In the final part of my trip to visit three closely-located European countries in a week, I share how I spent a couple of days in Helsinki, Finland.
Helsinki and I have met before, though only briefly. Back in 2011, when I was on a work-related training course, I flew out for a whirlwind visit to one of Finland’s top business schools. It was early December, and so cold, dark, and snowy in that magical Nordic way. Even though I barely had 24 hours in the city, I remember loving what I saw – the architecture, the light, and how calm it seemed as a city.
The intention to return may have taken a while to act upon, but thanks to there being a passenger ferry from Tallinn in Estonia (where I’d spent the last few days) to Helsinki, this trip gave me that chance.
If Riga was the gentle beginning and Lahemaa National Park the physical middle, then Helsinki was the exhale at the end, a quiet reset after the joy and intensity of my Snow and Saunas adventure. It was a solo city break to follow a very people‑y few days; a chance to decompress, walk at my own pace, and let the noise of group travel settle into something softer.
I arrived with no big plans beyond wandering, eating well, and giving myself space to breathe. I had two full days available, and it was a small, steady adventure to close out this trilogy around the Baltic.
Every Ferry is an Adventure
When my husband and I went on road trips, it was always the ferry crossings that signalled the start of something. If a journey involved a ferry, it automatically counted as an adventure. This crossing felt exactly like that. Travelling from Tallinn to Helsinki – an easy two‑hour hop from one capital to the next via Tallink – was the perfect way to continue the trip.
Tallinn’s terminal was a huge, modern space serving multiple routes, busy in that purposeful yet slightly chaotic way ports always are. Once I’d checked (and double‑checked) that I was at the right gate, everything was smooth. Boarding was oddly casual – no-one checked my ticket – and within minutes I was climbing the stairs to the open deck to watch Estonia fade into the distance.
The sailing itself was calm and surprisingly quick. I spent most of it outside, watching the sea ice shift and glitter beneath the low winter sun: flat white sheets forming frozen crazy paving that cracked and bobbed as the ferry pushed through. The air was cold and bright, the foghorns low and resonant, and it all felt somewhat cinematic. When my fingers finally protested, I ducked inside for a tea and thawed out before heading back out again. It was mesmerising, and a travel moment that will stay with me.
Disembarking in Helsinki was just as easy: a short walk to the tram, a few stops into the centre, and then a gentle wander along a short canal to the Hilton Helsinki Strand. A treat for this final leg – serene, spacious, and perfectly placed for two days of slow, solo wandering. But really, it was the ferry that set the tone: a small adventure in its own right, and the loveliest way to arrive
A Slow Beginning
My time in Helsinki was slow by design. Yes, I walked a lot (I’ll come to that), but I also spent long stretches resting in my hotel room, tucked into coffee shops, or sitting quietly in the library. I’m still learning how to balance travel with the reality of my energy, to let myself enjoy a bit of nothing alongside the adventure. Slow wandering, good people‑watching, journalling, chatting with friends back home… these moments count too. They’re part of the joy of being somewhere new. It’s tempting to treat every trip like an endurance sport, to fill every hour because you ‘should’, but I’m realising that where I am right now, adventure doesn’t have to be constant. Not every time, anyway.
One of the small delights of my first evening was stumbling across a giant stuffed elephant in the Citycentre shopping centre – a sculpture called Taimi. Created by Maikki Kaikuru with other Finnish artists, Taimi is almost completely handmade. It was beautiful: it looked soft, intricate, and oddly comforting; I admit I wanted to find a secret door into the display case so I could curl up and take a nap.
But it was the name that stopped me. Taimi was chosen through a public competition and means ‘the beginning of a new beginning’”. Paired with the symbolism of an elephant – never forgets – it felt unexpectedly personal. Standing there on this solo adventure, not even a year into this journey of working out what life is to be for me now, it landed with a quiet resonance I didn’t expect to find in central Helsinki. I even went back the next day hoping for a tiny replica to take home, but alas, no such luck.
Capital of Contrasts
But you know I didn’t just sit and eat pistachio buns and drink lattes in local cafés. I also made a concerted effort to really explore Helsinki in a way I wasn’t able to on that work trip back in 2011. First up, a guided history lesson thanks to VoiceMap.
These app-based audio walking tours have become one of my favourite ways to get to know a city, and Helsinki’s tour – called Capital of Contrasts – was one of the best I’ve done so far. Well‑paced, well‑researched, and full of small details that made Helsinki feel super interesting. As I walked through the city, my headphones fed me stories about Finland’s national bird (the whooper swan, chosen for its elegance and resilience), the country’s unusual railway gauge inherited from the Russian Empire, and the network of bomb shelters built beneath the city – which have above ground roles as sports halls, car parks, and even swimming pools.
