Estonia, Part II: Naughty, Naughty Virgins, and a Kick in the Cock for Good Measure. Oh, and Riga too.

Backing up a bit, to September 4th in fact, the day I arrived in the Camp of Doom, also known as Loode Talu, I spent a wonderful day in Tallinn.

Side note: For all the curious and ill events at Valdo's farm, I have to say it was an inspiring experience too. Every dictator needs his role models, right? No, but reallly...Valdo's got nothing on Maestro the Malicious - isn't that right kids? But I digress. What inspired me was the idea of the whole program. Over the past few weeks, I have had the idea of sustainability consistently flashed before my consciousness, and I'm not one to dismiss patterns as mere coincidence. I really think the idea, sans Dictatorship, is a good one. The notion of having a sustainable camp where young people can come from other places around the world, work, learn about sustainability and the how they can employ it in their lives, and experience a different culture, is a wonderful idea. There are similar programs already like Wwoof, and others, but it would be great to have one that is more educationally based. It's a thought, but one I'm excited about.

Since leaving the Camp of Doom, we have been relishing the events that unfolded their as they truly were, the pinnacle of ridiculousness. I have constituted a top five most essential Valdo vocabulary for future, would-be dictators:

5. Tomorrow you work alone
4. No talking when working. You talk later. Work now.
3. Everything is possible
2. In Five Years, here will be paradise (get the scary historical reference? - bonus points if you do)
1. YOU Madam Butterfly, not I Madam Butterfly.


Before I return to the subject of Tallinn, let me say a word about the previous contest: LeAnna won, not only due to her prompt and correct reply, but also due to her citation of source material to prove that it was indeed a Chamois. Pete, good try, but I'm still a teacher....although the image of you using a whole chamois (instead of just the cloth) pleased me mightily. New contest: Create Valdo's epithet. The best, most creative, and enjoyable will when a postcard from who the hell knows where.

Back to Tallinn. Tallinn is a very interesting city, and one that is known most famously for it's old town. It's new town looks nothing like it, and not much newer from what I saw. Tallinn's new town vascillates between quaint wooden cottages, to flashy shopping malls, to drab communist blockhouses, all within a couple of blocks of one another. It is a city, a whole country really, characterized by two lives, a Russian and Estonian life. They live separately, like ships passing in the night, but peacefully. Separate schools, separate lives, separate neighborhoods, but from all appearances, there is no favour dolled out to one group or the other. they simply co-exist.

Tallinn's Old town is quite impressive, however, full of great churches and medieval walls. I spent the morning looking for clothes for the work camp, and after taking some local advice headed to a flea market behind the train station, where I bought jeans, a fleece sweater and blanket, two pairs of socks, some toiletries, and a few other things for the ridiculously low price of the equivalent of €40.00. Estonia is surprisingly cheaps considering it's so damn close to Finland. May favorite part of Tallinn were two of its towers: The "Virgins' Tower" or "Maiden's Tower" which was used as a prostitute's prison, and the "Kiek in de Kök Tower" which literally means, I am told, the peak in the kitchen tower. But I appreciate that it's pronounced Kick in the Cock. Oh those medieval estonian's were never up to much good. Naughty naughty virgins, and peeping Toms. I also went and saw the curiously amazing little city museum, and the lady in charge there let me in for free because I was a teacher ... €2 saved. The photography museum was worth seeing too; they actually had original Deguerotype photos...a rare treat for anyone who might know something about the history of photography.

That night, before I almost missed my connection to the Farm of Doom, I went for a small dinner. There was this gorgeous supervisor in the restaurant that I kept looking up to see also looking at me. I'd smile, go back to eating, and look up again. There again, she was looking at me. This, not a usual occurance for me, made me start to think...."hmmm do I have something gross dangling from my ear, or perhaps a dirt smudge smeared across my face. I had to go to the bathroom to check...nope. So back to my seat, where she had retired to the back of the restaurant, but again looking my way...then disappearing out of sight for the rest of my stay. It was a strange, but wonderful meal experience. I left a note and an email with my bill, and have not heard back, but strangely, I don't really care. I left it without my usual nervousness...small acts of courage. It's that life's the journey, not the destination stuff, that I'm finally coming to understand.

