Is it me or is it Sweden?

After happily skipping away from the Irish Santa’s home, I decided to book an Airbnb in Haparanda for two nights. My original plan was to spend two nice days camping in a Finnish town called Tornio near the Finland–Sweden border, but after my strange experience in Oulu, I wanted a room with my own bed, clean sheets, do laundry, wash myself, and rest. Later, it turned out to be the right choice as on the first night there was a thunderstorm and heavy rain, and on the second night, very strong wind. I arrived in the twin town of Tornio–Haparanda quite early, 11:30 by Finnish time, but since my accommodation was on the Swedish side, it was actually 10:30. Official Airbnb check-in was at 16:00, so I had more than enough time to kill. I asked the host to let me know if the room became available earlier. Meanwhile, I visited Hesburger and Espresso House on the Finnish side and did some research for a grant application. Luckily, around 13:30 I got a text saying the room was ready and the host would be home for lunch—so I packed up and staggered over with all my bags.

The Airbnb was in a cute, two-story blue and white wooden house with a garden and a terrace. The host J, a man in his 40s, greeted me cheerfully at the door. He looked like your typical Finnish man—balding, bearded, with a slight beer belly. With a friendly smile and a slightly overenthusiastic nervousness, he started showing me around the house. My room was one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, with a shared bathroom, a cozy living room, a big kitchen, and a terrace behind my window. J was chatting the entire time while making my bed. It amused me a little that he only made one side of the bed and gave me one pillow—but then again, how much does a girl for a good night sleep, right? In the basement, there was a shower room and a sauna, which I was kindly allowed to use. But what brought me the most joy was the sight of a washing machine! I later learned that the man himself actually lived in the basement, his teenage son and a tenant lived upstairs—so, it was a bit of a madhouse. I asked if the next day there was some kind of a holiday, as I needed to go and buy a tarp for my hammock. “Yes, in Sweden.” – “So, the shops will be closed?” – “Yes, in Sweden, some shops are closed.” I found it odd that he emphasized “in Sweden,” considering we are in Sweden… Then it dawned on me—Finnish shops are just 500 meters away and unaffected by Swedish national holidays!

After dropping off my luggage, I walked to the river for a little dip and then paid a visit to the grocery store. I stared blankly at the price tags and tried to figure out the simplest way to convert the prices. 100 SEK = 9 euros seemed quite straight forward, but I was still a bit confused. Back at the Airbnb, I hung my clothes outside to dry and laid down to rest my legs. The host was about to go to the liquor store to stock up for the four upcoming days off, so he asked if I wanted anything. I politely declined, shut the door, opened a window, and started watching Netflix, pantless and stretched out like a starfish. What a life! My bliss was unfortunately disrupted about 45 minutes later by a message from the host: “Sorry I was so stressed today. It’s been a lot of work—I’ll try to be more present for you tomorrow.” I felt my little bubble tightening. Umm. I don’t need you to be more present. You can be not at all present and I’ll be just fine. I locked the bedroom door for the night, just to put my mind at ease. Other than the thunderstorm that threw around my freshly washed underwear, I had a peaceful sleep.

In the morning, after a light breakfast I walked through the small town back to the river for a swim. God, how I love these wide, fast-flowing rivers so abundant in this region. I swam back and forth in the chilly water and sat down to slowly dress myself, elderly morning walkers giving my friendly smiles. Retirement might be my favorite type of lifestyle. Then, I went for a tarp hunt and finally found one at the local mega-ICA—win! Then I returned to my regular coffee shop workstation, when another message came in: “Are you home? I noticed your laundry fell down in the yard.” Crap, I hope he doesn’t start picking up my underwear. I thanked him and said I’d come home soon to take care of it myself. “You’re working??” – “Yes, working on the computer.” – “Ahaa, got it!” Back home, it was time for lunch and while I was waiting for the water to boil, I started picking up my laundry. Right then, J popped up with a broad smile and started shooting questions: “Oh, everything okay with the laundry? What do you do for work?” I tried explaining him the concepts of FysioDoula, Creative Incubator program, and my e-book project, but I knew it would only raise more questions. J’s eyes lit up and he started telling me how he and his friends were also starting a company! For some reason, he steered the conversation from children’s physiotherapy to child-rearing, traditional relationships, and our extremely individualistic society. I shifted from foot to foot under the hot sun, feeling increasingly annoyed by the conversation. I excused myself to go eat—which was also true. He continued mowing the lawn.

