COLUMN ONE : Ferry Rides a Practical and Posh Way of Life : Scandinavia’s floating palaces offer transportation and a place to party. But Estonia sinking raises concern over the design that sparked the trend.

Gunborg Staffas, a white-haired day-tripper from Stockholm, didn’t think twice this week about boarding a Finnish car ferry just hours after the Estonia sank in Europe’s worst maritime disaster this century.

“I go three times a year, maybe more,” said Staffas, matter-of-factly describing her itinerary--an all-day ride from Stockholm to Turku, a bit of shopping in this well-kept former Finnish capital, then an overnight ride back.

A couple of search helicopters were cutting through the darkening sky over Turku’s harbor as Staffas spoke; the wind was whipping flags to and fro.

Somewhere far out on the water, south of the Finnish coast, Coast Guard vessels were then searching for the wreck of the Estonia, and about 800 missing passengers, now presumed dead. The hunt was being hampered by high winds and rough seas.

News reports, meantime, were homing in on the design of the passenger ferries--the so-called “Ro-Ros”--that ply these routes, and on persistent and deeply troubling questions about their safety.

Still, Staffas and the 2,200 others waiting to catch the huge Serenade--a ferry grander than the Estonia but similarly designed--were unperturbed.

“It was the first accident on this route,” Staffas said. “I think these ferries are safe enough.”

The Germans have their autobahns, New Yorkers their subway. Many cultures have their distinctive ways of getting from here to there, and for the sea-girded and island-rich Scandinavians, the way to go is unquestionably the passenger ferry.

Ferries in this part of the world are nothing like the clanging, utilitarian tubs that haul people and cars in North America.

They are luxurious, ubiquitous and often cheaper than the lowly inter-city bus. More like cruise ships than common-carrier barges, they constitute a unique way of life in the Baltic and North sea regions, giving people the simple sensations of freedom and pleasure that an American weekend road warrior might get, say, from a Harley-Davidson.

Which is why, last year, more than 12 million Finns and Swedes sailed the treacherous Baltic aboard passenger ferries--almost enough to constitute one trip for every man, woman and child in the two countries. Another 1.4 million traveled the narrow strait between Helsinki and Tallinn, the capital of Estonia. That figure is expected to swell to 2 million in 1994.

A quick glance at a map helps explain the draw of the sea for Nordic peoples: Norway and Sweden, for instance, are essentially a peninsula, with thousands of miles of coast that have beckoned since ancient times, forging a permanent bond with the water.

“There is a true love of the sea here,” said Jaan Kross, 74, the leading novelist in Estonia, a nation that considers itself culturally a part of Scandinavia. “The sea is part of (the) Estonian identity.”

The region’s long, natural affinity for water has, since the 1950s, been cannily exploited by shipping company executives who have turned what were once simple conveyances into extravagant pleasure palaces where five-star facilities are offered at bargain-basement prices, subsidized by sales of duty-free alcohol and cigarettes.

“These ferries are the most luxurious in the world, I can assure you,” said Per Forsskahl, managing director of the Finnish Ship Owners Assn. “They have games and shows and shops and dance floors and 15 restaurants. They are the biggest hotels in the world.”

Indeed, the Serenade, owned by Silja Line, Finland’s largest ferry operator, is to a typical American-style car ferry what the Concorde might be to a Cessna.

The ship towered majestically over Turku’s harbor Thursday evening, white and gleaming, its silhouette evoking images of the grand old days of ocean travel, of furs, champagne and elbow-length gloves. Up and down its boarding ramps, however, moved ordinary, middle-class Scandinavians, clad in leisure wear and pushing baby strollers.

The interior of the ferry more than measured up to the high expectations: There were a four-story, glass-roofed atrium; glass-bubble elevators; luxury shops; tropical-hardwood floors; colorful banners, and an assortment of sidewalk-style cafes.

There were two saunas--the larger done in the style of a Roman bath, the smaller set amid the palm trees, pools, fake rocks and waterfalls of a mock forest grotto.

The tables in the main discotheque were handmade of blue Italian marble. Four of five cabins had that most prized shipboard luxury: a window.

One of the most surprising things about this opulence is how cheaply it can be had.

While an American might save all year for a Caribbean cruise aboard such a ship, a Scandinavian traveler can bask the hours away for as little as $20 for a simple deck ticket.

Cabins cost more, and the big ferry operators require overnight travelers to pay for sleeping accommodations. But even then, prices are startlingly low. Forsskahl said cabins normally start at about $32 and range to $219 for five-star luxury.

The real money, though, changes hands in the duty-free shops aboard the ferries. While on land, Finns and Swedes pay stiff taxes on alcohol and can buy it only in government-run shops that are closed on weekends. Thus, the promise of tax-free, off-hours alcohol is an irresistible lure.

