Finns have one of the world's most generous systems of state-funded educational, medical and welfare services, from pregnancy to the end of life. They pay nothing for education at any level, including medical school or law school. Their medical care, which contributes to an infant mortality rate that is half of ours and a life expectancy greater than ours, costs relatively little. (Finns devote 7 percent of gross domestic product to health care; we spend 15 percent.) Finnish senior citizens are well cared for. Unemployment benefits are good and last, in one form or another, indefinitely.

On the other hand, Finns live in smaller homes than Americans and consume a lot less. They spend relatively little on national defense, though they still have universal male conscription, and it is popular. Their per capita national income is about 30 percent lower than ours. Private consumption of goods and services represents about 52 percent of Finland's economy, and 71 percent of the United States'. Finns pay considerably higher taxes -- nearly half their national income is taken in taxes, while Americans pay about 30 percent on average to federal, state and local governments.

Read the full story.

Kaiser wrote:

While France, the Netherlands, Italy, Germany and others are stumbling, Finland prospers, both economically and psychologically. The recent "no" votes in France and the Netherlands that undermined, perhaps fatally, the E.U.'s proposed constitution have produced a pervasive despair in much of Europe that did not turn up in recent interviews with scores of Finns.

"The Finnish model could offer some elements of a way out of the European crisis," said Pekka Himanen, a 31-year-old philosopher and co-author of a much-discussed book about Finland's successes.

Read the full story.

"This (in case you missed it) is the year of music -- the cell phone as a sort of iPod, capable of downloading, saving and playing thousands of songs. 2006 will be the year of television on your mobile telephone. 2007 will be the year for games on the phone and the capability to play them against other phone users. 2008 will be the year of "my connected life," when the years-old dream of cell phones that are Internet terminals will finally become a widespread reality," Kaiser wrote.

Read the full story.

"Finland is Europe's most homogeneous society, a nation of mostly blond ethnic Finns whose declining birthrate creates the classic 21st-century European dilemma: a fast-growing population of senior citizens whose promised benefits under a generous welfare state will soon be unaffordable."

But as Kaiser found, the face of Finnish society has seen some small changes:

"Altogether, immigrants constitute barely 2 percent of Finland's population of 5.2 million. There were 108,346 foreign-born residents at the end of 2004, according to government statistics. Of those, fewer than 25,000 were born in non-white countries whose residents would look conspicuous on the streets of Helsinki. Russians, Estonians and Swedes together represent more than 46,000 people.

"The 4,700 Somali refugees in the country, by far the largest group of black people, get more attention in the local news media than all the other immigrants combined, according to Finns. The country continues to accept political asylum seekers -- it is now taking in a group of Montagnard hill people who fled Vietnam."

Kaiser examined this issue further in his June 11th article in The Washington Post.  Read the full story.

Robert G. Kaiser and Lucian Perkins lived in a Helsinki flat on a quiet street for part of their stay in Finland. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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One of the subjects we short-changed is music. The Finns have some amazing musicians, wonderful music education and impressive facilities for performance. Regular readers of the diary know about all this, but we could have done more on the subject. I was reminded of this on one of my last nights here, when I was invited to attend a concert of the Tapiola Sinfonietta, a Mozart-sized symphony orchestra of some 40 musicians who play magnificently in the Espoo Cultural Center in a suburb of Helsinki. The concert hall there holds about a thousand in a wood-lined hall that sweeps dramatically upward from the stage, so everyone has a good view. The acoustics sounded perfect to my amateur ear. And the concert was special.

Vladimir Ashkenazy, the Russian-born pianist, was conductor and soloist for two of the great piano concertos, Mozart's 20th and Beethoven's 4th. Ashkenazy, 67, is a compact man overflowing with energy. He played those pieces with restrained power and lilting musicality. It was a transfixing performance, and the crowd -- composed primarily of senior citizens and soon-to-be's -- gave the pianist ovation after ovation when he had finished. I felt privileged to have been there.

We felt lucky to have been in Finland for these weeks as well. This has been fascinating for me -- my first visit to Finland in more than 30 years, my first extended exposure to a Scandinavian welfare state, my first experience of such a concerted effort by one small country to remain relevant to a high-tech, globalizing world. I am going to be thinking about what we saw here during a two-week vacation that begins now; and when I return to Washington, I am going to try to write one or two longer articles about today's Finland. But they won't appear until July, probably.

Finns have treated us extremely well, and complimented us repeatedly by taking us and our questions so seriously. We have encountered warm hospitality everywhere we went. Taxi drivers and shopkeepers are kind to foreigners who speak no Finnish, and use their own English, which is usually amazingly good. Here's an example of that which reveals another lesson at the same time. It's the text of an e-mail I received the day after we arrived in Helsinki after our tour around the country:

"I believe you visited our shop today and forgot your blue bag here. I took the liberty to look inside to find your contact information. We keep the bag here for you to collect it. The shop is [name and address provided, and the manager's mobile phone number!] I do hope you read your E-mail while you are still in Finland!!

