I'm home, after being the Guest of Honor at a tremendous convention in Espoo, near Helsinki, Finland.
Then full report is on my LiveJournal page -- it's long -- but here's a recap of the after-con sauna party!
John
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Back in Espoo, the full scope of the convention-ending party is starting to become clear. It's taken a while, but I finally believe I've figured out what an actual Finnish sauna entails.
"Errrr...we didn't pack swimming trunks," I comment to Judith.
"Uh...swimming trunks. Sure. Right. Swimming trunks. Uh-huh," she replies, taking only a towel and a pair of flip-flops with her.
Certain American con guests in years past have gotten pretty uptight at the thought of giant coed sauna parties. Some even refused to participate entirely (I will name no names, but apparently this is a source of some amusement to our Finnish hosts). Now, if inhibition was poker, growing up in England and moving to the American midwest (as I have) essentially means I've been dealt the Royal Flush on the flop, so the thought of gettingnekkid with (admitedly friendly) strangers DOES give me pause for thought.
"Don't worry," said Anu. "Many people don't get undressed. I probably won't."
"Just don't be surprised if a number of naked women grab you and drag you towards the sauna," said one of the many very attractive women at the party who, presumably, would at some point be among those grabbing me and dragging me towards a sauna.
It was also around this point that I discovered that Judith hadn't actually packed ME a towel. Fortunately, in a very Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy-like moment, someone offers to lend me one. Finns always know where their towels are, and are apparently ready to aid a towel-less traveler at the drop of hat (along with the rest of your clothes).
In all honesty, though, when surrounded by fabulously friendly Finns who have been filling you with fresh grilled Norwegian salmon and no small amount of licorice-flavored vodka, stripping to one's birthday suit and entering a blistering-hot sauna with a few dozen newfound pals of varying sexes certainly doesn't seem as odd as it might at other times. At the very least it just meant that I could finally stop drawing Munchkin cards for people ("sorry -- the pen seems to be slipping in the steam") and that HAD to count for something.
This is the tipping point.
"Mind if I borrow that towel?" I say, quickly.
At any rate, I've got to admit that the whole sauna experience was relaxing, invigorating and refreshing, once you were comfortable with the fact that every single pore in your body seemed ready to explode inside this steam-engorged Zanadu. The dip in the sea afterwards (followed by a trip to a second sauna, wood-fired this time) was equally pleasant, though I didn't expect to be followed by an entourage of about 20 when I announced I was heading to the water.
It's all about context, I guess. The entire sauna deal just made sense on this brilliant summer night, in a place as close to the arctic circle as I've ever come, where the sun sets only in theory and the vodka tastes of salty licorice.
Refusing to sauna also, I reasoned, might be seen as an insult to my hosts. Refusing to NakedCoed Seaman Wrestle (NCSM), on the other hand, could certainly hold no such social stigma (save for one or two folks who appeared to be entirely too into it). Anyway, it's just the sort of things English Public Schools DO teach you to refuse to do, certain D.H. Lawrence movie adaptations to the contrary.
So I quickly dressed before the NCSM competition got underway. I'm funny like that.
"You must do it," one woman pleaded. "It's a tradition!"
"Somebody said it just started up at last year's con!" I cry, for some strange reason believing that facts would be of some use in a discussion such as this.
"So it's a new tradition," she countered. "And nobody takes any photos during it!"
"Love , LOVE to, you know," I explained, while flashbulbs went off madly as the the game began. "But my arm's really tired from all those Munchkin signings, you know, it just wouldn't be a fair competition."
"You can borrow my towel."
"I'm fine, really," I said. "PUT THAT BACK ON!"
What else of note? Only that Janne Lonnqvist and a few other guys from <a href=http://www.fantasiapelit.f><b>Fantasiapelit take me into the parking lot to show me an authentic Suomi machine pistol from the Winter War between the Soviet Union and Finland. Though it's been disabled, it's VERY cool to hold, and thoughts of building up 25 mm skirmish armies for this conflict when I get past home flutter through my mind.
Around 2 a.m, Judith and I wandered back to the hotel, and Anu headed to her car. The beer had run out, and dawn -- at this latitude, anyway -- was just around the corner.
"I'm really proud of you," said Anu. "I didn't think you'd sauna."
"Nor did I," added Judith. "If I had, I'd have brought you a towel."
"No problem," I said, quietly pleased that I'd surprised both Judith and Anu. "Just...uh...let ME pack, next time. OK?"
