Adventures in Estonia, Where "Everything is Possible."

The mystery location you were all so eagerly awaiting was a little farm known as Loode Talu on the Tagamõisa Peninsula of Saaremaa Island, Estonia. Estonia is a lovely place full of vast tracks of land, both literal and figurative; verdant forests, lakes dotting the countryside at regular intervals, and very attractive women - Stockholm still has it though. It's little wonder that there is so much greenery to see, however, given how proud Estonians are of it. They seem to put a good deal of effort into maintaining it. I know you were hoping to hear about Tallinn, but it will wait until the next blog, because there is too much storytelling to do here in Tagamõisa.

With this in mind, I came to Estonia, after signing up online for a 12 day work camp, doing environmental and agricultural volunteer work for a couple running a tourist farm for city slickers looking for a respite from the work-a-day world, free of modern demands, and full of the soothing calm of the wilderness...rainy and windy though it may be. Fields, forest, and thatch roofed cottages gave it a rustic and authentic feel.

We arrived to meet our hosts Valdo and Rita, an amiable couple, and almost charicatures. Valdo a jovial, playful and joking type. He seemed deferential, and even spiritual in nature, bowing with clasped hands, as he would do. He overflowed with charisma and couldn't help but like him on the spot. With overflowing hospitality, he prepared us for the night. Rita, his wife, was very nice, but with a severe and sour look permanently fixed on her face she spoke with such sharp phrasing that it sounded as if she were angry all the time. What was most wonderful was that everything she did, it was as if she were on speed, like a little tit mouse scurrying from place to place. I have never seen anyone move so quickly and with such efficiency as she; she was a woman with not one, but myriad missions to accomplish simultaneously. Later we met the last of our cast of charachters who would be our hosts....Hiller, known for two days as "crazy man". He worked frantically, almost as if he were fearful of their rath. He spoke in jilted, broken phrases that didn't quite make sense. To us, he was mostly just a blur, chasing sheep one way, powering a wheelbarrow full of wood somewhere else. Adding to my initial impression of him was my first conversation with him, which went as follows:

Hiller: "What's the matter with you?"
Me: "Ummm...uh nothing, thanks???"
Hiller: "Okay. Sorry, sorry, sorry" <bowing as he shuffled backwards to where he was previously standing>

It turns out he was a pensioner who lived his whole life only a km away, perhaps reliant on the abundant good will of Valdo and Rita, as he was too old to care for animals on his farm any longer. So, as he said frequently, "I help, I help". I later learned he believed from the above exchange that he was trying to ask if I needed anything :)

I hope he fairs well, because as we would soon find out, the wellspring that irrigated the fields of Valdo's hospitality at Loode Talu found themselves subject to a perilous drought shortky thereafter. The first day went off quite well. We began, to my excitement the construction of a new house, that we would hopefully build from top to bottom; I was intensely excited that Valdo agreed he would show me how to construct a thatched roof. We worked hard to move large logs that would be used in the constuction of the house.

We entertained ourselves with learning various arts, from oragami, to little bunny foo foo, to the playing of Jenga, which has come to prove rather an obsessive sort of pasttime. The swing portrayed in the photo was also very cool. Activities considered, but ones we didn't get around to: Wiffleball, dancing, burning ourselves in protest. Our group bonded quickly, and the unfortunate series of events that were about to unfold would help to strengthen the ties that bind.

We moved onto the exciting work of firewood relocation and stacking for the following day's activity. This is where it becomes interesting. The "tractor", an old Volvo with a trailer on the back of it, was the mechanism to be used to transport the wood from the pile to the wood shed. Here's the problem, it has no breaks, seatbelts don't really work, and truth be told, neither does the front left wheel all that well. I nearly ran over the table in the yard, but it slowed me down enough just in running into it, that I didn't have the momentum to overcome. I also nearly ran over the dog, but then got a handle on how to drive a car with no breaks, including no emergency breaks. But it was kind of fun driving the quintessential P.O.S. car - Even the exhaust blew into the car rather than out.

When we finally got the car up to the shed, we thought it would be easier to unhook the trailer to unload the wood by tipping it toward us; it was. The concern for us was, however, that when the weight moved out of the back it would tip back and maybe break the window. So with great foresight we decided to move the car. Being a Mensch, I offered to do so, and began to move the car forward, when it stalled, as it oftern did, being a piece of shit car. It rolled backwards, my foot pressing for dear life on the non-break pad, and into the trailer, smashing the back window (which sadly we were all too stunned to take a picture of). Fortunately Valdo had not yet turned, and was quite nonplussed by the whole thing. Probably because the driver's side window was already smashed, the gas guage didn't work, and the spedometer needle was broken off, among other things.

The next day, Valdo was in a bad mood, and decided that it would be okay to pick on Yannick, for reasons that aren't entirely clear to any of us, except maybe his penchant for beer and cigarettes, but who really knows for certain. He also thought it would be okay to fondle one of the girls, and proceed to turn from gracious host to angry overseer, and we were his lowly serfs. Serfdom is enormously different than Smurf-dom, by the way (I just wanted to clarify). That being said, he proceeded to tell us that we were not allowed to talk and to basically explain to us how and why we were his bitches and he could treat us like donkeys.
Frustratrated and offended we had a thoroughly exhausting, but very productive meeting, where the tales of fondling and mental abuse came to light. We quickly, and without realizing it, formed a collaborative union and agreed amongst ourselves what were fair working conditions and what were not, among several other issues I won't go into. It was an exemplar of an anarchic decision making framework. We decided to talk to Valdo.

