Vasa and Vaasa
First some pictures…
Around Goteborg:
Around Malmo:
Around Copenhagen:
And now back to our story…
The sleeper train from Malmö arrived in Stockholm early on Friday morning. I don’t think it came with a shower, but if it did, there was no time for a wash. Instead, a wool cap substituted for shampoo and a piece of gum for toothpaste. Thus prepared for the day, I greeted Stockholm and walked along the water’s edge–and there’s much water and much edge. I came to the Vasamuseet (Vasa Museum), which showcases the best preserved 17th century ship in the world, a Swedish warship called “Vasa.”
Vasa was the name of the king at the time, and his floating namesake was almost the largest warship in the world then, save for a couple of slightly bigger ones in England. Hundreds of elaborate carvings adorn the exterior as a tribute to both Sweden’s naval might and King Vasa’s healthy ego. Some of the carvings depict Roman emperors, in whose footsteps the king believed he followed. However, pride precedes a fall, as the Bible teaches, and in this case it preceded a sinking. In 1628, on the Vasa’s maiden voyage, she sank. Right there in the harbor. She never fired a shot. She never saw battle. She just tipped too far to one side when the sails caught a heavy gust, and the sea gushed into the open canon portals. The catastrophe is attributed to a design flaw–the Vasa came equipped with two canon decks instead of the customary one, making her top-heavy. The designer’s head surely would have rolled had he not been dead already. The ship lay in the harbor for over 300 years before she could be recovered and restored.
Speaking of ships, I boarded one that night. (It bore no resemblance to the Vasa, so I felt safe.) The overnight ferry from Stockholm, Sweden to Helsinki, Finland came equipped with lounges, restaurants, auditoriums, a pub, a disco, a casino and a movie theatre, making it more like a cruise ship than a ferry. I booked a bed in a four-bed room, and fortunately only one of the other beds was booked. More about my cabin-mate and the ship in a moment.
A couple weeks ago while in Stockholm, I visited the Royal Palace (De Kungliga Slotten) where I saw all sorts of golden and bejeweled regal paraphenalia–sceptors, crowns, orbs, apples, keys and swords–and military weaponry, including a thing called a halberd, a long, nasty implement used to chop off the front legs of charging horses. One member of the royal family, Katherine, became queen at the tender age of six. If I’ve got my facts straight, I think she was the first monarch to refer to the audiences she granted visiting foreign dignitaries as “playdates” and the first to trade in her royal orb for a Pippi Longstockings doll.
Around Stockholm:
Anyway, Friday evening I boarded the overnight ferry to Helsinki, Finland. Tourists and Scandinavian locals of all sorts filled the ship, but one element stood out. There were more than a few gruff, loud-laughing drinkers on board, the type that seemed as prone to punch you in the nose as slap you on the back, depending on their level of inebriation. There were plenty of families aboard, to be sure. But the ship seemed something like a floating saloon. The bartenders, dressed in lederhosen and feathered alpine caps, were busy promoting an Octoberfest theme.
Christer, my Swedish cabin-mate, could easily blend in with the drinking crowd. He also boasted of other vices, like chasing loose women and sucking on very strong nicotene pellets (called snork or something like that) that are illegal in most countries. He was on his way to see his girlfriend, a medical student who I’d guess is unaware of at least one of these vices. Christer gave me his take on travel in the Baltic countries, saying Tallinn (Estonia’s capitol) has become too civilized, Riga (Latvia’s capitol) is happily not entirely civilized and Vilnius (Lithuania’s capitol) he has no memory of since he was passed-out drunk when he was there.
An exciting shot from the ship: 
While cruising through the Baltic Sea, something great happened. I made contact by phone with an old Finnish friend named Pekka. We met two decades ago on a mission trip in Eastern Europe. We were part of a team of seven college students from different countries–complete strangers–who drove a van to Yugoslavia and delivered Bibles and told people about the faith that united us. On that trip, Pekka kept me in stitches. He recited verbatim lines from American movies (like Raising Arizona, one of my favorites), knew everything about Vanna White, and pretended to misunderstand the English translation of the Bible by proclaiming “Blessed are the PACEMAKERS” and that one day we would be “HAIRS” (not heirs) of heaven. We had a fun summer. But over the years, we lost touch. He’s now married with three children. When I called him he found it uncanny because he had just had me on his mind three days earlier. We made plans to reconnect on Saturday.
