together with a bunch of naked guys wasn’t exactly normal, either. We were expected to disrobe in front of what were still a bunch of strangers, and then snuggle up together on a bench in a hot dark room, supposedly for relaxation.
So what do a bunch of naked foreign guys talk about in the sauna after having a few beers? Most of the time, we were talking about what might be going on in the women’s sauna. Florent, the French journalist, informed us that he was in love with just about every woman in Finland. Matjaz, the Slovenian, tried to find out which one of the girls we were most attracted to. The last thing I wanted to do was answer that question, even though I had a good idea of what my answer would be. Mitchell, the hearty Canadian, and Jevgeni, the boyish Russian, who apparently had not yet started shaving, discussed the finer points of the English language.
“Do you want to know the word for a gentle kiss on the ear?” Mitch asked Jevgeni.
“Oh, yeah, Mitch, please tell me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I really want to know. I have a little book where I write all the new words I learn each day.”
“Jevgeni, the word for a gentle kiss on the ear is dildo.”
“Dildo? That’s fantastic,” said Jevgeni in wonder. He paused for a moment to digest the new word.
“So Mitch, if I go up to a Canadian girl and ask her for a dildo, she’ll know what I am after?”
“Absolutely.”
Everyone in the sauna was talking and joking. But our Finnish guide Jari did not talk. Instead, he began to stoically dump water on the scalding hot rocks of the sauna, producing powerful bursts of steam that stung my ears and made me cover my face in pain. After the steam had cleared he dumped another ladle full on the rocks. Then he dumped another. Nobody said a word. I guess it was a man thing. Nobody wanted to be the first one out of the sauna.
We all hoped Jari would eventually stop and start whipping himself with some birch branches or something, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept doing it again and again, until all of us foreigners were finally forced to leave the inferno. Jevgeni, though, was the only one who seemed quite comfortable the whole time. Not only did Jevgeni not grow facial hair, he apparently didn’t sweat either.
“We’re Finns,” Jari yelled before we got out. “It is our mission to take over the world, one sauna at a time.”
Our cottage stood against the shores of a pristine lake. There was something different about the air up here. It felt as if it was kissing every part of your body; standing around naked felt like the most natural thing to do.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to swim to that island!” declared Jevgeni, who ran and lept, completely nude, into the murky lake water.
I had also noticed the small island before. From the deck outside the sauna, it looked tantalizingly close. I thought of grabbing my swim trunks before getting in the water, but I figured that Jevgeni knew what he was doing, so I, too, dove in head first, completely naked.
Perhaps it would take us only 10 minutes to get there, I thought. At first, the swimming came easy, but halfway across the lake I felt my body tire, and I began to tread water just to conserve some of my energy.
The Russian Jevgeni swam strongly ahead to the island, with confidence. He seemed completely at home in the Finnish environment. With some more effort I followed him, and finally pulled my naked torso onto the mossy beach where I laid gasping for breath, the moss and dirt sticking all over my body.
“You aren’t used to saunas and lake swimming, are you?” laughed Jevgeni. “It’s a Russian tradition, you know.”
“It’s a pretty exhausting tradition,” I gasped.
Suddenly noise broke our island idyll.
“Hey, it’s Jevgeni and Justin!” I heard female voices scream from across the lake. “Go get ’em!”
“Some of the girls have come to our little island,” Jevgeni raised a perverted eyebrow. “Perhaps I should go ask them for a dildo?”
“Who’s here?” I said, quickly covering my most private parts.
“I can hear Maria the hot Latvian and Natalie the hot British girl,” said Jevgeni. “And I can almost see Epp the hot Estonian from here. But, too bad, they’ve all got their bathing suits on.”
“Epp? We’ve got to get back to the cottage!”
“Why?” said Jevgeni. “Are you afraid she’ll see you?”
“Come on, let’s go.”
By now, I had come a long way in Finland. I had done things here that as an American I had never before even had the opportunity to do. I had learned to relax with a bunch of naked guys in a hot room while whipping each other with branches. I had swum across a lake in the nude, my manhood dangling like live bait. But the last thing I needed was for the cute 28-yearold Estonian girl with the secrets to catch me naked and freezing in the bushes covered with moss.
Instinctively, I dashed for the water, paddling back as hard as I could. About halfway across the lake, I began to feel that tired feeling again. My body began to cramp in pain. My arms strained to keep me afloat. My legs would not kick. And yet somewhere too close to my manhood, I saw the dark shape of a fish pass by, just waiting to chomp. I quickened my pace in fear.
I was rewarded with a cool beer by my friends when I finally reached the little sauna’s wooden dock.
“You are very lucky,” said Jari as he helped me out of the water. “Dozens of people drown in Finland every summer doing what you and Jevgeni just did.”
“What are you listening to?” Epp looked down on me as our bus drove back from Turku to Helsinki. My face chafed from the hot evening sun shining through the windows.
“It’s my music,” I said looking up at her nervously.
“What do you mean ‘your’ music?”
“I mean songs that I wrote myself.”
“Can I listen to it?”
“No,” I clung to my discman. “I mean, you can listen to it, but later.”
“You must be the first musician I have met, who doesn’t want anyone to listen to his music,” said Epp.
Epp. At first she had appeared to be so romantic, but now she seemed really intimidating.
It had all started at lunch in Turku. Mitch had gone to use the restroom and asked me to order him another glass of wine. When the waitress came and I asked loudly for “more wine for Mitch,” everyone in our program suddenly looked my way.
They dropped their utensils and glared, and I hung my head in shame, though I didn’t know exactly what I had done wrong. Mitch had wanted more wine. Was it so wrong to ask for another glass?
Later that night on a boat bar in the Turku canals, I asked Epp about what happened.
“You honestly want to know?” she responded.
“Yeah, I
