Brilliance..

Ну, чтож.. This has been some time in the making. Thus you should enjoy the post like a fine wine. Left open for a few days, and initially fumbled off the bottom shelf because the label was enticing (note: this is actually a legitimate wine selection method, because.. I do it.) and all after already consuming some vodka, bez zakusok. Appreciate it.

Set, davai..

So.

I moved.

Should be mentioned that all of it took place in Russian as well. Hardcore awesomeprekrasno.

Setting the entire amalgam of various widely-sourced reasons behind.. I moved. It's done, and that's where it stays. Overall though, I felt a wider need for movement.. be it across the Atlantic or across the city (basically another country). Given that I still have no idea on any possible progress on my elamisluba (Estonian residency permit: soon to be pegged to the kidney exchange rate on the black market), I decided to roll with what I could here. I may not fully enjoy what I am doing (kohvik job working with young'ns is not surprisingly not fufilling), though I enjoy where I am doing it now.

Speedy background (timewarpwarpwarpwarpwarp.. 'will there be dinosauurs?') on Lasnamäe.

It's basically Russia. Every day I take a twenty minute bus ride to the Schengenized version of Stalingrad, where every step crackles with delight (due to the broken vodka bottles) and life is jubilantly enacted and displayed on every corner (the local Roma children, flocks of denim jackets, and general staggering). Корочье, fucking brilliant. My apartment itself is clean and just remodeled. The bathroom is somewhat of an exception, though after a few added touches the abandoned-hospital aura quickly gave way to a comfortable-Soviet-hospital (just garnished with a copy of my chest x-rays I found in the move. Eesti demanded it before I could start working (--not that I work, officially--) so they could check if I had TB or not. Apparently being cleared for not having TB is still not enough for the residency permit, though.). I digress multiple times.

The area used to just be empty fields that were undeveloped for.. well.. over half a millenia. Then the CCCP happened. Around the late 70's and early 80's the Soviets went on this mad overenergized trip and built loads of panel housing, before massive protests in the mid-80's forced development to stop. As for myself, I live on the eighth floor of one of the early ones.. judging by the rate of decomposition of the exterior of the building. The Soviet Union really focused on efficiency. For example; my faucet in the bathroom doubles over between the sink and the tub, and the (actually somewhat amazing) use of hot water pipes sticking out of the wall and zagging (with a few zigs) around provides a towel rack.. dries and heats. My television only speaks Russian. Having one of the two exterior doors open provides light into the small hallway outside my door, so you can lock or unlock said doors with a selection of my five apartment keys (alright; four.. one is for the post). Also, the exterior of Soviet buildings serves as a visible short-term method of carbon dating. Efficiency.

I mean it though.. it is beautiful. Things are falling apart here and there, and the population lives amongst various ruins and relics often splashed with the sprayed art of youth.. though everyone is together in it. On warm days, people are sitting out, with babushki, kids and young parents alike making the way to the Russian stall-markets (basically second hand shops with more character and far more slippers). The horizon stretches out, and up, unfurled and dotted with thousands of lights, each representing people, and lives. It's the best place to feel part of something larger.. a mass of others.., and the best place to feel alone at the same time. I feel and am savouring a strong taste of settlement. Not to mention drinking on the street generally flies here.

Ian, felt I should mention and make you proud of the fact that I decided to rig up my balcony into a map room. Somewhat tempted to move the stove and my bed onto the balcony, though.

My windows face a different direction, with a calm collected view of the flurrying fury of life moving and intermoving afront, aside and below.. Rippling and surging. Кажется, что мне пора же купаться.

Edasi, вперёд..

Lõpuks (uus vaatanurk).

More, and what preceded it, very soon.

Seaside tide (д начинает движение)..

Nii.. so.. somewhat due for a clearing of my 'status' in some sense of the word here Eestis. Although 'clearing' implies clear visibility and a lack of obstructions, whereas the real situation is closer to being upside down at a 144 degree angle in a New Guinean jungle that is on meth and crack and pop rocks (the jungle, that is). Time for a figurative slash and burn.

It'd be interesting to see how many of the words in the last few sentences would pop up in Federal security scans.. probably just 'jungle', 'New', and 'rocks' if I was to guess. Which I am.

I've heard many eestlased (Eesti-people) here talk with wide Christmas-morning eyes about how the landscape and substance of the area has changed over the last 17 years. I can only imagine. Which is similar to my guessing, and I have already demonstrated how complete of a picture that produces. Really though, from what I gather it is an entirely different place (well, maybe not in Kopli, where the bum-perishing-in-fire rate is at about 4.2 per day given the right conditions). All aside though, and even given the major changes which have brought it into the EU and thrown into motion this complex and surprising e-government system (they are amazed that those in the States actually have to file taxes and are given the freedom and, importantly, trust to report how much they make.. here it is all pre-calculated and just a click).. all of the changes are just as balanced by the ridiculous remnants and even backward motion in some other departments. As in, näiteks (for example), say, aaahhh.. mm.. Kodakondsus- ja Migratsiooniametis (Citizenship and Migration Board). To be fair, I have only experienced the Migratsiooni part of the office (which isn't important enough to be a ministry, but is on the same level as the border guards, heritage department, and the 'Rescue Board', just to put this all into perspective). I've heard of people getting their passport in a day after proving their grandparents were citizens of the first Estonian Republic (Eesti Vabariik). This is, of course, worlds different than a young US citizen with a double-major bachelor degree from a large institution, a grip on multiple languages (including the one used locally), extensive work experience and.. rarest of all, the actual knowledge of and will to live in and contribute to Eesti. Worlds apart (separate ways? That's it! This is all a riddle! I just need to grow a mustache and play a keyboard on a wall..).

So, possibly in light of a lack of attention during reforms or a fierce sometimes-exclusionist nationalist mindset, the migration process here is still.. and many eestlased would stab me with a bowling ball for saying this.. however it is still very much Soviet. I began to notice this when opening a bank account. Much is based in paradox; you can check balances using your phone, rely entirely upon the online banking system, transfer funds anywhere for payment of anything.. yet.. when you need to get the basics done, you are given at least (and this is not an exaggeration) eight different carbon-copy stamped, signed and dated (emphasis on the 'stamped' part) yellow sheets of paper. I'm now having major issues with the government over the fact that I wasn't given similar parallel documents in the States when I worked for places, cut my first tooth, and for each tongue slip made during PDA in a park summer of 2004.

KMA Officer: So this is your CV?
Adam: Jah. On küll. (Yes, certainly is.)
O: You have written that you worked at this place in 2001.. what did you do before that?
A: I.. was in high and primary school.
O: Aahh, ok write that down, please.
A: ..olgu. (Alright).
O: And everything before that.
A: Mmmm.. what?
O: What did you do?
A: .....
O: Just write down everything, starting from when you were born.
A: .....

Written: 1986 - 1991: Lived.

O: Aitäh! (Thanks!)
A: .....

I literally had to think and count back the years before I was in lapseaed (lapse:child, aed: garden). Again, that is not exaggerated and is close to word by word. If anything, I'm angered by the fact that it would be hard for me to make something like that up. Even reality trumped me there. Shit.

