Küsimused kusist

A Few Words for the Class of 2011

2011-06-19T17:30:00.006+03:00

The auditorium was a sauna, but 400 people were wearing their Sunday bests buttoned smartly around their necks. A handful of them were blocking the two doors that, if even ajar, might have conspired with stealthily opened windows to whip up whaffs of fresh air for the graduates' family members. About 90 minutes into the ceremony, with my white Oxford and my white Hanes wet enough to suck on for rehydration, it was my turn to say a few words. A stoic, local politician and a frustrated, scandal-entangled school director had preceded me, unexpected killjoys, buzzkillers, party poopers at a traditionally joyous occasion for which I had flown 800 miles.

I have been to at least three graduations at Tapa Gümnaasium. Still, I am really not exactly sure what people come up here and say.
Ma olen viibinud vähemalt kolmel Tapa Gümnaasiumi lõpuaktusel, aga ikkagi ei tea ma täpselt, miks inimesed siia kogunevad ja mida peaks rääkima.

Am I suppose to praise the graduates for being such attentive students, such enthusiastic learners, and such hard-working individuals over the last three years? Am I suppose to vigorously encourage them to work harder and harder and to become tomorrow’s leaders in politics, in business, in the arts, and in sports? The next Ojuland. The next Oleg Gross. The next Getter Jaani. The next Kirsipuu.
Ma peaksin kiitma lõpetajaid selle eest, et nad on olnud kohusetundlikud, innukad ja töökad kõigi kolme gümnaasiumis oldud aasta jooksul. Ma peaksin lõpetajaid jõuliselt julgustama veel rohkem tööd tegema, et neist saaksid tulevikus liidrid nii poliitika, äri, kunsti kui ka spordi vallas. Järgmised Ojulandid, Oleg Grossid, Getter Jaanid ja Kirsipuud.

Or am I suppose to warn them that there’s record unemployment, pervasive corruption, blatant discrimination, and abject poverty out there. Wait, that’s America.
Või peaksin ma neid hoiatama, et töötus on rekordtasemel, kasvab korruptsioon, diskrimineerimine on muutunud lausa jõhkraks ja vaesus süveneb. Oot oot, see kõik käis nüüd küll Ameerika kohta.

I am not teaching back in Chicago; I have a job writing. I write proposals. I write reports. I write stories for Annual Reports. I write thank you letters. I write letters for the CEO.
Olles tagasi Chicagos, ei ole mu tööks enam õpetamine vaid, nüüd ma kirjutan. Kirjutan ettepanekuid, raporteid, aastaaruandeid, tänukirju ja kirju oma ülemuse eest.

I hate writing letters for the CEO. I tell my co-worker that I hate writing letters for the CEO. My boss asks me when I will be finished with the CEO’s letter, and I tell her I hate writing letters for the CEO. Does it sound familiar?
Nende kirjutamist ma lausa vihkan. Ma olen oma töökaaslastelegi öelnud, et see ülemuse eest kirjade kirjutamine ei meeldi mulle kohe üldse. Kuid sellest hoolimata küsib ta pidevalt: ”Kuule, Kevin, millal sa mu kirjad valmis kirjutad?” Kas see kõlab kuidagi tuttavalt?

A month or so ago, I was writing another letter for the CEO and telling myself I hate writing letters for the CEO, and I had a flashback to the lektoorium at Tapa Gümnaasium where my students hated writing reports and letters of enquiry. I was sitting in front of my computer staring out the window instead of writing the letter. I remembered my students sat at their desks in the lektoorium and stared out the windows instead of writing letters. Then I was sitting in front of my computer just staring at the keyboard. I remembered my students sat and just stared at their blank pieces of paper. I did not want to write the letter; they did not want to write letters. But I needed a paycheck, and they needed their grades.
Umbes kuu aega tagasi, kui ma olin järjekordset kirja kirjutamas oma bossi eest ja sisendamas endale, kuivõrd ma seda tööd ei salli, sain ma justkui ilmutuseTapa Gümnaasiumi lektooriumiruumist, kus minu õpilased olid kirjutamas aruannet ja järelpärimiskirja. Ka mina istusin oma arvuti taga ja vahtisin aknast välja, selle asemel et kirjutada. Ma mäletan täpselt, kuidas nad istusid lektooriumis ja kirjutamise asemel vaatasid aknast välja. Ja seal ma siis olin: samamoodi jõllitamas klaviatuuri kirjutamise asemel. Mina ei tahtnud kirjutada nagu nemadki tookord. Aga mul oli siis palk vaja välja teenida ja õpilastel hinded.

