There are certain rules to big city living. One of them is that you walk with the lights, zigging and zagging in time with the changing of crosswalk signs so that you never have to stand on a corner waiting. I thought this was common practice, if not common sense. And then I met my husband.
In Valtteri’s defense, Helsinki doesn’t quite compare to big American cities like New York or San Francisco. Even in the centrum, there aren’t many major intersections that clog up foot traffic. Perhaps more importantly, Valtteri knows where these corners are and how to avoid them. Like most lifelong residents, he’s learned these secrets over the years, making a mental list of every building that serves as a thruway, every parking lot that can be crossed diagonally, every underground passage that will deposit us directly into a waiting Metro train.
As someone who never stayed in one place for very long, I find this sweet—the way he knows every point of interest by street name and landmark, from this decade or the last. I like his stories about what happened in this building or that when he was a child, a teenager or as an intern at the trolley museum. It is a nice way to learn the history of the place, public and personal.
What is decidedly less endearing is the rigidity with which Valtteri navigates his city. Thirty-five years living in Helsinki and he knows exactly where he’s going and how he wants to get there, right down to the turn. “Let’s get across,” is usually how he announces that he knows a better way. He will say this line with urgency and force, like I am about to wander straight into a swarm of bees or a Greenpeace solicitor and he needs to save us both. Before I know what’s happening, he’ll have stepped off the sidewalk and will be waving me along like a crossing guard. A short while later, we will find ourselves beneath an underpass that doubles as a parking lot, with me wondering why it is that we are here. Why did we need to get across to this?
When I first met Valtteri, I assumed that the route he picked as simply the best way to go. He had decades of experience navigating his city, so if he had me tramping through a construction site in my good shoes on a second date, then there must be a reason. Now, several years later, I realize he does have his reasons—just not ones that makes sense. He doesn’t select a route based on speed, comfort, simplicity or scenery, but on other, highly subjective, completely personal criteria. Things like: the absence of trolley tracks; availability of automatic doors; avoidance of hotel driveways; likelihood of running into a person he will have to exchange a greeting with, even a nonverbal one.
These are things I don’t care about and would never think to factor in. And while I am mostly happy to go along with it when we are just out and about for a stroll, I cannot stand entertaining his quirks when there are other extenuating circumstances, like weather, footwear or a time crunch. I find it unbelievable that I even need to explain this to him, but I do. In fact, it part of our routine: I complain about taking the long way in the pouring rain, while he explains that it has less cars. I hobble along on cobble stones in high heels, while he points out that this route has less seagulls. I suggest we just walk in a straight line and he insists we cut through a skatepark.
“Less cars,” is the reason I am given, this as we are nearly run over by a rollerblader with a GoPro.
Believe me when I say that I am not the only one who has picked up on this idiosyncrasy. Back in January, we met Valtteri’s parents for a drink before going to a movie. As we left the bar, Valtteri made a bee line for the corner and motioned for us to follow.
“Let’s across here!” he urged. No further reason was given, but I knew it was because this portion of sidewalk lined up perfectly with a crosswalk two blocks ahead.
“Do you know about this?” I asked his mother. “That he has preferences for intersections?”
“Interesting,” she replied.
Valtteri waited in the middle of the street while our group moseyed across, then headed up the rear, careful not to leave anyone behind.
“You look like a goose,” I muttered as he joined me on the sidewalk.
“The crosswalks—” he began.
“I know,” I said, holding up a hand. I knew all about the placement of a crosswalk and how we’d save ourselves 10 steps by crossing now instead of waiting until the end of the street. He and I had been down this road before, literally.
“However you want to go,” I added, holding up both hands in defeat. With no turns left on our journey, I considered this as an empty gesture. But Valtteri, being Valtteri, took it as a challenge, insisting that we enter the movie theater through the building next door then leading us up a flight of stairs, down a hallway, around a corner and almost behind the snack bar counter.
“What was that?” he mother asked, trying to figure out how we had just been transported to the movie theater and if we broke any laws doing it.