To break from the ranting if anything (for anyone who has survived the negative onslaught to this point.. juice and vodka break all around!) A few русские девушки (russkie devushki, Russian girls) from Peters came for a few days last week, and it was really.. revitalizing. One way in the sense that I feel after it that I could manage living in Russia for a short time (few months). Whereas Eestis it takes, on average, four years and 3.2 assorted kidneys (I'm really going for the Federal search now!) to become 'friends' with eestlased (defined as: they mention what they are doing after work), I became decently close with the girls over three days. Even more enocouraging, the entirety of those days took place in Russian. I'm not fully fluent by any standard, but it is a foundation and something I was really excited that I was able to manage and.. moreso.. enjoy! Just.. thoughts. Nearing a vodka break once more?

This is far from complete (what isn't). The next week will see some wild developments (according to the calendar). Upheavals, possibly. Revisions (- is optional). Viations (de?) Сюда(от)? Да(ту)? More '.'s to replace the upturned sentences.

Edasi..

Откуда, куда..

First off, a disclaimer that this post is far from informative or even relevant to anything. So, in line with most of the rest.

I am still "here" and have not (yet) been thrown (or kicked) into any Soviet-era forced labour camps (though you can see one from my flat!).. given, saying this with any certainty is a stretch and given the daily instability of anything here, the next post might just as well come from some 'reformed' gulag in Novosibirsk, interspersed with me breaking out into literary song.. "Soiuz nerushimy, respublik svobodnykh.." I'll soon get calls and messages to those who are checking up, and I would encourage that to continue! Just need a bit of a break from my actual paid labour camp..

Wanted to make sure to mention though; people are everywhere. Really, they are. Not just people, though. People that fate deems to mix into life to either inspire you, or give you a playful kidney punch.

Case Study:

I was sitting in the cafe yesterday following a 10(something) hour day, conversing with an Esto-Russian girl, She mentioned something about how she has this odd desire to visit Texas (Russian: Tikhas) one day and how 'entrancing' the accent is there. Obviously, this presented me with an opportunity to throw in some 'yee-ha's and to, in my most grandly offensive Southwest US impersonation, talk about trucks and dogs and obesity (as a sidenote, hearing it somehow actually reinforced her interest in the dialect.. I suppose that is somewhat like me and Russian though..).

Just about to where I got to "..driive around the 'hai-wayy and beat my wiife, 'cause that's awhat we do in Texxass..", I was also complemented on how good of an impression it was from.. yes.. the Texan woman standing in line five inches away from me in Tallinn, Estonia. Alllllright! She wasn't offended of course.. being one of the few people from the state who have ever been to Estonia and having learned to drop the accent herself. However, recalled the need to realize that.. there are people everywhere.

Therefore, do your cowboy impressions louder when in obscure countries. The people might not always be five inches away, and you're going to have to shout if they are going to hear you and have such an awkwardd encounter.

Edasi..

Offbeats.

Noh, nii..

Given that the last post received mixed reviews (i.e., a mix of people had no idea what the fuck I was babbling about.. well noted..), I figure it is a good time to freshen things up. That's what I am, anyways. Fresh.

It's wild how cities can shift and change in the course of a few days and a few degrees. Given people and the ability to walk around with your head down against cold and snow, the whole atmosphere transforms into something more fluid. A mere change of weather doesn't launch the urban mood into any sort of 'positive' straight away, though. It's the passing through time with people who make it all. That's what solid cities really are, so I guess it makes sense.

Näiteks; Molly came around for a week (damn NWA workers and their families and their cheap tickets and their unlimited beverages!), and really was responsible for making me as fresh as I am (not to mention how 'fly'). A week of cynicism, sunrises and sunsets threw the city and everything about living here into such a light that allowed me to feel so .. comfortable (mugav). It wasn't just speaking in English the whole time and being able to shrapnel off smartass comments left and right. Alright, that was a huge part. Though.. just traipsing around everywhere together, tasting the Minneapolis flavour mixed into the ins and outs of Tallinn life.. everything gained this sort of focus. Sunday and the last week was thus equally really difficult for various reasons. One being that sudden gap where there had as-suddenly and unexpectedly been a common perspective on everything around. Admittedly this would have been a lot harder if my mate Paul from Glasgow wasn't just around for a few weeks.. We were both in Estonian language courses last summer and share an equal disgust of old babushki cleaning mens' locker rooms (this should be a horror film, really, that's a sight that would make your heart stop beating). However even this is temporal and, though the weather is on the up and up, the presence of a somewhat developed and often-available friend base remains lack. Given the fact that I could legally be kicked out at a moment's notice and do miss the Cities somethin' teerriiiblllll', my motivation to break into the non-defrosted-freezer-built-up-ice of Estonian circles is somewhat low. There are of course many really fantastic foreigners here as well and one or two Estonian friends, with whom things have been coming together more lately, however.. it is still outside of the city flow.

Living here is living in a different current of the city. One can understand more how foreigners have to feel in the States.. where English is choppy but necessary for every interaction, and thus becomes 'work' in itself, life needs to have comfort. Thus foreigner circles develop and may permeate other circles of foreigners. It's intimidating enough breaking into circles of high school friends as a native English speaker, though to come at this from completely outside and when the culture is already so closed.. uphill fight without even being sure that you are on a hill or have a weapon. Then there is the time aspect as well, and disconnect from taking classes and being forced into other peoples' presence. It's trying to flip into the ebb and flow of the city without anything to grip or the senses to feel the rhythm. At least with close friends developed in their own way, outside of this current adventure in life, there is a common base and orientation in taking on the scene.

So, to dip this all into a bit of disclarity; I am considering. Lihtsalt (just..).. considering. I can't say exactly what I am tossing about (in part as according to my passport I am not legally -anywhere- now..), because it is straight on in the middle. Naming go versus stay or vice versa specifically would imply a progressive momentum towards such. When in fact there is a momentum, it is treading back and forth. I underestimated the State Department's need for recruiting people with no motivation or real interest in what they do in life, and resultingly did not receive the summer scholarship for Russia. Waiting on the Fulbright, though I almost feel as if I did get that it would muddle things even more. Things are slowly slipping into some sort of loose stability of unknowing anything, though for how long or if it is even something I want remains like a cloud lost in fog.

Once more (taas) I vow to make this somewhat more upbeat or interesting in short order, mix in some tales of bagged dairy products, useless elderly-garden break-ins (old Finnish guys get their kicks in weird places.. that bastard!), the illustrious Sea Lion tennis racket, techno towers and taevased. Eastern Europe is annoying in the sense that it is hard to exaggerate stories as such. As when you start out a sentence,

"And then when the Russian guy broke the bottle into his hand..."

Not even a mistranslation. It's the inevitably tinged attempts at translation of events into English which makes the region so addictive.

Eh, about time to check and see if the Migration Board is back from vacation and if I can/want to/should let the EU know that I'm in it..

Edasi..

Windnoooissee..

Nii..

