Home by Evening – Ch8

Every morning when we’d arrive in Helsinki I’d open the back door of the MD-11, look out over the airfield, and marvel over the fact that I was here.   Thirteen years prior, when I’d been a passenger on the thirty minute flight from Stockholm to Helsinki, the first time I’d ever stepped onto a Finnair jet and said to myself ‘I want to work here’ had somehow magically come true.  

How could have the universe have possibly lined all these things up over thirteen years so that five word sentence could one day come true.  There was not a day in Helsinki that I didn’t appreciate what had come to be and to this day I question how this could have possibly happened. 

The first six months of being in Finland once or twice a week turned into something that I wasn’t expecting however.  I’d expected to be reunited with all of my old friends from the past but I saw only two of them and rarely.  I’d expected to be surrounded by a cultural setting with which I was familiar – but most everything felt awkward and difficult and it felt like the answer to everything was ‘no’. 

Getting phone service set up took days because I didn’t have the expected documents.  Using my bank was difficult because I was a foreigner – and there were different fees for foreigners that were sometimes enforced and sometimes not.  Doing laundry was nearly impossible because there is no such thing as a laundromat in Finland.  

When it came to public places I shied away from places that had no other foreigners present.  It wasn’t just the language barrier – my Finnish was good enough to get the things I needed, but rather it was the accent and in some circles there, an American accent created trouble, especially when there were drunk young men present.  

As well, I generally knew what was being said about me because no one expected the foreigner to understand Finnish.  I did not anticipate the subtle types discrimination that I encountered because I’d always felt as if I belonged there – perhaps a misaligned assessment having been a part of a very cohesive group of friends that met everyday, in some shape or fashion when I’d lived up north in 1983.  

There were times at Finnair when some minor detail about the service had gone awry – I’d be the first one questioned.  Other times – many times, the Finnair crew would peer out from the galley while I talked with someone, suspicious about what I might be saying.  Or the time during a transit strike when I was waiting for a taxi and overheard someone talk about these ‘fucking foreigners’.   Today we call these things micro aggressions.  It’s not that these situations prohibit the freedom of thought or freedom of movement – but rather these situations where you’re always a suspect, always being watched… they erode your self-confidence, create self-doubt and make hiding feel better than participating.  

Over those first six months I’d narrowed my experiences to only the most safe and predictable.  That’s not what I’d signed up for but that’s how things had evolved.   

I’d called a friend – one of the old guard, one of the guys I knew from my summer up north and with whom I’d kept in touch and told him that I was considering leaving – not bidding the Finnair routes again, explaining to him what I’ve just explained to you.  

“You’ve been waiting to live and work here for as long as I’ve known you,” he said to me.  “Are you going to throw it all away because of these things?”

I knew the answer of course, but it had become exhausting dealing with all the little things of daily life. 

In a gay bar I’d met a man who worked at the Portuguese embassy.  Ari would sometimes meet me early in the mornings for coffee at Töölöntori, the small market square behind the hotel where I stayed.  He was tall and slender, rather flamboyant by Helsinki standards – bold prints and large sunglasses were his signature style, with a slight penchant for the dramatic.  He’d tell stories about the officials and politicians that he knew from working in these circles.  It was Ari who told me that Jari Silanpää – the 1996 Tango King was gay.  “It’s a public secret,” he told me.  “Everyone knows, but no one talks about it.” 

Occasionally I’d run into guys from Finnair at the bars and they’d introduce me to their friends and through this process I got to know the lead mechanic at Finnair as well as his boyfriend, also a mechanic at Finnair.  Neither of them spoke English – but Veli-Matti understand most things to some degree and my skills in Finnish had improved. 

Through these two guys I met Veikko.  He too was tall and slender – older, with buzzed cut grey hair, high cheekbones under a mostly unshaven face, and dark circles under his eyes from drinking and smoking too much.  At a table at the bar, Veikko would sit back with his legs crossed – his long legs necessitated him being further from the table, then lean forward and talk with a cigarette in his hand, mostly as a prop, as was the ever-preset wool scarf around his neck.  He knitted them himself.  

Veikko set for himself a goal to improve my language skills.  He explained to me that he grew up in a home that didn’t speak Finnish.  His mother Russian and his father Swedish.  In school he was made fun of because of this and therefore he worked diligently to learn and expand his vocabulary, and in fact, had learned English as well.  

