Savoring Heritage

A Memphis writer explores her daughter’s Finnish roots.

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Editor's Note: Travel is presently restricted to many foreign countries, but you can still take a virtual trip. Even if you never make the journey to Finland, you'll enjoy following along this personal journey through one family's past. Aisling Mäki's story is just the long read you're looking for. 

Finland may not be at the top of your travel wish list, but the Nordic country has plenty to recommend it for travelers who can afford the journey. It’s arctic but with four distinct seasons, it invented the word sauna, it modestly calls itself the Land of a Thousand Lakes when it has more than 187,000, it’s clean, it’s safe, it’s high-tech, it’s cultured, and you might see the aurora borealis. And the people are grand. But what compelled me to go was the chance to show my daughter some of her heritage.

My knowledge of Finland was nearly non-existent in the late nineties, when my college boyfriend introduced me to Finnish film auteur Aki Kaurismäki’s Leningrad Cowboys Go America. The film centers on a fictitious Russian rock band, portrayed by real-life Finnish actor-musicians, that travels the United States in search of the fame that eluded them in their native Siberia.

After a stint in New York, the Leningrad Cowboys, coiffed with absurdly large quiff hairstyles and outfitted with equally pointy winklepicker shoes, try their luck in Memphis, jamming out a heavily accented rendition of Danny & The Juniors’ “Rock And Roll Is Here To Stay” during an impromptu gig at the Lonesome Bar. The real-life Midtown dive, owned by late American Rockabilly Hall of Famer Colonel Robert Morris, who made a cameo appearance in Kaurismäki’s film, occupied a since-demolished building that stood in what’s now the parking lot of the old Toad Hall Antiques building at the corner of Central and Cooper.

As a writer and former journalist with a lifelong curiosity about other cultures and languages, I quickly began immersing myself in all things Suomi — what Finns call their homeland.

I didn’t know much about Memphis back then either, but 20 years later ended up living a few blocks from where Kaurismäki filmed Leningrad Cowboys. There, in our East Parkway duplex, my daughter Brídín and I marveled at the results of her DNA test, which showed she was roughly 20 percent Finnish — her next largest ethnic composition after the 50 percent Irish she inherited from me.

My 100 percent Irish ethnicity estimate was unsurprising, given the harp emblazoned on the cover of my second passport; both sides of my family have resided in a rural, Irish-speaking region of County Donegal for as far back as anyone knows. As a first-generation American, I’ve always known a great deal about my lineage, but like millions of other Americans, my former husband, Amos, grew up in the dark about much of his.

I went looking for answers, starting with my daughter’s grandfather and following through with relatives and DNA matches to guide the way. The family tree led us to wonderful relations and valuable genealogical resources.

As a writer and former journalist with a lifelong curiosity about other cultures and languages, I quickly began immersing myself in all things Suomi — what Finns call their homeland. I began to teach myself Finnish; soaked up Finnish film, television, and music; learned how to prepare traditional foods; and read books such as The Kalevala, the Finnish epic poem based on the nation’s folklore and mythology.

On Our Way

When I learned my late mother’s O’Boyle family was planning a reunion in Ireland, I jumped at the chance to book a side-trip to Finland. We brought with us Brídín’s honorary grandmother — her paternal aunt, Diane Cofer, a retired Memphis librarian who enjoyed traveling in her younger years but regrettably never made it to the Nordic countries.

We were to fly to Dublin and then connect to a flight to Helsinki. After our Finland stay, we’d go back to Dublin for the family reunion. But bad weather threw the plan into chaos and — but for the intervention of the kindest of strangers and having to leave some of our baggage with them in Dublin — we would not have made it to the Finnish capital.

We finally landed in Helsinki around midnight, worn out but not too exhausted to notice it’s clearly a legal requirement for Finnish passport control officers to be devastatingly handsome. With no baggage to claim, we made it out of the airport quickly and hopped a late-night bus to our hotel in the Hakaniemi district. The city’s transportation system is easy to navigate. The most challenging part for all three of us was to avoid striking up a conversation with the Finns whose seats faced ours on the 40-minute bus ride. In addition to being the product of a boisterous Irish family, I’ve spent the past 17 years living in Memphis, where it’s socially criminal not to strike up conversations with strangers. We were bursting to talk to these quiet Finns, to ask them questions about their country, but we understood the Nordic social rules against small-talk with strangers on public transportation.

