There’s a season in Finland that I call the “faff around and find out” season.
It shows up at the beginning of the year, lasts about two months, and exists solely to humble you. I’m convinced it’s uniquely Nordic. I don’t think this happens anywhere else in the world. Or at least not as intensely as it does here.
When I first moved to Finland, I was warned about it in advance. During one of our classes, our teacher paused mid-lesson and told us, very seriously, to be careful as the ‘season’ approached.
She said – and I quote – “Every year, at least one international student fractures or sprains something during this period, so please be careful.”
What the hell? I thought.
At the time, I said what the hell because the season hadn’t even started yet. She was just warning us. I had absolutely no idea what she meant.
Then the ‘season’ came.
Now, my school was within walking distance of my apartment — about a twelve-minute walk. It was winter, so every morning I’d look out the window to assess the weather and decide what to wear. Windy? Scarf. Snowing? Hooded winter jacket.
That morning, I looked out the window as usual. Everything looked fine.
So I went downstairs and hit the road.
Literally.
I mean, I fell and hit the road hard.
Now you might be wondering: was this my first time walking in snow? Reasonable question. But here’s the thing, there was no snow on the ground.
What there was, however, was wet glass.
I’m not exaggerating. Imagine glass. Now pour water on it. Now try to walk on it. That’s what the pavement had become.
And that was my official introduction to what I now consider the worst part of living in Finland: faff around and find out season.
Here’s what happens:
It snows for a few days.
Then it stops.
The snow starts to melt and turns into slush.
Then it rains on the slush.
Overnight, the temperature drops dramatically.
The water freezes over the slush.
The result? Everywhere you’re supposed to walk becomes an ice rink.
Here’s the “faff around” part: if you don’t walk carefully, nay, circumspectly, you will fall. And not in a cute way.
There is something called the penguin walk, developed specifically for this season. People swear by it.
I do not. It doesn’t work for me.
Instead, when I have to go somewhere during this season, I leave an hour early and move like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. Slow. Wide steps. Deep focus. No distractions.
Once, I was moving like this when an elderly woman using a walker passed me.
She was faster.
I shrugged. I don’t care, babes, I like my teeth as they are.
Now as bad as all this sounds, it can get worse. And it mostly does.
Sometimes it snows over this glassy surface, which means you can’t see it and therefore don’t know it’s there until you step out on it.
This is when the “find out” part of the season officially begins. And just as our teacher had warned us, the number of students showing up to school on crutches, in bandages, in slings, limping, or otherwise supported by walking aids started increasing. Local students. International students. Equality.
As the season went on, I learned about spiked winter boots and crampons – devices you attach to your shoes specifically designed for this season.
They have since become my most trusted allies. I consider them essential survival equipment during faff around and find out season, when the enemy roams freely, waiting to humble the overconfident.
Not me.
Not anymore.
Sir, I will never be caught slipping again.
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