Talvi

January 21, 2007

In spite of the sun’s rapid return winter has finally come. Helsinki is freezing and the bay has begun to ice over. I’ve never seen anything like it. The grey sea is indistinguishable from the sky and the big boats loom like distant shadows. All of the trees are frostbitten, dusted perfectly white atop their black trunks. The fishmongers still come to Kauppatori each morning but the bread lady doesn’t brave this cold and the souvenir sellers are fickle. It feels quiet and a bit sleepy except in the parks, where in spite of the bitter cold children with sleds and patient parents abound. There is a certain pride here in weathering the cold and it is not something that the Finns shrink away from—quite the opposite in fact. They see swimming in the ice as something that strengthens you and makes you better able to keep illness at bay and I’ve seen people more than twice my age out for a dip in the morning. The colors have all changed to soft pastels and compositons of white on white or ghostly fields of grey. But on a rare day when the sun shines it’s all blue and white.