Every week Veikko would meet at four o’clock in the afternoon for a beer at the bar.  He’d be there with his friends.  At first, he said, I’d be included in the conversation – they’d most speak both English and Finnish and if I had a question about something, I could ask in English and be answered in English. 

The next week – same place, same people, they’d speak mostly in Finnish, which I could mostly understand, but if I didn’t, I could ask in English and be answered in English.  The following week, I could ask questions in English but I’d be answered in Finnish.  The goal was to get me to a point where if I wasn’t speaking Finnish, I’d be ignored by the group.  And while this has every making of the aforementioned micro aggressions, it wasn’t.  Veikko took great strides to include me and provided a setting that vastly improved my social abilities.  

With the tango scene in full blossom because of the young, handsome, (and gay) tango king, a gay tango bar opened in downtown Helsinki.  The bar was on the second floor of an older building in the heart of downtown and across the street from Stockmann, the large department store.  The space had originally been residential so inside, small intimate rooms were on one side of a central hall and on the other, two large rooms one of which was the dance floor – the other the bar.  

The smaller rooms, of which there were three, had fireplaces and tall windows that pushed up towards the ceilings.  In dark colors with plush velvet upholstered furniture these spaces allowed for quiet conversations with others, and a places to enjoy being social away from the standing room only bar.   And the bar and dance floor – both a bit improvised considering the confines, but adequate non the less.  The nature of the music and the act of touching while dancing led to it attracting an entirely different crowd.  The men here were more social – and being asked to dance was simply that – the opportunity to be social. 

Veikko would take me here and I met more people and began growing a social circle for myself.  I learned how to tango – it’s a slightly less romantic tango in Finland than it is in Argentina – as one might imagine, but it became an ice breaker – a way to connect with other men that I may not have met otherwise. 

There was Harri – a Finnish man who worked in a paint factory in Russia.  He came to Helsinki every weekend to dance.  Harri was not an attractive man.  He had a crooked face, a crooked body and was socially awkward.  On the dance floor however, he was smooth and elegant such that I wanted to dance with him forever.  It was magical – and to witness him become so attractive though dancing … utterly captivating. 

I also danced regularly with a man who built roads – a state worker from some small town somewhere.  His style was a bit less encompassing than was Harri’s, and this man – I forget his name, told me that if any mistakes were made on the dance floor, they’d be my mistakes.  While that was kind of a dick statement to make, it was true.  He was good.

One night at the tango bar I found myself watching a rather cocky man.  Blonde – most Finnish men are not blonde by the way, with sparkling blue eyes that reflected the light like diamonds. His smile, too – smiling happy men are a rarity in public, his smile…. it was both a facial expression and a full body expression of happiness. 

I asked some friends about him.  They told me his name.  Everyone knew him and I wanted to meet him.  And so I did.  I approached him, introduced myself and told him that everyone told me that he was a good dancer.   With that he led me to the dance floor where he demonstrated just that.  That’s how I met Tuomo.  

Tuomo rotated in as a dance partner and as it happened he and I started dating – and the circle of friends which now overlapped became exceedingly interested in what was going on.  There was constant chatter about me and Tuomo.  There were voice mails left by friends who had seen me out with Tuomo.  Text messages asking if I was planning to see Tuomo.  What so captivated the attention of so many because he and I were dating I could never figure out.  

Our first date was on my birthday.  Tuomo and I had dinner at Ravintola Kuu, a restaurant behind my hotel.  On the first floor of a yellow stucco residential building was this tiny little place that served Finnish cuisine – look, it’s not as exquisite as it seems, as Finnish cuisine is basically fish and potatoes, occasionally reindeer, and a garnish from the forrest somewhere.  The restaurant itself had only a handful of tables in a clean, crisp and dimly lit dining room with a pendant lamp over each table, that was quiet, intimate, and one of those places where you could sit for hours and talk.  We did just that.   Tuomo presented me with a CD of his favorite works by Jean Sibelius, and he had created a little insert for the CD cover with a lovely hand written note.   

Now long past my first six months, things had improved greatly and as I’ve heard it said, the first six months of cultural assimilation are the most difficult.  It wasn’t necessarily because Tuomo and I had started dating, but more so that I’d figured out how to navigate the culture and expectations.

Around this time I started flying my trips back to back rather than once every four days.  The commute to and from Salt Lake was long and I would spend my four days off recovering from jet lag – only to have to turn around and do it again.  Instead, I’d trade trips with the others in the program so that I’d fly three trips to Helsinki back to back, and then go home for ten days, and just kind of stay on Helsinki time for the duration.  New York became just a place to sleep.  