There were snippets about Finland’s long‑running conscription debate, and a stop outside Oodi, the public library that famously offers sewing machines, 3D printers, recording studios, and gaming rooms alongside books (and places to sit). I was reminded that some of Helsinki’s pavements are geothermally heated to prevent winter ice, which is why you don’t slip every five minutes here.
The route wound through parks, past statues, along the waterfront, and into neighbourhoods I wouldn’t have found on my own. It was fascinating, gently paced, and a solo‑traveller activity I would highly recommend: structured enough to guide me, flexible enough to let me pause whenever something caught my eye. There’s a spaciousness to Helsinki that’s hard to describe; wide pavements, uncluttered streets, architecture that comes from every modern era available, and this was a great way to get to know it better.
A Musical Monument
One place that wasn’t on the VoiceMap tour but that I knew I wanted to revisit was the Sibelius Monument. I’d seen it last time, but only in the fading December light – a rushed stop where I couldn’t fully appreciate it. Seeing it properly this time, in daylight and with space to wander around it, felt entirely different.
The monument sits in Sibelius Park (Sibeliuspuisto) in Töölö, about a 30-45 minute walk from the centre, and is dedicated to Jean Sibelius, Finland’s most celebrated composer. His music (he wrote Finlandia) became a symbol of national identity during periods of Russian rule, which is why this monument holds such emotional weight here.
Created by artist Eila Hiltunen and unveiled in 1967, the sculpture is made up of more than 600 hollow steel pipes, welded into a wave‑like formation that catches the light and seems to hum with movement. It’s abstract, modern, and moving – part musical score, part frozen forest, part national tribute.
As I stood beneath it, with many other visitors, the opening bars of Finlandia lodged themselves in my head and stayed there for the rest of the day (and do so again as I write this). There’s something about the monument that feels both national and personal: a nod to Sibelius, yes, but also to the Finnish landscape, the winter light, and the melodic strength woven through the culture.
Soarin’ Over Helsinki
Helsinki has its fair share of classic city attractions. There’s SkyWheel Helsinki with its (very Finnish) sauna gondola, the Baltic‑themed Sea Life centre, Korkeasaari Zoo on its own island (one of the oldest zoos in the world), the wonderfully odd Amos Rex with its fabulous domed plaza, and guided tours of the Helsinki Music Centre. But the attraction I chose to pay for was the Flying Cinema – Helsinki’s version of the Soarin’‑style immersive ride you might know from Disney’s EPCOT.
It’s right on the harbour at Katajanokka, and offers several different films. I opted for their newest one, Wings of Love, a sweeping aerial journey across Finland’s lakes, forests, islands, and winter landscapes. A single show costs €14-€16, with discounted combo tickets if you want to see two films back‑to‑back.
I’ve done similar experiences in Canada and Iceland, and this one sits comfortably alongside them, smaller in scale than EPCOT, but beautifully done. Wind and mist brush your face, the ‘flying’ movement is gentle but convincing, and the soundtrack is big and cinematic without being over the top.
I went in expecting light entertainment; what I got was a genuinely lovely few minutes of escapism. I spent most of the ride grinning, with the occasional flicker of emotion – exploring this place from a completely different angle. Short, fun, and well worth the ticket.
Steam, Sea and Solitude
There will be a whole post on the Löyly sauna, but here’s the shape of it. This public sauna sits on the edge of Hernesaari, a lengthy walk or easy tram ride from the centre. The building is all sharp angles, blackened timber, and slatted geometric layers that look like a cross between a sculpture and a giant driftwood stack. Inside, it’s simple: basic communal spaces, and four saunas including a smoke sauna and a fabulous window sauna overlooking the Baltic.
I talk about Sauna being a recent love, but I’ve used them in Finland before – my husband and I stayed in Ruka a couple of times, where having a private sauna in your room is simply the Finnish way. But this was my first time booking a public sauna – anywhere – on my own. And honestly, it felt strangely liberating. A perfect solo activity done alongside others: with people, but not with them.
The air inside was hot and clean. Every so often a sauna master would appear to tend the fires, adding logs with a practised, almost meditative ease. Between rounds, I padded out onto the deck and dipped into the Baltic – two sharp, shocking plunges that stole my breath and then returned it in a rush. The decking was icy underfoot, the fog thick enough that the horizon disappeared, and the water so cold it felt like stepping into another element entirely.
I sat in the window sauna watching the sea shift and shimmer, fog drifting like smoke across the surface. Compared to the Estonian saunas, Löyly felt more architectural, more curated, but no less restorative. Quiet, grounding, and exactly the kind of calm I’d hoped for.
Finnish Food and Flavours
There was no deep dive into Finnish cuisine on this trip, but food is half the fun of travel for me, a way of understanding a place through its flavours. And without trying, Helsinki’s food scene made that easy: simple and comforting and with restaurants everywhere. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell you everything I ate, just a couple of things that were particularly memorable.
