Juovllat, šnaps, lumi and cheer. The slow unwind.

Ohh, holidays. The redefining of such occasions with age is indeed a thing of wonder. Some of the 'magical' properties, winds filled with the mysterious change in public attitude and excitement, do abate somewhat.. however other pleasant aspects erupt in their place. All the more reason why some people despise widely-celebrated holidays .. obligations sometimes pop up and seem to fully rob the days of this deserved, almost human right of a calm, self-pleasing spirit. If such mandatory indentured hours can be avoided, though.. well hot damn, it can be doused right back in the adult version of a magical time.

Today, for example, has been fantastic so far. Woke up rested around ten o'clock, had some tea and a cinnamon roll, lit the lights on the jõulupuu / ёлка / Christmas tree, put on some music to fit the season, hit up the shop for hõõgvein / glögg, verivorstid / blood sausages, piparkoogid / gingerbread and some proper winter porter, came back to sit and read for a bit with coffee, and am now heading out with my suusad / sabet / skis for a bit of biting cold air, then back for indulging in the hõõgvein and just generally .. enjoying the holiday just as it means by definition. Slowing everything down about forty notches, enjoying the holiday greetings from here and there - from deeply missed friends afar, and letting every molecule in my body simply take some time off from the rampaging rush that is the other side of 'progress'.

So more on that quite soon, and in the meantime - häid pühi, happy holidays to all. Just take a breath and smile.

Edasi, вперёд..

Hereandthereandhereand.. - Siinjasealjasiinja..

.........so now a day later (don't mind the time stamps, like I mentioned - this takes time), I feel I'd like to go off more on the expat topic.

I had forgotten. It sounds quite romantic and mysterious, though the truth is - I did. Part of this was planned, of course. I feel that I never really was an expat until about eight month ago (give or take). The method in which I wanted to dive into eesti keel required this status to be waived .. at least my realization of the status. After I moved here, I refused more and more often to speak in any language other than eesti keel or русский язык. Not the easiest way to make friends, contacts or rapid progress in linguistic proficiency, but effective nonetheless. Essential.

Along with comfort at how proficiency was progressing came an easing of aversion to anything English. Mind you, a lot of this is internal now (and welcome!); however I at least allowed myself to associate more with fellow expats.. even though it took a while for the 'fellow' identity to set in! I read a fantastic article written by another US-born nomad upon being back on that side of the ocean (albeit temporarily -- I still remember the first times I experienced those blips of life between plane tickets!).

One of the comments on the blog post contained an amazing quote, along with a similarly insightful reply from the author herself:

"Forever lost no matter our location" - I feel like I've

retained "otherness" even in coming home.

This is for good, for real, deep down, on like prawn. Embracing your instilled expat identity dispels all boundaries. Minneapolis I love, yet there is a constant yearning to be here when I am there.. all the same, when I am here I pine for Minneapolis, and Suomi, and Sverige, and Ísland and........ it is fantastic. Intoxicating and uplifting. Not merely a lifestyle, or a life, but a complex and indescribable identity in itself. I am not detached from any of the places, nor am I so deeply rooted that I can not survive - can not feel them and still enjoy and revel from afar.

If that all does not call for a beer, then.. well. It does.

Edasi, вперёд..

Embracing the expat within..

Well, as the fog rolls in and winter winks slyly, it seems only right to finally write a post that is actually meant to be informative.

Life in Eesti..

As I type this part of this post (given the fact it is supposed to be descriptive and understandable, composing it takes a bit of time!), I am sitting with soothing soft jazz and the constant flow of trickling water surrounding me in a café. One thing that seriously defines a country is its array of cafés.. I deeply miss the culture in Minneapolis: good music, provoking elements piecing together to become some corner Uptown espresso joint, interesting people coming through and living their lives as they live them alongside you - just a small table or couch away.. these atmospheres are impossible to replicate or transplant. I believe that some places of this type exist in the UK and various pockets in Western Europe, however they are surprisingly absent here. Even when I was in Suomi looking for a place to sit down with a book and some temporal calm existence, it was a bit difficult to track down somewhere outside swarms of tourists, non-corporate and not just a shack with an automatic Nescafe dispenser. Maybe my searches have been too short and too limited (I suspect this), as I have only done so during the course of tethered travel and time-space deadlines.

Eesti has a few positive locations that at least provide some elements of decent coffee-shoppery. Yet almost all of these are accompanied by some sort of disqualifier - for example, I'm currently enjoying my work day with upper-mid-priced coffee at the second-level café in Rahva Raamat bookstore.. located at the very top level of Viru Keskus shopping center with a great window booth seat overlooking the consumer orgy below and with a skylight above. Not bad, overall.. jazz is playing (as I said) and there is also an interesting fountain to the one side of the cafe (constant trickling fantasticness).. yet no free bathrooms. All in all, it is my favorite spot in Tallinn next to Kehrwieder locations.. however I technically work for those place and the customer flow there is much more active. In any case, all the above have much better results than usual attempts to 'branch out' a bit. I tried a small café that has always looked interesting, yet is directed towards the daily business crowd and is only open until 18:00. It was good to give it a try, I suppose.. and in doing so, find one of the few locations in downtown Tallinn that make you feel like you are at some rural bus stop between Moscow and St. Petersburg. Watery brown-ish Nescafe straight from a discount vending machine, music that will either make you want to down half a bottle of vodka or go postal after three minutes, and absolutely no character. The majority of other cafés here tend to bear elements of this or go to the exact opposite extreme -- über-classy and low quality with looks of scorn as you try to relax. A good number of cafés here tend to cross or try to smudge the line between coffee place and restaurant.. given, 'expert reviews' judge them on their kitchen as well and I know from violent experience (literally - an intoxicated pensioner swung a punch!) that clients expect there to be some sort of 'praad' - i.e. main dish. Makes sense that physical conflict should ensue if the establishment does not follow up on their 'obligation' to provide solutions for drunken munchies.

Müürikohvik in Haapsalu completes the top-three of places at which I am comfortable working or unwinding.. though given the multiple-hour bus ride required to hit up the location, I am sadly unable to frequent it often. Maybe it is just a lack of integration on my part - who am I to think that a café is not defined by its array of faux-Indian dishes, cognac menu and an atmosphere that is either prepping you to get back in your BMW or drink yourself slurry?