Fast Forward beyond the original camp, and we come to the morning that we said good-bye to our Japanese friends. I hope whatever adventures they're on are good, and that Tohko can manage her gi-normous hardcase suit case on her own. A tip for wouldbe travellers. Do not bring a bag you cannot lift over your head without breaking either yourself or someone else. If you can't, you've taken too much, or your luggage is inefficiently bulky. So with some remorse Lena, Pierre, and I spent the day wandering about Kuressaare, a cool little town full of interesting things to see, like people blowing away in the wind of change...it was blowing furiously, and it felt hideously cold, despite the clear sunny weather. Fortunately we managed to take refuge in the best preserved castle in the Baltics, and the only one with an actual mote that I've ever seen. It was really cool. After spending a good amount of time in the ridiculously cheap, and very informative castle, we went and sampled estonian culinary goodness. There most popular treat is a sauce sandwich with a burger topping. Seriously guys, lay off the sauce, just a little ;) We were later crushed by giants, and I managed to make a creamer explode in my hand as I tried to get the milk out of a not-big-enough hole in the container. Good times, good times.

The following day we left for our new work camp, hoping our overseer would be a kinder fellow. After a short bus trip to Pärnu, we were reunited with Yannick and now had a retinue of four. I learned something very interesting in Pärnu, namely that toilet paper is conveniently outside of the bathroom stalls, where you can't reach it when you have a shitty ass. Well, possibly you can, but it's inadviseable for a variety of reasons I don't need to elaborate on. I figure that good ol' Murphy must play into this, since this is the first time on my trip that I really DESPERATELY needed to get to the toilet seat. So even if it had occured to me to look for the toilet paper in advance, it wouldn't have done me much good. After a few moments of, "Oh shit, now what?" A solution came to me. Let's just say, thank goodness for the napkin I took with me from the cafe in case I needed to blow my nose later. Otherwise, I would have had to do the shitty-ass waddle over to the infamous wall o' tissue.

So arriving, finally, at our destination, we found our overseer was much like Alan Eaton, in looks and temperment, so I was immediately at ease, and I wandered over to the bookshelf, as I often do at his house. I felt at home immediately; here also there was a shelf full of books I'm not able to understand, only here it's because they're not in English; at Alan's they're above my literary and intellectual abilities. In short, we found not a dictator, but rather a welcoming and sincere host. What's more, Rite was a mostly absent supervisor, *Kind of like the EPA* building a straw-bail house. I had hoped to help with that, so I could learn how to build one. The closest I got was learning how a tractor could be used to turn straw into staw bails. I guess it's not time yet for me to learn how to build a house...that's two false starts in as many weeks.

So instead we worked on our own demolishing an asphalt driveway to make way for a future garden. We worked harder and longer than we ever considered for Valdo. It's amazing what you'll do when you're treated with a little trust, kindness, and respect....a word to the wise! So now my muscles ache, my hands are blistered and sore, my legs and arms scraped, and it feels good. There's something fullfilling in knowing that you earned the pain through hard work, and saw your accomplishments through.

We passed the time singing songs, very loudly of course, since the jackhammer, and the earplugs made it difficult to hear. The two most common refrains were the mismatched pairing, "Stangers in the Night" - Classic, and the Canadian drinking song mentioned previously, "Oh Lord It's Hard To Be Humble" by Mac Davis.

Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
when you're perfect in every way.
I can't wait to look in the mirror
cause I get better loking each day.
To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man.
Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
but I'm doing the best that I can.

I used to have a girlfriend
but she just couldn't compete
with all of these love starved women
who keep clamoring at my feet.
Well I prob'ly could find me another
but I guess they're all in awe of me.
Who cares, I never get lonesome
cause I treasure my own company.

Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
when you're perfect in every way,
I can't wait to look in the mirror
cause I get better looking each day
To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man.
Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
but I'm doing the best that I can.

Sure, there's more, but the rest is kind of boring. This one's fun to sing. Have a listen to it here at evil books dot com.

The most heard song, not sung by us, I think, had to be the 80s love Ballad> "I Wanna Know What Love Is," by Foreigner. Europeans never cease to amaze and befuddle me with their musical selections. But that's the way it goes. [They] want to know what love is, and they want you to show them.