Right. So, I'm trudging through the midst of my first official and proper Estonian snow-hurricane (well done.. think 60 mph+ winds plus spunked up kamikaze bits of snow, dodging massive versions of the snow clearers on Washington Ave. bridge with a taste for blood), and I'm thinking, decent time for a long-needed post.

So.. Scotland.. then.. the entire B-Brilliant (deserves two first capitalized letters) last week, then the melancholy and corrosive start to this one.. then.. what my liver thinks of my kidneys and vice versa (jealousy and deception, could be a good soap). I'll leave the last one out in the interest of preserving any coherency or general sense here.

So.. fuck that is a good amount. Much smoother when this all comes out of moments and not the sorted, stocked and increasingly tactile memories of such. That is apparently how I sort things out, I suppose.. I feel like my grip on developments brushing by is much more complete when I feel my way through it in the course of conversation. Right now (nüüd, сразу сейчас) this emerges in the form of blog posts. The last week, in the form of sharp sarcasm and intoxicant cut-in comments which burst into dialogues and discourses with a sidelong friend. As if tossing about the importance and irrelevance of asjad kui появятся перед собой (eeh.. things which suddenly appear in the course of others) in a more constant time works to shape out the greater picture in a much clearer light. That is what most strive for or attempt to avoid as well.. just.. clarity. Sorting it all out in what is then closer to the present situation, with response and reaction.. support and ridicule.. the social element really shakes out cloudy perception and gives shit that brilliant imbalance towards the 'next'. Eeh..

Thus I have an inner motivation to launch off on uncharted digressions concerning my reaction to 5p card limits, rugby (Scots wiping the dainty French into the ground, to be more exact!), 2 hour tarmac tours, missing passport stamps (aahh, legal discontinuity how you made my last 'official legal' days bright..).. tumbling tales and digressions on deserted thatched paradises, fruitcardi, late-day lounging, fizz, travel trials and closed cities, glances glares and indirect lights.. it is all still brimming. More than enough to describe with inadequate expression. Figure that it will come about here just in the way that most occurs in the first place.. steeped and filtered and ultimately unexpected.

On that..

Edasi..

Oh. Right.

..and I quote:

"I say a lot of things - millions of words a day - so if I misspoke, that was just a misstatement." - Hillary Clinton

I am officially voting for Obama, given the chance by the powers that be superdelegates.

Much, much more descriptive and far more provocative happenings-been in the very near future.

Edasi..

Calm, collect and skint.

There is something exceedingly comforting about island life. It is as if at one time, the Celts and other populations here sat down and said "Bollocks. We live on the same bloody island, I suppose we'll have to get along in some sense." Then came the problem, and ingenious solution of how to go about this. Some places set at building churches and having massive wars against others. That has happened here to an extent, but the other solution ultimately trumps and exceeds that flawed approach.

"Let's build a pub."

The sense of community in different regions of the world are intriguing, definitely fit for (or fitting) the people arranged in these to various extents. Pubs don't fight wars. So sure, the people associated with each pub might, but there are no flags carried about. The only flag to be shown bears a title such as "Guinness," and may fly in many places. It is unity for the island, soothing out tensions and troubles from any stand of life. Brilliant.

I just stopped into Curler's pub here, a great place around the uni and filled with mainly a likewise associated crowd (in Minneapolis, think of a cleaner and somewhat more modern Bully's.. yes.. the thought may conquer and exact tribute from your mind..). After all of Eesti's somewhat pitiful attempts at bars and pubs, this was incredibly refreshing. No frills, no fluff, no napkins even; what a pub should be (this was somewhat hammered in by the presence of a sign inside posing the question, "Hungry and skint?" My answer, yes.). Shout burger (think breaded onion and bacon so large and magnificent it must be folded over itself to fit), chips and pint for 5.50p, others for 3.50p. Drink specials on Fridays. A laptop hooked to televisions playing warm pub music and accompanied videos. Expression and life itself floats through the room throughout and between tables, replacing what in other areas is only filled by smoke and silence. It is a place to sit and moan about or celebrate life together, not turned into some sort of non-passive aggressive outlook and seclusion. What spills through the pub and out amongst the streets is an upholding of that life itself, and is far less stressful. Where thought can escape, stunned realizations of even smiles coming around for no particular reason other than they may and the Atlantic winds embrace them.

Sun through clouds, capturing both here. A strong wind, brief caresses of rain in the continued presence of all three elements, the point in which all meet. Not surprising for those walking about, nothing to run from. The world here drips, the windows spotted with calm collect drops at all times. Brilliant.

Edasi..

Kui olnud välismaal võõrust maalt, когда за границе от иностранной страны (when abroad from a foreign land)..

Noh. Nii.
There has been a stealthy combination of nothing to speak of and everything to speak about of late. Mainly because this has been process, and with process in its continuity, there is nothing absolute of which to state.
What follows in a sudden urge to write is more a rush of small bits and illustrious moments than a single straight-wound tale (jutt). So I start at the end.
Currently in Glasgow, Scuootln', staying in a friend's flat for a few days to stave off the hungry last days of legality in Schengen. Well, the UK cooperates on police activity with Schengen but not on the visa rules.. so.. I think I win. The conversation in Estonian with the passport control lady inquiring of this reassured me. Not exactly sure why, as when I have such necessary conversations they often devolve into me comprehending basic trends, locked in by specific understood words and numbers, corralled by expression and body language. So by these standards, I 'can' come back into Estonia 'sometime'. Given that my point of re-entry should be Finland, and hoping that the information system isn't as connected as they would hope or that the border guard is more concerned about the ringing in his ears from the previous night's death metal show, shouldn't be a problem. Getting to London for the leg of this flight on Sunday might be, seeing as all of my credit cards were blocked and my Estonian one can't be used online. Makes sense. So I might take the train down, spend a night in Heathrow (wouldn't be a trip to the UK without an overnight airport stay!). It is quite odd being here and hearing 'English' spoken around. Of course it being English is debatable, this is Scotland. The accent and slang make it something that I try to translate in my head immediately after hearing; especially after striving to do this for the last three months with every conversation heard. This isn't helped much by hearing Gaelic (however unbelievably sweet.. though disappointing when it isn't accompanied by pikes, horses and large cuts of mutton) around from time to time.
The flight here was everything that amazes me about Eesti.. actually started missing it a bit as I was leaving. The terminal is all under construction, and after waiting for a bit by the gate which we were supposed to leave from, another check on the board showed that it had been quietly changed to the opposite end of the airport. The plane was parked a kilometer or so away, so took a bus to it. Problem was that the bus driver wasn't completely sure which plane we were getting off at and we sat in front of the wrong one for a few minutes before being shuttled three more down the row. There was massive turbulence around London, seeing as a hurricane had just gone through in the morning (ridiculous, and I am serious).