Cases such as these cause me to question levels of integration overall -- does the term entail living it and shutting up, or is there room for criticism in the process? For some reason, I am often in turmoil with the preconception that while still undergoing integration you really only have the right to openly and directly criticize certain elements after you understand why they function as such and after determining whether or not they are beneficial for the target society in question. I concur - the reason such conflicts exist is that the world is still chock full of diversity. This is a positive aspect, and even some things that may seem negative to the outsider or even to a lifelong member of the culture are still necessary for it remaining unique. Where does the line run between having arty cafés dotting the streets, filled with thinkers and conversationalists; and a monotone urban landscape void of geographic peculiarities? I suppose the only way to go at it is to give it a try -- however the former spots did themselves arise from a certain environment and it might be supposed that such corresponding cafés or whatnot should do the same in their own country. Progression vs. reform vs. renewal.. vs. a preserved form. Inspiration? It would be fantastic to open up some place combining all the things I would like personally in a cafe - Kehrwieder is actually a fantastic example of this, as a Canadian expat with Estonian roots and a life story encircling the globe succeeded in creating the type of Estonian café he always wanted to patron. Possibly some day and with some kind of capital and loads of freedom to keep up a somewhat nomadic existence.. that must be it. Integration is an individual process through and through, and each minuscule element is a personal decision, a determination of the level at which one floats or submerges. We nomads and cultural vagabonds are not merely aquatic or of land -- gills in some tidepools and wings above others.

Edasi, вперёд..

Influence - Mõju

Output is essential, though what falls under question is quality, form, means, motive. Motivation itself is quite the positive, propelled sort of output. Yet what then, if motivation is the purpose in itself? How do all these elements really interplay? The ends seems to be a thing of value, something of function and purpose in itself that will utterly lead to a further stage in this sloped progression. Motivation entails momentum, which is not a static thing, is not fixed. The two interplay to make for positivity, yet the presence of both is essential for real motion, for movement. Is it always the object that is a catalyst for inspiration? Does the energy flow outward, only giving the appearance that it is emanating from the actor, and is actually still quite reciprocal? Or is it possible to acquire this from another source, independent of the intended direction?

Indeed.

Edasi, вперёд..

Cloud exchange - arutelu pilvedega

The paradox of seasons is lovely in all its pauses and moments of furrowed brow. I already miss near-daily contact with the sea. Expression unleashed through spinning XX cm tires or tyres on pavement, on stone and grace to wherever that trifecto might lead. All the same, it takes a different and strangely communal alternate form now, in the time of wind, snow, golden red carpets spread past the horizon and a fulfilling promise of transition. Summer meditation is an exchange directly with loodus-luondu, encounters with mountains of moss and sea spray. Autumn brings a proposal to commit these thoughts to more visible, revisit-able form. Form in itself.

No harm done. Progression.

Edasi, вперёд..

Flicker - virvendus

Expression must simply flow outward, uninhibited. Pen to paper - pastakas paberi peale - that's how it starts. Uncharted at first, at last. Somewhere in-between as well, likely. The points shift and shake, in a daze between themselves and that which they are not. As soon as it begins, it begins. Ending is not an option, the only harsh reality in the otherwise flurry of forwards rushing.

Far from a discussion.

Edasi, вперёд..

Inclusion - omaks võtmine

Now that my seasonal transport cycle has swung into its more heated, padded, expensive segment, bus-waiting and bus-ride musings have returned. A recent one (I think it was a bit after reliving the shock of discovering that all ducks are wearing dog masks - cue existential crisis!) phased in and out and around the Estonian phrase 'omaks võtma' -- literally, to make or take as 'one's own'; to accept and welcome into your sphere of 'belonging'.

This seems to summarize one of the fundamental reasons for why I came to Estonia, in both 'directions' of the word. Estonian language (and, to a great extent, culture) was to become 'oma' and I would like; wouldn't mind, really; just -- come on; to be part of the social sphere.

Estonians are, in a way, a lone bubble. Watching from afar what happens if you let too many other smaller bubbles merge; fearing that moment of opening and merging going out of control and bursting the entire fabric; yet at the same time wanting to be one of the bigger bubbles. Yes, culture and language must be preserved, promoted and developed unconditionally. Hyper-fear does not help anything, on the other hand.

Estonian officials piped up far too loudly on Europe's Roma issue, in my opinion. This should be reserved for countries with experience in the Roma matter and attempts to compare it with Estonian Russians should definitely not be made. We find it unappealing to accept refugees here (even with the carrots of EU support and free reign to require as much language training and immersion as we like); it is even unconstitutional to accept Guantanamo inmates into the prison system. The moment that German Chancellor Angela Merkel spoke of how Germany's vision of 'multiculturalism' has failed, the story was put on a pedestal in bold lettering here. No matter that Merkel was speaking specifically about Germany's problem, Germany's official state policies and Germany's immigrants -- many will, for the most part, chorus this instance.

Prior to status as (one of the) 2011 European Capital(s) of Culture ('assistant to the manager'), a 'tolerance' campaign I very much support is indeed underway, entitled 'Erinevus rikastab' ('Difference enriches'). It has brought forth some positive support in the press along with those articles voicing the horrid opinions of some people that you, pleasantly enough, do not and would not hear from otherwise. I'm glad the discussion has been increased somewhat, 'preparing' us for greater integration (come if it may), and hoping that this does not turn out to be rhetorical as have so many other similar campaigns. Maybe that's just the Estonian tinged negativity seeping in - võtan omaks!

What people often fail to realize is that the Estonian bubble has not burst over thousands of years and maybe, possibly, there is a shred of chance that letting more elements reach the status of 'oma' is not such a bad move; assuming of course that these elements thoroughly learn Estonian and at least appreciate certain cultural elements definitive of Marjamaa. 'Purity' means inbreeding. Of course, if you do want to go for that, then great - keep it up. Just don't get into any decision-making positions and keep it to yourself for as long as your genes hold up.

The key to doing so is by being sneaky, though.. takes some tact on the part of those wishing to integrate with Eesti. Currently underway here are Hõimupäevad - Pan-Finno-Ugric Days - , for example. I have to say, this is one of the most inclusionary (a word that does not pop up often!) gatherings of people that I have stumbled into. Although maybe this is in part because we (i.e. Finno-Ugric peoples) commonly condemn Russification and certain policies undertaken by Russians (not Finno-Ugric, mind you) throughout.. well, a long, long history.

This actually raises an interesting question - would Estonia and many of these others be so pro-Finno-Ugric were there not the 'Russian problem'? Would there be a hall full of people dancing to Mari, Hungarian, Livonian etc music together if subjugation was not still a pressing topic? I'd like to think so, but there is that sneaking suspicion we would instead be putting this effort behind our status as a Nordic country and aligning ourselves with such cultures. Anyways, tangent upon several preceding tangents.

Where was this going? Oh, right. All ducks are wearing dog masks. We know relatively nothing in life. Might as well approach things accordingly.

Edasi, вперёд..

Pondering, panga peal.

