Mungbönor

Metsanurme – Tallin, Estonia – Helsinki, Finland

It’s not we’re dying of homesickness around here. But there are a few things we miss. 

I think tops on the list is the scale at the supermarket checkout. 

What? You never noticed the scale? Oh, it’s there alright. It’s built right into the checkout area – right where the scanner thing is. 

You buy an apple. The store clerk puts the apple on the scale, types in the apple code, and the price pops up on the screen: $1.13. 

Occasionally, if you buy something exotic – like fava beans maybe – the clerk won’t know the code right away – and then they have to look it up. But, otherwise, it’s a completely seamless process.

Okay – but why are you telling me all this? 

Good question. 

I thought you’d never ask.

The thing is, in much of the rest of the world they think it’s a good idea to make the customer do the weighing of that apple. Not at the checkout. Back in the produce section. 

You choose your apple, but instead of putting it into the cart, you bring it to some difficult-to-find scale – usually hiding behind the broccoli, or maybe the fava beans. You place the apple onto the scale. 

And then you’re done. 

Not!

No. At that point you have only just begun (like the Carpenters song – “We’ve only just begun”). Because now you need to know the code. Or you can look up the item’s code by entering the name of the product. For instance, in Finn, an apple is an omena . So you enter that name into the screen. 

Oh, you didn’t know that an apple was called a omena in Finnish? No problem. You just enter “apple” into your Google Translate and then enter omena into the computer. Easy peasy. No more than a five minute process.

And then the machine spits out a giant sticker, which you stick to the apple. 

At this point you are totally ready to go to the counter. 

But, of course, about 98% of the time you forget to do any of this. Because who would think that a supposedly advanced country like Finland would use such an outdated method? Not us . . .

So what actually happens is more like this:

You throw your apple, your two limes (for Diana’s salad dressing), your squash, and your onion into the cart – along with the cream, butter, and whatever else you might be purchasing. No problem.

Then you wait in the inevitably long line, and the cashier starts to scan your items. But after the cream, the butter, and the rice she comes to the onion.

And then you get the look. 

No translation is necessary. Without any words, the look says:

”I can’t believe I have to deal with these moronic Americans. They don’t pay me enough for this crap! You need to go weigh this onion – oh, and this apple, and this squash. And, no pressure, but all these people in line behind you – they are ALL waiting for you. So just take your time . . .”

Not that this happened to us recently. Because, after dealing with this problem for the last 34 countries we have obviously learned our lesson . . . 

Nope. 

I think the problem is that Americans cannot fathom why any advanced country in the world would have such a system. 

Either that or we’re just dumb. 

Could be that.

Except Diana forgets, too. Which kind of negates the dumb theory.

Anyway, we do miss the supermarket checkout scales in the U.S. Some people kiss the soil when they finally return after a long time away. I’m planning to kiss the supermarket scale . . .

Oh, yes. Finland. I suppose you want to know about the rest of the country. The part that is not in the supermarket. 

Well, the whole reason that we were in the supermarket to begin with is the dill at the big farmer’s market. Seven Euro for a bunch of dill. That translates to about $8.50 in U.S. currency. For dill. But the woman selling the dill showed Diana – it’s a bunch of dill. 

“If dill is $8.50,” we said, “then we might as well just go to the supermarket . . .”

That’s the bad side. Finland is expensive. 

But once you get over the sticker shock, Helsinki is a vibrant city, full of expansive bike paths and beautiful bike corridors, public transit, public art, and public saunas. 

We really enjoyed one of the public saunas. I mean, who doesn’t love hanging out with a bunch of naked or semi-naked men – all of them sweating profusely, showing off their sallow skin, and almost all with big beards and tattoos with skulls and stuff? 

The thing is, for all their nakedness, the Finns that we encountered seem to be a pretty outgoing bunch. They were explaining how saunas work, telling us about the various kinds of saunas – including smoke saunas, and Swedish saunas (“Not good!”), and asking about public saunas in the U.S. (Note that we found out later that saunas are pretty much the only place that Finns are known to socialize.)

Diana is usually not a fan of saunas. I think in her eyes they are not an efficient use of time. You’re sitting around when you could be accomplishing something . . .

But not in this case. 

Pretty much everyone has corollaries to their general rules. And while Diana has a general rule against slovenly wasting of time – like sitting in a sauna with a bunch of sweating men, she also has a corollary – it goes something like this: If it is otherwise too cold to swim, then it might be a good use of time to sit in a sauna, if sitting in the sauna might allow for more swimming. 

And so it was today. I think Diana went in and out of the saunas about six times – swimming in the Baltic Sea for the first time on this trip. 

She put all of the big hairy naked Finnish guys to shame. 

Any place with good biking, a sea to swim in, and saunas to warm up in between swims comes out high on Diana’s list – even if the dill is $8.40 at the farmer’s market. (It was only one Euro at the grocery store – and we didn’t even have to weigh it.)

I suppose I should comment on Tallin. 

We enjoyed a walk through a local bog – though if you’ve been to northern Minnesota or northern Wisconsin there isn’t much new in an Estonian bog. 

Well, maybe mushrooms. I saw a woman ahead of us picking some so I thought I would give it a try – thinking we could cook them up once we arrived in Helsinki. 

I picked quite a few actually. 

The problem was that I don’t really know how to separate the good from the bad. Other than having my wife try them first maybe. But I decided that method might have a flaw or two . . . After all, Diana makes the travel arrangements, she’s in charge of the medications on the trip, and she’s kind of nice to have around anyway.

I went with plan B. At the end of our walk, I asked another lady who had been picking mushrooms. 

Now, I know I brag about my non-verbal communication skills and how fine-tuned they are. But occasionally there is a little confusion. 

This woman only spoke Russian. 

“Umm, I picked these mushrooms, can you help me figure out which ones are good?”

She looks at my mushrooms, bends down, grabs one, takes a knife that she conjures from somewhere, cuts it open, gestures a little, says something dismissive, and tosses it aside.

She repeats this routine a few times. Which has me feeling pretty dejected. “I guess we won’t have quite as big of a feast as I was hoping . . .”

Then she finds one she likes. I know she liked it because she tossed it into her own bucket.

”What?!?”

”Did you tell her that she could have your mushrooms?” Diana asks.

”Well, umm, no. But I did ask her to separate the good from the bad . . .”

Before we know it she has culled through the whole pile – and there is nothing left but the discarded scraps of apparently bad mushrooms. 

She walks off, happy as a clam. 

“Dos Vedania,” she says – and now I remember “goodbye” from my Russian class. So that was good.

I hope she enjoyed the mushrooms . . . 

At the farmer’s market rate it was probably about thirty euros worth that she absconded from me. 

Sad.

Nonetheless, Tallin had some strong features. Good connection to nature – forests and the sea. A big, well-preserved old town.

An amazing Scandinavian bakery that Diana found.

And just a generally very dynamic feel to the place. 

The crazy thing is how small these countries are. Estonia – less than a quarter the size of Minnesota – and only 1.4 million people. Finland, a little bigger land mass, but basically the same population as Minnesota. 

Oh, pancakes. We had some, but they were just standard American pancakes. Difficult to find the Finnish variety. I guess it would be like asking for American pancakes in America. People would just be confused . . .

Maybe tomorrow . . .

And then, tomorrow night it’s on to the United Kingdom . . .