The one glitch in this was that the CAA, Europe’s governing body for aviation, did not permit that much flying in a nine day period.  I was permitted to do it in ten days, but not nine.  This was still easier on my body than going back to Salt Lake weekly, and so to accommodate the CAA regulations, I had to spend 48 hours in New York at least once per week.   

Because of the way I was now organizing my schedule I’d occasionally run into Alan or Chris at the apartment and every now and then all three of us were there together.  It was always fun when this happened because I liked to clean, Chris liked to cook, and Alan could cut our hair.   Alan would cut our hair while Chris cooked dinner and I’d take care of the clean up.  The refrigerator was well stocked on these occasions because we all brought back our favorite foods and drinks from our respective layovers. 

With the back to back flying and with dating Tuomo my entire social life had transitioned to Helsink and there were times when I couldn’t get back to Salt Lake because the fight home was oversold, so I’d simply head back to Helsinki for my days off and spend them there. 

My time with Tuomo was different than with previous boyfriends because unlike with guys in the past, I wasn’t flying in to spend a few days and then leaving for a week.  I was in Helsinki six out of ten days, and often I’d go back on my days off.  We had time together just like any normal couple that lived in the same city – except that I was living in three. 

We did nothing exceptional together and I think that’s why it was so enjoyable.  Dinners out.  Time with friends.  A movie here and there.  Dancing the tango on the weekends, or just long walks through the city.  

Tuomo had an apartment just across the bay from my hotel.  A small apartment on a tidy little street that was in fact on the bay itself.  He shared it with a man named Timo.  When I was in town Tuomo stayed with me at the hotel, coming by after work and heading back the next morning.  Each morning I’d watch him leave the hotel from the window and he’d turn back, look up and wave goodbye.  

I wasn’t the only Delta person spending this much time in Helsinki.  Sinikka was as well because she was building a house up north for herself.  She flew her trips back to back, but upon arrival in Helsinki, she’d fly up north, spend the day working on her house, then fly back to Helsinki in the evening to sleep – and then head back to New York. On her days off as well, she’d be back in Finland.  

Because of this, she and I saw one another the most and we’d meet for coffee in the hotel lobby when one of us was coming and the other going.  She and I would catch up with news from work, news about our lives, and the gossip going around Finnair – of which there was plenty, mostly from the Finnair flight attendants who didn’t appreciate the service we offered onboard – precisely because they provided none and it was the Delta people who were receiving the favorable remarks from the passengers.  

At Delta we were required to address our passengers by name – we had a passenger manifest with all the names.  And over time with repeat customers, I’d get to know them and like with any friendship, we’d talk, laugh, and share stories throughout the eight hour flight.  I’d talk our customers through their dinner choices.  I’d talk to them about where they lived and where they were going – all the while my colleagues at Finnair would peer from behind the galley curtain with eyes of disdain.  

Because it would have been impolite to exclude Finnair customers, I would make index cards with everyone’s name on them so that I could address every customer by name in first class and over time I also got to know many of the regular Finnair customers.  When one of my Finnish colleagues pulled me aside and asked what I thought I was doing, I told her that I was providing Delta style service to people who had paid thousands of dollars to travel with us.  “You should try it sometime”, I told her.  

On rare occasion I would receive tips from the customers – A Russian man once offered me $500 to let him smoke in the lavatory. I seriously considered it. Another, fifty-dollars for a second round of cognac which was free anyway, but hey, fifty bucks is fifty bucks.

But the most rewarding was the social time with the regular passengers.  I met engineers from Nokia, a courier from the Finnish embassy, the scientist who invented Bencol – the cholesterol lowering margarine, and man who operated a multinational import/ export business, and I saw them all regularly.

A player from the Finnish national hockey team chatted me up on the way to Helsinki on night.  The team was headed home, they were jovial, and they were drinking.  Drinking was an ongoing problem on these flights, but this guy was handling it okay, but he drank all night long.  As he continued, the more friendly he became.  The more ‘handsy’ he became.  He pulled me aside at one point and told me that I should come over to his house after we landed.  I asked him why he thought I should do that.  He told me that his wife was out of town – and reiterated that I should come over.  

“Why is your wife out of town?” I asked.

“She’s a scientist and working in China.  But you should come,” he said and then slipped his telephone number into my pocket.  