I saw a single leaf fall from a tree today in the wind. I must get out there more often, for if I had not been there, who would have seen it fall?

Edasi, вперёд..

Sustenance. Ülalpidamine.

I do think that people often draw connections in formerly Soviet-occupied countries too quickly between between those times and these in several situations. That said, I think it is also fun to do so and support the hype.

I was not so naive to think that I would be faced with stark, empty shelves and long lines when I first went to Ukraine in 2006; nor when I went to Russia in the same year and absolutely not upon moving here to Estonia. I really never expected to see anything of the sort: we are upstanding members of the European Union and much more of a Nordic country than Eastern European, or even Baltic. Politicians make cases for it all the time and are desperately reeling in the line pulling us towards Scandinavia. A liberal, population-friendly, stable social-welfare state with all the European ideals you could want in 45,228 square kilometers.

Walking into my local Selver supermarket, it does not look like the economy just hit a hitch bringing us back to the early 1990's or wartime. Nonetheless, the utter absence of even a single staple product is a bit of a shock to someone who has never experienced living in a time of full-scale economic turmoil, and what's more, when the country in question where the product is missing now is not in trouble either at the moment!

Specifically, many shops here are out of buckwheat. The secret network of pensioners released a directive to hoard up on the stuff for good ole' hoardin' time's sake, leaving non-imminent-apocalypse proponents like myself slightly bothered. Hassled. Oh, what an injustice in our modern world.

Yes, this is buckwheat we're talking about here. Not exactly something I have morning, noon and evening with a spoonful and a topka of vodka before sleep. Well, not always. At the same time, I had just reached the end of the last pack (took me a good four months), and it was simply time to get more. A disappointment, but no matter. So I go through the next items I wanted to pick up, head to the spices section to snag some cloves for autumn apple pies, aaaand.. nothing. Ravaged by the old women boiling jam in their kitchens, stirring large evil-looking cauldrons and chortling. Damn chortlers.

Estonia will adopt the euro (a bastard child, in my opinion) on January 1, 2011. Those familiar with how things went the last time we switched currencies and lived through price fears surrounding accession to the EU in 2004 apparently haven't gained much confidence. Most just dismiss the case as such - but fear-mongering is so enjoyable! Plus it gives this wayward Minnesotan-Estonian a chance to see some of those fabled empty shelves.

As long as beer isn't next up (articles shrieking about gargantuan grain prices because of the Russian export ban have been gaining momentum in the press), it's a quirk that's making me grin a bit.

Edasi, вперёд..

Suund. Direction.

The air is crisp once more, breaths become deeper and I find myself engulfed in the struggle to live every moment in life just as the one in which I was in before. The definition of this 'before' of course ranges, becomes every more widespread and varied as time curves forth. Eks proovingi ikka.

Summer has softly relinquished to autumn, which enters in a moment with a light wave. I feel myself grappling with the moments, turning them over carefully for elements of tangibility. Not that I expect to find any, or would even wish for it. More merely a process with which to acknowledge and grasp more deeply. Truly. Madly? That's enough.

Adventures numbered many throughout the warmer months, thus a lack in expressing them through typed form. Each provided moments for meditation of various frequencies.. and I'm thirsty for more. The one which would have spun me like an ocean surge unfortunately was delayed until the moment (and numbers in my bank account) strike. I had planned on keeping the compass needle firmly on N, heading to Anár (Inari) and delving into Ijahis Idja, a Sámi music festival in late August. Alas the sharper end of capitalization caught me and travel conjoined with accommodations near +10 C would have left a large gap in my monetary sustainability. Nonetheless, I ended up heading to the mansion owned by my German friend Patrick's family in Saare (Lyckholm), Noarootsi. Haapsalu really entranced me, and doing the spiral bike ride (+/- 50 km/suund) through the encasing indecision of fog and misty rain was a well-centered breath.

Meeting up with Patrick and a pair of Minneapolis friends passing through definitely embolstered, though now I feel a drive for solo travel and transit once more. The likes of here (2006/07), of Copenhagen 2007, Paris 2008, Amsterdam of the same year. Even mere bus rides, train rides, moments passing with Múm in my ears. Moving as part of the mass, unnoticed yet present and rising. Mist the unknown, in common transit as well.

It approaches once more; in Eesti or degrees of latitude North.. the crisp air will accompany, with scarves and deep breaths throughout.

Edasi, вперёд..

Yes and yes. Jah ja ja. Juo ja juo.

In inadvertently semi-false responses often lies a sort of truth more interesting to defend.

That said, it's invariably more difficult to understand someone when they speak in straight-off-the-isles, rapid-speed Estonian and are at the same time pricking blood vessels and constricting various parts of your body. Mind you, this was one of the nicest tädi's at the blood donation center (and they are all ten times sweeter than any grandmother); yet easy to mistake what they say.

"Asakjask shssaass hsaahaa," is how it sounded. Often faced with this when living in a language I've been speaking for a few years, I'm used to such a sentence. I asked again (variating proficiency makes me feel like an elderly person with a malfunctioning hearing aid sometimes). Her repetition of the question was disappointingly similar.

Another part of living in another language and culture is learning to be decisive and not give away your level of perception of the surroundings. Doing so means that there often will be no disruption in the scene and allows you to pick up much more from the flow instead of the particularities of situations. I was hoping this question was a particularity, a "Does that hurt?" or "Do you want your blood sample to go to starving orphans?" and not something upon which the conversation would hinge. In most cases, you can get away with a positive/negative response, and given your 50-50 choice, you'll hit the right one and things will go on as planned. Feeling like I hadn't shot out a "no" in a while (again - surrounded by a late-middle-aged crowd with sharp things), I went with that reply.

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah." Confidently. Decisively.

To my surprise, this launched her onto an entirely fresh burst of the conversation filled with stories, illustrations and heartfelt enthusiasm. Again - not understanding a question doesn't mean you can't answer it.

I derived after a few sentences the fact that I answered "no" to a question I would often answer "yes" to - partly out of habit, partly out of genuine attitude. Nurse Enthusiasm (not a word you use often in Estonia) asked whether I had full-out fallen in love with the country.

No point in backtracking - it's much more engaging to go with it and at least give yourself a challenge that departs from the usual pre-approved phrases and conversational swings. So I went with it.

Nurse Put-Down-Her-Pen-Now-Enthusiasm went on to tell me about her daughter who moved to the States to study, ended up marrying a Yank and lives out there now. The daughter would like to someday move back to Estonia, however her husband works for NASA and jobs of a similar caliber are rare in Estonia, not to mention the fact that most of the information he has is probably state secrets (i.e. which vending machine will often shoot out two bottles if you put in an odd number of coins). The woman likes living in the States and has no problem carrying on there, yet still yearns a bit for Eestimaa.