"Yours sincerely,"

What comment could I make to enrich that wonderful message? I showed up in the shop 10 minutes after the e-mail was sent, to the manager's great relief. The bag contained only a sweater and poncho, but it was the principle that mattered, obviously.

Students, family, and faculty attend a special reception to honor the University of Art and Design's Masters of Arts 2005 graduates in Helsinki. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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Finns are famous for wondering what other people are thinking of them, and we saw this again and again on our trip. "What surprised you the most?" some Finns asked. "What did you like the most?" "What turned you off the most?" In my experience people rarely think in such superlative terms; I know I don't. And in fact, if you read a few books and talk to a few smart people in advance of a journey like this, the surprises won't be many. What's informative is not things you didn't expect, but the texture of things you heard about but had improperly imagined.

The school-ending celebration was a curious example of that. I had imagined something quite foreign, quite peculiarly Finnish, from the descriptions of it I had read and heard. As it turned out, we saw a close cousin of the American high school graduation. Only the white hats were really distinctive. Even the behavior of parents, siblings and graduates was familiar. Indeed, an American in Finland is repeatedly struck by scenes, faces, body language and behavior that look like something American. Perhaps this is a tribute to the Scandinavian migration to America, which has left a strong imprint on the United States, as Garrison Keillor reminds his listeners weekly.

Ludimila Sirjaeva, 18, shows her boyfriend, Mihail Tommonen, also 18, one of her cowboy hats.  The two graduated high school last week. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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We have not been able to do justice to the many bloggers who have given us their comments on diary entries earlier than this one, and I'm sure will be commenting here as well. Anyone who reads the comments can see that Finland's younger generation is hip to the Net and was intrigued by this journalistic enterprise. I'm sorry their intramural commentary degenerated sometimes into arguments the rest of us could barely understand, but if you enter the blogosphere, you take the consequences. A lot of them were wonderful, I thought. I'm sorry we didn't have time to make more comments.

We also received nearly 400 e-mails to FinlandDiary@washingtonpost.com. We answered many but not all of them, for which we apologize. Again, seeing so many people, writing something every day, editing and transmitting so many photos ate up all our time.

This is an experimental form of interactive journalism, and we'd like to know your reactions to it, either by e-mail or on the blog right here. We hope to be able to do it again soon.

DJ Bunuel works the sound board at Bar Mary.  (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
Click for Photos

Tonight the lucky band is Fat Beat Sound System -- six highly talented young musicians trained in everything from classical music to punk rock. Like many Finnish musicians, these six play in several different bands, and some also with a symphony orchestra or classical quartet. "We're influenced by all music ever done," says Mans Stromberg -- aka "DJ Bunuel" -- who creates special effects and sings vocals for the band.

We talk after the band has enjoyed its sauna and is eating dinner, which includes smoked lamb made in Porvoo. Stromberg is also one of the founders of Bar Mary. I ask him if this is an underground club.   He didn't think so. "Underground music is that which doesn't fit into the one percent that the radio plays, so nowadays underground music is something that my mother listens to as well," he says with a laugh.

After dinner, the band makes its way to the club in the light of a setting sun. An enthusiastic crowd watches as the musicians take the stage and begin producing slow melodic rhythms that blend into a sensually paced sound. Vocalist Tommi Lindgren describes the band's philosophy as "no rush to get anywhere." That proved to be a good description of their music.

The crowd at Bar Mary in Porvoo, Finland, grooves to the music.  (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
Click for Photos

Soon Lindgren broke into a hip-hop-style rap that revealed how strongly African American music has influenced Fat Beat Sound System. The crowd swayed and danced to the music, igniting an energy that bounced back and forth between the audience and the band.

Click here for photos from the Bar Mary.

It turns out that American vintage cars are very popular here. There is even a "Helsinki Cruising Night" on the first Friday of each month during the summer. Luckily our stay here in Helsinki fell on one of those Fridays, so off I went to check out the scene. I saw hundreds of examples of vintage American iron on wheels at this gathering, which fills numerous parking lots along one of Helsinki's seafront avenues, down to the big old market square. The drivers cruised from one open parking lot to the next to show off their cars. One lot, for example, was reserved just for Corvettes.

To attend a vintage car rally in Helsinki, Iiro Mattila, his wife, Noora, and daughter Mira, 6, drive an hour in their 1957 Buick. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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Among the many people I met was Iiro Mattila with his wife, Noora, and daughter, Miro, 6. They were hanging out with their black '57 Buick in one of the parking lots. They live an hour away from Helsinki and were not about to miss this event. Iiro, dressed in 1950s-style clothes with his black hair slicked back, told me: "These old cars and old '50's-style Rock 'n Roll and Rockabilly--it's not my hobby; it's my way of life. It's a whole family thing."

To see the photos and hear the interviews click here.

--Lucian Perkins.

From left: Kai Mykkanen, Jaako Duka, Markus Kanerna and Noora Laitio talk about their view of Finland with Robert G. Kaiser over dinner in Helsinki. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)

Himanen, who says he reads a new book every day, told me this was a unique new generation, raised on Finnish rock music and "the first to go to school with some people who are not Finns." Quite right, since immigration was virtually nonexistent before 1990. But at 31, Himanen has already lived for three years in Berkeley, Calif. -- a more important influence, certainly, than who his classmates were in his Finnish school.