Funny Story 1:
I think after being in such good proximity with each other for such a long time, I think little things became both funny and began to gnaw on our nerves. At lunch on one of the days, I had finished and saw the chips sitting on the counter, and thinking that their salty, oniony goodness would make a nice end to the meal. I offended Pierre's sensibilities. He was quite distraught that I would dare eat crisps after lunch, for reasons he couldn't explain. I thought he was joking, so did Lena, and then he made it clear it was no joke. We laughed, and eventually so did Pierre, but not before proclaiming that eating chips after lunch was against his religion. It's the new no-eating-crisps-after-lunch religion, and Pierre is the Anti-Crisp.

Funny Story 2:
We also were quite enthralled with, and somewhat amused by one of the mentally handicapped fellows across the street who for three days sung with great conviction, passion, stamina to the stump of a tree. We were speculating that perhaps someone had told him that plants will grow better if you sing to them, which is true, though it may be a function of the extra carbon dioxide they're gaining access to. Nevertheless, he sang, and the stump did nothing. Perhaps it will grow and he will be vindicated; I suspect if it does, the tree will have done so just so it can have some peace and quiet. He is quite committed to his endeavor, which is admirable. --- Ehh, ehh, ehhhhhh. Anne On Saturday he was gone, we were sad, and grieved his absence, but he returned for us on Sunday; it was an encore production.

Funny Story 3:

With a great deal of satisfaction, we finally completed the front driveway, and drove our last spike, so to speak. Sure you may say that we were destroying and not building, like the captains of industry. But I say to you, nay, we are destroying what the captains of industry used to destroy what was previously there. So in effect we are creators. Superheroes really:

Pierre, AKA:
Breakfast Egg-Making Man, adding eggs to breakfast at every unfulfilling breakfast.
Lena, AKA:
Evil Stare Woman, making it clear when womanly hints have been missed to men worldwide.
Yannic, AKA: Beer-Drinking Man, ensuring no bottle is neglected, and no man(or woman) is left parched.
Cory, AKA: Captain Obfuscation, striking confusion in the hearts and minds of any and all to cross his path.


For in the wise words of Semisonic:

every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

Anyway, we had just finished taking photographs of the momentus occasion after a long day of really hard work. It took forever to do even a small patch with the help of the jackhammer. It actually wasn't a lot more effective than doing it by hand, although it had a great deal more stamina. It was at that point that Pierre, setting down the jackhammer, announced: "Uh oh. Guys, I think I found something." What had he found, but a previously invisible setting button. The jackhammer was set on level 1; there were 6 levels. Our eyes bulged open and we uttered things like, "shut the fuck up," "no way," and "you've got to be kidding." He was not, we could have been done hours, perhaps even a day or two earlier. We almost fell down laughing. The timing could not be written into a script more aptly. Sometimes truth is weirder than fiction. Why it had 6 levels is another question, perhaps like that scene out of This Is Spinal Tap where they're discussing level 11.

Our last full day together, our hosts graciously paid for us to go canoeing. It was a really great day. At first we had trouble steering in a straight line. Truthfully it was a good part my fault, given that I was in the back. I know bad Canadian! However, I think it was because I'm such a beefcake, and had too much power with my stroke, sending us way off course....any of you believing this should seriously have your head examined. Lena has been calling me "Raw Bear" which is basically the Flemish version of "beefcake." She may have been saying it mockingly; okay, she certainly was, but I repulse the mock with a sturdy Tai Chi manueover and a healthy dose of intentional obliviousness. (Can one be intentionally oblivious?). I was mightily pleased, however, when later she was mocking my steering, after showing herself quite proficient at it, she screwed up and we ended up backwards in the reeds. I laughed and immediately said: "Hey Lena, remember that time you were mocking my stearing and then you paddled us into the reeds? Good times, good times."