"Home is home," said the nurse with a nod and an extra-firm slap of a bar code sticker on one of the forms.

I'm not one-hundred-percent staunchly behind her statements and (being incoherent and indecisive) would pad it up with a heap of qualifiers, yet it wasn't enough for me to turn around and refute. 'Home' is definitely something that develops through various periods of time, that ends up choosing you as much as you choose it. I think a person can have multiple homes and, although they can have different associations and depths of connection with the person, these may all be on a comparable level.

How would this go? A 'primary' home followed by some 'secondary' ones? This seems a bit cheap; at least enough to question using the term 'home' for anything less than all-out extraordinary. Here's where that shifty yesandno comes about.. Minneapolis is, for me, home, and Estonia is home as well, though with different associations and basis for being so.

I can't say it's just language, though the Finno-Ugricness definitely has its part. This can also be taken in a wider sense, such as how I can generally envision myself a

lso living and being contentin Suomi and Sámpi. The thing is that my draw to Estonia and my ethnic identity does not at all clash with all that encompasses Minneapolis and Minnesota - it seems rather like it accentuates and enhances that identity. At the same time, Minneapolis is a massive part of my identity itself, and has its part in defining my life here and how I express being Finno-Ugric. Ehhhhh..

I just need to build a lavvu and have some source of revenue that enables me to be nomadic between the Cities and northern Europe. No problem there - just execution. The separation of an multifaceted identity and a precise location is a tricky one indeed..

Edasi, вперёд..

This is an adventure..

Almmi (pictured) is kahtlemata - without doubt - one of the largest and most sensible ways in which I have passed along money finding its way into my hands, ever. Next to trans-Atlantic plane tickets and my IKEA bed-mattress-down comforter set in Minneapolis, of course. It is freedom in a different form, with different, very permeable boundaries. Mobility conditioned by waves, wind and sun. I undergo daily sensations at various times of being on the waves, with the cells in my body retuned to the rhythm of the tide and me just along for the ride. Whilst translating copious amounts of articles about tobacco smuggling and building permit disputes and the like, dumping coffee down my throat on dry land. I just need to condition myself into being able to recall the feeling at will - sure I could make myself fall asleep anywhere or at least startle passerbys, randomly shouting 'land ho!' and whatever other maritime terminology I can dredge up. This is what a month's salary can land you.

I initially held her in a garage in Pirita next to the same shop from which I bought her. Well, technically she was there wrapped in plastic for two weeks before I got access to her and then immediately rowed her to Miiduranna, where she's all snugged up at a friend's parents' place on the seashore. Right, now to break that sentence down. After purchasing the kayak, I found out that it was located in a warehouse on Peterburi maantee and that it would be transported to Pirita after some weeks. In the meantime, I was able to freely use the other kayaks available there (one slightly older model of my own and one new, crazy-light composite that kept my adrenaline on extra-max to stay balanced). This was all fine and the idea of keeping my own kayak at the garage was suitable for some time, as: A. I had no where else to put it, B. I had no way of transporting it by land, and C. it was still snowing every other weekend. When my kayak finally arrived at the garage, the shop owner took off to China for a couple weeks to tour the factory (yes, I row a vessel designed by neutral Norwegians and crafted in a communist country - the perfect European). This was actually the crux of the slight discomfort in running down to Pirita whenever I wanted to go row - the garage was only accessible on weekdays until six or seven o'clock in the evening; not the most propitious for random bouts and prospective weekends out camping.

As soon as the owner got back and the wind lulled, I went down for the first paddle. Immediately beforehand I had locked down a place to keep it longer-term - an amazing location in a friend's parents' garden about 50 meters from the sea. SCORE. Yeah. Two million points. I planned on doing the maiden paddle, placing Almmi back in the garage and then doing the trip from Pirita to Miiduranna later in the week. Mentioned this to the shop owner as she was going out for a run, and agreed how to leave one door unlocked so I could put the kayak to rest for the eve; the owner would close up later before she left. At first, I planned on a short, half-hour bout. Ha.

Went upriver, ran some small rapids and surfed a bit on tail-waves; then went back and out of the harbor to acquaint Almmi with the sea.. and to reaquaint myself, as I then had little experience, mostly consisting playing around the mouth of the harbor and in rowing a two-person kayak a year ago to the top of Viimsi poolsaar (peninsula).

This is why I usually don't write out stories here.. I'm sure the boredom will last for eight pages more, four cups of tea and then both myself and the reader can somehow shake off drowsiness and at least superficially direct attention to .. right, I'll just keep writing.

So when I headed back to the shop, pulled Almmi out of the water and prepared to stow the goods, found out that it was all fully locked up, as the owner thought I had already come and gone. No response to mobile calls. Standing outside with a 5.2-meter sea vessel. Fantastic! My friend was able to answer her mobile, however, and was not at work (thank you, work schedule of that particular Chinese restaurant) and agreed to meeting up at Miiduranna after I paddled there.. a good cap to the two hours of paddling I had already done that day! Sea conditions were unbelievable, however, as the pictures and deep-seeded memories show.

I almost deleted that story three times in the mix. Is this what happens when my daily English use is primarily in translating mundane articles and watching episodes of 'The O.C.'? (I know, I know - probably should have deleted that as well.. selective coherency and detail: that's my style.)

That which probably should have attained greater attention is the tale of my day-journey from Miiduranna to Kräsuli, Kumbli and Aegna saared (islands) and back - a solid 25 km of paddling in various wind and wave conditions. I actually planned to camp that evening on Aegna, brought along a tent and extra water and everything.. and left my sleeping bag on my balcony in Lasnamäe, because.. that's pure preservative-free logic, fool. The weather was extremely warm during the day, though a storm was slowly approaching by the time I landed and the breeze became cooler. Thus I figured the choice was to strain myself for another couple hours, stay near the shore and hope for a Zeusish chaos not to ensue; or to chill, walk around a bit and probably be wet and cold for most of the night with paddling planned for unsure conditions the next morn. I went with the former. After grilling sausages and having a beer, of course (see - logic).

What more to say - a few 1.8-2 meter swells (yes, really) meant that Almmi is no longer a young kayak virgin and can not be sacrificed to any undersea Baltic volcano deities, I learned that small, sparsely vegetated islands are where avian cannibals reside and one should not do more than come to shore, stamp out cramps from one's leg and then scurry back into a kayak to face the open sea waves pounding in while trying to reach more hospitable spots of land.. the usual weekend.

Most of the moments worth writing about or taking a picture of are exactly those which do not fit into words or replicable images.