Indeed, the brightest and most successful young people are men and women of the world from an early age. One such is Tommy Lindgren, 27, a bandleader and rap artist whose colloquial English hints at the time he has spent in California; or Kuusisto the violinist, who -- with his brother, another prodigy who now conducts as well as playing the fiddle -- studied music for years at the University of Indiana; or Noora Laitio, 25, a graduate of English universities and the City of London, where she worked for Goldman Sachs and the Rothschild merchant bank in London, and now works for a big Finnish corporation; or any one of hundreds, perhaps thousands of others.

We spent an invigorating evening over dinner in a good Italian restaurant here with seven impressive young people who agreed to talk about themselves and their country with us. The conversation might have made quite a good documentary film; alas, there was no way to make thorough notes of what everyone said AND take part in the talking ourselves. So you will have to settle for an impressionistic account:

● The best young people are not afraid of the future, or of how it might undermine the pillars of modern Finland, its welfare state and the free educational system ("free" after Finns pay their high taxes, of course). "We'll have problems," said Jaako Ollila, 28, referring to the rising cost of supporting an aging population, "but we will manage them." Ollila works for Nokia, the biggest firm in Finland, after selling the software firm he and some colleagues created. His father, Jorma Ollila, is the much-admired CEO of Nokia.

● Kai Mykkanen, 25, sitting next to Ollila at the dinner party, is already in elected politics, as a member of the city council in Espoo, a suburb of Helsinki. From that perspective he is more worried than his neighbor about the costs of sustaining the welfare state; in Espoo they are running out of money. Yet a few minutes later Kai was talking about Finnish flexibility and aptitude for adjusting to change.

● Maria Almiala, 26, a newly minted physician still interning as an internist, expressed specific optimism about the health care system. Are her colleagues anxious about the prospects for budget cuts and such? "I don't think they are anxious," she replied, although many complain that "healthy people" fill too many doctors' appointment books, sometimes making it hard for the really sick to see a physician speedily.

● Noora Laitio, 25, the former London investment banker mentioned above, expressed her optimism in a pure London accent. But she demonstrated it even more persuasively by her decision to return to Finland after seven years in Britain studying and working, and leaving behind a fat City of London paycheck to return home. Why? "Quality of life."

The conversation got more complicated. After some talk about Finns' competitiveness in realms like the cell phone, where Nokia has done so well, Tommy Lindgren, 27, the rap singer and leader of the Don Johnson Big Band, wanted to register a dissent. "I don't think the world should be defined solely by competition," he said emphatically.

Musician Tommy Lindgren, left, Maria Almiala and Kai Mykkanen engage in a very un-Finnish conversation about themselves and their country. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)

Markus Kaverna, a graduate student in economics, noted that Finns can be too easily discouraged, not a good trait if they are to become risk-taking entrepreneurs.

And on the talk went. I don't think I can do justice here to the sense of engagement of these young people in the questions I asked about where Finland is going. But I can share the best single moment of the evening, when Kuusisto, the internationally famous but still shy violinist, announced that after two glasses of wine, he was going to have more to say than he had hitherto.

One of the first things he said was, "Very rarely have I sat with a group of people who articulate as well as what I have heard tonight." But he wanted me to understand how rare such a conversation was. "Talking like this in general just doesn't happen" in Finland. The affirming reactions to Kuusisto's remark were persuasive: M*ost young Finns don't talk about themselves, their view of the country and its future, or their reactions to abrupt, sometimes nosy questions from an American reporter.

This reminded me of the response Pekka Himanen had given to a question I put to him by e-mail in our interview that began the Finland Diary. This was our exchange:

Q. When Finns talk among themselves, do they discuss the relative strengths of their society compared to others? How do they explain their successes to each other?

A. Generally we don't talk about such things.

--Robert G. Kaiser

But it is still impressive to experience Finnish esthetics all around you every day -- to see, again and again, the care given to objects -- from the use of glass, metal and wood in the buildings we pass and enter daily to a varied style of dress and unique combinations worn on the street.

Large geometric patterns and soft colors -- hallmarks of Finnish design -- feature prominently in the Marimekko fashion show in Helsinki.
View More Fashion Show Photos

To learn more about Finnish design, I visited fashion designer Paola Suhonen, 30, the founder of the Ivana Helsinki label. She is one of the hot young talents in the fashion industry here. But she doesn't fit the flamboyant stereotype often reserved for fashion designers. She is soft-spoken, dressed in earthy colors, and very thoughtful about her business.

Suhonen traces some of the unique Finnish style that was nurtured in the 1950s by a well-known group of local designers to Finland's wars with the Soviet Union. She told me, "After the war with the Russians in the '40s, the Finns wanted to start their own style. The Finns wanted to separate from the Soviet Spirit . . . from their Slavic roots, which was part of the Finnish life [Finland was a province of Russia for more than a century until 1917]. In the '50s people did not want to see any of the Russian influence in design, in the cultural life and in the arts at all. They wanted to do strictly Scandinavian and pure-lines design. That was what pushed the Finns to do their own, very clear and sophisticated style."

