Summertime

After one of the most depressing winters in Finnish memory (there's nothing wrong with a rainy November - unless it lasts five months..) came the most exciting and surprising spring ever, but still nothing compares to the summer which finally arrived this week. Whether on a walk from Otaniemi to Lauttasaari, on the metro from Kamppi to Vuosaari, or on a tram from Kallio to Töölö, Helsinki looks beautiful when people spill out onto the terraces for a drink in the sun or into the parks for a picnic. And let's not forget the ever-increasing tourists who embark from their Scandinavian Special and Northern Delights cruises to roam around the city for a day, looking somewhat hopeless following their brisk and banner-waving guides.

Every day of this season seems so priceless that it would seem a shame not to celebrate it as much as one can with people who know how to have fun. Some weeks ago, a successful major exam of a wonderful friend and colleague was followed by an after-party which stretched well into the night and saw us riding from restaurant to bar to nightclub on taxi, feeling like the wealthiest citizens of one of the most expensive cities in the world. Next morning's communal pizza moment in Kaisaniemi was as therapeutic as it was fun. Some days later, an impromptu dinner and wine moment at the new home of friends in Kruununhaka.

Last Thursday, our school's summer party had students, teachers and even janitors celebrating in a boat, sipping wine and dancing to the beat of a band called Mykaboom. There was something wrong with the sound system settings and one could hardly make out the voices of the very enthusiastic singers. Somehow, the four last mohicans from this celebration ended up toasting the beginning of the summer in Manala, which is where all roads seem to lead for the after-party groups looking for reasonable food.

Throw in yesterday's picnic in Torkkelinmäki, Helsinki's perfect fairytale setting which seems even more special because it is surrounded by the chaos of Kallio's tram track renovations, and you've got the ingredients for a couple of days spent recovering in bed, with a light summer breeze and the drunken voices of Vaasankatu drifting through the open window.

As far as reading is concerned: after finishing one of the most compelling novels in a while, Ian McEwan's "On Chesil Beach" (instant rereading material), I seem to be specialising in books with strange titles. Patrick Gale's "The Aerodynamics of Pork" was not only one of the worst books in recent fictional memory, it neither had anything to do with aerodynamics nor did it feature a pig. Currently, "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen" by Paul Torday seems much more promising. The only thing which bothers me is the use of the article before the name of the country, but that's just me as always.