After lunch, I had just returned to my pantless siesta bliss, when I heard J call my name. Slightly annoyed, I cracked the door open and forced a polite smile. “Kärt, right, did I pronounce it correctly? Heh, I didn’t know Estonians had the letter ä—that’s why I didn’t think you were from Estonia! What else do you have—ö? And å?” It was mildly entertaining to hear him pronounce the letter ö, but I really just had one question—WHAT’S YOUR POINT? “Ah yes, and you’re a feminist, right? Oh, not in the modern sense? I really enjoyed talking to you—could we maybe chat more later?” Since “later” is a conveniently vague time, I agreed just to be left alone. “Shall I heat up the sauna for you later?” – “Sure, I’m going for a run anyway, would be nice,” I replied. Now let me sleep. After a power nap, I went for a run along the Haparanda River and took the time to think. Although I had been battling with a sore throat, runny nose, and a cough, something else was bothering me more. Even during my run, some creepy men stopped to stare, local drunks hollered at me, and I thought—dammit, how unfair that women can’t go jogging alone in peace. As if it’s my birthright to be harassed and constantly worry about my safety. Why is this normal?

I returned to the house in a cranky mood where the sauna was already waiting for me. I silently prayed that J wouldn’t suggest joining me—luckily, he didn’t. He kindly showed me to the private sauna and handed me a gray rag. I looked at it, puzzled. “For your butt!” he explained perkily. Oh, a butt towel, got it. I took a long, relaxing shower and opened the sauna door—only to find it cold. Uhh. I wrapped a towel tightly around and went to ask what’s going on. “No-no, it’s ready!” – “But it’s cold?” – “Yeah, but you go in, pour water, and lie down!” What… the heck? J filled a sauna bucket with water and enthusiastically steered my skeptical Estonian ass into the cold sauna. I glared at the heater and poured a ladleful—PSSHHHH—the sauna filled with hot steam. What the heck is this? A stove-steam sauna? I tossed in a few more ladles and laid down on the cool bench. I felt the hot humidity slowly envelop me, soothing my lungs. Pretty interesting, actually! Just as I was really starting to relax, there was a knock one the door: “Kärt, I have something for you!” I climbed down and J handed me a glass of cold wine with a cheerful smile. Ah, what a luxury service! I accepted the drink and returned to my beauty rituals.

After the sauna, I mellowed out, though the comedy of the situation didn’t let me fully relax. I started cooking dinner in the kitchen when the man appeared again: “I’m going to town to run some errands. I thought maybe you’d like to come along for a drive and see the town!” No, I don’t want to see the town… I declined politely, citing the late hour (7:30pm) and that I needed to eat, book my train ticket for tomorrow, and pack for a 5:45 AM departure. I was a little stuck as I actually did need his help with the train tickets. Somehow, however, we managed to talk past each other—I thought we were about to look at the tickets, he thought I was still going with him once my potatoes were cooked. In the end, I got my tickets (with minimal help from him), he poured me a glass of wine (which I declined), I began eating, and he left for his errands. Or so I thought. A little later, the disappointed man was back, poured himself a glass of wine, and took the opportunity to chat. I listened politely but felt detached and increasingly uncomfortable. After a while of chit-chat, the conversation suddenly took an unexpected turn: “You know, I noticed it right away—you’re very special. So different from Finnish or Swedish girls. And you can really talk. It’s very interesting.” Oh Jesus… “You know, I’ve read a lot. About psychology. And globalists. I listen to a lot of Jordan Peterson. You can’t talk to anyone about this—people instantly label you a radical!” After 15 minutes of listening to his monologue with no room for me to even get a word in, I’d had enough of the conspiracy nonsense. Yes, there was a time when I found such discussions interesting, but that was in 2021. Right now, I’m more interested in where I can eat, wash myself and sleep. I excused myself again and started packing. Of course, J was immediately at my door: “Don’t you want to talk more?” I pointed at my exploded pile of clothes on the bed and explained I really need to pack. He was looking around in my room for any last conversation topics and suddenly his eyes lit up: “Oh, Estonian passport—can I see? Very nice. You’re really so special—can I hug you?” God, will he ever stop? I gave him a quick hug and shut the door. APUAAAA. Five minutes later, I got two more texts about how he would’ve liked to talk more. In the morning, it was followed by a Jordan Peterson’s video link. I decided to ignore all his future attempts to contact me and quietly slip out the door at dawn. Free again!

I really hope annoying men won’t become the running theme of this trip—otherwise, I’ll soon be a proper bitch… But I continue in hope that kindness won’t be punished, and that consistent boundary-setting will be enough.

Greetings from Sweden,
Kärt