But according to Suhonen that is changing. "Now we are quite free to use the inspirations from them [Russia]. Now Finnish design is going back to its Slavic roots. It's more avant-garde and artistic nowadays. It's more wild. It's not so simple with clean lines. It's much more experimental and colorful. For me, it's a mixture from the Slavic and Scandinavian roots."

Suhonen's empathy with the Slavs is not a universal view here. Bob and I have been surprised on our trip around Finland by the continued strength of anti-Russian sentiment among Finns. We've met numerous Finns who say they have never visited Russia (a very short trip) and never intend to. One of the big stories in Finland just now is about Russian overflights of Finnish territory, sharply protested by the Finnish government.

Besides fashion, Suhonen is also experimenting with the business side of her company. She wants to avoid the increasingly popular business model of outsourcing work to a cheaper labor force in other parts of the world. Her materials are produced in Finland, so her employees receive the generous benefits afforded workers here. "I believe my customers want clothes that are handmade and carefully crafted instead of mass produced . . ." she said. "I can carefully follow the whole production process here." She also believes that customers are becoming more aware of the issues concerning the manufacturing of products. "It's not enough anymore to look good, but to know that what you bought was ethically produced."

I asked Suhonen if there were any fashion-related events going on while I was here that might be interesting to photograph. She looked at her watch. "Marimekko is having a fashion show at one of our parks in the next hour." Off I went to find it.

Click here to see the images from the Marimekko Fashion Show.

--Lucian Perkins

But an American, we learned on an outing to the eastern regions of Helsinki, should avoid imagining such Finns in circumstances that are familiar to us. Down and out in Helsinki can be pretty miserable, but it isn't like down and out in a big American city, first of all because there is virtually no homelessness here. During our outing into working-class Helsinki on Sunday, we saw numerous people who had drunk too much beer, and a few sad-sacks who had no jobs, but no one in obviously desperate straits. And the residents of a truly scruffy neighborhood in Washington, D.C., wouldn't call what we saw scruffy.

More fundamentally, Finnish society is so tight-knit and so well organized that people here cannot easily fall between the cracks. A Finn can have all of life's problems, but it's still very difficult to fall entirely beyond the reach of the elaborate Finnish safety net.

Markus Larkovirta, right, is the unemployed and unpaid president of the Myllypuro branch of the Association of Unemployed People in Helsinki. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)

So, for example, when we set out to find unemployed Finns in the working-class neighborhoods of eastern Helsinki, we discovered that a good way to do so would be through the Association of Unemployed People, a typically Finnish organization set up by private charities with government support to try to give comfort and support to people who are out of work. We went to the branch of the group in Myllypuro, a working-class neighborhood that is a 15-minute subway ride from the center of town.

Today's unemployed Finns were, largely, the victims of an early-1990s recession here so serious that Finns routinely refer to it as "the depression." The collapse of the Soviet Union and its empire suddenly cost Finland its most important export markets. A simultaneous banking crisis pushed numerous companies into bankruptcy. Unemployment rose to more than 20 percent of the workforce. The government had to slash public spending. Finnish companies either adapted quickly, or disappeared.

Those who survived, led by Finland's biggest success story, Nokia, maker of cell phones, thrived, and led Finland into a new golden age. It is now one of the richest and most successful countries in Europe. But many of the victims of the early-'90s collapse never really recovered and never found a full-time job again.

A lot of the people who lost their jobs then "just don't fit in now," explained Markus Larkovirta, the unpaid and unemployed president of the Myllypuro branch of the Association of the Unemployed. "A certain part of the population will never find a job again." The association, he added, "is trying to fight against the tendency to let these people drop out of society completely." So it provides a cozy haven here in a premises that used to be a convenience store, a big space with room for two textile looms and a carpentry shop, and lots of places to socialize.

Kauko Lehtimäki, 54, drinks and smokes with other unemployed Finns at a Helsinki pub. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)

We had a long conversation with one member of the association, a former printing press operator named Jarno Kunnari, 52. At first blush he looked the part of the unemployed worker. He hadn't shaved, he was wearing a dirty T-shirt, and pulled an old baseball cap down over his forehead. But once the conversation began. Kunnari made those initial impressions seem ridiculous.

He turned out to be a bright, thoughtful and well-informed citizen whose hobbies are riding his bike long distances, playing the horses and reading history. He gave us a detailed analysis of Finland's current situation, noting that despite the country's general economic success of late, "unemployment is still very high. It's a burden for society." He thinks the government should give out less welfare, and instead provide cash to private firms that could use it to grow their businesses and hire unemployed Finns.

Kunnari knows about the welfare, which he received for years. Initially he got 60 percent of the pay he received on his last full-time printing job as an unemployment benefit that lasts for 500 days. After that the benefit shrinks.