Exploring Helsinki

The Hilton Helsinki Strand was just a short walk from our bus stop. Located within walking distance of the city center, it features exceptional (and friendly) customer service, waterfront views, an outstanding Nordic breakfast buffet, and a rooftop pool and sauna (Finland has two million saunas for a population of just 5.3 million). After our first sleep in Finland, we got off to a late and groggy start thanks to jetlag and changes in time, light, latitude, and attitude.

First on our loose itinerary was a visit to Helkatti, a cat café whose popularity is fueled by tasty hot beverages and feline Instagram stars with names like Kalle, Tyylilyyli, and Nestori. We enjoyed some headbutts and purrs while fueling up on “catpuccinos,” tea, and an assortment of Nordic cheeses, rye breads, fruits and homemade jams.

After receiving a good swatting as we washed up at the bathroom sink, we headed out to explore the capital, starting with nearby Kamppi, a popular shopping and dining district that’s home to art museums like the eclectic Amos Rex and unique architectural pieces like the ecumenical Kamppi Chapel. Set aside as a place of refuge and reflection in one of the busiest areas of the city, the chapel’s bare walls, lack of windows, and deafening silence made me feel more anxious than calm, so I crossed the square to investigate a restaurant called Memphis. Despite its name, Memphis is not a barbecue joint; it’s a bar and restaurant with an eclectic menu, including a large selection of vegan and vegetarian food, which would have been right up our alley had we not already eaten. I did, however, enjoy a nice conversation with an affable bartender, who told me she didn’t know how the restaurant had acquired its name, that she’d never met anyone from Memphis, and that she was sure we’d enjoy Pori, my daughter’s ancestral hometown, located three hours away.

Leaving Kamppi, we set off seeking iconic Helsinki sights, like the Uspenski Cathedral, Senate Square, and Market Square. Most Finnish workers enjoy an extended holiday for the entire month of July, in this nation that values a healthy work-life balance, and many businesses shut down for the entire month. Finns flock to Helsinki’s parks and patios, and it’s not unusual to see folks indulging in some weekday day-drinking.

We stumbled upon the Esplanadi, one of the most beautiful public parks I’ve seen anywhere — a magical summer swirl of colorful flowers and tall topiary bushes nestled under the bluest Northern sky. A lone man making African music on a balafon provided a cheery summer soundtrack for children eating ice cream and students picnicking in the cool grass. We spent much of our time in the park talking to strangers — a pair of retired teachers from Lapland; a mother taking a break while her little ones burned off some energy; a young man in biking gear who offered to share his fresh peas and strawberries from the farmers market. Contrary to their reputation for being reserved, the Finns we met were overwhelmingly warm, open to conversation, and had a tremendous sense of humor.

Leaving the Esplanadi in an afternoon heat I wasn’t expecting in Helsinki, where temperatures had reached 85 degrees and the freckles on my arms were quickly multiplying, we headed just a few minutes east to Kauppatori, the city’s lively market square. Set on the waterfront, where ferries come and go to and from Stockholm, Tallinn, and St. Petersburg, the market is adjacent to Helsinki City Hall and the Presidential Palace, where Trump and Putin had held their summit just two days earlier. Finland takes the second spot on Reporters Without Borders’ World Press Freedom Index (the U.S ranks 48th), and as a former journalist, I was wonderstruck by the hundreds of billboards placed throughout the city by Helsingin Sanomat, Finland’s largest newspaper, condemning attacks on the media by the two world leaders.