“Tax-free alcohol and cigarettes are the ferry lines’ biggest business--60% to 70% of their income comes from selling things to people,” said Kirsi Turkki, a financial reporter for the Turku daily newspaper Turun Sanomat.

Corporate executives in Scandinavia typically use passenger ferries to pamper their top performers, without running up big expense accounts. Sales people use them to hold floating trade fairs. And so many young people use them for a good, cheap, duty-free drunk that a ferry ride is sometimes known as a “booze cruise.”

“You come back with a big headache,” said Forsskahl, and, indeed, as day-tripper Staffas waited to board Thursday, the incoming Serenade disgorged a respectable number of bons vivants , along with assorted drunks who tumbled down the gangways into the arms of the waiting and watchful harbor police.

All this good, cheap fun has been made possible in large part by the introduction, in the 1950s, of the very technology that is now widely suspected as the culprit in the Estonia disaster: the roll-on, roll-off car ferry, or “Ro-Ro.”

Ro-Ros have huge doors that open front and back to let ferry operators board hundreds of cars in a short time. The design was a breakthrough in the shipping industry, where each minute wasted loading freight means extra fuel costs, slip fees and crew overtime.

“In the days before roll-on, roll-off ferries, if you wanted to take a car on board, it had to be lifted on and off by crane,” said Bengt Lindberg, financial vice president of the Viking Line, the other of Finland’s two big ferry companies. “This was very expensive and complicated.”

That meant only the rich could take the cruise-like passenger ships that today call themselves ferries. With the Ro-Ro, Lindberg said, “the prices went down, and ordinary people could travel and have a good time.”

But as many are noting in the wake of the Estonia catastrophe, Ro-Ro technology also raises questions about ferry safety and design.

There has been speculation as to whether, for example, the Estonia was traveling too fast, putting excessive pressure on one of its giant doors, which popped open and allowed water to gush in.

And, by necessity, a Ro-Ro must have a big, flat car deck, with no transverse walls; the big open space is what lets people drive on and off so quickly. The lack of any bulkhead walls on the car deck means, though, that, if water somehow comes aboard, no matter how shallow it is, it can slosh unimpeded from one end of the ship to the other. That can destabilize the vessel and make it flip suddenly.

After the notorious capsizing of the Ro-Ro ferry Herald of Free Enterprise just after it left the Belgian port of Zeebrugge in 1987--a wreck that killed 193 people--the International Maritime Organization stepped up work on a tougher new set of regulations for Ro-Ros.

They are meant to make sure Ro-Ros stay afloat for at least 45 minutes in an accident; all such craft built after 1990 are supposed to meet these standards. There are about 4,000 Ro-Ros in use around the world, and the older ones are eventually to be retrofitted or scrapped.

But even these improvements do not resolve the inherent design problem: a huge, flat car deck, free of walls.

And in a radio interview Friday, even as investigators announced that they had located the Estonia’s wreckage, a senior Swedish maritime official complained that some ferry operators are not taking their responsibilities seriously enough within the existing regulatory framework.

Swedish Shipping Bureau chief Claes Hansson said that, since the Estonia disaster, he had received reports of four near-misses involving Ro-Ros--reports that should have been filed by the ferry lines immediately but were not.

As an example, he mentioned the Diana II, a ferry that sails between the southern Swedish port of Trelleborg and the northern German city of Rostock.

In the wake of the Estonia tragedy, Hansson said he had learned that in January, 1993, one of the ramps of the Diana II had ripped open in a storm; the captain managed to avert disaster by maneuvering the ship into port.

Asked why the ferry lines involved had not reported these near-misses before, Hansson replied, “For economic reasons. After this (Estonia) catastrophe, they now have guilty consciences.”

He added bitterly: “If we had known about this earlier, then the sinking of the Estonia might have been avoided.”

His agency has ordered a mass inspection of Ro-Ro ferry loading ramps in Sweden, even if this disrupts sailing timetables.

Despite these grim revelations, the two big ferry companies sailing between Finland and Sweden report that insignificant numbers of passengers have canceled this week.

An exception were Petri Tanskanen, 21, and his 18-year-old fiancee, Johanna Heiang, both from Helsinki. They had planned to celebrate their engagement with a combined train-ferry trip to Stockholm but had come as far as Turku by rail when they heard about the sinking of the Estonia.

“We got nervous,” said Tanskanen, and they stopped for a day here to think things over. The lure of the sea eventually won out, and they re-booked.

The couple was sitting Thursday evening in the Silja Line’s departure lounge, fidgeting a bit as they waited for the Serenade to dock and they could embark for a typical Scandinavian treat: 12 hours out, an hour in port, and 12 hours back.

“The weather is less windy tonight,” Tanskanen said. “And this is a newer and bigger boat than the Estonia.”

Walsh reported from Turku and Murphy from Stockholm.