How much was the smaller, longer-term benefit? Larkovirta, the local association president, is still getting it, but he couldn't remember the amount. "Just a moment," he said, "let me see if I can find it in my bank-account, on line." He went off for several minutes to use the association's Internet connection and came back with a page from the latest statement of his account. It showed that he receives nearly $500 a month and a rent supplement of $240. He can go on receiving this indefinitely.

Kunnari is off the dole. He discovered a few years back that he could help neighbors in his apartment house with a variety of tasks, from shopping for their food to filling out forms and cleaning their apartments, and charge them modestly for the services. Other neighbors heard what he was doing and asked him to help them as well. Now he calls himself an entrepreneur. He's making about $1,900 a month after taxes, enough to live on reasonably comfortably, he said. The rent on his one-bedroom apartment is $750. He's divorced, and his 19-year-old daughter lives independently. He owns no car.

Before we said goodbye he had a question for us: "What about this Watergate affair? Those were good guys at The Washington Post -- they didn't expose their source!"

The next morning I had an e-mail from Markus Larkovirta, written in his excellent, mostly self-taught English. ("I listen a lot to the VOA.")

"One very important thing I forgot to mention," he wrote. "Twice a week we give away bread to our members. We get it as a courtesy from a local bakery. It is perfectly eatable but just one day off the limits to be delivered to the stores.

"Many of our members very much rely on the chance to get that loaf. On any Tuesday or Thursday you would see a line behind our back door."

-- Robert G. Kaiser

You can submit questions for Kaiser and Perkins here and log on to join the discussion on Tuesday.

Scene 1, at the Itakeskus high school in the eastern part of the Finnish capital. Members of the senior class, who are 18 to 20 years old, and their parents gather at 9:45 a.m. Saturday in suits and ties, skirts and fine dresses. Many of the parents hold one rose or a bouquet of roses wrapped in clear plastic, tied with a ribbon -- the traditional gift for new graduates. Eventually they all walk into the school, past the Pepsi and Mountain Dew machines in the vestibule. The kids take their places in the procession, the parents and siblings fill the seats of the school's open, bright assembly hall.

Students wear white hats during the graduation ceremony at Helsinki's Itakeskus High School on Saturday. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)

The last Saturday of the 22nd week of the year is reserved for Finland's richly traditional end-of-school ceremonies and celebrations. Finns have been doing something like this for more than 150 years. With the exception of the roses and white hats, it would be a familiar event to any American. The families look proud; the teachers hug the students; the students look hopeful and innocent.

Elina Laine, 19, chosen to give the student speech, tells her classmates and their families how lucky they all have been to enjoy "the freedom of the lukio, " the Finnish name for an academic high school, which does indeed give its students wide latitude to choose their courses and do their work. It's a three-year course, but Laine, a top student, took four years to complete high school because, she says, "it was more fun that way."

Laine reads her speech, rarely looking up from the two-page text; she is not a polished orator. But her philosophy and religion teacher, Liisa Franssila-Ylinen, is impressed because it is a personal speech with some sophisticated political content. "The age of ideology has ended," Laine declares, freeing the Class of '05 to make its own way in the world independent of stifling views or doctrines: "None of us may become a great man or woman, but we all have a chance at least to try to laugh at the world."

Scene 2, in Helsinki's Kaisaniemi Park, right in the center of the city. The Finnish Broadcasting Co. has organized a day-long free rock concert for the day of the school-end ceremonies, on a giant outdoor stage outfitted with strobe lights and smoke machines. Groups named Zen Cafe and Poets of the Fall have appeared. The principal attraction, the 69 Eyes, is due onstage at any moment.

Finnish teens scream at a rock concert in Kaisaniemi park in Helsinki. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)

Tens of thousands of spectators, mostly adolescents and young adults, are in the park. Serious money could be made by melting down and selling the silver and steel that pierce the noses, cheeks, eyebrows, lips, tongues and bellybuttons in the crowd. Many are drinking beer from bottles and cans. None can be seen in a white graduate's cap, but several say there are lots of new graduates in the celebrating crowd.

Two guys who are good at shouting (they're Finnish TV veejays) are warming up the crowd, and offering gifts: packs of condoms, part of a "rubbers for the summer" health program. The guys hurl hundreds of condoms into a shouting crowd, many with their hands outstretched.

Rain starts to fall, and scores of kids retreat under the canopies created by the park's big trees. More beer. Lots of kissing and hugging, but no one seems to go too far. Recorded music blares out of the gigantic speakers on the stage. People want the 69 Eyes.

Scene 3, at Elina Laine's house, a cozy and comfortable semi-detached two-story brick structure in a leafy neighborhood just a half-mile (but a considerable sociological distance) from blocks of working-class apartments. Three generations of Laine's family on both her father's and mother's sides have gathered for another tradition -- the family open house after the school-ending ceremony.

More than a dozen guests are seated around the living room, sipping champagne wordlessly. Silence of this sort is a Finnish thing.