“We already have our tickets,” Valtteri said, like we were the ones who couldn’t keep up. “So we don’t need to go through the lobby.” Then, apropos of nothing, he added, “And here is the bathroom.”
“There’s a bathroom in the lobby,” I countered.
“This way has less doors,” he replied, matter-of-factly.
“So what?” I asked. Keep in mind, this was pre-COVID when we didn’t know any better about touching surfaces and weren’t doing all our grocery shopping using only our wrists.
“So you don’t have to open a door,” he said to me, exasperated.
I turned to his mother. “Do you see what I mean?” I asked. “This way has no doors.”
As someone who enjoys personal freedom and is also directionally challenged, “Let’s get across,” is neither fun nor helpful. I have come to loathe the phrase, rejecting the request to cross outright, even on the rare occasion that it makes sense.
Anyone near us on the sidewalk must think I’m a massive witch, the way I demand to know which route Valtteri is taking us and how stupid it’s going to be. It’s easy for them to judge. They don’t know that he is trying to lead us through a low-end food court, the payoff being not extra time or less distance, but the avoidance of a heavily pollinated tree or a storefront with too much signage.
Lately, I’ve noticed that Valtteri is trying to avoid such arguments—not by altering his route, but by simply not saying, “Let’s get across,” the result being that he will just suddenly and without warning turn directly in front of me. I’m not sure if he’s trying to trick me or if he just thinks I know his tricks by now, but either way, it’s not working.
“What are you doing?” I scold, as we tangle on the sidewalk.
“Oh sorry,” he says. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?” I ask, even though I do know full well what’s to follow.
“Let’s get across here!” he says, plowing ahead. I’d like to smack him upside the head, but he’s already halfway across the street, passing through two lanes of traffic before the road widens into four.
I find it strange, and perhaps a little unsettling, that “Let’s get across” bothers me much more now that Valtteri and I are married. It’s not a deal-breaker, so much as an eye-opener—the realization that I have to live with this habit of his for the rest of my life and that he, in turn, must accept that I will immortalize it in my blog. Every time he says this phrase, we both seem to realize the deeper meaning: that our identities, our lives, our futures are no longer separate. Our paths are intertwined, his with mine. This is it—the two of us together, just getting across.
Very cute! My husband and I differ in the routes we take in that I always take the more scenic option, or the route more likely to put me in contact with someone I know. His route is best described as “doubling back after he forgets to take the turn he’s supposed to because he was talking and not paying attention.”
Nearly 30 years of marriage and I can always tell when we’re going to be late, it’s because we start talking about something and he’s driving.
amen! sometimes there’s a method to the madness. Sometimes it’s just madness in the method. either way, we gotta live with it.
also: update. after valtteri read this post he told me, “well the only thing that’s missing is that sometimes you’re standing in the way of my preferred route and you’re also talking so i don’t want to interrupt you so i just try to angle you in the direction i want to go while we’re walking….” and i asked, “does that work?” and he said, “no it does not. it’s very annoying!”
Oh for the love of God… I feel your pain. Our husbands should never get together.
HA! truly. sounds like all four of us have WAY too much in common. loving your feed lately, so exciting! can’t wait to see where you two cross next. xx
“I find it strange, and perhaps a little unsettling, that “Let’s get across” bothers me much more now that Valtteri and I are married.” YES. Yes. And your reasoning for it – YES. Same here. Sigh.
Ha! Glad to know I’m not alone. At the same time, sorry you’re in the same boat. xx
Mine refuses to admit there’s a better (read shorter) way to go, even though he’s been that way before. He gets cranky when I catch him at it, and it often turns out he missed the turn that could have shaved ten miles off the trip.
I get to gloat.
But I also hold it in abeyance, since sooner or later I will do the same thing, and can remind him of his last faux pas.
Isn’t it amazing how all the things you were mildly annoyed by, or faintly bemused at, when you were a couple but not A Couple, suddenly become Important?
It is amazing… it’s your quirk for life :) thanks for reading. keep your eyes on the road, both of you.