One culinary curveball was a savoury rice‑pudding pastry from a harbour‑side bakery. I’d expected Karelian pie (karjalanpiirakka) to be sweet; instead, it was warm, salty, and oddly soothing, like a Nordic cousin of an arancini that had decided to become a tart. Once I got over the ‘oh, it’s savoury’ moment, I found it very moreish – humble, filling, and very Finnish.
I stopped at Café Engel, a Helsinki classic overlooking the Cathedral. After asking for help choosing, I was offered a half‑and‑half lunch: creamy salmon soup on one side, reindeer meatballs with mash and lingonberry on the other. It felt like the most Finnish combination imaginable. The soup was delicate and dill‑forward, full of soft potatoes and warmth; the meatballs were rich and hearty and comforting. Did I need both? No, but I’m glad I did!
And while not traditionally Finnish, I have to give an honourable mention to the lunch I had at Löyly after my sauna session: the Löyly Bowl – warm grains, vegetables, salmon, herbs. Simple, nourishing, perfect after cold water and hot steam. This was one of the places I lingered a long while, watching the fog lift slightly over the Baltic and feeling that quiet contentment that only good food in a beautiful place can bring.
Practical Notes
Helsinki seems to be a city that runs so smoothly you barely notice the machinery behind it. Everything works – the ferries, the trams, the ticketing, the signage – and it all has that quietly competent Finnish feel. But it’s still a capital city, still busy with visitors, and the usual rules apply: keep an eye on your bag, book ahead for popular spots, and expect crowds around the harbour and cathedral. Even so, it’s one of the easiest places I’ve travelled solo.
I arrived by ferry from Tallinn, which I’d recommend to anyone. The Tallink crossing is two hours of smooth sailing, and disembarking into the city is wonderfully simple: a short walk to the tram stop, tap your phone to pay, and you’re off. Trams (use HSL to plan) are the backbone of Helsinki – frequent, clean, intuitive – and perfect for dipping between neighbourhoods without fuss.
I stayed at the Hilton Helsinki Strand, which turned out to be an ideal base. Quiet, modern, and right on the canal, most of the city was walkable from there: the harbourfront, the library, the cafés, even the Sibelius Monument if you don’t mind a longer wander.
Helsinki felt very safe, even in the darkness (of which there is a lot!). English is widely spoken, card payments are universal, and March, while cold, came with bright skies and that crisp Baltic air that makes walking a pleasure. Layers are essential, though; the wind off the water is no joke.
For a short solo city break, Helsinki is an easy recommendation: calm, efficient, and full of small, grounding moments that make even a brief visit feel worthwhile.
Reflections on Helsinki
Helsinki surprised me in the best way. I remembered liking it back in 2011, but spending more time here revealed a city that’s calm, confident, and quietly beautiful. It doesn’t demand your attention; it simply invites you to slow down and notice things: the clean lines of the architecture, the soft winter light, the way the sea wraps around the city.
I loved the café culture, the spaciousness, the ease of wandering. I loved how walkable it was, how the trams stitched the neighbourhoods together, how the waterfront kept pulling me back. The VoiceMap tour deepened everything – the history, the quirks, the resilience woven into the city’s design. And Löyly… well, that was its own kind of magic. A peaceful, elemental experience that felt like the perfect bookend to a week of saunas, cold water, and a little bravery.
Did I love Helsinki as much as Oslo? Not quite – Oslo still managed to infiltrate my soul in a way I can’t fully explain – but Helsinki came close. It’s a city I could happily return to, especially in winter or early spring when the Baltic feels wild and the fog softens the edges of everything. It gave me exactly what I needed: quiet, warmth, space, and the gentle pleasure of being alone in a place that rewards curiosity.
Three Countries in a Week
Looking back, the whole week feels like a beautifully stitched‑together trilogy: three countries, three adventures, three different ways of being in the world. Riga was the warm‑up – 36 hours of wandering, eating, learning, easing myself back into travel mode. Estonia was the heart of the trip – physical, cultural, emotional, full of movement, new landscapes, and small moments of resilience. And Helsinki was the exhale – a soft landing, a city to wander slowly, a place to gather myself before heading home.
What lingers most are the landscapes: the views of Riga from above; the lime‑green bog forests of Lahemaa, soft and spongy underfoot; the ice‑covered sandy beach, pale and otherworldly; the frozen Baltic shifting beneath the ferry; the fog‑wrapped shoreline on the walk to Löyly. New places have a way of rearranging something inside you, and these did exactly that.
I booked this trip because I needed a reset, something to pull me out of my head and back into the world. And it worked. It was physical, cultural, emotional. It gave me new skills, new landscapes, new resilience. And it reminded me that movement helps, that nature helps, that being open to small adventures helps.
Three countries in a week sounds like a lot, but it never felt rushed. It felt intentional. A journey in three acts, each one offering something different, each one arriving at exactly the right moment.