One of the older faces in the room belongs to Johannes Laine, 86-year-old father of Elina's father. He wears the red ribbon of a wounded war veteran, one of the heroes of Finland who held off the Soviet army twice, in the legendary Winter War of 1939-40, and again in the spring of 1944. "It took five years and two months of my youth," he said of the war. He still has shrapnel in his badly wounded right wrist and pains in his right shoulder. In retirement he paints landscapes quite well.

Guests continue to arrive, and finally conversation begins to occur. Then several singers who belong to a choir with Elina's father, Osmo Laine, arrive to sing in close four-part harmony. They liven the party, as do plates of food and more wine.

Where will Elina be partying later?

Nowhere, she said. She's a slim, handsome blonde who has a body piercing of her own, a V-shaped piece of silver or stainless steel with "wings" that proceed upward over her gums from the point between her two upper front teeth.

"I'm taking the university entrance exam on Tuesday," she explains. She's hoping for a place in the political science department at Helsinki University, one of the most competitive options for higher education that she could have chosen. There will be 320 students taking the five-hour exam Tuesday, she said, and just 17 of them will be admitted for next fall.

In Finland high school is not distorted by an equivalent of American kids' elaborate search for the right college; the trouble here doesn't begin until high school is over. As a result, the principal of Laine's school, Liisa Pennala, couldn't say what percentage of her graduates this year will go on to institutions of higher learning: None of her students has been accepted by one yet. Ultimately about half will go; nationally 60 percent of lukio graduates attend college.

In political science, the entrance exam consists of written essays about a single book -- a text written by a Finnish professor. Laine has read it 10 times, she estimates, and will read it several more times by Tuesday.

Is it a good book? "No." But it must be mastered, so no parties.

The Finish Broadcasting Co. puts on a rock concert in Helsinki's Kaisaniemi Park featuring popular bands for Finland's national school graduation day. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
Photo Gallery: More From the Rock Concert

Scene 4, back in Kaisaniemi Park: A wicked drumbeat whacks the humid air. Lights flash, smoke billows. The lead singer of the 69 Eyes, Jyrki 69 (the only name he uses), has appeared on the stage with his four bandmates. He's a tall, slim, good-looking man whose hair (probably blond, going by the Finnish law of averages) has been dyed jet black. He wears it in a wild mane. His eyes are made up with mascara. He sings, first, the old Alice Cooper number "School's Out" to mark the occasion.

The 69 Eyes' last album sold 30,000 copies and raced to the top of the Finnish charts. They've signed with Virgin-EMI in Europe and are invited all over the continent to give concerts. They hope that before long, they can follow the Finnish band HIM to success in America.

So says Jyrki, a friendly and articulate man in his mid-thirties with a speaking voice that sounds a little like Elvis. You can hear him and see his new video, "Lost Boys," at http://www.69eyes.com. The rain eventually spoils the fun. The band holds the crowd through its 40-minute set, during which the shirtless drummer, Jussi 69, must have burned 1,500 calories. Just watching his thrashing (but rhythmically very effective) performance is exhausting. As soon as they're finished the crowd begins to disperse.

Scene 5, later at night, downtown Helsinki. The rain seemed as though it would wreak havoc on another graduation-day tradition -- a giant beer bash at Hietaniemi Beach in the city. But the night sky improved by about 9:30, and now, kids in white hats can be seen all over town in groups from two to a dozen, many drinking beer or bottles of champagne, but in a surprisingly orderly manner.

Waiting for a tram to take him home, a visitor from Washington chats up three young women in their white hats. "You did a big thing today, didn't you?" they are asked.

"We really did," said a smiling blonde.

-- Robert G. Kaiser

Helsinki is a fine European capital. Its eclectic architecture, combining Russian, Scandinavian and modern Finnish styles, its many trees and parks and its charming and efficient trams (two lines pass in front of our building) remind me of the great Central European cities such as Berlin and Budapest. The city bustles with humanity, but in fact is quite small: half a million residents inside Helsinki's city limits, a million in the metropolitan area. This relatively modest size contributes to the sense that this is a very livable capital city.

The umbrella is a basic tool for living in Helsinki in the spring, summer and short-lived fall, but we've been lucky so far, only a little rain. The thermometer has been stuck in the upper 50s or low 60s, but after a long Finnish winter, that's warm enough to convince the locals that summer is here. They're lolling about outside as though it was 80 degrees.

I just rode home on the number 8 and 3T trams from an interview with a young entrepreneur in a new part of town filled with dramatic modern architecture. The trip brought me through several distinct urban environments, from those modern offices, home to Nokia and some of Finland's highest-tech firms, through neighborhoods built in the 20th century that contain plain, functional apartment houses, into the rather grand downtown with many ornate structures of different styles.

One of the finest is the Helsinki Railroad Station, designed in 1904 by Eliel Saarinen, an early piece of modern architecture that recalls some of the first famous buildings of Frank Lloyd Wright, among others. Saarinen was influenced by Art Deco style, but he created a unique structure with vaulted concrete ceiling and magnificent interior decoration. We left on this trip from Dulles International Airport in Washington, another magnificent piece of architecture that was desiged by Eliel Saarinen's son Eero. The Saarinen family emigrated to Michigan in 1923, when the son was just 13. From one Saarinen to another -- pretty nifty.

