It is
quickly terminated by us when she has
finished talking about having lived in the
Caribbean for ten years and says “I have
one son.” Concentrated silence. “No,
sorry, I have two sons.”
While I'm disappointed to find yet
another soul-sucking, uber-designed
pick-up joint, I'm impressed with the
new low of Arthur Miller-style melan-
choly.
ON THE TRAIL OF THE FINNISH
ROCKABILLY
When I told my younger brother I was
going to Helsinki, he got excited. “I hear
it’s a really cool place. Apparently
they’ve got this whole rockabilly thing
going on. They have bands with names
like The Flaming Sideburns.” The bril-
liance of that band name alone got me
excited too. So, after the Teatteri beer
I’m on a mission: find the Finnish rocka-
billies. We head to what someone told
us was Helsinki’s trendiest bar. Oh no, I
thought, another slick designer affair,
but not so.
Åbu on Uudenmaankatu has no sign
out front and inside it looks like some-
one’s grandmother’s apartment recuper-
ated by a rebellious teenager. Arty types
with geometrical haircuts slouch on
worn-down couches with a backdrop of
brown flowery wallpaper. Indie rock
blares out of the speakers and perme-
ates the smoke-filled interior. I start talk-
ing to a couple of guys who tell me that
they’re going to a punk concert later.
Next stop: Erottaja Bar on Erottajankatu.
This place turns out to be the epitome of
seedy chic, with its metro station feel,
electric blue walls and some very cool
music spun by a bored-looking brunette
DJ. She tells me that she often plays at
the sauna bar down the road, and I won-
der how vinyl can withstand that kind of
steamy heat. After downing two cam-
paris I’m both rocking and rolling, and
its time to head to Loose Bar on
Fredrikinkatu. This is the ultimate rocka-
billy joint- I recognize two of the barmen
as members of the Flaming Sideburns
from the photo on their album
“Hallelujah Rock’n’Rollah”. Someone
also points out the fact that the girl next
to me is a member of Thee Ultra
Bimboos and I feel very privileged to rub
shoulders with such local rock royalty.
CULTURE, ART AND POTATO MASH
The next day it’s pouring rain so we
decide to drive out to Porvoo, Finland’s
second oldest town. I feel like I’m in
some kind of 19th century Scandinavian
fairytale as we walk through the pic-
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