Sounds of Silence

From Helsinki's quiet streets to Lapland's endless skies, a trip to Finland is the unravelling of the poetry of stillness, lakeside saunas, and the gentle rhythm of a land that doesn't chase time; write Vinod K and Manjit P

- Vinod K and Manjit P

I had heard of Finland as the land of a thousand lakes, of saunas and silence, of design minimalism and moody forests. But what drew me in wasn't a brochure promise—it was a photo I saw years ago of a woman staring at the northern sky, blue-pink twilight pouring over her like a secret. That image stayed with me, waiting, until I found myself booking a ticket from Mumbai to Helsinki. The calendar said June. The world said summer. But Finland whispered something else: stillness.

The journey itself was a contrast. Mumbai airport, bursting with voices, trolleys, families, and the smell of dosa and duty-free perfumes, slowly gave way to the serene hush of Helsinki-Vantaa Airport. As I stepped out, I remember instinctively lowering my voice, as if the Finnish air demanded respect. It was 9 PM, yet the sun hung lazily in the sky, diffused through clouds that looked like they were painted in pastels. Welcome to the land of the Midnight Sun, a stranger had smiled and said on the plane. I hadn't understood what he meant until I was squinting at my phone screen, wondering if it was still evening or already morning.

My first two nights were in Kallio, a district in Helsinki that's been called the "Brooklyn of Finland," although I found that comparison to be unfair. Kallio is quieter, more honest. Vintage stores sit next to kebab joints, and vegan cafés don't brag about being vegan—they just are. My Airbnb host, Antti, a bearded man in his late thirties who looked like he could be in a Nordic noir crime show, welcomed me with a plate of rye bread and a bowl of blueberries. "From my mother's garden," he said proudly. I smiled and thought of my own mother sending mangoes across the country every summer.