Fine architecture is enriched by construction of the highest quality. Finnish modern architecture combines glass and blonde woods, a look Americans associate with Ikea and Scandinavian furniture.

Our neighborhood feels upper-middle-class in a city that is obviously home to a lot of well-off people. A census of automobiles in this part of town would find quite a few Mercedes and BMWs. In smaller Finnish cities the bicycle remains a basic and popular mode of transportation, but we see many fewer in the capital. Helsinki feels far more cosmopolitan, and a good deal wealthier, than Turku or Tampere, the biggest cities outside the capital region.

We also have a lot of shops that suggest a prosperous clientele: a fine fish monger two blocks from us, decorators' shops, dressmakers' ateliers, a surprising number of eyeglass merchants, a fur dealer, several rug dealers and more. But no retail establishments seem to stay open past about six. Wine and spirits are available only from the "Alko" shops of the state alcoholic monopoly; they close religiously at 8 p.m.

Finnish member of parliament Miapetra Kumpula dined with Robert G. Kaiser and Lucian Perkins in Helsinki. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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Finns eat well, at home and in restaurants of all kinds and levels of luxe. We had a splendid supper in a sort of French-Finnish restaurant near our building where we entertained a 33-year-old member of the Finnish parliament, Miapetra Kumpula. Pan-seared Finnish whitefish on a buttery risotto followed a lush, thick tomato soup. This wasn't cheap, however: $160 for the three of us. This did not include a tip, because in Finland there is no tip. It did include wine.

We've seen Chinese, Vietnamese and Thai restaurants, Mexican and Italian ones, too. There are pizzerias in every neighborhood, and all over the county.

According to official statistics, Finns drink more coffee per capita than anyone in Europe. Cafes dot Helsinki; we pass several in our immediate neighborhood. Finns are great newspaper readers, and they like to read the paper with a cup of java in the neighborhood café. Bars are also common; Finns are famous boozers, although we've seen much less public drunkenness than I had been led to expect.

Died hair is popular among young Finns, most of whom are naturally blonde or near-blonde. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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Finland has fewer immigrants and people of color than any European country, the subject of a future dispatch. On the streets of Helsinki you don't see many black or brown people--just more than none might be the way to describe the impression. I saw one African in the downtown shopping center today performing as a street busker playing on a big drum. I watched one 2-year-old stare and grin appreciatively at this fellow, who gave him a warm and cheery greeting in Finnish. But most of the passing crowd is white and blonde, or something close to blonde. A few rebellious teenagers die their blonde locks black, a variation on an old theme.

We've only got about eight days in this apartment, and Lucian and I already know we will miss it.

A group of men in towels cool off and drink beer after a hot sauna at Helsinki's oldest public sauna which opened in 1928.
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We've received numerous e-mails from Finnish readers since this adventure began imploring us to take a Finnish sauna. Wrote one:

"Do accept as many sauna invitations as you receive. First, because saunas are so much more beautiful, clean and varied than the institutional saunas one has access to in America. Second, it's a great honor to be invited. The experience is only partly about feeling as clean as you'll ever be in your life; it is one of the Finns' great ancient rituals. No grudges, clothes, social pecking order, or titles can enter the sauna. It's a physical and spiritual stripping-away of the unessential and superficial.

"Finns are reverential about the sauna. In the glow of the softly lit wood-lined space, they chat jovially or fall into a comfortable silence. The heat makes one welcome a dip in ice-cold water or a roll in the snow, as improbable as that sounds. Food and drink afterward never tasted so delicious. There is etiquette which has to do with practical and safety questions, but generous Finns will walk you through it. As is their method of rearing children, it's a window to the Finnish psyche."

Kari Veijonen, sitting outside his Naantali home after a sauna, invited Robert G. Kaiser and Lucian Perkins to join him for a steaming hot bath.  (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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Actually we have had one sauna already. Last Sunday evening we accepted the invitation of Kari and Tuire Veijonen to visit the sauna in their big apartment in the old and beautiful coastal town of Naantali, on the outskirts of Turku. After absorbing the moist heat of the sauna for as long as seemed appropriate, we followed Kari, an advertising executive, out onto the terrace that overlooked the sea. The weather was nippy, but somehow the heat of the sauna kept us warm for long, pleasurable minutes as we drank cold beer, also protected by no more than a towel. Passersby paid no attention to us.

This, our first sauna experience, was everything promised: We finished feeling refreshed and invigorated. The wrinkles and bumps caused by days of hard traveling quickly disappeared from our bodies.

In the mood for another sauna, with the good excuse of needing more photos, I visited Helsinki's oldest public sauna, and the only one left that uses a wood fire to heat the stones which, when doused with water, creates the steam heat that is the essence of the sauna. When I arrived the crowd outside was friendly and talkative as they sipped beer and smoked. Some were celebratory, as was Ari Viipanen who was here with his son and friends to mark his son's 18 birthday.

