Travel by DAR

Finland: Midsummer Fest

(First published in Esquire)

You've heard the saying: The farther north you go, the crazier it gets. But this can't be true of Finland, you think. Off the plane in the middle of a cool June afternoon, you figure Helsinki this way -- stable, serene, maybe 1;stoo0;s sober, if anything. Just look at what a stately town it is, the last European capital designed as a work of art, filled with teens so dour they don't even move their heads when they disco. Look at the amusement park -- so uptight that customers ride the roller coaster mutely and play the slot machines without expression. Imagine, an entire Coney Island carrying forth in grave and measured silence. They even trek through the spook house stony-faced. Here, you swear, is the dictionary-perfect vision of "un-crazy ..."

Until 10 p.m. You are just polishing off your piece of Arctic cloudberry pie when a series of shrieks rock the restaurant. What concerns you is not so much that the dowager at the next table is belting out the flats of the Finnish national anthem from atop her chair. It's that no other patrons seem to notice. Stepping outside, you see a cityscape transformed: the sidewalk is a Marat Sade stage set, the boulevard against the Baltic is bumper car heaven. All those parks and squares, neoclassical and grand? Echoing now with the screams of bankers pulling themselves along, clown-like, by their ties.

Welcome to Finland's Midsummer Fest. Like many northern lands, Finland celebrates the ides of June -- the time of midnight sun -- with a "V" for vodka. You think the Irish can put it away? You think Eskimos enjoy a party? You ain't seen a frat blast till you've seen the Finns howl. Of course, that's not the whole story.

Deep down decent in some fundamental way, the Finnish people are not only more affluent than Americans (the Finnish idea of a run-down cab is a Mercedes whose phone's on the blink), they're also more gracious (bricklayers who make $95 an hour would never dream of sitting on the bus while a lady stood). Even their dogs seem classier than ours, with 40 "hound parks" in Helsinki alone -- humans whistle Sibelius while their pets squat and sniff.

What's more, exactly half the population are spell- binders: shopgirls so mannequin-perfect you do a double take every time you see the mirror image of one dressing a dummy in a department store window. Stewardesses, with their elbow length black leather gloves and silver-blond skin so fair you can trace the capillaries, resemble a first class airline dessert -- as delectably asexual as a meringue. The men, too, announce themselves as slightly chill, with the unyielding air of being wrapped in cellophane: Time and care are required before they reach room temperature. Dignity, in a word. The Finns have it.

Which is why Midsummer Fest comes as such a shock. By midnight, you are rattled enough by the spectacle of handsome Nordic faces going to goo, as young and old take this yearly license to get tanked, that you look for some place to hide. But how? Every means of getting there looks deadly. Car? So many vintage Chevvies (souped-up Americana is the rage) are revving their engines that you visualize them in grainy black and white -- tomorrow's newspaper disasters. Rail? Rumor is that trains have added special jail cars to contain the drunks (a spin on the concept of "bar cars"). And to top off the gaiety, prisons are reported to have released inmates so they, too, can join the fun.

So where can you escape? The countryside. To its eternal credit, Finland provides the built-in solution to its own excess: its beautiful outdoors. The largest forest in Europe, it's a vast unspoilt playground for trout-fishing, mushroom- gathering, clean living. No need to avoid Finland in June -- all you do is wait till the Finns have slept off their holiday cheer, then steal away in a vehicle made for the purpose: a motorhome with bunks and silverware, fully loaded and ready to go at a number of Finland's airports. Renting a motorhome proves just the ticket for a couple of reasons. Not only is it the cheapest way to see this expensive land ($1000 buys you a six-sleeper for a week, complete with shower, kitchen, and 2000 free kilometers).

Even better, each hamlet takes you farther from the hangover of Helsinki. In the peaceful countryside, opera wafts over open air markets, art galleries cohabitate with tackle shops, and the last great wilderness on the Continent opens in a profusion of wildflowers. (Towards Lapland, especially, berries grow in almost hallucinogenic profusion. The lichens are positively trippy. Untrampled by the few people who live at this latitude, they cover fields, swallow tree stumps, and take on hues you normally see only in black light. Pastels that crunch.)

The last night finds you canoeing down a river so clean you use it for your tea. Camping on a foot-thick cushion of purple-pink lichens, you roast dough sticks, succulent rye stuffed with seven varieties of smoked fish, and surprisingly tender beaver garnished with a jelly made of pine needles. You relax like never before. It's 2 a.m. in the sanctity of the Finnish woods, the campfire roars under a sky bright as day, and from on high the birds twit their heads off, thinking it's noon.

Just remember that Finnish cuckoos, under the spell of midnight sun, sometimes sing with such sweet northern abandon that they fall right out of their trees. Be warned.