I have never been in a plane that was fishtailing before. I didn't know that could even happen. Amazing though, how laughter came before fear. Possibly because there was a big group of British staggers in front joking the whole time, giving a nice air freshener of cynical humour to the cabin. In their minds I'm sure one of the first thoughts was, "Well shit, if anything happens at least BBC will be spot on in time to get us on the telly!" That and "Fancy some fish and chips?" What. I'm in Scotland now, I have a right to say that. Plus any person who willingly covers themselves in apparel advertising drinking experiences aimed at ripping through the turf while binge drinking in the establishments and populations of transforming former Soviet states can shove it. Get some fucking courage if you are going to do stag weekends. Go to Yemen.

Right, so, anyways.. Glasgow is brilliant. Staying in a friend's flat who was in the eesti keelne suvekoolis, which is on the edge of a somewhat dishy part of town (not sure if that is actual slang, though just allowing a slight influx of actual UK English into my vocabulary while here has had drastic effects as such) but is quite new, incredibly clean and IKEA (so refreshing). Given this is accompanied by literally millions of posters of Celine Dion and Eurovision paraphernalia, but that is mainly confined to the bathroom and part of why Paul is so awesome.

Walking the other direction from toothless Highlanders and their dogs throws you into some really great streets however.. loads of industrial revolution era buildings everywhere, rising and falling over the hills (aaahhh, terrain!). The wind is somewhat surprising here. Given it is moreso as I am constantly reminded of it; the door to the balcony was likely put in place by a Scot tired from a long hour of work and ready to slam some 8 pints at the pub (after the shift started at 10am). Really, though.. I could sympathize. Buying bottles of beer seems rare, even browsing the one stand of it in the market here I felt like it was far too classy (and definitely expensive) an activity to undertake. Wine goes off the shelf a bit more, spirits in the mid range. Faced with that, why not take a pint? Wait. Faced with anything that is twice the dollar, why not take a few more pints (Tori if you read this, I had somewhat of a kick .. with myself .. in the plane when I realized 1 pound equals two dooolllarrrrsssz. I hope that makes less sense to you than it does to anyone else.)

The impressions I sort out from here are quite conflicted. At first I actually was dredging down being dumped back into Western culture, suppose in a way it takes less effort from me in daily life to prove that I am a part of it. Getting by seemed too easy in a way, being understood by and understanding everyone around me offsetting. It's been seeping in though, and I really enjoy the place. In one end, it's still not my home culture.. in another, it's provocative to stumble on the differences with British culture and society as well. It's a bit foreign to me again, and at the same time, something which would with proper drive and application (and funding, fucking hell did I complain about the conversion rate yet?!) could become part of my life, and lived. It's a bit cloudy as of now to try to digress more upon, however.. it's incredibly interesting. Some things are startlingly familiar, some faintly, some even set aside from anything touched upon before. It's in comprehending, acquiring and mixing these elements that everything focuses as its whole over time.

Näiteks; plastic bags. Don't need them. Carry them around with you, saves loads and once you see people diving through entire puffed up wads of them at the market it is sickening in a way. Alright, I didn't pull out the bag I always carry with me immediately here: I need to stock up on more bags to take back to Eestisse (score!). A somewhat lighter demeanor, the open possibility for banter, the openness and liveliness of friendships seen around the streets.. these however are well placed elements of the society. Obviously there is always the increased possibility for pricks as well, however that is what comes out of waking up every morning and thinking "What sort of smoothie should I have?" instead of "I wonder, if this unmaintained Soviet apartment made of cigarette butts collapses, will the asbestos, spent uranium stored in the walls, or infected needles from the apartment above me kill me first?" Complex.

Ну ладно уже, piisab. More to unfurl soon under the irony of island skies and fresh rain. Eyes drawn to ida (East).

Edasi..

Напоминание.

Here's to Stephen Feinstein. A "great man," controversial for the sake of controversy itself.

Hope and King.

Nii.. this post is again a long time coming (and loosely coherent, as a warning). This presents me with many difficulties.. choice of a topic, for example. Not that I actually choose one before writing or plan out where the random escapades will embark from or head towards. I could go on about how immersion is running. Where I am working (to various shifting degrees on all levels). How I am living (physically, mentally, and what has the possibility to come and not come). How I am planning to vote in November (seriously, D's, keep it interesting and don't super-delegate the wrong choice. We all want to see Billary lose (note: thanks, Economist) but.. sooner rather than later. Keep it fair.). And so forth. Comfortable topics, most of them. Lengthy, and much over-explained in daily interactions. I find it somewhat of a problem as I am used to living in a niche in a city. I have retained this niche (an active process which I am happy, excited and bitersweetly reminiscent in continuance) and expanded it across and within continents. So, with talking out events once I figure it out for myself. Another time, I begin to set a process in personal terms and in recounting what is going on. Further out, I go for the condensed version which would be much more convenient if bought in hardback (paperback sales would give me shit).
I suppose this is selfish, in a way. When I am talking with everyone back in the States I wish much more to understand what is going on with them, hear how they are forging their lives back home. I genuinely am interested, though at the same time I have the added benefit of peripherally reliving a mental perception of familiar processes. I miss Minneapolis, I miss friends there and those scattered towards the Atlantic coast. Hearing and interacting conversationally with realtime developments in a way is a mental trip back, renewed practice in Stateside living somehow distant from my physical, NEEuropean surroundings. It is, in a way, assisting in carving out a small personal, warm and comfortable American kiosk here Eestis. Increased watching of US television over the internet has helped loads to at least normalize this uneven thirst for familiar and linguistically clear interaction. Lost and the US Office are firm examples of visual crack.
These are the sort of moments that I was once highly expectant of and motivated towards in the States. It does feel like my motivation in doing.. anything.. has been incredibly stunted. I could be illegal in weeks. I (very very possibly now) will need to leave Schengen for a while. I could be opening my own company with startup capital provided by a small coffee shop chain, towards the acquisition of said residency permit. I could (should) be in Russia in months, the States in a period ranging from 3 months to 8 months to two weeks. I have some sort of job, which is literally forming itself before me. This is the gale force wind blowing from multiple directions while I toss myself about the daily waves. While I can firmly set myself towards a constantly shifting existence headed towards a permanent status of relocation (with many interspersed periods living in the Cities), I can also see myself settled into Minneapolis and traveling often in order to fulfill this constant pull towards movement. The pulls do not conflict, however current times are a steadying and harmonization of both constants. Settling and uprooting, routine and the winds. Both are necessary in a positive sense. It is the individual ongoing negotiation without permanent resolution (being starting points for further negotiation) that this embodies.
Well, I have sufficiently stated nothing concrete of any previously mentioned currents of thought and event. Fitting that none of these currently have any concrete form themselves.
Moving around and about soon. Suggestions welcomed to help sway opinion (especially if cheap flight quotes are provided from Riga, Tallinn or Helsinki). The only firm aspects of this temporary state of nomadic movement are that it must be outside of Schengen. So far on deck for thought are the UK (including Shetland), Ireland, Turkey, Macedonia, Kosovo, and Australia.
Also any cheap places to acquire reindeer herds would be appreciated. Even nomadic life requires some sort of directional foundation.

Edasi..

Riding the waves.. ratsutaud lained.. езжающий на волнах..

