Summary: An unlikely meeting forms a new international friendship
Forty years ago I spent one summer in Finland as an exchange student. It was in a small, beautiful town of about 30,000 called Savonlinna. Located in the Saimaa Lakeland area of Finland, the town is a series of interconnected islands with a beautiful 15th century fortress, Olavinlinna.
I have been back only once, way back in 1989, and I have never met anyone from this town since.
Finnish is an unusual language, related to no Slavic, Germanic, or Romance language, it’s distantly related to Hungarian. Finns and Estonians can sort of understand each other.
Finns, like most Scandinavians learn English (often speaking it better than some native English speakers). So their language is rarely heard and even more rarely recognized and understood.
During my summer in Finland, I learned a few basic phrases, how to count, and how to swear (swearing in Finnish is really handy — I’ve only been busted once in 40 years).
So, what has Finnish or Savonlinna to do with Madeira? Nothing. Or so I thought.
While on Madeira, we enjoyed a lovely private tour of the north and western portions of the Island. We viewed the rugged sheer cliffs on the north side of the island, felt the mist and spray of a waterfall, and visited several quaint towns on the north coast.
Finally, our driver delivered us to the beautiful Quinta do Barbusano winery in Sao Vicente, Madeira. Sao Vicente has under 6000 inhabitants and at the northwest corner of Madeira is at the opposite side from Funchal.
The tasting room of the winery enjoys a gorgeous panoramic view of the valley and the steep hills covered with rows of grapevines.
I often listen to hear what languages I can recognize. On our trip, the most common non-Portuguese languages I heard were mainly English, German, and Spanish. On occasion I’d hear French, Swedish, Norwegian, and Italian.
As we waited for the group to assemble for a tour of the hillside vineyards, I heard an unusual, yet vaguely familiar tongue. Could it be Finnish? The more I listened, the more certain I was.
I approached one fellow in a group of four and asked, “Suomalainen?” (“Finnish?” — maybe not the most polite or proper wording, but it was the best I could muster).
When they nodded yes, I explained that I had spent a summer in Savonlinna, Finland, when I was in high school
“We’re from Savonlinna!” his wife exclaimed, and we both laughed and marveled at the unlikelihood of our meeting. As we chatted, more Finnish words and phrases came back from the recesses of my memory, and I recognized ruefully that I knew more Finnish than Portuguese.
We hiked through and under the grapevines together. On such a steep and uneven terrain punctuated with stone walls, the grapes can only be tended to and harvested by hand. I had to duck constantly; this workplace definitely favors a shorter stature.
We returned to the tasting room to escape the sun and heat.
During a lovely lunch we were served several wines, both white and red. Our espetada was delivered on bay laurel skewers. With dessert we were served 5-year-old Madeira wine.
I went over and chatted with the four Finns at the next table. The wife of the Savonlinna couple came to meet and chat with Annie. They are retired and spend their summers in Finland and winters in Valencia, Spain.
We delighted getting acquainted, and truly hope to meet them again.
Blatant Calm 