My goal is rowing to the shores of Naissaare by the end of summer. Beer and sausage to commemorate the voyage, as always. Possibly even bring along sleeping bag and tent. All I need further are a red cap and a speedo. Maybe a glock and some correspondence stock.

Ho.

Edasi, вперёд..

Kõik keerlemas - All in a whirl.

The last week has been one of the most work-intense stretches of time I've had in a while. Placing this in past tense is, of course, an overstatement.. it's closing in on mid-Friday, though given one special weekly media survey/translating project I have occupying part of this very night and tomorrow morning, not to mention semi-volunteer activities co-managing a creative space in Vanalinn (Old Town) and everything that entails on weekends, well, I think I might have a day entirely free of adult responsibilities sometime next month. I'm not complaining, mind you. Alright, I am complaining. Lightly. Like a soft bird-song in spring. Of a bird that is bitching about stress and wanting to travel and have a few moments of total unwind.

I've been somewhat bewildered (yes, I wildered be) by how rapidly the days pass when you are chained to an electronic device giving your fingers mad exercise sessions. The sky is now light until about 21:30, which definitely inspires and just ratchets up my giddiness for the unending eves of the coming months. Mornings are also quite bright.. that one took me about a week to get used to again; startling multiple times and checking the time on my mobile to make sure I hadn't overslept.. only to slip back into timeless semi-consciousness and repeat the action several times. It's interesting how we adapt to this.. and I ask, what adapts? Is it the eyes getting used to more light or the consciousness getting used to ignoring it?

In any case, the shifting seasons are doing exactly that, and I feel a lack of full, rightful participation in the process. As much as you say, "Damn, that week went by really fast because of all the work" in a positive sense, it still is just a celebration of the fleeting. Yes, fantastic that all of that work was completed and now the weekend (alternate work) is here. The speed of passage isn't that important, though, as more is on its way. Waves and waves of it. Again, not complaining. I'm absolutely mystified and certainly reminiscent (though admittedly glorifying a bit, as one does) of the times in Uni when I had that majestic feeling of time. Of course, working 30-40 hours per week during most of the time I was in Uni and the growing will to research certain topics on my 'own time' did set semi-permeable bounds on this sense of the rolling minutes. At the same time, it was such a comforting feeling in its own right - the ability to manage the things you wanted/needed to accomplish within a wider set of sun-revolvements. My life at the moment is defined by deadlines - half-hour, hour, by-the-next-morning, what have you.. in all, transforming my sense of time into something a bit overly tangible. I have this sense that in Uni, the concept of time and its elapsing varied depending upon various transient events. A long paper was due or an exam on its way, things became less fluid and a bit more scheduled; though after the completion of this event, the particles scattered back into a wider and less minute picture. Work, of course, was something still very bounded; however it was together with people I enjoyed (coworkers and customers alike, for the most part, with some horrid exceptions) and doing something which really translated into active meditation for me.

Cue warmer conditions and unfurling opportunity. The sea ice has broken up and breeze is becoming less chilling; some paddling for hours or, when employment allows, days, be on its way..s. I'm also trying to locate a cheap, older frame so I can Frankenstein Laika (my bike) into a form of full capacity; whatever roads and trails and turns appear will follow. I don't suppose that what characterized my sense of time in Uni is something which is faded or must be pushed back until I'm collecting pension. It's nothing lost; just untapped. There has to be a way to get into that rhythm (yes) more frequently, really, somehow daily. As difficult as it is for me to turn down or shed off more time-constraining activities, it's something that I must allow for in the future.. I'm used to packing the schedule to the brim and then building up shorelines above that. Balance is always key. Time for the eyes to adjust.

As Benny Benassi says: "Time. Time is what you need." Cue bass.

Edasi, вперёд..

Gos..

So, in times which constitute the recent, I've slacked off from mass updating via blog form. Part of this I could attribute to lack of time; another part to my aversion to touching digital objects when not doing so for work purposes (which runs back into my first reason); another is, well, not a lack of motivation per say, but whatever drives said motivation. Sparks it up a bit. Gives it the giggles. Digressing further, maybe this is just associated with the cold-and-darkity of winter. I'm comfortable blaming it on that, in any case. While I do thoroughly enjoy the season (I'd put it tied with summer at number two for top seasons, with čakča (sügis, fall) taking its rightful golden leaves), at times I feel that a mild hibernation over this period would be totally justifiable. Not in the sense of sleeping it through (well, overall), but in leaning next to an open fire and emerging only to do the necessary (more beer.. and of course other things). The more I contemplate this, the more I realize that my bodily clock is likely set on a nomadic northern European lifestyle circa a few hundred years ago. Probably not only my bodily clock.

While I don't generally implement this blog for speaking of recent life news or events, this line of straw-grasping does lead to one significancy - I purchased a süst (kayak). It's something I've informally contemplated acquiring for a long period of time, and with the help of an awesome deal (not to mention a new translating customer from the whole bout) and the absurd logic of it being quite, quite useful in the event of civilizational collapse (works for me), I decided to go with it. She's over five meters in length, lime green and yet-unnamed (waiting for the sea ice to break up before embarking on the first voyage, understandably). How this locks up with the previous line of incoherency is that I'm very stoked to get out, into some physical and meditational shape and onto some islands for purposes of randominity and camping and such. Mobility outside of bus lines and shoveled sidewalks is something I've felt amiss throughout the deep frost. I know that waist-high snow shouldn't hinder me (it doesn't, and sometimes didn't) from such escapades, but, well.. informal hibernation. Back to all that is local nomadism. I've come to realize that this is a deep-set trait; not always in the far-flung sense, though not quite set in staticity.

This is all highly likely to lead to me someday getting another liberal arts degree. Or building a saun and acquiring some reindeer. Maybe both. Bures.

Edasi, вперёд..

Mii?

This winter seems to be lacking in subtlety, which I firmly enjoy. Packs a punch. And an extra hat.

It's also had some sort of indirect effect increasing my daily use of the English language. I remain cautious on that one. Several reasons or excuses could be rooted up and cooked into a soup for this: and I would list them here. Almost just did. Foremost, I would probably attribute this to a general grappling at social connections during the period of frosty, savory bleakness opposite to summer. Of course, interaction is still fully eesti keeles with Tuuliki and that's nothing I would ever want to alter. The wider composition of my daily, bi-daily and weekly social interactions has taken a turn towards the ex-pat community, however.

It isn't that this is a negative occurrence - I highly enjoy the poker nights, cocktail parties and random incursions in alcoholic beverage establishments. Furthermore, 'ex-pat' does not exclusively signify the English language holding dominance. I am able to edge Estonian back in with a good Finnish friend and I strive to splice up my usage while in mixed settings, much to the annoyance of those other outsiders who, although they have been here exponentially longer than I have, still struggle with the concept of a soft 'e' in 'tere'.