Nii.. really no way to describe things other than ups and downs. I really wish that I had more to stream consciousness about on random here and theres, though the last few weeks have been devoid of posts due to a more inward view on things. Not exactly a bad thing, just biding time and sorting things out. Tonight was one of the best nights I have had for.. a while. I confess that part of this does include the fact that it was mostly in English, given that this has become the main determinant of every action (what language it takes place in, not explicitly that it took place in English mind you). However.. yeah. Well done by all. I worked for the morning, was able to move myself into it slowly thanks to some mild food reactions (aaah feta..) from last night and the resulting good amount of much-needed sleep due to a wild schedule. Work (kohvikus.. in the cafe.. for those not caught up on this, first off, yes, second off, more explanation in time) was vaikne (quiet) for most of the day. Great time to catch up on last week's The Economist, in part due to the fact that Eastern Europe = Minneapolis = The Economist's version of the Wild West and subscription issues usually arrive a few days after publication. After work I watched some Office, all part of the US culture daily supplement (along with gun-toting and a ritual refusal of quartering troops), talked with Kim in DC for a while and made rice, then after delaying the evening with Shiraz and more Office set out to Vanalinna (to Old Town). After a fall through on some Americans being out that I randomly encountered here (not in any sense the worst thing to not happen), I scored some free espresso from another cafe and did some wild EU texting with my Japanese friend here in Tallinn. Met up with her, рукEesti boyfriend, some Soome girls, a few Czech guys and a German guy (who has intimate knowledge of northwestern Wisconsin.. ridiculous!). After several failed attempts to go into some bars we landed a spot in a semi-classy one with some live Latin music. It was.. hanging out. Obzhalis', prosto. Great conversations, great meetings and more to come. It might be the separation of work and social life, work in a long-term sense of locking down other languages, that has been missing and causing stress. Possibly it had been not previously meeting people that I could really connect with.. in the sense that I would feel comfortable hanging out either with pints of Saku or Hope and King, in any language. Life as a foreigner has its difficulties, which do not need to be solved by a reversion to a home culture entirely. Given, yes, and I continually feel this semi-religious sort of guilt, English is my native language and I do have an unfair advantage. However the energy which comes from a collection of foreigners meeting on the basis of that.. it's not purely the language specifically that I am comfortable with, but the global views and the various backgrounds of the fact; why the fuck are you in Estonia? Few of us have firm answers. Alright, some are avoiding conscription in Germany and attempting to scout out of it with 11 months of foreign social work. However that could be done in other EU countries connected by Schengen where Merckel won't track you down. So, Estonia. And few of us have firm answers. Which is exactly what the rest of us are comforted to hear.
Interesting developments to proceed. The mere possibility of this is enlivening and only sheds light on the connections between a lull in these and general waves of unsure inhabitance.
Edasi..

Ну вот, даааа собачка!

I haven't meant for a flurry of positive-sounding posts here (kaks kokku, two total) и всё-таки я общаю что вот это будет короткым (muidu ma luban et selle saab lühike.. and I promise this one will be short barring me translating everything three times). This possibly reflects the flurry of snowstorms in the last few days lifting spirits. Aside, I really enjoy the Estonian approach to plowing side-streets for cars by not plowing side streets for cars. Autod are naturally heavy and compact snow. Enough cars on the streets, enough compacted snow. Done.
What really warms my heart is when I am walking back from Rimi (Rainbow for Minnesotans) and at the crosswalk over a busy street there is a semi-drunk Russian guy running with his three year old kid across the street, holding a bottle of beer in his other hand. Once reaching the other side and walking further he drunk-lectures the kid about guard dogs in yards and how they will fuck you up.
Warm fuzzies straight to the core.

Edasi..

Сдача не надо. Tagasiraha ei vajalik. Keep the change.

Täna oli üks esimestest päevatest et ma tunnin nii kui olen kodus siin. (Today was one of the first days that I really felt like I was at home here.)

Well, home is a different sort of feeling. This was.. comfortable, pleased with things. A good haircut will do that for you. If my haircut had turned out extremely shitty, I might have been writing this from the bottle of a bottle in a ditch sapping wireless off of a homeless shack (I assume they are set up) and all of this would just be a string of characters punched from my tears falling on the keyboard. Appreciate a good haircut. Especially when it works out while speaking Russian.

Really, though.. it took a while for the feeling to develop and for me to understand what the specific flow was behind it. Over the last month, comfort and dis- of the previous have come and gone, often multiple times within the course of a few hours. Makes one a bit staggered. It takes some time for small ins and outs of thoughts and trivial occurences to have less of an impact on your overall conception of place and your life. So, I have come to attempt to ignore most of this rocking back and forth with the waves of an uprooted life. Not ignore so much, just.. deal with, and.. justify. So it takes larger happenings to really make me motion sick after a period. The little occurences keep their impact, however.. and it was one of these miniscule and usually trivial processes that gave me a fuzzy.

It is smalltalk (lobisemine).

Really, and this is one of the more difficult things to stumble into in Eastern Europe on top of that. For effective smalltalk, one needs a grip on the language at the level of a toddler (although I was really downtrodden when this 18 month old totally schooled my ass today in Estonian.. she's got it coming, just wait..). This also requires about the same level of time, dedication and immersion in the language. I was able to make remarks today three times. Ridiculous. Given, it lasted no more than a simple exchange of a sentence or two, but it is the ability to be understood and to demonstrate that you understand and can even make light of something that starts to root you into a population. The feeling is alleviating, incredibly uplifting. It also gives a new stimulus to remember words, to increase proficiency at the language from basic encouraging non-formal exchanges. Apart from these usual sentences of "Please, give me xxx" or "Excuse me sir, it isn't to my liking when you stab me" being devoid of much personality and basically mechanically reproduced utterings from a textbook, the formality of basic command and respond is tiring. I barely make every other sentence completely serious in English; this inability to joust with words has been an unrealized source of discouragement for me, apparently. Much more to go, and endlessly more up and down to come. Kuigi now, there is a renewed spark.. an increased chance of expression and things sorting out in more intricate ways. Järgmine (next), solid friends with whom this can occur.. I suggest along with this (and before this) that those dear to me in the States get your Estonian down and get over here sharpish. There is only one microbrewery in Estonia, and it is shit. I see opportunity, and free beer. These thoughts will move forth in time. Responses?

Aside of such rambling, I am shaking loose this curse of a journalist position as hard as I can, am starting a few shifts at a private cafe next week where I will speak ainult eesti keeles, applied for a Critical Language scholarship Venemaal suveks (in Russia for the summer), and have moved to the next and final stage for approval of a Fulbright scholarship here Eestis. That sentence could be another 12 paragraphs, however there is a bottle of A le Coq in my külmik. The scale weighs unevenly in this case.

Edasi..

Н и ч е г о.

