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There is a local legend that the hill was designed this way so that by the time you reach the heavy wooden doors of the church, you have left your breath—and your worries—somewhere back at the bottom.

As Lumi walked, the world narrowed into a rhythmic climb. To her left, the glowing windows of a small bistro spilled the scent of roasted coffee and cardamon into the crisp air. To her right, a cyclist stood up on his pedals, lungs burning as he fought the incline. F4D72477-E94F-4F33-99D2-D13FB495A1A9.jpeg

She reached the crest of the hill where the street finally leveled out. The wind was sharper here, carrying the faint salt-tang of the Baltic Sea. Lumi looked back down the long, straight line of Porthaninkatu, watching the tiny red glows of taillights receding into the distance. There is a local legend that the hill