On our way back from a walk yesterday, Valtteri and I noticed a group of people standing in the courtyard outside our apartment building. It had been pouring much of the day and it was still drizzling at the time, which made them all the more noticeable as they stood in a semi-circle of silence next to their respective bicycles.
In Helsinki, this is what passes for excitement: a group of people with something to do.
“I wonder what they’re up to,” Valtteri said as we walked past, wrangling Bravo the whole way.
“Some kind of bike meetup,” I guessed. “Although it’s not great weather for a ride.”
“There’s a lot of those for fixed gear riders,” Valtteri agreed. “For people who ride fixed gear or repair fixed gear or whatever.”
“Whatever,” I agreed. “They love everything about fixed gear, except talking about it.”
That’s the peculiar thing about Finnish people: They are notoriously averse to small talk, even when they’re in a group and have something in common. Even as they wait in the rain for something to happen. They won’t say a word, except maybe if they’re spoken to directly and even then maybe not.
As an outsider, I find this somewhat strange – not that Finns happen to be a quiet people, but that they love to advertise the fact. A big part of their identity is wrapped up in their ability to stay silent for long periods of time in a variety of settings. In fact, the true test of being a Finn isn’t loving an extra-hot sauna, it’s being able to shut up about the fact that you do.
The story-miner in me finds this a bit frustrating, albeit impressive. I secretly admire the people who can make it out of a yoga studio or a fitting room without saying something to someone. These people know how to conserve their energy. I simply cannot stand around a place with another person doing the same thing and not talk about it. To me it seems rude, like I’m purposefully not acknowledging the fact that they are right in front of me, trying on the same coat in a department store or walking into the same dog park (with a clearly inferior dog).
It’s been years since I moved here, but I still can’t help myself. I have to make a comment. I have to let the other person know that I see them and make sure that they see me too.
What can I say I’m also very fixed in my gears.
When I first arrived in Finland, quite many of Valtteri’s friends and family members went out of their way to point out that being silent was part of the Finnish culture. They said this, I think, as a way of warning so that I would not misinterpret their quiet for coldness. “We’re comfortable with silence,” is how they often put it. And they are. By and large, the only thing Finnish people are willing to make small talk about is the fact that they don’t like to make small talk.
But here’s the catch: a lot of them are lying – either to me or to themselves. Because no sooner does someone tell me that Finnish people don’t like to make small talk, does this particular Finnish person begin to recite known facts about Dalmatians or share their feelings about eScooters.
Some of these people appear to have been deprived of conversation for so long that when they finally encounter a foreigner who doesn’t know any better, they quickly end up in the metaphorical deep end, talking about dating, family dynamics, health concerns or any other number of typically private topics. I cannot tell you how many times I have been on the receiving end of one of these speeches, listening to someone confess that they’re dating a man they met on an online gaming platform or that they are going to hire a surrogate in a foreign country. They are strangers, or acquaintances, or friends of friends and they come to me to talk. Because their culture values quiet but mine does not and they have something they need to share.
It’s hard to say if Finnish people notice they’re doing this—if they realize they are running their mouths at warp speed or spilling all their secrets to a stranger. Once, after a Finnish man explained the entire organizational structure of the consultancy where he worked and his personal five-year growth plan, he asked me if it was difficult to live in a place where no one likes to talk. It’s actually not – for me. Because as an outsider, people are willing to talk to me all the time. But I gather that it is quite difficult for him. I think it might be for a lot of Finns, actually.
Here’s to hoping that they find each other in that meetup one day soon.
I loved this. I feel the same way you do, no matter where you live. How can you not talk to someone who is doing the same thing, it would be rude. Bless you for being a talker and letting those quiet Fins talk.
:) I have no idea how you can stand next to someone doing the same thing and not talk about it. I just can’t! Bless you too for also being a talker.
In America, silence is intimacy. It’s incredibly uncomfortable to sit in silence with a stranger — like sitting naked in a sauna and having a naked stranger plaster up against you and take a nap on your shoulder. Silence is for someone you know well.
Small talk and smiling are ways for diverse populations with many languages and ethnicities to connect rather than end up in conflict. It’s why Europeans – historically homogenous back when cultures got set – smile and chit chat less then Canada and the US – historically heterogeneous, even for the many First Nations (Indian tribes) before the European invasion. When you already know all the folks in your village, you don’t have to rely on external shows of peaceful feelings like you do when a lot of folks are strangers.
that’s a very interesting take! i still think the Finns (and maybe the Nordics) are in a class of their own, but i can see what you’re saying. it’s a fairly remote place and people who lived here for centuries (meaning the land itself and not the country that is modern day Finland) are more alike than different. maybe it’s like how married have less and less to say as time goes on simply because less needs to be said.