The Phantom Reindeer

So I'm driving happily along, back to Helsinki, a steady diet of gas station coffee and black licorice, listening to the only radio station in Finland, which is like listening to a Britney Spears/ Justin Timberlake mix on repeat, and yes I am slowly descending into insanity...

Anyways, I'm driving along when a car in the oncoming lane starts flashing his lights like crazy. That's nice of him, I think. Must be a Poliisa. And I'm right on, if by poliisa you mean big monster reindeer in the middle of the road.

For those of you imagining a baby-faced Disney character let me clarify: This guy is a Beast. He is the King Kong of reindeer, the Godzilla of reindeer, the mafia boss of reindeer. This guy beat Rudolph up. I can't be sure, but I'm pretty sure he has a tattoo on his left haunch that said "Bruiser."

Bruiser clearly owns this stretch of road. He is pawing the pavement and lowering his antlers and assuming the attack position. He is planning to either kill or mate with me and my rental car, which can best be described as a shiny black European golf cart.

If you've never seen a reindeer, they have these black markings around their eyes which are nature's way of indicating toughness and general bad-assedness. They also make the reindeer look a little...ghostly. And I try to keep her under control, but it's times like this that Superstitious Liza really makes herself heard.

"Liza," says Superstitious Liza. "I don't think that's even a reindeer. That is a phantom."
"I'm going to die with an antler through my esophagus," says Rational Liza.
"It's the ghost of that snail you squashed in St. Gallen!" says Superstitious Liza.

And it's true, I squashed the snail. It was awful. It made the most horrid crunching noise I've ever heard, which is approximately the same noise that my rental car will make when Bruiser crushes it around my puny pulp of a body.

"This is retribution," says Superstitious Liza. "Snail killer!"
"Stay cool, Campbell," says Rational Liza. "STAY COOL."

Then I notice some pattern to Bruiser's furious pacing and posturing. Every couple of minutes, he circles around to his left, leaving his patch of road for a second. And with Rational Liza behind the wheel, a second is all that is needed. Next time Bruiser leaves his post to circle around, I gun it. He thinks about throwing himself in my line, but hesitates a little too long and I am off, free at last, free at last, and poor Bruiser is just a bad memory in my rearview mirror, blocking the road like a big furry tollbooth with horns.

I'd like to just forget about what happened next, but in the interest of full disclosure I must confess. Timberlake was just about to make me believe in magic when a tiny black speck appeared, hopping across the road.

"If you hit that frog you go straight to hell," warns Superstitious Liza. The frog stops. Does a double take. Cuts right. Cuts left. Cuts right, right, lefty right left.
"What the hell, frog??" says Rational Liza.
"SWERVE!" says Superstitious Liza. "MISS IT! MISS IT! I CAN'T LOOK!!"

I swear I tried, really I did, but I'm not totally sure the frog came out of there alive. And if a squashed snail came back as Bruiser the killer reindeer, then you can find me and Superstitious Liza hiding in a secret cave until this frog thing blows over.

The Wilds of Finland

In a stroke of genius, I decide to end my trip with a few days trekking through the arctic wilderness. It's going to be great, I think. Just me, the compass, ten thousand reindeer, and non-stop daylight.

It is day two, and I am happily walking along with soaking wet feet, congratulating myself on my adventure.
"Congratulations, Liza," I say. "I mean, this is remote! No bridges, no trail, no sign of humanity! This is truly the last frontier."
"Be quiet, Liza," I answer myself. "I need to concentrate on not stepping in bog puddles."

Here's the thing about Finland. You're in the middle of nowhere in a land completely untouched by civilization, the only signs of life are piles of reindeer poo, and then you reach a lake and boom! there's a sauna. And there's a hundred Finnish people that all want you to take a sauna.

"Where did you all come from?" I say. "You don't even look tired."
"Hello!" respond the Finnish people. "Have you taken a sauna?"
"Um, no," I say.
"You should really take a sauna!" they say.
"Oh, it's okay," I say. "I think I'm just going to make some macaroni and fall into a death-like sleep."
"YOU MUST TAKE A SAUNA." The Finnish people declare, and there is no arguing.

Next thing I know, I am sitting buck naked in the sauna with three kind Finnish ladies. Once I get over the fact that there is nothing quite as ridiculous as a naked human being, namely me, I have to admit it is kind of nice. There are little beads of sweat appearing from places I didn't know I had pores. The nice Finnish ladies give me marital advice.
"I'm not married," I say.
They advise me to get married as soon as possible.

Then they say, "Now you must jump in the lake!"
"But yesterday the lake was a glacier," I say.
"Finnish people do it all the time! Go jump in the lake!"
"Are you going to jump in the lake?" I ask.
"Oh, no! It is too cold for us. But you're young! YOU MUST JUMP IN THE LAKE." And there is no arguing.
"Please come get me if my heart stops," I say.

My heart doesn't stop, but as my head is submerged in ice, I have a flash of appreciation for this fantastic country and the people in it who don't build bridges across raging torrential rivers, but build wood-burning saunas by remote lakes. I feel I have acquired some wisdom here, but that might just be the shock.