So, this post has been a long time coming. Part of the delay was(is-ish) a lack of any real inspiration for something to describe, revel in or moan about. Scratch the last, I have a good amount of shit to moan about, though I prefer not to do it through this forum. That's what winter ale is for (I've been mostly avoiding vodka, although a friend of mine did enlighten me with the fact that decent Russian vodka solves every problem life presents you with, except alcoholism).
The other delay in any sort of сообщение (report) is that things were slowly grinding up to a near-mental breakdown. Again, not going to go into the range of uncertainties and stresses which contributed to this state. Also I am only just leveling myself out now, with the help of a decent 3 hour walk today, some 5'nizza, and a White Russian. It had been a decent amount of time since I went out for a walking adventure, well, I suppose only about a week, but the last time was exceedingly far and as a result I almost sank into a bog in an ex-Soviet military complex. Every weekend has its ups and downs.
Made my way out to Kardrioru park on this bout. There is something about European parks that just completely fits the needs of urban living. The age of the park, size and the amount of people wandering around of all ages in the 0C (kuigi päikene!) weather.. it's a different sort of city feel. You can stumble upon it time to time in the States (walk around Loring Park on some summer day with all the 80 year old Russian бабушки), though the ones around here scattered with скамейки (benches) make it really difficult not to sit in the snow and open a bottle of Saku. To get to Kadriorg I walked through some of the 19th century winding back streets with 1920s wooden housing.. the houses are either in amazing or complete shit state (with the odd burned-out shell of one every few streets). It is completely mental, but I can't figure out what sort of apartment I would live in if I had a choice of any. One in the wooden houses would be grand, with the smell of wood stoves floating through the streets. At the same time, a fresh, modern sharp-edged piece of steel and glass is ravenously enticing (however with my recurring career choices that type would be far far off). Completely separate from both of those, and the most offsetting attraction I have (for housing; this says nothing for cheese with pancakes) is to the 1970s Soviet panel housing. Given this is probably highly romanticized for now, and would only apply if I was living in such housing alone or with a partner and 1 or 2 bedrooms and an IKEA interior.. however.. the bareness of it somehow captures me. One of my next fresh air city bouts will be to Lasnamäe, an unfinished 1980s Soviet housing project now filled with Russian speakers and heroine needles. Should be something decent to write about that.

Side note, check out the Estonian film Sügisball (Autumn Ball) if you get a chance.. it's not on DVD for a while though it might have somehow escaped with EEuropean pirating. That's the actor I hung out with and the area I'm talking about. Film about loneliness and solitude and fucking. Those come in one package all too often.

There has been a revival of русский язык for me lately as well.. partly due to my frustration with not being able to stutter out simple Estonian phrases and the basic familiarity. Partly because Russian brings with itself a love-hate sort of relationship (ironically domestic violence in Russian households probably stems from the same excuse..) along with a fantastic ability to go from romantic to repulsive. So.. in an amorous 2am flush one night, I applied for the Critical Language Scholarship with the State Department.. if it follows through, I will be in venemaa over the summer в Самаре, Нижном Новгороде, или Томске (Samara, Nizhniy Novgorod or Tomsk). All three of these could be fantastic in the way that getting drunk and speaking Russian for two months in Siberia can be (..it's a different fantastic). There is also the problem however of.. well.. what my life would entail before that and after that.. Thus winding back into my overall unease over the last few days.

So, what has this post accomplished? Just, about, shit. Exactly what I feel the motivation for accomplishing right now.

Edasi..

Sinna, ja tagasi.. seiklus on nii liiga väike sõna. (To there, and back.. adventure is too fucking small of a word.)

Nii.. So..
The epic recount of my travels this last Saturday (laupäev) begin not on laupäev itself, rather the day before, Friday (reede.. if you are committed to reading my blog, you are going to learn some fucking Estonian.. eesti keel.. remember? Alright, carry on..). This due to the fact that I went out reedel to a club, was entranced with the (wait for it).. trance (ooh I'm good), and returned to my apartment at around 3 or 4am. The ferry I was taking to Helsinki left at 7.30, and I was to be checking in around half an hour previous. So, fuck sleep. All well, however, seeing that this last few days I have become heavily addicted to watching the show "Weeds". It's probably for the best that I started at the third season, so I am not waiting to expand the story (until the fourth comes out). I plan on staying addicted to watching it, but it will be less pressing as I will just be filling in the other seasons that I missed.
Also, watching a large amount of "Weeds" has been making me feel a bit more gangsta' lately, which may have contributed to me surviving and carrying through the epic journey. Proceeding (продолжаем)..
I took only one plastic bag of small bits.. arming myself with a two-foot piece of rope, a copy of "Guns, Germs, and Steel", and two open-faced sandwiches (võileibid). Bring it on, Soome (Finland).
I live unladen walk (hold that detail..) of about 10 minutes from the Tallink ferry terminal, which will probably come in handy if Nazis ever invade again and I need to evacuate to Soome. Nothing extremely interesting occurred on the ferry.. staked a spot to watch the lights of Tallinn fade into the darkness as we crashed through the Baltic, and fell asleep a bit uncomfortably on a stool. I succeeded in finding a more comfortable bench to lay across, though only with a half-hour until our arrival in Helsinki.
Amazing, on that.. we docked and the doors opened at exactly 9.30am: two hours after we left and the exact time on the ticket. Go fuck yourself, Gatwick Airport.
The Helsinki sadam (harbor) is also part of the main city (learn something here, Sweden (Rootsi)), so the walk was great for stretching out and starting off on some random street turns. My return ferry was leaving at 6.30, so I set IKEA off for around for a few hours and attempted a handle of the city. It is small, though still a city and reminded me more of Stockholm.. really beautiful and chill. If I had discovered it before Tallinn, it would have been a hard decision to make when I moved. Most of the streets were empty, given that it was earlyish on a Saturday; the time that only travelers, dog walkers, and alcoholics are moving about. Enjoyed walking the hills, the architecture, and some de-fuckinglicious coffee (it's been a while) served by a cute soomlane (Finnish girl).
Most people describe Helsinki as fully enjoyed in a few hours, though in my almost-few hours of random turns I realized that I will be returning quite often. It's possible that people just concentrate too much on the landmarks, the monuments and seeing certain buildings on a tourist map and such (of which, Helsinki has many large lighted ones around which are amazing. The other cities I have seen this in are Kiev and Stockholm (I think), and even for residents this would be a brilliant idea..). Getting the flavour of a place is completely different, and only possibly boring after a good 4 months. It's like getting to know a city that you are even living in permanently relying mainly off of chance, through which you slowly build up your conception of where the larger locations are at along with the small interesting or more unknown spaces between them. Approaching Helsinki as such, I saw one 182nd of the city.. and am very intrigued.
Right. So, found the main bus station, and after locking the location into my broader conception of things I found my way around a bit more. There were supposed to be free buses leaving for the IKEAs (two around the city), though a few hours between trips only coming out to about 3 complete rounds a day for each. I figured that at least for getting there while I had much time, it would be good to take one of these and then return on one or figure out the local bus back when struggling under the weight of my purchases. So, I waited at the bus station. Where the IKEA buses were supposed to come. Yeeahhh.. no. Apparently the general area has the larger name of M-iasdaoi something Finnish, and the IKEA buses stop in front of some shopping area nearby (according to the Finn Air bus driver: cheers, mate) and not at the bus-stop. Makes total sense.
I had done some slight research as to the location and some local buses to take to either, so with bus 270 pulling in I quick snap bought a ticket from a machine, had the driver reassure me that IKEA was on the route, and sat for the ride.
The hour-long ride.
No problems.. it was great to see a bit more of the country than just central Helsinki, and with some dense fog about it would really fit great with driving and Mum. The driver was a decent guy as well, and alerted me to the correct stop (after I almost got off a mere 30 minutes in).