We stopped for a very nice lunch in a swamp, then went for a 5km hike along a long series of boards to keep us from falling into it, which is much less interesting than a harrowing escape from a muddy bog. Pierre, however, stepped it up and after taking off his shoes, managed to have a rusty nail stabbed deep into his flesh. Blood flowed like the salmon of Capistrana, and flesh was pulled loose. Blood I can take, skins, scrapes, you name it, but displaced flesh makes me swoon. I get light headed and nearly pass out. I can deal with it, like when I cut my finger wide open a couple of years ago. So I guess I'm okay in a pinch, but a lot of good my first aid is if I can't stay conscious for it. The worst thing for the two of us, was it put an end to our Ping Pong series. We played an excessive amount of it, and I met my match. It was a battle of Titans, an epic series, that had there been witnesses, their grandchildren would be recalling the events. One nail, and down he tumbled. In the end, Pierre won the only complete match, 22 games to 20, but I was leading him in the second 15 to 9, the grand total being 35 to 31, me.

It was a long canoe trip, 19 km down the river, plus all the extra weaving, and then the hike on top of it all. I passed the time with singing and chattering away...it seems it isn't only my dad that has come alive in me, but my mom too. I don't know who's going to be more talkitive by time I return. I'm a paragon of fliberdigibitiness. It got to Yannick at one point, I think he heard the Elvis verson of "Little Bunny Foo Foo" one too many times, and he yelled at me to shut up. I sang quietly to myself for a while until he was out of earshot again. I didn't realize how many cultural references I use in my everyday talk until I got to a place where nobody shares those references and has even less of an idea of what the hell I'm talking about than folks that do share them. Oh well, it will balance out when I get home: "Once at workcamp...." At last no once will have utterly dumbfounded everyone; nobody will have any idea what I'm talking about.

A Lesson on How Not To Be Seen

Comic strip mentioned in "Oh Those Ladies": Click here to behold Herman, the only comic strip known to make my dad wheeze and cry with laughter. Two of my favorites are Calvin and Hobbes and Get Fuzzy

I received a very warm welcome to Riga, they set off fireworks and everything for my arrival. It was such a surprise, and everyone pretended not to know me, to make it seem as if it was no big deal. Uh, yeah. Actually I have no idea what they were for, nobody seems to know why, not even the tourist information center. I don't really know how that's possible, because it was the most spectacular display of fireworks I have ever seen, without exception or condition. The sky all across the river was lit up. They must have spent their whole education and healthcare budget, which if the U.S. had done the same, they might have paid for a few dozen fire crackers ;)

Today I spent it at the Latvian international film festival. It was either that or join in Latvia's booming sex tourism industry, which I didn't actually know even existed before today. I guess it's a real problem here. I went for films. While probably incomparable activities, the movies sounded more my style. Whether you think that's cool or lame, to me it's only me:

And I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me.

I saw one about three connected people in the war in Iraq, one from the Czech Republic, and one I've been dying to see: Murderball, a film about Rugby for people in wheelchairs. That shit is hard core man.

As I was walking around, I saw this restaurant I just had to go into. It was called Dada, and all of it was based around the theme of Dadism, the artistic movement of the early twentieth century. It was meant to be a sort of anti-art, an assault on the senses. Check it out here. The music in the bathrooms was perfect. Imagine ghiving the instruments of an orchestra to five year olds, and you have the music of Dadaism....ladle, ladle, ladle. The decor, and even the waitresses were decorated in such a manner as to make you go, wtf? As for the menu, it was like Mongolie Grill for intellectuals, and the dessert was not so much an assult on the senses as it was a culinary tour de force. It was a brilliant restaurant, and definitely worth the money I spent. Creative, filling, and thoroughly intelligent. I loved it.

Riga is a kind of city I think I could live in, lively, but chill, large, but with a small enough feel about it. I would definitley return. It has a sharp edge that Tallinn lacks...maybe a little less Disney-esque (sorry Tallinn), and a little more edgy. The women, also are so stylish and elegant here. I'm not sure if that also means they're superficial, as I haven't spent enough time here, but they're all so Audrey Hepburn, and that's alright with me. Riga scores top marks in several categories.

Anyway, it's fucking late, or early. 3:28 am, and I am staying up so that I don't sleep through my rather quiet alarm, thus missing my 6:25 flight to Istanbul, Turkey. So I'm very soon off to the airport, and I'm sure to have some adventures to share with you from there.

Cheers and such,

Cor.

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