If I were to go, I wanted to make sure the wife wouldn’t unexpectedly arrive home while I was there – that’s why I asked.  China works.  And then because the Finnair crew always asked what I did on my layover, I would have absolutely loved to have told them this.  And then lastly, I kind of have a thing for D-List celebrities, which equates to A-List celebrities in Finland.  

After I woke from my morning nap, usually around one o’clock in the afternoon, I called.  He answered the phone.  I introduced myself, thanked him for having given me his number, and asked what he had planned for the rest of the day.  Look, I already knew – he was at home recovering from a massive hangover – but I wasn’t opposed to him telling me to keep his number and to call him the next time I was in town.  

He didn’t remember any of it. 

During our morning coffees Sinikka and I would talk about how much fun it would be if she and I had a day or two together in town and there was on night when leaking fuel tank caused my flight to cancel.  The lead mechanic at Finnair called me while I was in the taxi on the way to the airport to tell me.  What I remember so vividly about this call was not the fact that I’d received it but rather that Veli-Matti told me of the issue in Finnish and I understood.  My expanding vocabulary was not necessarily comprised of words and phrases that took place below the wings. 

Sinikka booked dinner for us – hosted by the man who owned the largest ship building company in Europe.  She had known him for decades, from the days at Pan Am.  Dinner was at the latest, most fashionable restaurant to have opened in Helsinki and at the time, it seemed like something new and better opened every six months and then the crowd would move.   

I got the impression that he and Sinikka had once been lovers.  It was the look in her eye when she spoke to him – of fond memories, and a smile that echoed the same.  Sinikka looked great at her age now.  She had to have been a real knock out during the Pan Am years.  

After dinner she and I made our way to the most popular jazz club in town, steps away from the parliament building and where the politicians hung out after work – and those who wanted the connection to them.  In the basement that night was a band playing tango – naturally, and she and I had a dance or two, smiling, laughing and talking the entire time.  She asked where I’d learned to tango.  I told her about Tuomo that night.  Sinikka remarked about the desperation of men in town and at this bar – she’d been coming here for decades.  “The men here may seem better than the others, but their social skills are same,” she said.  She and I were so much alike it ways that were not visible on the surface.  Both of us wanted a nice quiet life in Finland. 

On our way back to the hotel Sinikka said she’d hoped I wasn’t looking for my better half in Helsinki.  Her advice that day became a benchmark by which I’d screen men going forward.  “One half times one half is a quarter,” she said.  “Be sure you’re dating someone that is an entirely whole person because only one times one equals one.”  

At breakfast one morning Tuomo told me that he was looking for a new, larger apartment.  He’d brought the real estate section of the newspaper along – it was my favorite part of the paper as well.  We looked at floor plans and prices together and then Tuomo said he wanted a bigger place for us.  

Us?

I was both flattered and surprised because I had been thinking about moving to Helsinki for awhile.  The commute to work wouldn’t have been that much worse than it was from Salt Lake City.  I’d cross fewer time zones, and the fact was, I was in Helsinki more than I was in Salt Lake.  I had’t mentioned this to anyone, rather I was sorting the options and determining the overall logistics of it all.  

Finnair had approached me casually about working for them in the offices – again I was both flattered and surprised.  In addition to knowing the mechanics I’d developed a good working relationship with management as they’d often ask my opinion about their service guidelines and other aspects of work.  This because Finnair passengers were sending letters of praise to them about my attention on board their flights.  It really was uncanny the amount of attention I received from Finnair.  In response I had been working on a business plan for working at Finnair – and at the time corresponding with the CEO of Swissair who was an American man that made Swissair into Europe’s premier carrier at the time.  

There were strong rumors at the time that Finnair was in search of a new CEO as the current one had run the place into the ground – as he had done with his last company – where he’d also been installed by the government.  Finnair was fifty-percent government owned.  The other fifty-percent was owned by the government owned and operated pension fund where Tuomo worked.  Why Finnair danced around not being whole owned and operated by the government I have no idea.  

With a comprehensive plan for improving customer service and a new CEO, I felt I could have a solid future leaving Delta and taking a position at Finnair.  

That morning at breakfast I told Tuomo.  He suggested that we combine funds and get a place together – a better and more affordable option than renting two places.  And with space at a premium in Helsinki, combined funds meant a bigger apartment.   Tuomo told me he had friends in the state department that would approve my resident visa on the spot.  

Illaksi kotiin – Finnair’s tag line, ‘Home by evening’ felt more relevant than ever.