Short digression.. Soome is Europe. Really Europe. Eesti is definitely European (adj., plus a bit) and possesses many cultural and architectural ties to that shifty identity, though the mere presence and impact of ethnic Russians and the Soviet Union remains evident. From its Germanic, Danish and Swedish past, Eestipicked up a fundamental cultural element which is European, and was able to retain and keep this active due to close contact with Soome throughout occupation. Being neutral (and a two hour ferry ride away), a level of interaction was allowed throughout various periods between the two countries. Soome television and radio was broadcast at levels strong enough to pick up, and kept ties strong between subdued Eesti and surviving Soome. Culturally and linguistically, the countries are also close.. also helpful for getting around when I understood at least 20% of signs in Helsinki. However, Soome has been practicing its Europeanness for more than the last 60-something years, and has had much closer ties with Sweden due to its proximity.
Eh, still not with the story, though I will post soon on identity in Eesti and its claims to being Scandinavian. Another fundamental reason that I have strong reservations about my current short-lived job working with a paper spanning the Baltic states (Leedu - Lithuania, Läti - Latvia, ja Eesti). The conception of Eesti being "Baltic" only comes from its experiences under domination of some foreign entity (referring to "Eesti" here as a cultural and ethnic identity). Under the Soviet Union, it was grouped with the other two states as having stronger economies than most satellites, even called "our West". However, the linguistic bases in even Läti ja Eesti are completely different (eesti keel is Fenno-Ugric, against the Indo-European läti), and eesti keel is very close to Soome which has always worked well with trade and cultural exchanges. Thus, many eestlased (Estonians) view themselves more as Scandinavian and are trying to shake off even conceptions of being a "Baltic" state, not to mention the oily remnants of occupation which are holding back their return to the north and west. Veel kord, продолжаем..

Nii, so I am dropped into pines, tundra and fog, and IKEA shining through the center of it. Wandering in and up the escalator, I saw the stairs leading down on the other side and considered just making my way over to examine the size of the boxes I would be dragging back to Tallinn. Partly due to the crowds of soomlased trudging around the aisles, I decided to sort my way through a bit slower and look over things that I would have no strength to carry over on this run.
Once at the futons, I decided to change to a different style than the one I had seen online.. the weight was only 8 kilo heavier than the first model, the mattress way better, and it is actually set off of the ground when in bed position (the other laid flat on slats). That extra 8 kilo is metal, however. Using my Scandinavian senses, I was able to figure out from the Swedish translation of the tags on the futon that I needed to talk to a sales person about purchasing the futon (I don't speak Swedish.. but the word for "person" is closer to English than the soome word is to eesti keel). After deciding to go mad-Viking style with the extra 8 kilos, given that I was making the huge fucking journey anyways, the sales girl informed me that I also needed to go somewhere else to pick it up.
Wait. What?
She handed me this amazing IKEA map (Ian, call IKEA and see if they will contract you. Their skills of imparting navigational instruction to customers is shit.) which, after she made several marks on detailing other buildings and streets, was supposed to direct me to the warehouse a kilometer away. No transportation provided between IKEA and their separate warehouse, and no free ice cream and happy-fun showers once you got there. You build your furniture, you take the shit that life gives you. The IKEA way of life.
Apparently, the warehouse in the actual building is too small to deal with all of their furniture, so they have part of this large warehouse in which they store the rest of the items that you can pick up yourself after purchasing. She did give me a few other options.. which would be delivery to the harbour (eeh.. and another 50 euro), or renting a car from IKEA for 25 euro per 1.5 hour.
Seriously, if you need to get around the city for a while (not sure if this is available in other European IKEAS), just go to IKEA, buy a 25 cent mug, and rent a car by showing them that you have a license.
I considered this, however firstly I had little idea how to return to Helsinki driving myself, and secondly I had no place to put the futon while I was returning the car. So, time for continuing the hardcore.
After purchasing the futon, asking for good luck from all people involved, and picking up another bag of small items (I did leave the 2 euro pan, which although at only 2 euro was still over a pound in weight and would have made me bleed from the tips of my hair when added to the other load..), I also grabbed a few yards of free twine from a table in preparation of hauling over 50 kilos of furniture across the Gulf of Finland (Soome järv).
As I was feeling hardcore, gangsta', geezerish, Ammmrriikkkinn, and more East-European than those around me due to living in Eesti, I also decided to make the 1 km walk into a 4 km walk. Sure, the shit-style excuse of a map may have played a significant role in my decision to experience more of rural Soome, however, 1 km wasn't enough. After walking through the fog (of which the particles were gradually increasing in size and rain-like qualities) deeper through small roads and past glowing houses with their shortly-transported IKEA furniture, I finally came across a sign. It didn't say IKEA, or really have anything connecting it to IKEA, however the crown which it depicted so resembled how I would feel if it led me to the IKEA warehouse that I decided to follow it in the general direction that I perceived the map to be pointing me. Once I began to pass a cemetery on the other side, I realized that signs are fickle, and took the cemetery itself to be another sign that this was a wrong turn.
I flagged down some pedestrians in the now-steady rain, who assisted me in broken English and Soome in locating the general direction of the warehouse. Which, aside, was in the direction I had come from initially. It was close to the main road which I had turned off of, and masked by other buildings along with its not-IKEA-like qualities. This was as gritty as a paper-merchant's warehouse, with gravel roads only brightened by the small signs reassuring customers that they were not going to be shot and stuffed into a meat locker.. just keep driving back.
Upon receipt of my furniture, I divined that I would not dismember myself completely in an attempt to bring them back to Eesti, and proceeded to start tying up the 6-foot long 3 1/2 foot tall box with the twine. Riiiight.. then I realized that dismemberment hinged upon finding something other than twine.
I stopped one of the warehouse workers; a hulking 7 foot piece of flesh and Viking blood, probably with a name full of consonants and raw meat; and asked if he spoke inglise keelt first off. He did, which tempted me to try to talk about death rock with him for a while and then see if he would call up a Viking buddy to drive me to Helsinki (or carry me on his back while he loped in a galloping pace, passing or stepping on cars..). I decided to forego this.. for now.
"I have a really strange question for you.. so.. ah.. Do you have anything around here which would help me to carry this onto a bus and back to Tallinn?"
Facial expressions are amazing, particularly in response to such questions.
After shaking off this expression, he rushed back to grab some locking straps (I don't know the name for this in any language..), of which they sold pairs at IKEA for around 20 euro.. gave me three and giant-stepped off into the sunset, shaking his head and plotting out how he would tell this story to friends at the bar over a cow leg and a barrel of porter.
I was able to rig up a strap for the 30-something-kilo box and used the twine for a handle around the mattress roll. Thus began the return. I was forced to stop several times to readjust and generally allow blood pressure to return to my arm and prevent nerves in my shoulder from severing. Passing cars slowed down for the spectacle (I was hoping one of them would stop and offer me a ride to the ferry. Alas, I merely remained a spectacle. I suppose this gave more people the story to tell in the end, didn't make anything easier and didn't make others miss out on the sight).
After I made my way to the main road and waited for the bus, I had to flag down the driver when it arrived.. he figured that someone with 50 kilos of furniture and light bulbs would never be loading said items onto a bus bound for the city center. Alright, that is the first person to want to get onto such a bus. I though over the rest of my journey while readjusting straps on the bus, and really debated walking the lot from the bus station to the harbour. This would be, unladen and without random turns, probably close to a half hour walk. I actually embarked upon this plan after getting off of the bus, with two hours before the ferry left. That lasted until one street over. After thinking it over a bit more while severing tendons, I realized that I had only a faint conception of where the harbour was and even less so in the 4pm darkness.
So I returned to the train station next to the bus stop, made note of the large taxis lined up outside, and stepped in to extract some more euro. There is a spectacular (-ly expensive) small standing-bar in the station, so I used some of the euro on a beer and people watching. With sweat drying, muscles on fire, cold froth, and the motion of yet another country and language rushing and shifting in front of me, it was indescribable.
Close to an hour before boarding, I lugged the items back outside and into a suitably sized taxi.. The driver was another calm and collected Soome death-rocker, and we made some great conversation while listening to Metallica and driving to the port. Tipped, sat and watch those coming off another ferry tipsy (quite closer to hammered out of their alcohol-soaked pores), and finally threw myself to the front of the crowd with my prize and settling into my chosen place. The ferry ride took longer going back, as it was more of a party-ferry and I am sure that we idled most of the journey to allow people to buy more alcohol and touch up strangers in the club on board. Living the dream.
It worked out that I could get to the bathroom and pick up some beer for setting up of said furniture during the trip; a couple of permanent-sitting eestlased across from me did the same with trading off and watching others luggage.
The journey from the ferry out to my apartment was probably the most painstaking of the entire bout, seeing as the fibre of my person was being torn through by nylon and its supported rain-soaked cardboard and plastic containers. I attempted to take a shorter route, again, not as much of a story when unladen, and came to discover that said grassy field was full of hidden tire ruts, sink holes, bear traps, and underwater fault lines. Around a half hour following, I threw my last bits of energy into propelling everything, including myself, up the three stories of stairs and into the apartment. A shower and a beer later, I set up the futon (with one defective scare along the way.. eh.. furniture from IKEA still stands with less screws), soaked in the new-mattress smell, rearranged the room, and set out the sheets.
I really feel loads more comfortable in my room now that I have a large item that is mine.. it remains a transition, one that will continue until I leave for my own apartment. This is mine, however, and reality.. one necessary item that I am actually comfortable in at night has progressed this broader conception forward, brought me to realizing that 'I' and 'here' are connected and what they are now. A different job will further construct this reality (second interview with the American Chamber of Commerce board of directors this week!), and embed me into.. this. Siin. Eesti.