The course things have taken as of late also don't reflect a doldrums of my competency in the local lingua in any way. Estonian still maintains a majority holding of at least 70 percent of daily syllabic exchange. Odd how the twenty-percent loss can be so strongly recognizable, however.

I would gladly edge this up a bit, or at least be content to keep the majority Estonian and decrease the English component. Say, four percent more Russian than currently (i.e. monthly encounters with my racist Russian landlord, giving people the time at bus stops and refusing to buy bootleg vodka). Specifically, I'd really enjoy driving up my use of sámegiella (Sámi language) to the entire one percent in which I am bound by my current abilities in the tongue .

Although the English-language resurgence is not unpleasant and quite a good refresher (I do continue to claim that is my native language in terms of translating), I'm sure it will find its ebb with the coming of slight warmth to the breezes. In any case, it will certainly present some sort of revolting encounter as it usually does with foreigners and spin me back into the fray of cloudier linguistics. It was only a few months ago that some drunk Brit who strayed from the discouragingly permeable bounds of his stag party spent half an hour trying to convince me that Alexander the Great was an Estonian who led Russia to conquer the Baltic region. Although he did claim to know where he was located in the world at that particular moment (I asked him repeatedly) and what the hell he was talking about, the fact that he was mistaking 'Estonia' with 'Macedonia' and 'Baltics' with 'Balkans' seemed to escape him. Not unlike the neiud flitting past on the ice-packed streets. Sometime, sometime .. until then, another head shake and turn to converse with a pint.

Tagasi võõrkeelearendamise suunda..

Edasi, вперёд..

Frequality.

I sense that some form of alternate media beckons. I generally don't feel like situating myself behind a laptop screen for expressing myself following several hours of doing that in a work-type environment, though I am downright brimming with that need for expression. Preferably one not sharing an interface with Facebook. True, I have lately returned to writing with real pen, ink, paper and beer-spill stains when it comes to interacting through letters. E-mails are for quick confirmations and necessary transfers of information. Their non-existence is far too transient to allow information to stick in my brain. There are a lot of things stuck there - a few pixels describing someone's child's activities last week or their new job aren't going to hang around in that dust trap for long. Committing something onto paper and receiving it back is much more fixated in every respect. I'm all about getting back to that. Plus, my laptop is bulky, I'm somewhat concerned I may get tetanus from it, the battery lasts for 1.2 minutes and in order to keep it plugged in, you have to pull back the power cord at a 180-degree angle and trap it under the keyboard to hold pressure on it so you can have your hands free. Mobility isn't its point of pride.

Maybe it's the approach of spring (which I usually try to ignore as annoying foreplay to summer). It could also be seeing the sun more than twice per week. It's definitely not the proper winter that surrounds, elbow-jabbing with its -30 C and loads of snow. I like that kind of winter - namely, one that at least embodies the seasonal term. In any case.. I feel like I'm standing on the bluffs in Tabasalu looking at the gulf, feeling the breeze and a slight pull forwards. It's that feeling of motion that I haven't sensed in a while though for which I constantly strive.. probably in vain, as it's similar to ordering a taxi at 2 AM. You can expect to get it sometime, but before then you have to stand on the corner and listen to the busy tone or, worse, a 5-second repeating 'musical' clip (ba-badada-badada-ba-babadada-ba-dada-badada-dadadaa). You will get through after a while, though there's no sense of time or progress involved in the operation.

The re-entrance of daylight into the concept of day will definitely bring more things - getting the bike fixed, being able to physically move farther than from my desk to downtown and back, fresh air here and there.. and the acquisition of my residency permit extension is also a great 'hurrah'. Double-fist-pump freeze-frame-air-jump followed by super-karate-kick. Take that, Citizenship and Migration Board. We shall meet once or twice more.

Taking pot shots at linguistic release.

Edasi, вперёд..

On the road again. (Taas teele.)

I don't often have extremely vivid dreams which I also remember upon and after waking up. Bright morning lights (admittedly, quite absent this time of year before 10am) and a few necessary mugs of strong black English tea usually dissolute any traces my odd nighttime journeys might leave on the psyche. It's even rarer for me to remember specific people from these subconscious encounters. That said, I got pulled over for speeding in President Toomas Hendrik Ilves' car yesterday. That'll leave an impression.

My recollection of the dream picks up where I was walking down a street which was slightly raised from the sidewalk level and enclosed by dense greenery. A building with a glass facade came up on the right hand side and Tuuliki informed me that President Ilves was there. Oddly enough, a large German flag hung from the front of the building. A sign perhaps of impending re-Germanization of Estonia? Will Volkswagen or Siemens start buying up investments here as the Baltic Germans re-realize their drive to get their disparate feudal rights back? In any case, Tuuliki thought he might have gone on a 'trip' already (presumably to broker schnitzel imports), but upon peering down the embankment and through the trees, we spotted the Estonian blue-black-and-white faintly stirring in the breeze. Obviously, if both a German and Estonian flag are hung, that means Ilves is in the building. So we went to take a closer look.

I could see through the glass a lofty, darkened room with a single couch in the center facing the right wall with a gaping fireplace. A lone turvamees stared slightly indifferently from inside of the glass door and Ilves looked up as we approached. He beckoned us in as, obviously, we're that cool. As is he. The solitary guard in plain clothes let us brush past and we went to sit next to the President on the couch. My dreams are often filled with oddities and vague details; one of these was the carpeting directly in front of the couch. A long rut was worn into the (light-colored) 1970's urban-apartment sort of shag carpeting that reminds you of the number for Empire (and whether the representative has been cryogenically frozen yet). At one point in the worn-down pacing line, there was a deeper torn up circle of carpet, where Ilves apparently always spun abruptly and sat down during his back-and-forth sessions. I have no idea how I knew or noticed this, but the President sat directly in front of that chasm in the carpeting, so it wasn't a complicated deduction.

We sat around and bantered for a decent amount of time, and then as a result of dream-swish-swash and fogged transition, we were somehow a trio in Ilve's coal-black open-top jeep (which he of course loaned us) out on the open highway in a vast autumn tundra. Regardless of the fact that I was sitting alone in the backseat, I happened to also be the driver of the vehicle. I'm not sure whether it was because I was getting used to driving from the back seat, the confusing factor of a regular steering wheel and pedals in the front, or that I was still acclimating myself with being in a car suddenly opposed to the white three-person sofa in Ilves' dusky office; whatever it was, I quickly became aware that I was speeding. Intuition told me that the speed limit was around 50-70 km/h.. I was bumping at a full 140 at the least. Not that it was an unpleasant experience - opening up Ilves' personal jeep on a road straight and level enough to be in either South Dakota or Northern Finland (difference?) was worth the proximity of pedal to metal.