The manager of the sauna, Jari Kuosmanen, surveyed the scene. "This is nothing," he commented. "You should visit here in the winter when they come out to roll and lie in the snow."

Italian tourist Salvatore Iovene takes cold shower after a sauna at the Harjuntorinkadun public sauna in Helskini. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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Later South Korean Sung Hwan Hong and his Finnish wife came out to cool off after their sauna. As they hugged each other and chatted, he recounted his sauna experience when they visited his wife's family in eastern Finland. After that sauna, he joined the Finnish tradition of jumping in a frozen lake through a whole cut in the ice. "It was a little chilly," he told me with a laugh. (Traditionally, as was the case here, the sexes take the heat in separate rooms.)

The anecdote made me a bit envious. I'm not sure I would have wanted to roll in the snow or jump in into a frozen lake, but to photograph this experience--that would have been memorable.

-- Lucian Perkins

The typical university student spends six years or more getting a master's degree. The students pay no tuition and the state pays them to study. The basic stipend is $325 a month, more if you live off campus outside the university dorms. Each student is entitled to receive this stipend for 55 months, just enough to cover six academic years.

Finns are enormously proud of their system of higher education and its dramatic growth over the last generation has helped transform a relatively poor and backward country into one of the richest, fastest-growing nations in Europe. According to Manuel Castells, the renowned Spanish-born sociologist who teaches at the University of Southern California and who has been studying Finnish society since 1997, the universities here have improved faster than any in Europe. But they still lag behind the best U.S. institutions, Castells said in an interview in Helsinki. Even the finest Finnish campuses, including this 18,000-student university, are "too German, too rigid, too traditional," Castells said, and too subject to the whims and restraints of the Ministry of Education in Helsinki.

Students' art work is on display at the Arts Academy in Turku. A window provides a view of the school's concert hall. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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Virtanen, the rector here, has often visited the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor to pursue his academic specialty, the Finnish migration to America. Virtanen thinks the master's degree given at Turku is the equivalent of one given in Ann Arbor. He also brags about the PhD program in Turku. Every PhD dissertation done here is published as a book, he said -- a tribute to the Finnish respect for books as well as to the university.

We visited one college in Turku that decidedly defies Castells's definition of Finnish higher education. It is the Arts Academy of Turku, part of the city's big polytechnic college, a British term describing an institution that specializes in a relatively narrow field.

The Arts Academy's curriculum is focused but can't be called narrow. It offers subjects from animation and digital film-making to dance, music, screenwriting, painting, sculpture and the circus arts. The school is just 15 years old, and it has a curious history.

Sari Jaaskelainen, 26, works on one of her sculptures at the polytechnic university in Turku. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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The academy was created by a dynamic woman named Maija ("Maya") Palonheimo, now a senior official of the Turku University, who chaired a committee that devised the idea for such a school, then sold it in Helsinki and Turku. By her own account she had to be something of a cultural terrorist to get the school launched, sometimes defying orders from the Ministry of Education to get what she wanted. She stepped down as rector of the school after 10 years, in 2000. By then she had married the screenwriting professor, Risto Hypponen, and he was chosen to be her successor.

Today the academy is a glittering institution. It is located in a huge facility, a remarkable piece of modern Finnish architecture that combined old rope- and ship-building factories on the banks of the Aura River here with new structures housing a dance studio, theater and concert hall. Risto Hypponen showed us around with quiet pride.

(Listen to Hypponen discuss arts education at Finnish universities.)

Most striking to me was the level of talent displayed by the students. This is not an art school for amateurs, but rather a training ground for serious young people with obvious prospects for the future. The academy gets about 2,000 applicants for fewer than 200 places.

Applicants to the Arts Academy in Turku perform for members of the faculty. (Lucian Perkins - The Washington Post)
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We saw the talent soon after we sat down around the conference table in Hypponen's office, an antique table of rough-hewn boards from the Turku region. He showed us a short animated film that was the senior project of a student graduating this year. It was called "Elvis Turns Over In His Grave," and literally depicts that event after the King's eternal sleep was interrupted by the screeches of a young woman trying to sing "Can't Help Falling In Love." It was a hoot.

In the course of the next hour we saw a documentary filmmaker editing her senior project, a sculptor doing a portrait of her best friend, paintings and constructions by numerous gifted artists, and part of a skit by Sanna Malkavaara, 25, a student of digital arts, acted by Sakari Mannisto, 23, a juggler studying in the circus department. It features Erno, a character who appears in person and on a screen, in a series of surrealistic happenings. Dancers and musicians who aspire to come to the academy were in the school for the challenging entrance exams when we visited.

I asked Risto about a society that could support this sort of institution so lavishly. "Finnish society is very good in that way," he said, after pausing for a moment to think about the implications of my question. "You know," he said, "there's no real contradiction between [supporting] health care and culture... It's self evident for me" that money would be available for the school. "And all in all it's not so much money in our society." His budget this year is about $5.5 million; it will be the same next year as well, which worries him.

Then he thought some more and looked a little solemn below his flowing curly hair. "It scares me when you raise that" question about support for the arts, "because I have so much responsibility."