Ah, right.. all the effort, the view and the people made for an unbelievable set of hours.. and now..

I am writing this from my personally fucking imported Soome bed.

Edasi..

Amongst vikings, Lapin Kulta, and design. Keskel viikinged, Lapin Kulta, ja kavand.

Make a story with the pictures. In a few hours I will throw together the actual grand and exotic tales which comprise the epic journey. Place: Finland (no specifics) Destination: IKEA. Best of luck.

Tegi jutt, kasutanud selled fotod. Mõned tundid pärast, ma koostan selled tõelined suursuguned ja eksootiline jutustused, kui hõlmavad mu reis. Asukoht: Soome (kindelita) Eesmärk: IKEA. Õnne sulle.

-7 C on ju soe kui koos lumega..

Nii.. so, first off (esimest) a translation (tõlge) of the last post (I don't know that one and I'm not about to look it up).

I was moaning a bit about not speaking eesti keelt (Estonian).

Covers that. On not speaking, it's slightly double sided as well. I don't, and can't as often as would be comfortable (i.e., all the time.. kõik aega). There are the basic obstacles of vocabulary and grammar to things, along with the simple ease and relative speed of coming across in English (I've complained about the mere ability here before). Even as I hear myself speaking, I realize the array of words which I could have said eesti keeles. I feel a bit awkward (though I am more comfortable with that) splicing in half and half (more like twenty percent and eighty five percent); much like the structure of that sentence. Even the bits which I more often now attempt to carry across explicitly in eesti keeles are met with a tilted head, caught breath, furrowed brow.. after which I usually repeat in English, the accent for which I can roughly maintain. If I become more obstinate in life, it will be due to my increasing refusal to respond to anything in English, and inherent refusal to sound pleasurable or as intelligent due to these barriers. Faaaantastic.
I believe that tomorrow is my first -real- day at -work-.. using 'believe', as I have no idea what time I would be expected at the 'office' ('room with a desk'), or, still, what 'provisionally' means. I hope that in the English dictionary that I do not have here, the word 'provisional' is followed by 'still paid and provided with a press card and a visa'. Someone with the proper resources should check on that one for me.
Finished my first article, however unsure I am about my freelance status. It's.. well.. coming from me, crap. The materials which I scraped together to construct it are really great and have potential for a spectacular article; two interviews from alternate ends of the Estonian film industry and offering dual perceptions of optimism and frustration, with the optimistic side even addressing the perceived problems of the cynical view. If I could take that and put it in a box, shake it around, and have a finished article.. spectacular. Fuck this having to write it myself as well. Doesn't feel like my job. I am also a bit unsure about doing all of this -as- a job. It could be the post-graduation settling into a tract and responsibility demanded from a different source, though I'll see how it all plays out. At the same time that I am feeling that out, I question the amount of effort that I want to put into anything that wouldn't be a possible full-out career. Something that after I pleasantly devote myself to for years (people who get divorced because they are 'too busy' with work just can't deal with polygamy. What.), I 'retire' to some northern island that I own and farm reindeer off of my pension, while providing consultations online for beer money. If you can dream it, you can do it (unfortunately I'm not wearing enough glitter to say that with full emphasis now).
So.. I am actively searching for another position, and might have an interview this week with the US Chamber of Commerce in Estonia (Eestis). The open position is Marketing and Design Coordinator. Sounds a bit.. well.. Carlson, though the 'design' bit intrigues me. Along with that, it is a semi-government type agency, which follows into the broader direction of my current acquired experiences of drinking and speaking foreign languages.
I planned more to write in a bit on walking through ghostly deserted and crumbling Soviet behemoths along the sea.. though.. that is its own stream in soon time. Through the winding avalanche of rusted and crooked stairs, over snow and vines clawing down silent railroads, then concrete flat and glowing faintly with frost in empty space (silenced by ice resting along the shore).. spilling into pure emptiness itself, where lights hang faintly between the dark sky and darker waves. Mmmm.. jah, varsti sellest.

Edasi..