What The Oulu

The reason behind visiting Oulu fell into the category of “found it on Google Maps.” I didn’t really know anything else about the place other than that it’s a university town, and that a train from Helsinki would get me pretty close to the Swedish border. That was enough for me — ticket check, plan check.

I decided I didn’t want to spend money on accommodation in Oulu, so about a month before my trip, I rediscovered Couchsurfing (CS). I know CS’s golden years are long gone, but I’d heard it’s still fairly active in Scandinavia. Unfortunately, not that active — most people I messaged to never replied, or responded quickly to say they were out of town. My filter for the search used to be “at least one woman in the household”, but now I had to get more creative with my criteria. Two guys, one from Iran and one from India messaged me enthusiastically, but I just couldn’t picture myself sleeping well under these circumstances. I would just be staring at the ceiling all night, alerted by any sounds.

Eventually, I took a calculated risk — a 59-year-old Irish vegan grandpa with lots of friends on CS, and plenty of positive references. Okay, so probably not an axe murderer. And realistically, I could probably take him in a fight if I had to. Request sent, request accepted. We exchanged a few messages about winter swimming and the decision was made. The bearded man — let’s call him F — offered on my arrival day to meet me at the Oulu train station since his swollen knee needed some exercise. His place was about 1.5 km from the station, so I gladly accepted his offer. My 5 hour and 40 minute train ride turned into a 6-hour one, and somewhere during the journey, a tiny flicker of anxiety crept in. What if the Irish Santa wasn’t quite the softy he seemed in the photos? But I wasn’t too worried. When I got off the train, I scanned through the crowd for a large belly and a white beard, which were impossible to miss. I walked up to a man that matched the description and cheerfully asked, “Hi, are you F? Excellent! How are you?” F gave me a slow head-to-toe glance before replying, “I’m good. You’re nice and tall.” I blinked, slightly thrown off — didn’t know these were important features for Couchsurfing. He didn’t ask how I was or offered to carry my smaller backpack, but oh well. Right then, off we go.

We walked along bike paths over rivers and through small quiet suburbs. F kept swaying close and brushing against me, likely unintentionally, due to his large frame and uneven walk. I kept trying to create space between us but ended up getting on the way of cyclists with my huge backpack. F didn’t seem to be in the habit of stepping aside — not for me, not for bikes, not for cars. We passed a local river beach with a floating sauna and a nice little sandy strip. I was already longing for a swim when I remembered I’d promised to go with F in the evening. Swapped the bikini for a one-piece in my head. We finally arrived at his place — a nine-story Soviet-style concrete block building. I was still moderately optimistic about the inside of the house, but as in the hallway I was greeted by a familiar faux-wood paneling straight out of Õismäe, I was starting lose faith. F was panting on his way up the stairs to the third floor, then, unlocked the door… and as the door swung open, a strong Soviet-era smell hit my nostrils. A cocktail of ancient plumbing, neighbor Vanja’s cigarettes, and fried grease. Inside, I was welcomed by a living room crammed with tables and cabinets overflowing with wires, cables, and electronic scraps. A small sun-faded leather sofa, patched with bright green tape, sat in the corner. I gulped audibly as I realised this will be my sleeping spot for the two nights.

I briefly considered making up an excuse to leave but instead collapsed onto the sofa to process the situation. I felt rather uncomfortable around F. I couldn’t always follow his soft, hissy Irish accent, and he had the habit of staring at me quietly — sometimes even mid-conversation. At first, I dumbly stared back. But eventually, I started looking out the window while speaking to him. F offered me lemon water, which I gratefully accepted — until I noticed some sketchy-looking crystals at the bottom of the jug. I poured myself a glass of water, took a sip… yep, it has definitely gone bad. I tried my best to calm the rising anxiety, but couldn’t quite decide whether this situation was safe or not. Weird for sure, but dangerous? I asked what plans he had for the evening. “Nothing. You don’t have to entertain me. But you can if you want to!” he replied cheerfully. I forced a half-smile and excused myself for a quick walk to the supermarket. Out of politeness I asked F if he needed anything. He took me to his fridge and showed me the left-over veggie curry and rice he had, which was plenty for two. Dinner — sorted. All I need now is sparkling water and yogurt for breakfast. “Bring a lemon!” he shouted as I was heading out. Shutters.

