David Whitley takes part in an age old Finnish tradition – getting tipsy on the slow ferry from Finland to Estonia.
Lads and their loot
Maintaining all the dignity of a bawling spinster at her umpteenth friend’s wedding, the three lads are slumped against the wall of the ferry terminal with impressively vacant expressions. Next to them is a tremendous haul; case on case of cheap lager and a glittering array of empty bottles.
They may be waiting for a taxi, although they don’t seem overly concerned about moving. They are adorned with thick enough beer coats to keep them warm for the winter, have eyes that tell sorry tales and are drooling like excitable Labradors.
This is perfect; even better that the rumours would have me believe. If the people coming back on the early ferry are utterly blootered, then heaven knows how funny the party boat is going to be.
I am intruding on, what I’ve been told, is a sacred Finnish tradition. The story has been the same from every Finn I’ve ever encountered: when Finns want to go on a heavy session, or just stock up on obscene amounts of alcohol, they get on the ferry to Estonia.
Helsinki ferry terminal
And what better ferry to get on than the cheap, slow boat that leaves just after work finishes on a Friday evening? Predictably, the ferry terminal is packed. Once tickets are bought and passports are checked, absolutely everyone heads to the bar. The queues snake back, seemingly for miles, and the whole place gives off the vibe of being a vast battery cage for the soon-to-be-inebriated.
Indeed, some are already in that happy place. One shaven-headed hero is swaying wildly from side to side, held upright by two amigos. He makes a break for freedom and heads to the bar, looking like he’s being blown by an extremely strong wind.
After being refused service, he’s immediately sat down again next to the radiator by those who know slightly better. Thwarted, he simply resorts to giving his friend and protector a big cuddle. It’s all very touching.
On board the slow boat to Tallinn
Yet once on board, everything seems mysteriously calm. A few people have hit the bar, but not many. Others seem to have disappeared up to their cabins or are queuing up politely at the buffet. Others are even sat down in the restaurant for a proper, civilised meal. Come on chaps… eating’s cheating, isn’t it?
The ship is absolutely gigantic, though, so perhaps there’s some secret hotspot where it all cracks off. There are lounges, wine bars, Starlight Palaces, gambling dens and auditoriums, but the action is nowhere to be seen. It appears as though the great Baltic Sea binge is a cruel myth.
Even in the pub-styled bar, where the proper drinking could be expected to take place, everything is rather civilised. Two Finnish businessmen parked on the opposite table explain that they’ve not come for the relaxation, rather the lubrication. It’s simply a pleasant alternative to a quiet night in the local bar.
“A lot has changed recently,” one argues. “Estonia is no longer as cheap as it was. Now it is maybe 70-80% of the Finnish price.” This, it has to be said, doesn’t quite ring true.
The supermarket
Mercifully, it all clicks into place on another level. Of course! There’s the supermarket! And, from the moment it is open, there’s an absolute swarm in there. It is, somewhat predictably, unlike any supermarket on the planet.
In fact, it’s almost as though someone has specifically designed a big shop for shambling drunkards. For food, there is just chocolate and crisps. And the rest is lovely, beautiful, life-affirming booze.
The walls are lined with bottles, while just about every inch of floor space is piled high with boxes of beer. Manning the tills is like a military operation, the operators working at speed to reduce to queues of grog-laden customers. And, once everyone has got their stash, things start to liven up a little.
Some take their trophies outside, braving the traditionally Baltic air on the deck. Yes, it may lead to hypothermia, but it avoids the awkward issue of working out how to drink your own cheap alcohol in a bar that is selling it rather more expensively.
The covers band
Others seem content to leave it in their room and explore the ship’s entertainment. Performing in an overly large auditorium is a covers band, fronted by the most bored-looking lead singer on earth. In a permanent slouch, she goes through the motions of occasionally slapping her tambourine.
Her cause is not exactly helped by being stood alongside a guitarist who would clearly prefer to be in Led Zepellin.
Every couple of minutes or so he launches into a thoroughly unnecessary guitar solo with misplaced vigour. The girl attempting to pull off an almost comatose version of All Shook Up looks disgusted, while the keyboardist clearly gave up a long time ago and just shuffles about apologetically.
It is, in short, one of the direst musical spectacles in history (which, of course, is what makes it so phenomenally gripping to watch).
But some of the oldies don’t seem to care, and they decide to flit across the dance floor arm in arm, wilfully ignoring the mental turmoil on stage.
Finnish karaoke
If the dancers seem oddly serious, just wait for the singers. By the end of the three-and-a-half hour journey, it’s all about the karaoke. And it seems the Finnish and Estonian vision of what karaoke should be is entirely different to ours.
No hordes of office workers cackling out I Will Survive with glasses of white wine slopping about in their hands here. Instead, it’s a deadly earnest parade of people who can actually sing, emitting note perfect versions of obscure Finnish songs without the slightest hint of energy and soul.
It’s not about floor fillers that everyone can bellow along to, but slow tempo numbers that make for a good, old-fashioned slow dance. It’s how you’d imagine karaoke to be if it was invented in the 1920s.
As a cultural experience, it’s the complete opposite of what both rumour and the evidence of the ferry terminal would have anyone believe. It’s still thoroughly intriguing, mind, and a reminder that not all the world parties in the same way.
Trip notes
Numerous ferries of various size and speed operate between Helsinki, Finland and Tallinn, Estonia. Many of them are run by Tallink, including the Galaxy.
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