Every One down in Heidelberg liked Christmas a lot… But the German, who lived just north in Finland, did not. The German was disappointed in Christmas, the whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why, no one quite knows the reason. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight (indeed, I had just bought these new winter boots and they kept rubbing my left heel to the point that I now always had to stick a sock in there, but it still hurt, but my other shoes were not watertight). It could be, perhaps, that his head wasn’t screwed on just right (in that my neck kept getting cold in this weather, since I had neglected to buy a scarf). But I think, the most likely reason I fear: the expected magic just did not appear.

Ah yes, Finland: the land of Santa. With Saint Nick sitting in his pretty bomb shelter in Rovaniemi, right on the arctic circle, I expected Father Christmas to exude his magic over the entire country, to transform Finland into a mystical land of reindeer, twinkling lights, and fairy tales. But sitting here in Espoo, I felt little of that magic. It had stopped snowing just a few days before Christmas and a night of rain had melted away the solid foot of snow covering Finland in a matter of hours. What we were left with instead was a brown landscape of dead trees, mud, and slush, with the latter turning into ice upon nightfall. However, my spirit was as of yet unbroken, and I had decided to head into Helsinki to partake in one of my favorite activities, at least back in Heidelberg: visiting the Christmas market.

If I had to choose a place that feels most like the center of Finland, it would have to be Helsinki Cathedral. Perched on top of a raised plateau right in the center of the city, its shiny white pillars and green domes dominate the, admittedly unimpressive, Helsinki skyline. Here I had walked the two minutes from the nearest metro stop. Now, looking down the wide steps at the expansive square right at the foot of the cathedral, I can’t help but feel a bit of holiday magic. The Helsinki Christmas market twinkles below. I admire the shining lights strung between the many stalls, arranged in neat rows around a large, and concerningly crooked, Christmas tree. The lit-up facades of the surrounding buildings, the many people, and the hum of the crowd, make this square at the heart of Finland seem very bright and alive in a very un-Finnish way. ‘This doesn’t look half-bad!’, I think as I gingerly tiptoe down the frozen steps.

Not even five minutes later I reach the bottom of the staircase unharmed and step into the market. Almost immediately I find that here, on the inside, the magical atmosphere I had perceived from above is far less apparent. I walk past dozens of plain wooden stalls, all seeming to sell the exact same things: knitted socks and carved wooden trinkets. Each stall looks identical to the next, and they all seem to be aiming at exactly one demographic: tourists. As I reach the other side of the market, a new species of stall catches my eyes: the Glögi shop, lined with bottles of various shapes and hues. Welcoming the variation, I stop at one of them and the shopkeeper offers, of course in English, a thimble of a reddish liquid.

Unfortunately, Glögi does not live up to its undeniably epic name. It is a sweet, non-alcoholic juice mix, typically based on black currant. Compared to the wonderful hot, spiced Glühwein, or the epic Feuerzangenbowle from home, it is a poor imitation. Instead, as I later learned, a number of steps are required to transform Glögi into a unique and interesting drink: First, choose a non-standard (non-boring) base Glögi, such as mixtures with cinnamon or habaneros. Second, add dark rum. Now heat the mixture to around 70C and pour it into a thick-walled and stylized glass jug. Finally, garnish with sliced almonds and raisins. This will set you back 12 euros at a bar, but it is worth the experience. On the other hand, a splash of cold Glögi out of a bottle at the Christmas market is worth its price too, but only if it is free.

After completing a thoroughly disappointing circle of the market, I am back where I started. I now realize that there is an inner, cordoned-off section at the center. Two men in uniform flank a wooden gate but they don’t stop me as I nervously step through. Immediately, the density of people doubles, and I quickly realize why. Here are the shops selling goods of actual interest: food and drink. I see everything from pastries to soup to reindeer, as well as some of the objectively terrible Finnish Christmas foods: different types of dirt-colored mush made from potato, carrot, or rutabaga. Unfortunately, lines are quite long, and the number of people greatly outnumber the spots where one could eat, so I settle for a stall advertising ‘Glühwein’. Coincidentally, I seemed to have found the only shop with a non-English speaking vendor - on account of him being German. Finally, a real ‘Weihnachtsmarkt’ experience, just like home.

Sipping my Glühwein, I make my way back outside but am promptly stopped by the two guards at the gate. No drinks outside! Apparently, these two fellows are not bouncers, safeguarding the desirable center of the market, but watchdogs, protecting the rest of Helsinki from a crowd of potentially intoxicated tourists. This must be part of the famously strict Finnish alcohol policy I had heard about, but not yet explored. It fit with the general flair of the place: highly ordered and regulated, clean, somewhat stiff and lifeless. There is a hum of people, but it is not loud, and I suddenly realize that there is no music playing. There are no people singing, neither drunks, nor a carol. In fact, there seems to be hardly any religious symbolism at all! But I wonder: These are all aspects that I typically appreciate in my environment. In fact, this atmosphere was what had made me feel understood and welcome when first arriving in Finland, why I loved Finnish shopping centers, what made the country feel modern and sophisticated. So why was I so unhappy with Finnish Christmas?

And the German with his Glühwein, slowly growing cold, stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?” “It came without Jesus! It came without hymns! It came without Jingle Bells, elves, or drunk Finns!” And he puzzled and puzzled, till his puzzler was sore. Then the German thought something he hadn’t before! “Maybe Christmas”, he thought, “shouldn’t look like a Finnish store.” “Maybe Christmas … perhaps … should be a little bit more.”