Sauna culture is interwoven with Finnish identity, so we weren’t surprised to see what seemed like half the population of Helsinki at Löyly, a popular public sauna owned by actor Jasper Pääkkönen of BlacKKKlansman and Vikings fame. As we made our way to Skywheel Helsinki, which, by the way, has its own sauna gondola, we watched Finns with freshly unclogged pores moving back and forth between the sauna building and the steps leading down to the chilly waters of the Baltic Sea.

I felt I was exactly where I was supposed to be, reconnecting my daughter with her family’s rich Finnish heritage that had been largely lost for so long.

We then walked the short distance uphill to the beautiful Uspenski Cathedral, the largest Orthodox church in Western Europe. As a cradle Catholic, I found the ornately decorated interior of the church spectacular, with its magnificent iconostasis and domed ceiling and chandeliers.

While Diane and Brídín took a break on a park bench, I set out on my own for Senate Square, home to the iconic Helsinki Lutheran Cathedral, the starkly white, neoclassical building designed by German architect Carl Ludvig Engel. For the first time since I’d arrived in Finland, I had a little time to myself, and in a breathtaking setting. I could’ve sat on the steps for hours, listening to tourists converse in numerous languages while watching the seagulls fight for a prime landing spot on the adjacent statue of Alexander II.

We ended our whirlwind tour of Helsinki with dinner at Lappi Ravintola, which specializes in Lapland-style cuisine and was featured by the late Anthony Bourdain on the Finland episode of No Reservations. I’m so used to having to spell my surname, I began to do so when asked about my reservation, which resulted in an odd look from a restaurant employee who said, “Yes, this is a most common name in Finland.” Lappi’s wood cabin interior, servers dressed in traditional Sámi clothing, and signature dishes like roasted elk and sauteed reindeer with lingonberries give visitors a taste of Finland’s Arctic North. Our little pescatarian-vegetarian party stuck with traditional salmon soup, Arctic char with barley and vegetables, beetroot-barley risotto with seasonal mushrooms, and lingonberry mousse.

On our evening stroll back to the hotel, I spotted some familiar faces while passing a small park. There stood a memorial statue to Elias Lönnrot, the collector of Finnish oral poetry who pieced together folklore to create The Kalevala, which later influenced J.R.R. Tolkien’s stories. The 1902 bronze statue, created by Emil Wikström, features Väinämönen, the hero and demigod believed to have inspired Tolkien’s wizard Gandalf, seated to Lönnrot’s left, while the nymph, Impi, sits to his right. In that moment, stumbling upon those familiar characters, I felt I was exactly where I was supposed to be, reconnecting my daughter with her family’s rich Finnish heritage that had been largely lost for so long.

Turku, Rauma, Pori

The next morning, we rented a car and drove west. Our first stop was Turku, Finland’s former capital, oldest city, and home to Michael Monroe, vocalist of glam metal band Hanoi Rocks, for folks who dug glam metal in the ’80s. The Russians ruled Finland from 1809 until 1917, when the nation gained its independence. Prior to that, the Finns were colonized by Sweden, which ruled from the thirteenth century until it ceded Finland to Russia in 1809. Finland continues to be home to a Swedish-speaking minority. Turku is an officially bilingual city, where 5.2 percent of the population uses Swedish as their mother-tongue, and the first place in Finland where I heard Swedish spoken.

Leaving Turku, we stopped in the harbor town of Rauma, whose immaculately preserved wooden buildings, cobblestone roads, and a bevy of antique cars give it the look of a film set. Rauma, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, was given its town privileges by ruling Sweden in 1442, which makes it the third oldest town in Finland.

It was evening when we arrived in Pori, the capital of the Satakunta region, from which Brídín’s ancestors departed Finland at the turn of the twentieth century to embark on their new American life.

Pori’s Swedish name, “Björneborg,” and Latin name, “Arctopolis,” both mean Bear City, which is decidedly metal. Each July, Pori hosts an international jazz fest, one of Europe’s oldest, which through the years has attracted many performers with Memphis connections, including B.B. King, Isaac Hayes, Mavis Staples, and Chuck Berry. When we arrived, the festival was in full swing, with music fans from around the world decked out in sun hats, summer dresses, and concert t-shirts, making their way to the concert fields carrying chairs and picnic blankets. The large crowds and heavy traffic made it somewhat difficult for me to navigate the city, and I found myself repeatedly lost on the way to Cousin Tiina’s house.