And so this is what I have come up here to say to the members of the 89th graduating class of Tapa Gümnaasium. I finished that letter for the CEO partly because of you, because you finished your letters in my class. It is important, I think, as the saying goes, to practice what you preach. The American government, of course, is famous for saying one thing and doing the opposite. When Osama bin Laden…. I understand the CIA has an office in Tallinn now.
Ma tahan teile, Tapa Gümnaasiumi 89. lennu lõpetajad, öelda: osaliselt tänu sellele, et teie oma kirjatükid lõpetasite, lõpetasin selle tookord ka mina. Ma arvan, et on oluline teha ka ise seda, millest sa pidevalt räägid. Ameerika valitsus on vastupidi kuulus selle poolest, et teeb ühte aga räägib teist. Kui Osama bin Laden…… Jätame nüüd selle jutu. Kui mu mälu mind ei peta, siis nüüd on CIA kontor ka Tallinnas.

People, too, get a reputation for saying one thing and doing another. Or saying they will do something and then don’t. I worked with one of those types of persons until she was fired. I told you you had to write. Back in Chicago, I told myself I had to write. Or what kind of a teacher would I have been.
Ka mina olen kohanud kolleege, kes on rääkinud üht, aga teinud teist, andnud lubaduse ja selle ka võtnud. Olles tagasi Chicagos, mõtlesin ma sellele, et kui ma oma õpilastele andsin ülesande kirjutada ja nad tegidki seda, siis milline õpetaja ma olen, kui ise sellega hakkama ei saa.

I also want to say to you that it is important to forge ahead. Yes, I finished that letter for the CEO, but I wrote the last paragraph first, then I wrote a little of the middle, then a line or two of the beginning, then I got a cup of coffee, then a little more in the middle, and so on. You – we – always have things to do that we don’t like so much or things to do that are huge and complicated and time-consuming. Have confidence in your skills and abilities and complete the letter sentence by sentence, or the essay paragraph by paragraph, or the report page by page, or the project day by day. It doesn’t have to be firstly, page one; secondly, page two; and thirdly, page three. When you come back from vacation, do you tell your friends about it by starting: “I got on the plane at the airport in Tallinn”? No. You start with the most exciting, the most memorable, and add details that took place before and after. So it is you can complete many tasks, rather than give up on them, especially those that are overwhelming at first glance and those that are not so much fun.
Veel tahan ma teile öelda, et oluline on liikuda edasi. Jah, tookord ma sain selle kirja kirjutamisega omamoodi hakkama. See tähendab, et tegelikult kirjutasin ma kõigepealt viimase peatüki, siis paar rida algusesse, seejärel jõin tassi kohvi ja panin kirja mõned laused keskele ning nagu te isegi juba taipate, niisuguses tempos ja viisil kuni lõpuni välja. Ülesanded, mis meil tuleb lahendada, on sageli ebameeldivad, rasked, keerulised või aeganõudvad. Usalda oma oskusi ja võimeid ning kirjuta kiri kas või lause - lauselt, kirjand lõik - lõigult, aruanne lehekülg-leheküljelt või projekt päev – päevalt. Pole oluline alustada just algusest ja nii edasi rida - realt kuni lõpuni, sest kui keegi näiteks tuleb tagasi puhkusereisilt, siis ei alusta ta oma muljete jagamist Tallinnas lennukile minekust, vaid sellest, mis oli puhkusel olles kõige huvitavam, meeldejäävam ja lisaks kõneldakse sündmustest enne ning pärast saabumist. Niisiis, järgides minu omanäolist ülesandele lähenemise strateegiat, on võimalik täita esmapilgul üle jõu käivaid ja igavaid kohustusi.