How people dress in Helsinki: 
The ship docked in Helsinki and a gray, windy morning welcomed the passengers. Christer was still in bed, and when I roused him to say we’d arrived, he just grunted and rolled over. (I’d hate to see him after a night on a sleeper chair in a train.) I set foot on my fifth country of the trip, the land of saunas and lakes numbering in the six digits (making Finland 10% water) and Nokia and Lapua (maker of ammunition) and Santa Claus (who lives in Rovaniemi in the far north) and, I would soon learn, American football. I took a tram to the central train station and arranged to travel the five hours or so north to Pekka’s hometown, Vaasa. Vaasa, or “Vasa” in Swedish, is named after–you guessed it–Sweden’s King Vasa. It lies on the west coast of Finland, just across the Gulf of Bothnia from Sweden, and many of its inhabitants are bilingual, speaking Finnish and Swedish. The two languages are completely different, incidentally. Swedish is very similar to Norwegian, and if you can speak one you can understand the other. But Finnish seems to derive from the same early language as Hungarian, which is nothing like the other Scandinavian languages. The journey to Vaasa/Vasa (both names appear on the signs) was pleasant, the sun shining over a tree-filled countryside. I had to switch trains in rustic Seinäjoki, the hometown of MTV’s crazy “Dudesons,” the Finnish counterparts to the sado-masochistic daredevils from “Jackass.”
The train pulled into Vaasa in the evening. Unlike my arrivals at other stations, at Vaasa’s someone was there to greet me–Pekka’s wife, Marja. Although we had never met, she was kind enough to take me to her home and make me feel welcome there for the next two nights. I can’t begin to describe just how heartwarming it was to be a part of Marja’s and Pekka’s household for the weekend and to meet all of the members of it–the children, Petteri, Tuulia and Teresa, and Marja’s mother, Helmi. Marja fixed me meal after delicious meal. Pekka included me in his nightly ritual of relaxing in the sauna–his own private sauna, built right into one of the bathrooms. Tuulia (age 13) graciously abandoned her pink teenager room (it looks exactly like Adam’s) and gave up her comfy bed for me. Teresa (age 7) showed me a videotape featuring herself, her sister and her mother modeling clothes at the local mall, proving what I suspected all along–that EVERY Finnish woman is a model. Petteri (almost 15) threw a mean spiral when we played catch between his American football league matches. His coach, Remi, would be any boy’s dream coach, having played on the championship team that won the Eurobowl, Europe’s version of the Superbowl. Remi attributes Finnish boys’ toughness to the fact that they make sure to eat lots of their favorite vegetable: sausage. Just behind the football field where Petteri played looms a reminder that we weren’t really in the USA–an Olympic-sized giant ski jump, silently awaiting the arrival of the winter snow.
The entire family is athletic. Pekka, a former Green Beret with the Finnish army and now a child psychiatrist, plays ice hockey or rink ball or basketball most every night and weekend. Marja, a former professional, world-class gymnast and now a teacher, does aerobics regularly and travels around the globe judging international artistic gymastic competitions. Tuulia does gymnastics, skis and snowboards. Teresa does gymnastics. And these are just the activities I happened to learn about. I’m sure there are others.
Despite a jam-packed, sports-oriented weekend for the whole family, Pekka and Marja’s hospitality never waned. On Monday, Marja took me to her school and arranged for me to be the guest speaker in several elementary school classes. What an honor and utter delight to stand before these children and answer their questions about my job and life in a faraway place known around the world as “L.A.” At the beginning, their teacher Johana and I asked where the kids thought I was from, and one girl shot up her hand and said, “China.” Another little girl asked me for my autograph. (Of course, I gladly gave it to her–after she coughed up the 10 euros I demanded.)
As I left Vaasa, consistent with the perfect hospitality I’d been shown, Marja sent me off with a bag of food for the train ride back to Helsinki. Pekka and I exchanged hugs and banter about just how similar our quirky senses of humor are. Then we each quickly apologized to the other for the inadvertent insult. The entire experience transported me into the rich, everyday world of family life and school and home-cooked meals and recreation. It was a welcome break from the transient existence of a solo traveler, whose interactions are generally only occasional and usually fleeting. I’m thankful that my friendship with Pekka has proven to be an enduring one. Kiitos (thanks) to Pekka and Marja and the whole family and to God for allowing me to have this very special weekend.
Tags: Finland, Helsinki, Stockholm, Sweden, Travel, Vasa
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