One wrong turn took me to a familiar building: Kauppakeskus Puuvilla, the region’s largest and very modern shopping mall, energized by solar panels and geothermal warming systems. But it was once a factory that employed Brídín’s third great-grandfather, Efraim Elliason Majamäki, whose hand was severed in a factory accident. Members of my Finnish genealogy Facebook group found and translated a copy of a newspaper story in which Efraim was interviewed.

I pulled up next to the shopping mall and told Brídín to stand next to the building for a photo op.

“At the mall? That’s kind of weird, Mom,” she said.

“It used to be a factory, where your third great-granddad lost his hand in a machine mishap.”

“OMG, Mom,” she said, but still obliged.

Pori is a picturesque port city on the Gulf of Bothnia, featuring impressive architecture, well-manicured green spaces, and quaint waterfront views that certainly exceed those of my unintentionally morbid shopping mall photoshoot. The city is also home to the Pori Theatre, the first Finnish-language theater, and the hometown of Angry Birds creator Peter Vesterbacka, a slew of well-known ice hockey players, and basketball player Pekka Markkanen, father of Lauri “The Finnisher” Markkanen of the Chicago Bulls, whom my daughter once met after a Memphis Grizzlies game.

After being lost all over Pori for a considerable amount of time and incredibly late for dinner at Cousin Tiina’s house, we needed rescuing. Tiina and her husband Karri located us, based on descriptions of our surroundings, and we followed them back to their house.

Tiina, who runs her own cooking blog, “Keittiönnoita” or “Kitchen Witch,” prepared a typical Finnish dinner of salmon, baby dill potatoes, and vegetables, followed by special dessert to welcome us to Pori — pastries baked, colored and decorated to look like Angry Birds. We immediately felt at ease with Tiina, whose warm, welcoming personality, talkative nature, and boisterous laughter defied the Finnish stereotype. The extroverted Tiina, who was named in honor of Tennessee music legend Tina Turner, joked that she must’ve accidentally been vaccinated with a gramophone needle.

Pirkalla

It was well after 10 p.m. but still daylight when we left Pori to begin our 1.5-hour journey to our Airbnb on the outskirts of Pirkkala, near Nokia.

With its cherry-red kitchen cabinet facades, delicate white duvets and rugs, chandelier-lit parlor, and quiet location in the woods, our 100-year-old rented wooden farmhouse looked like the sleeping place of fairytale characters. After we figured out how to use the eco-friendly composting toilet, we found ourselves relaxing for the first time in days. Brídín and I don’t go on relaxing vacations; we embark on whirlwind cultural explorations in which we’re constantly moving and learning. I realized that, as much as I enjoyed exploring Finland’s towns and cities, the solitude and serenity of the forest was exactly what we needed at that moment.

Despite heading to bed well after 1 a.m., we awoke earlier and savored our last Finnish breakfast — dark rye bread, warm brie, smoked salmon, fresh berries, coffee, and mustikka- mehu (blueberry nectar), a popular Finnish drink and my favorite Suomi gastronomic discovery.

Finland is known as the Land of a Thousand Lakes, though it actually has 187,888 officially listed lakes — more than any other country. So, when Brídín attempted to roll back into bed following breakfast, I insisted we take a morning dip in the nearby lake, followed by a few minutes in the public sauna hut, like a pair of wild and crazy Finns enjoying their July holidays at the summer cabin. She begrudgingly obliged, and we walked down to the small, empty beach bordering the still waters of the lake, surrounded by lush evergreen forest. We swam under the crystal-clear water and floated on our backs with our arms outstretched, serenaded by birdsong and touched by brief flirtations with sunshine through the nimbus clouds rolling in from the North. Those moments alone with her, floating in a Finnish lake, are the most valuable memories of our time in this Nordic country that reconnected Brídín with her roots while stealing her mother’s heart.