In sum, have courage to move forward from high school and faith in your ability to succeed in university or on the job. Assess each task ahead of you to see how best to complete it and have a bit of fun while doing it. Also, remember, you will lead or fail more by what you do than by what you say.
Lõpetuseks soovin, et teil oleks julgust liikuda keskkoolist edasi ja uskuda oma võimete realiseerumisse kas kõrgkoolis või tööalaselt. Enne, kui te langetate otsuse, püüdke hinnata, kuidas oleks kõige otstarbekam ülesannet lahendada ning ärge unustage , et igas töö peaks olema üks suhkrutükk, mis teeb pipratera magusaks. Te võite kas õnnestuda või läbi kukkuda pigem läbi selle, mida te teete, kui selle, mida te ütlete.

I wish health and happiness to you and the families that have brought you to this point in your life.
Ma soovin tervist ja õnne nii teile kui ka peredele, kes on aidanud teil jõuda selle eluetapini.

Graciously translated by Rita Püümann (back row, second from the left), a smoker, Jenga player, world traveler, and English teacher who has a Corgi and a grandson.

Tapal 2 nädalat pärast ma olen

2011-06-03T16:11:00.004+03:00

Lehmad söövad karjamaal,
sina ka, sina ka.
Kevin söövab karjamaal,
sina ka, sina ka.*

Lehmad söövad karjamaal,
sina ka, sina ka.
Kevin söövab karjamaal,
sina ka, sina ka.

Lehmad söövad karjamaal,
sina ka, sina ka.
Kevin söövab karjamaal,
sina ka, sina ka.

*Cows eat out on the range,
so do you, so do you.
Kevin eats out on the range,
so do you, so do you.
-The refrain from a popular (especially with one fifth grader in I knew in Tapa) Estonian children's song.

Eestimaale Tagasi

2011-03-19T08:42:00.013+02:00

I left Estonia two years ago after teaching English at Tapa Gümnaasium from September 2006 to June 2009. This June, I will return to Tapa to attend the high school graduation of the students who were in my eighth grade class in my first year of teaching.

When I return to Estonia, I will be in the newest member of the Euro-zone. When I land at Lennert Meri Tallinn Airport, I will be in one of two European Capitals of Culture for 2011. (Turku, Finland is the other.) When I get to Tapa, I will participate in the town's 85th anniversary celebration. I wonder if the train station is still there.

I Love Trains

2010-05-08T04:00:00.015+03:00

I love trains. At the Oak Park stop on the CTA’s Green Line, my tense, concave shoulders, sheltering my chest from the winter’s wind, have surrendered and fallen as a westbound BNSF freight train rushed by behind my back and an eastbound CTA train trudged up in front of me. I love intracity public transportation systems like the Chicago Transit Authority and Washington’s Metrorail as well as international passenger service like Thalys. At around 6:45 every weekday morning, my it’s-way-too-early scowl relaxes into a low-key, that’s-nice grin as the northwest-bound Metra commuter train from the Loop and the southeast-bound Metra train from the suburbs glide pass each other and stop at the Irving Park station while, across the six southbound lanes of the Kennedy Expressway, the southeast-bound CTA train clatters in front of me at the Irving Park stop on the Blue Line.

The longest train ride I have taken was from London, England to Vienna, Austria. Since this was before the Channel Tunnel opened, British Rail took me to Folkestone, a ferry bounced me across the English Channel, and a French train took me across continental Europe. While I was in the same couchette in the same wagon for the entire journey from Calais, other wagons were hooked up to and uncoupled from the train as it stopped in different cities in different countries along the route. I remember the train pulled into Vienna only 15 minutes behind the scheduled arrival time.

I think the fastest train I have been on went from Toijala, Finland to Helsinki at 140 kilometers an hour, or 90 miles an hour – or was it 240 kilometers an hour, which is 150 miles an hour? A long, long time ago, I took a TGV from Paris to Avignon. I don’t know how fast it went, but I think it went faster than 90 miles an hour. It had much more ground to cover and fewer stops to make. I know the VR train to Helsinki went 140 (or was it 240?) km/h because I watched the nifty digital indicator in the wagon rise as we left a station and fall as we approached the next one. (It was more than a year ago.) The crazy thing about both of these high speed train experiences was that I never felt, sitting in my seat, like I was going really, really fast.

