“Are you Finnish?” the man asked me, wasting no time with niceties.
Now, he asked the question with a smile on his face, but his tattooed knuckles told me I’d better answer him, and answer him truthfully.
“Yes, I am,” I said.
“I could tell. Finnish genes are strong,” he said and raised his finger to indicate he was about to take a pause in the conversation.
We both did a set of bicep curls.
“I don’t know what it is, but there’s something very Finnish about you. My ex-wife was Finnish so I can tell,” he went on and wiped some sweat off his brow.
I did, too.
“Yeah, well, I don’t really know what it is, but sure, I’ve seen an image of the genetic map of Europe and we’re way out here when the rest of Europe is here,” I said, pointing holes in the air.
“Where in Finland are you from?” he asked me then.






