The year is February 1946. Crowds stand on the shore, looking out over the horizon with barely contained anticipation. Over a thousand people are waiting, joined by a film crew, three ministers (including the governor of the national bank), and police to keep the overly excited crowd in check. It’s been years since anyone has had a good cup of coffee in Finland, and today, that’s about to change.

World War II caused massive shortages due to wartime and post-war rationing. For nearly a decade, Finns have had little to no access to this dark, rich elixir we call coffee—a particular hardship in a place where coffee is already such a big part of the culture, a communal experience. In an effort to maintain traditions, people turned to substitutes like chicory, beetroot, and roasted grains. These were just ways to cope, reminders of what they were actually longing for, what they’d lost. This prolonged deprivation only heightened their appreciation and yearning for real coffee.
But finally, hope was kindled. It came in the form of a ship from Brazil called the S/S Herakles. The captain had one order only: to bring as much coffee as possible. And that he did. The ship arrived with approximately 2,400 tons of coffee—the first substantial shipment since the war's end. A similar cargo of sugar had arrived recently, but it didn’t generate nearly as much excitement. As coffee beans were unloaded into trains, the caffeine-deprived crowd picked up every loose bean from the ground to take home.

A few years ago, before I moved to Finland, this story wouldn’t have made much sense to me. I understood basic human psychology and the desire for something you can’t have. But people picking coffee beans off the ground out of sheer joy and desperation? That would’ve sounded a bit extreme… or at least, that’s what I would have thought.
Now, I get it completely.
Apparently, living in a country that drinks the most coffee per capita does affect one’s coffee habits. I used to be a moderate coffee drinker. Back in South Africa, instant coffee was popular, and I grew up drinking that… absolute garbage, to be honest. I can’t believe I used to have it regularly, but I’ll admit that any coffee is better than no coffee at all. More on that later.

In South Africa, coffee culture was somewhat niche, still in its infancy. A lot of people drank it, sure, but the true enthusiasts—the ones who obsessed over perfectly roasted beans and the art of pouring a cappuccino—were usually found only in hipster cafes. I was never interested in all that. If I’m honest, I thought it was a bit cringe. I can clearly remember seeing the hipster guys sitting at coffee shops with leather computer bags, typing away on MacBooks, sipping coffee that was cold-pressed and dripped through some kind of funnel to “balance out the flavors,” then poured into a fancy-looking cup. After a sip, they’d go on about the “nutty” or “chocolaty” notes. I’m exaggerating a bit, but that kind of thing always made me roll my eyes. I saw similar vibes in the US, where coffee had a showy, almost performative culture that doesn’t really exist here. Maybe it was the whole Starbucks scene.
Point is, I didn’t consider myself part of that coffee-drinking crowd.
But then I moved to Finland.

Here, coffee is simply a part of life. There’s no fluff around it. People just need their coffee. It doesn’t matter where it’s from, the cup it’s in, or any branding. If you invite someone over, it’s practically expected that you’ll offer some. I’m talking about filter coffee here.
I remember working in a buffet restaurant soon after moving here. On a side note, it blew my mind how popular buffets were. I’m so used to them now that I can’t imagine living somewhere without them. It was fascinating to see how often we had to refill these huge coffee canisters during a shift. People would eat lunch, then like clockwork, grab dessert with a cup of coffee. No one cared about the brand—as long as it wasn’t overly bitter, we had happy customers, many of whom would come back for another cup or two.
This is all fine, except for the fact that I think I’m now completely addicted. I love that first sip in the morning. I usually take it black because I do intermittent fasting, so no milk until after lunch. I make a fresh pot in the morning, which works out to about 2 to 2.5 cups. Then at work, we have a coffee machine… so that’s a few more cups there. Drinking a cup after lunch is one of my favorite moments of the day. There’s something about it—it’s almost like a ritual. All in all, I’d say I consistently drink about six cups a day. I’m not snobbish about coffee, though. In fact, I think I’ve become quite plain in my preferences. Gone are the days when I’d willingly order a cappuccino or some milky drink. That said, I recently went to Oslo for a few days, and the B&B didn’t have coffee in the morning. I was genuinely disappointed. But to my surprise and relief, I found instant coffee in a cupboard I was allowed to use. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a blessing.

The coffee culture here in Finland and everything around it speaks to the character of the people: stark, no-nonsense, and straightforward. Spending so much time in a country like this, it really does rub off on you.

Thinking back to that February day in 1946, I can see why people were so eager, even desperate, for a taste of real coffee. After so many years without it, coffee wasn’t just a drink—it was a reminder of life before scarcity, a ritual that bound people together, and still binds people together today. Finland is a coffee drinking nation. The story behind it is fascinating to me. It’s amazing that a hot beverage can play such a significant role in binding a society together.

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Chico Muya

The S/S Herakles and My Coffee Obsession