The most storied trains I have ridden on are the Flying Scotsman, from London’s King Cross station to Edinburgh’s Waverley station, and the City of New Orleans, albeit just from Champaign’s Illinois Terminal to Chicago’s Union Station and vice versa. One time, to get back to Champaign from Chicago, I had to book a roomette, which was more like a “clos-ette.” Supper was included in the price, though, and it is the only time I have sat down to a meal in an Amtrak dining car. The most famous train I have seen is the rusting, steam locomotive (below) that appears in the 2008 Estonian film Detsembrikuumus (December Heat). Scenes in and outside the Tallinn train station in the movie were actually shot in Tapa.

Trains are a part of flying, there beyond the moving sidewalks to whisk you away to the heart of the city in disparate articulations of comfort and class. The CTA’s Orange Line waits across the street from Midway Airport while the Blue Line idles underneath O’Hare. Metrolink originates from Lambert Field in St. Louis. BART stops at the San Francisco International Airport and the METRO stops at Ronald Regan Airport in Washington, D.C. The Tube’s Piccadilly line brings Heathrow passengers to the hustle and bustle of London’s Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square. Thalys service north to Amsterdam or south to Brussels, is just underneath Schiphol Airport.

In the early 2000s, after I had returned from the Peace Corps, I met three Estonian friends in London. They had to land at Gatwick, and I had to land at Heathrow. Well, my flight from O’Hare had alleged air conditioning problems, so we had to land at LaGuardia, escorted down the runway by an unexpectedly long line of emergency vehicles, and deplane and wait and wait and wait for another aircraft. I still made it to Heathrow before my Estonian friends, but I wanted to get to Gatwick before they landed, as we had planned. I took the Piccadilly line to Green Park and then the Victoria line to Victoria and got a Gatwick Express train to the airport. I think we all got to the Arrivals Hall at the same time. By the way, we took a bus from Gatwick back to Victoria, which was less expensive than the train but an ungodly long trip in London traffic.

Living in Estonia gave me a fantastic opportunity to ride a lot of trains (because that’s what people in Europe do). When I was first in Estonia, from 1998 to 2000, I took the train from Tapa to Valga, got off the train, walked down the platform through passport control and into Valka, Latvia, literally, continuing on down the platform to board the train to Riga. The restrooms in the Riga train station were notorious: two opposing shoeprints on either side of a hole for males to stand over and females to squat over. When I returned to Estonia in 2006, there was daily service to Valga only. In December 2007, when Schengen went into effect for the Baltics, you could walk freely between Valga and Valka, but there was no Latvian train service to Riga. In 2008, I believe, train service from Valka to Riga resumed, but I bet you still have to pee in a hole at Riga’s train station.

As a Peace Corps volunteer, I also took an overnight train from Tapa (being the famous junction of Estonia’s southern and eastern routes) to Narva to St. Petersburg, Russia.

Wait, there's more coming....

A Difference of 24 hours and 6,000 Miles Redux

2010-01-23T19:10:00.003+02:00

Two back porches, three weeks into the month of January 2010, one porch in Rakvere, Estonia (where temperatures have been below zero Fahrenheit), the other in Springfield, Illinois (with temperatures in the 30s Fahrenheit).

Meet My Great, Great Grandfather from Ireland

2010-01-22T18:54:00.002+02:00

I know my father is Robert J. (1934-), my grandfather is Joseph H. (1908-1985), and my great grandfather is Frank J. (1859-1918). I think my great, great grandfather is John Hogan (1830?-1874?).

As the entries from the 1870 U.S. Census show, John was married to Jane nee Bartley (1830?-1904) and had four children: Mary, Frank J. (my great grandfather), John, and Nellie. Both John and Jane were reportedly born in Ireland; all four children were reportedly born in Illinois. From at least 1875, they lived at 1603 East Adams Street in Springfield.

According to the 1870 census, John was a day laborer. It appears that he died sometime before 1875, since Jane is listed as a widow in the 1875 Springfield Directory. Their daughter Mary was a dressmaker, son Frank (my great grandfather) a laborer, and son John a lamplighter, according to the directory. In 1900, Jane still lived on East Adams with Frank, who was an engineer for the Capital Coal Company, and Nellie, who was a millner for A.V. Young.