I made a loop around the neighborhood, trying to settle my nerves. What were my options, really? Worst-case scenario, at least I knew which of his knees was the bad one. I decided to give it a night and reassess the situation in the morning. Trust the process. Repeating my mantra — “I’m safe, I’m protected, the world is kind, and life supports me” — I returned to the apartment. I suggested we go for the swim. “Would you like a sarong?” F asked brightly. Um… no? This didn’t stop him from wrapping a silk scarf around his own large waist and leaving the apartment topless. At that moment, I realised that the whole time I had been wearing my hoodie indoors, even though it was warm, since I had no bra under my tank top and the hoodie gave me a layer of safety. I felt guilty — maybe I was being unfair to the hairy giant, but shivers ran down my spine every time he casually dropped a phrase such as “a tall beautiful blonde like you…” We made our way to the river as a comical duo: me in a hoodie, him half-naked. After a refreshing dip we sat on the grass for chat. Maybe I’ judged him too quickly, I thought, slightly embarrassed. But still… something was just off.

Back at the apartment, we heated up the curry and rice for dinner. “The good thing about vegan food is that I can eat it even eight days later!” he declared. I really hoped this particular batch was a bit fresher. In the meanwhile I remembered I still had a leftover sandwich from the train ride in my bag. Since F was a vegan and really anal about recycling, throwing food away might have caused some drama, so I just finished it quickly before dinner. Post-dinner, my nerves kicked in again. I couldn’t quite figure out how to exist in the open living room, with F sitting either beside me or right next to me on his computer. I asked if he had a book I could borrow and that way managed to hide on the balcony for an hour. F followed my lead and decided to read as well. Finally, some alone time. Soon exhaustion started to set in. I figured it’s time to pull out my sleeping bag and stretch my legs out on the tiny couch. At one point, F appeared and asked, “Shall I make you the bed?” Turns out the couch folded out into a decent sized bed — squeaky but large. Nice! There was a small bloodstained pillow on the sofa without a case, but F kindly handed me one. “I can’t promise this already hasn’t been used by someone,” he added. At that point, I didn’t even care.

At some point into the night I opened my eyes. Something was wrong. I’d only slept for an hour and woke up with a wave of intense nausea. No, no, please not this. I could hear F snoring behind the closed bedroom door. I sat up, took a sip of water, and aggressively convinced myself I was not going to throw up. I searched for charcoal tablets but had already used them up before leaving Estonia. Shit. It was either the curry or the sandwich — something was coming back up. I remembered seeing a bucket in the bathroom and went to fetch it. I spent the night half-asleep, half-praying not to vomit. When F woke up, I told him I was dying. He kindly made me a cup of chamomile tea and brought out a giant box of meds. Yes, charcoal tablets! Expiry date: 2006. Oh well. I figured the risk of charcoal poisoning was minimal and popped the pills. Soon my nausea eased a bit, and I went for a cold dip in the river to freshen up. Nausea and sleep deprivation is a brutal combo. Back at the flat, F offered to lend me his bike, which I gratefully accepted. I asked where I might find a good café to work in. “What time are you going? I’ll join you!” he beamed. Great, I thought bitterly. We agreed to meet at a local bakery at 1 PM, and I set off.

The weather was gorgeous despite a rainy forecast. I was weak, but a green smoothie and a nice coffee brought me back to life, so I gained some energy to wander around Oulu for an hour. What a beautiful city! There were bike paths everywhere — over bridges, around islands — the whole town was made for cyclists. Only Copenhagen would come close. Oulu had a seaside vibe, a bit like Haapsalu in Estonia. I could totally imagine retiring here. I watched local seniors swimming in cold water, marching around with walking poles, cycling with scarves waving in the wind, and sipping coffee at cafés. After a trip through the pharmacy and a take-away iced coffee, I headed to the bakery to meet F. We both ordered some cake and sat outside to chat. F told me about his life adventures, which made me laugh, and I softened a bit. I cringed slightly at his joke about post-birth vaginal stitches, but to his credit, he promised not to cross the line anymore.

That evening, I offered to cook and threw together a quick pesto pasta. After booking an Airbnb for the following two nights, I spent another hour reading and then happily started packing my bags for the next morning. I survived! F hadn’t done anything inappropriate. He’d actually been quite nice — a bit odd, sure — but respectful. I even started noticing that, despite being old and worn out, his apartment was actually clean. Yes, the cabinets were sticky, but the floors, kitchen surfaces, and especially the bathroom were spotless. I learned he’d once had a flat with a beautiful view by the river, but after his work contract had ended, he lost his job and had to move. I softened again. That night I slept like a baby and woke up nausea-free. My throat was a bit sore — a hint of it had already shown up the day before — but all in all, I made it through my first Couchsurfing experience alive! I thanked F for his hospitality and headed cheerfully towards the Tornio bus station. Time to change countries and sleep between clean sheets!

Greetings from the Swedish border,
Kärt