Being in a perfect dream state did however mean that worries quickly become reality, and as soon as the concepts of 'speeding' and 'law enforcement' came into my head at the same moment in time, I saw flashing lights ahead. While quickly trying to locate the back-seat brake pedal and have my way with it, I spotted a large police SUV - more fire brigade than actual trooper, but authority nonetheless - heading the opposite direction. A large (tundra) median separated the two lanes of traffic, though I was indeed the presumptive target and saw the car slowing at a U-turn lane. While I hoped in the familiar vain that my speed (now reduced to around 50 after locating the weak break) and its apologetic lower velocity might persuade the police to look the other way, I spotted a left-turn lane myself and moved into it.. I'm not going to lie and say that the thought of crossing over and speeding off into the sudden forest across the road didn't pop into my head. That was my only thought at the time. I was driving President Toomas Hendrik Ilves' coal-black open-top jeep, and I'm hoping to still get honorary citizenship from him some day.

Then I woke up.

Edasi, вперёд..

Tappity-tap.

Snow will bring us together

I've noticed one thing in this beloved, oft-times frigid northern climate. Snow is the best means of integration and community. At least the first snowfall. Alas, this has melted off for now and the self-reassuring dreariness, fog and rain of the Baltic have extended their lease through the end of fall. Winter made a couple of advances a few weeks ago however, and it was fantastic to watch (and partake in) the aftermath. It seems that people drop their boundaries, at least temporarily, and catch sidelong glances and smiles of pure enjoyment at the odd tactile meteorological representation that lies about. People almost wrap themselves in it, and bring others into the fold. I went with Tuuliki to snatch some hõõgvein (the popular winter hot mulled wine) and head through upper vanalinn (Old Town) and my favorite park in the vicinity. Standing next to Pikk Hermann, I invented a contest throwing snowballs down onto the spotlights beaming up onto the ancient Danish fortress remains. A snowball fight which had earlier sputtered between us here and there came into full swing, and a few strays happened to bring a young Russian-Estonian couple into the cross-fire (well, 'stray' means that it wasn't exactly 'cross', but past Tuuliki or over her head and onto their apparel). I gave a short-breathed apology and they seemed jovial, so Tuuliki coaxed them into turning against myself. Our small three-on-one went on for a good five or ten minutes and provided me with some much-needed exercise darting and lurking behind trees (my usual mid-day exertion of energy is moving my leg from a crossed position to supporting my feet on the radiator and back, while the translations flood in).

It was a light, energetic experience that crossed out the awkwardness of language or deciding in which tongue to even communicate (I dropped some Estonian and shout some things in Russian at them while Tuuliki also seemed inadhered to a single linguistic array). The experience was short and mostly unspoken, but true and a demonstration of at least the possibility for such encounters. I plan to start further random wars with unknown passerbys through flinging objects at them that won't leave them wounded, unconscious or covered in any sort of unpleasant liquids. Summer will be the time for spontaneous pillow fights. Let it snow.

Living in a Soviet block is "boring" (bad pun).

So one thing that I have come to grips with living amongst crumbling stacks of concrete is that, regardless of how hopeless the buildings appear to be on the outside (and what you can assume to be the internal structure, which is quite an unnerving thought when you actually live there), someone is renovating. This word is used very loosely, as I highly doubt that the performance of the act dictates a real, formidable or even tactile outcome. Quite the opposite - 'remont' anywhere in the Soviet crack stacks really means drilling into any surviving bit of concrete to be found in the hopes of the entire building collapsing upon itself and the residents being sent to freshly constructed municipal housing. Panel construction means that the rusted rods which the remaining bits of concrete stick to resonate at every poke and prod from a drill, which on any given day someone will decide to implement in their endeavors. What I fail to understand and why I come to the conclusion that these home-repairers aren't actually doing anything is that I can't figure out exactly why they would find it necessary to incessantly make holes in the concrete. A few days ago this reached a new high - of course, during summer after moving to the apartment in 2008 I became accustomed to the fact that the screeching would reach its peak around eight or nine in the morning.. this time, however, it was at 10 in the morning, right as my daily stash of documents to be translated started to pour in, and this time seemingly just on the other side of the wall. Finding the source is tricky, though, and the ruckus happened to be coming from a man dangling from a rope attached somewhere on the roof, boring into the seams between the concrete slabs from the outside, one floor up and a few apartments across. Which made sense - the noise was using my eardrums as a timpani. I about quit work and ran out screaming after the first fifteen minutes. Luckily, it ended a bit later as they moved to the other side of the building to cave out more load-bearing material. The walls aren't the thickest or the most solid in the first place. There's an electrical socket next to our bed which seems to be fit into a hole opening up into the apartment next to ours. Were our neighbors extremely quiet or even head-banging trancers on ecstasy, it'd be one thing. However, the situation helps to make up for the fact that I disconnected the cable television a year ago - some crazywoman living there regularly decides to begin chanting, singing and generally werewolfing at three in the morning (six in the morning, two in the afternoon, seven at night.. there's not much of a pattern), shouting into the air (more like my electrical socket) for some long-lost relative to return so she can make her dinner - this is, naturally, accompanied by pot-banging from time to time and then the older man that lives there yelling at her to shut up and give it up already. I'm content with the fact that I extremely rarely run into either of them in our shared, empty hallway to the stairwell. There's been worse all in all and returning to the structural topic - I felt the entire building literally sway a few inches from side to side one day (the curtains moving helped me to figure out it wasn't just my body going into some sort of alcohol-relapse days after the actual drinking. It was probably just something collapsing in the limestone quarry across the road (further brilliant Soviet planning - build a massive residential district downwind of where tons and tons of dust are shot into the air from a large pipe 24 hours a day). No worries. It's Lasnamäe.

And with that, I announce plans to find a place in some wood-plank 1930's house in Kalamaja. I feel the urge to write about an adventure not involving the Migration Board. Curses on them; setting sights on the other end of the city and the shore of the sea.

Edasi, вперёд..

You be who?

Preventing diversity only encourages local extremism.

That's what I've been trying to get out. Probably a statement I should have warmed up into, though early rising on Tuesday mornings to Russian electricians doesn't exactly cultivate deep analytic moods.