Then full report is on my LiveJournal page -- it's long -- but here's a recap of the after-con sauna party!
John
------------------------------------
Back in Espoo, the full scope of the convention-ending party is starting to become clear. It's taken a while, but I finally believe I've figured out what an actual Finnish sauna entails.
"Errrr...we didn't pack swimming trunks," I comment to Judith.
"Uh...swimming trunks. Sure. Right. Swimming trunks. Uh-huh," she replies, taking only a towel and a pair of flip-flops with her.
Certain American con guests in years past have gotten pretty uptight at the thought of giant coed sauna parties. Some even refused to participate entirely (I will name no names, but apparently this is a source of some amusement to our Finnish hosts). Now, if inhibition was poker, growing up in England and moving to the American midwest (as I have) essentially means I've been dealt the Royal Flush on the flop, so the thought of gettingnekkid with (admitedly friendly) strangers DOES give me pause for thought.
"Don't worry," said Anu. "Many people don't get undressed. I probably won't."
"Just don't be surprised if a number of naked women grab you and drag you towards the sauna," said one of the many very attractive women at the party who, presumably, would at some point be among those grabbing me and dragging me towards a sauna.
It was also around this point that I discovered that Judith hadn't actually packed ME a towel. Fortunately, in a very Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy-like moment, someone offers to lend me one. Finns always know where their towels are, and are apparently ready to aid a towel-less traveler at the drop of hat (along with the rest of your clothes).
In all honesty, though, when surrounded by fabulously friendly Finns who have been filling you with fresh grilled Norwegian salmon and no small amount of licorice-flavored vodka, stripping to one's birthday suit and entering a blistering-hot sauna with a few dozen newfound pals of varying sexes certainly doesn't seem as odd as it might at other times. At the very least it just meant that I could finally stop drawing Munchkin cards for people ("sorry -- the pen seems to be slipping in the steam") and that HAD to count for something.
This is the tipping point.
"Mind if I borrow that towel?" I say, quickly.
At any rate, I've got to admit that the whole sauna experience was relaxing, invigorating and refreshing, once you were comfortable with the fact that every single pore in your body seemed ready to explode inside this steam-engorged Zanadu. The dip in the sea afterwards (followed by a trip to a second sauna, wood-fired this time) was equally pleasant, though I didn't expect to be followed by an entourage of about 20 when I announced I was heading to the water.
It's all about context, I guess. The entire sauna deal just made sense on this brilliant summer night, in a place as close to the arctic circle as I've ever come, where the sun sets only in theory and the vodka tastes of salty licorice.
Refusing to sauna also, I reasoned, might be seen as an insult to my hosts. Refusing to NakedCoed Seaman Wrestle (NCSM), on the other hand, could certainly hold no such social stigma (save for one or two folks who appeared to be entirely too into it). Anyway, it's just the sort of things English Public Schools DO teach you to refuse to do, certain D.H. Lawrence movie adaptations to the contrary.
So I quickly dressed before the NCSM competition got underway. I'm funny like that.
"You must do it," one woman pleaded. "It's a tradition!"
"Somebody said it just started up at last year's con!" I cry, for some strange reason believing that facts would be of some use in a discussion such as this.
"So it's a new tradition," she countered. "And nobody takes any photos during it!"
"Love , LOVE to, you know," I explained, while flashbulbs went off madly as the the game began. "But my arm's really tired from all those Munchkin signings, you know, it just wouldn't be a fair competition."
"You can borrow my towel."
"I'm fine, really," I said. "PUT THAT BACK ON!"
What else of note? Only that Janne Lonnqvist and a few other guys from <a href=http://www.fantasiapelit.f><b>Fantasiapelit take me into the parking lot to show me an authentic Suomi machine pistol from the Winter War between the Soviet Union and Finland. Though it's been disabled, it's VERY cool to hold, and thoughts of building up 25 mm skirmish armies for this conflict when I get past home flutter through my mind.
Around 2 a.m, Judith and I wandered back to the hotel, and Anu headed to her car. The beer had run out, and dawn -- at this latitude, anyway -- was just around the corner.
"I'm really proud of you," said Anu. "I didn't think you'd sauna."
"Nor did I," added Judith. "If I had, I'd have brought you a towel."
"No problem," I said, quietly pleased that I'd surprised both Judith and Anu. "Just...uh...let ME pack, next time. OK?"
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