Pierre, our poor beleaguered leader was wary of confronting Valdo, given what had become apparent about him - that it was his way or "shut the fuck up bitch before I pound you into the ground!" We discussed the hours, and he said "everything is possible" which we later learned is the same as a parents "maybe," ie. no. As he was about to leave, without the most important issue addressed - his treatment of us. I told him squarely that we were there as volunteers and not as his serfs (which may have offended him, given that Estonia had been under the Yoke of Russian oppression for many a year), and that we wouldn't stand for it. Furthermore that there was some inappropriate and unwanted fondling I'd learned about and that it had better stop.

I must admit that it was really a hard thing for me to do. I am not good at confronting people with issues. I've been the kind of person who backs down. My dad is a paragon of standing up for what is right, regardless of who he pisses off. I've always admired that, and felt ashamed that I could not live up to his grand example (it should be said that he never held me to such a standard, or that he was even aware that I had invented such a one, but I did and it's been a long road to try to emulate this high character quality). I've spent a long time practicing small acts of courage in hopes that I could one day approach the model he's provided for me; I finally feel as if I have lived up to it to my satisfaction. This week I feel that I have come of age.

The next day we stacked more firewood (All activities were wood related actually - mostly moving it to later be built into something). Everything seemed to be fine, and then Valdo told Yannick he had to leave. We were in a bit of an uproar and later discussed the solidarity movement at the camp and concluded that Valdo would have one more chance to change his tune; it happened. The next morning we got up early to move some wood, worked hard in a Valdo free environment, our overseer was the ever pleasant, though often confused and confusing, Hiller-I-Help. There was always the somewhat wary question, "Where's Valdo?" - he's a sneaky S.O.B. But we carried on talking and singing all the same. We taught Hiller a little more English while he directed us to place logs deep into the forest, which we later had to remove because he was confused by the instructions. It was okay, we passed the time singing about the promised land, and the Ohio River, and sundry songs about Massa. I also taught them "It's Hard To Be Humble" Valdo came back and dismissed us for lunch and offered to bring us candies and other goodies, then in a schizophrenic orgy of fuckin' weirdness, lit into Lena calling her Madam Butterfly, yelling: "You Madam Butterfly, not I Madam Butterfly!!!"

Now at this point I haven't decided whether I should be angry at his being such an awful Dick of a man unworthy of respect due to minor pests, or to laugh at the portrait of ridiculousness personified. I mean, his reference didn't even make sense at the moment (and was delivered in such an infantile manner), but from what I've now wikipediaed about Madam Butterfly, I see it was witty a witty way of saying that she would be forced to accept his rules, not he her's. It was clearly a clever veiled threat, but with a potently misplaced twist that was yet to come. In the end I settled on a compromise: He was a ridiculous, though perhaps clever, Dick of a man, for whom I had lost all respect and goodwill. That's pretty hard to do with me, my goodwill's is given for granted...and my cup runneth over, but he slurped a little too greedily from it, and the well runneth dry. Now I'm a bit parched too.

Lena was besided herself, and I simply declared, "that's it, I'm out," and the rest heartily agreed. We concluded to pack up quickly and leave at once, the money we'd spent to go there be damned. We did, and we left in what would soon bee the pouring rain down the lonely 3 km stretch of road toward the bus station (Promised land), when up drove Valdo. As we passed, it couldn't have been written more perfectly into a movie script (actually, the whole week was brilliant in theis sense; you just can't make this shit up). Valdo slowed the car down as if to say something when we beat him to the punch, telling him something to the effect of "We're finished. Goodbye." His face betrayed a man dumbfounded, his weighty maw agape with disbelief that his minions had renounced his dominion and overthrown his oppressive regime. The look on his face was worth a thousand kickings of electronic barking dogs into the sea. I will relish it with vigour.

It stick with me that when Valdo said, "I'm the Boss here. I make the rules." We repulsed his heavy handedness with our solidarity and smote his hautiness with a firm Nay. Nay indeed, Valdo. In the immortal words of Homey the Clown: "Homey don't play that." And so we bid adieu to Valdo, for herein lies the conclusion of this short but harrowing tale of the triumph of the worker over "The Man," for we had nothing to lose but our chains, so said Karl Marx; and were he here today he would certainly have joined us in quothing to Valdo, "Not we Madam Butterfly, Valdo. You Madam Butterfly."

We arrived in Kuressaare, the one true city on Saaremaa, and stayed the night in dry warm comfort, ready to embark on our next adventure in an alternate work camp, one destined to be no less work, but limitlessly more pleasant to partake in, near Pärnu in southern mainland Estonia. This morning, we sadly were forced to say goodbye to our Japanese contingent who couldn't bear the possibility that all workcamps might be so horrible; tears were shed and now we are but three.

Stay tuned for tales of Tallinn, Kuressaare, and more as they are sure to tittilate, facinate, and be fun even.

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