Take religious preferences approach, for example. I'm not a religious person by any means; if you don't count me watching Lost 'religiously' (that's more of an addiction) or 'religiously' having a cup of black tea before coffee in the morning in that category. As such, I actually blend into the average population better here in Estonia than in the US. The last time I was in Minneapolis, I was shocked by just how many places of worship dot just about every other streetcorner. It's a mode of power and social control yet deeply entrenched in American society - a more noticeable state expression of this (never mind that rumor of 'separation of church and state') is the Sunday ban on liquor sales in Minnesota. How does that regulation promote a free and fair economy? What reasons preclude the ban which are not associated with 'purity' or 'honoring' or 'values'; all of which tie right back into some sort of organized where-does-my-soul-or-thetan-or-whatever go after I've really just decomposed and enriched the soil for plant growth? Anything? Bueller?

I do support the right of everyone to peacefully believe what they believe and to act upon it in their own right, as long as its doctrine doesn't infringe upon the same of others. This, again, is the same diversity which is crucial to the health of a society. It's inherent, and in the absence of a very visible form, the society will turn upon itself to search out minute variations in the fold by which it can both differentiate and define itself. That said - although I disapprove of the lack of tolerance for non-religious types in the States, I'm also dissatisfied with the absence of tangible variation here in Estonia.

True, there is very little history of religious variation in Estonia as compared to more fiery, border- and formely empire-ridden parts of the world. Paganism, Christianity (via the Danes, Swedes and Germans) and Russian Orthodox (guess who) have been in practice. Hare Krishna (the musical procession may be seen on Raekoja plats every day at exactly 17:14) and Buddhism are in the wings along with Scientology and, I suspect, one or two Flying Spaghetti Monsterists. A grand seven Jews were left in the wake of the Holocaust in Estonia; not a widely-taught reality in history lessons. The first synagoge since WWII opened up on a Tallinn side-street a few years ago; brilliant architecture, classy restaurant, a few token Israelis and a lot of Russian speaking. I've yet to see any resemblance of a minaret in the city alongside the towers of Tallinn's city walls. I somewhat doubt any are in the making.

According to the Estonian Statistics Board, there were 1,387 Muslims in the country in 2000 (on a side note, it's interesting that there isn't a link for 'Religious preference' under the social statistics section of the web page - no preference means not making it into an issue and less of a problem. Or is that just the lack of noticeable diversity again?). I'm sure at least half of them are forced to be on call to interrogate any would-be dark skinned and bearded arrivals at the airport. Not that Estonians have any deep-seeded racist tendancies or outward fears, though they easily could. Exposure to diversity is incredibly low and very, very few people are even open to the idea of considering stepping it up.

A few weeks ago, Estonia announced that it would decline a request from the European Commission that it participate in a migrant-relocation program. Basically, migrants mainly washing up on the shores of southern member states granted asylum would be found a home and support in other member countries (who pledged to help each other upon acession .. right?). I'm not entirely clear on how much in assistance funding would be acquired towards these purposes from the EU proper, though let's take a look at why Estonia turned this down, ey?

"Estonia is not planning to take part in the relocation program because the state of our budget does not allow it and our society is not ready for this today."

Uku Särekanno, Estonian Representative to the EU

Oh, right, not 'today'.. next week, maybe. Just the fact that it was slipped in as a side-note and not admittedly presented as the main cause drives me mad. If you're going to say it, don't preclude it with a bullshit excuse. Say the bullshit excuse, or say the truth - both don't cooperate well together in the same sentence. Estonia is afraid of differences, and it is exactly this fear that will hold the country and the society back from accepting and appreciating them. Yes - not all Estonians are the same by any standard and it's amazing how tribal affiliations are still celebrated and promoted.. this is something I think should only deepen and become richer in form.. however, allowing immigrants to come in and experience the give-and-take of integration will not threaten or abolish these ties. It will only give them an even greater value as people confront the commonalities and differences between them and other races and life approaches.

Employment Escort

Were I inclined to research deeply and expansively write on failed economic tactics, I’d be gearing up for a rave of it here in Tallinn. It would be in the form of a self-help book for local governments - “How not to create sustainable jobs and save yourself from future financial rape” might be the title. Tallinn’s cancerous mayor, Edgar Savisaar, would of course be propositioned to write the foreword. If he declined, I’d settle for something from, say, a muskrat or a boar. It’d be of about the same content and provocation.

Even before the fore-expected and disheartening results of the local elections came to light, I wanted to write on the idiotic and populist form that job-creation has taken under the city government. Namely, the highly-publicized and visible position of ‘reisisaatja’ (‘trip escort’). The responsibilities of this quite challenging position (in terms of staying awake) include standing/sitting in the fore-end of a public transport vehicle (bus/tram/trolley bus), staring dully out a window/sleeping/being passed out/talking with the driver/friends/narcotics addicts, and occasionally (in my estimation, once every ten years) selling tickets to passengers. Under the previous system before the taxpayer was graced with the ‘reisisaatja’, they had to buy their tickets from the driver if they hadn’t already picked one up from a kiosk or loaded up monthly passes on their ID-card. This form of cash-ticket transaction occurred very rarely. Oh, and the bus driver is still there now. So, remind me again - why are we paying for this?!

Unemployment is staggering for a country, and a city, of this size. However a word which was left out of city government discussions when locating budgetary funds for ‘emergency’ jobs was ‘sustainability’. When the crisis is deemed as over or the transport department’s budget needs to be cut back further, this will be the first to go. What, may I ask, will we have gained from this? What skills can these dull-eyed just-making-it-by employees add to their CVs (which, I might add, they have enough time for putting together while circling around the municipal area on bus number 5)? If their employment and minimum-wage salaries are restricted to the transportation sector to avoid hassle of switching out funds between budgets, then why are they doing such a useless ‘service’? It’s not like conditions are so pristine that I’d be happy to eat something off of the bus floor or to even rest my head against the Plexiglas window next to me. They’re not controlling tickets to make sure that the bus is actually accruing revenue. The system runs no smoother than before. So.. why? For minimum salary (which, I might add, is dangerously close to what I make working two jobs with flashier titles), I’ve seen enough forests, fields, bogs and beaches around the city that could be cleared of rubbish.

Even better - if the funds were to be untangled from static budgetary totals, the city could still support a minimum salary for the workers while offering them up to local companies in which their skill backgrounds match up. Thus, an auto-repair worker could be paid the exact same to help out at a local garage where, while demand may not have decreased, prices and salaries have - thus they continue to improve their own skills, make contacts and build a base at a place with no hassle to the employer (the state support still covers their health care and other social taxes). Current employees at the location wouldn’t be slammed with fewer hours or lower wages, as for all the employee is concerned - the previous bus-rider is a new, possibly temporary and basically volunteer worker on site. Production increases, costs straight-line.

Is it still too late to run for mayor?

A more in-depth post to come..

Edasi, вперёд..