Pointless Violence, Shameless Voyeurism

2010-01-19T23:01:00.010+02:00

(Scroll down for the Estonian version.)
My pasty fingers were trembling as my flight from Stockholm approached O’Hare International Airport 15 minutes ahead of schedule. I feared that my luggage would be sniffed by a tenacious German shepherd and searched by a stoic U.S. customs agent who played rugby on the weekends. I worried that I would walk out of the airport and collapse on the concrete pavement in front of a python of Yellow Cabs as my lungs filled with the suffocating humidity of one of Illinois’ infamous dog days of August. Accustomed to the chug-chug of the passenger train to Tallinn and the putt-putt of the bus to Rakvere, I feared I would have to ride through six lanes of traffic on the tollway at 75 mph (121kph) with my eyes closed and my arms cradling my stomach. Last but not least, I was afraid that by the end of the day, my stomach would explode from the mega hamburgers, deluxe pizzas, and super burritos my family would order to welcome me home.

Seven hours after landing at O’Hare, though, I arrived safely in Springfield. Abraham Lincoln lived in Springfield from 1837 to 1861, and my parents have lived here since the 1940s. I attended kindergarten, elementary school, high school, and college here. After living in Tapa for three years, I encamped in Springfield to assess my parents’ health; to catch up with my nephews, who were both in high school, and my nieces, who liked playing cards and board games now; and to spend some time with an aunt and an uncle who were dealing with cancer.

From August to December, I worked in Decatur. At 65mph (105kph) on a four-lane highway, Decatur is 35 minutes east of Springfield. I taught three developmental writing classes three days a week to 40 students at Richland Community College, and I tutored individuals in the college’s learning center. While American English requires commas much more often than British English, my Decatur students, many of them in their 20s and 30s, repeatedly made some of the same mistakes my Tapa students made.

During the Christmas and New Year holidays, I hunted for American alligators and searched for Coach purses in Houston with a good friend from high school and her family; scored a career high 172 points during a family Wii bowling tournament at my sister’s house in Petersburg (Illinois); and rode buses and subways from friend to friend, store to store, and bar to bar in Chicago. I decided not to teach at Richland in 2010. So as I write this, I am still living with my aging parents and searching for a full-time job with a nonprofit organization in Chicago.

The first couple of months I was back here in America, sitting in the living room behind the morning newspaper and in front of the nightly television news programs, two things kept slapping me in the face: pointless violence and shameless voyuerism. In September, just 40 minutes northeast of Springfield, in a rural area like Pariisi, a husband, his wife, and their three children were murdered in their home. In October, 20 minutes northwest of Springfield, in a town the size of Haljala, a 74-year-old woman was charged with killing her granddaughter’s husband.

In Springfield, which has only a few thousand more residents than Tartu, there were a total of 12 murders in 2009. In Chicago, there were 458 murders. With nearly 3 million residents, that was just 1.5% of the city’s population. Yet it meant reading “was shot”, “was stabbed”, “was killed”, “was strangled”, “was run over” or “was smothered to death” in the newspaper every day of the year. It meant hearing the stories on the nightly news, too, and, in the case of a 16-year-old high school student, whose fatal beating in September was captured on video, it meant seeing the attack over and over again on a number of Internet sites. Lastly, it meant the wide smile I had displayed ever since I had sailed past the customs agents at O’Hare began to droop.

Even though I felt safe walking around Springfield, driving through Decatur, and riding the subway in Chicago, I was disturbed by the number of murders. I had returned to the wealthiest, most gifted, most generous, most tolerant nation in the world, had I not? How in singular sophistication that constructed the international space station, donated more than $3 billion to charity, and elected an African American President had America preserved its cowboy mentality of the late 1800s? I was also baffled by the motives behind the murders. The Mafia wasn’t silencing snitches in central Illinois; Crips weren’t retaliating against Vice Lords in Chicago. No; a grandma discharged a Glock 17. No; three teenagers repeatedly whacked another boy with a railroad tie. Finally, no matter how mad I had ever been at my students in Tapa or frustrated with my co-workers in Chicago, I was unable to fathom the anger that boiled over and incited toilet-using, potato chip-eating individuals to kill, to kill more than once, to kill people they knew.

Repulsed by these senseless murders, as well as the ones in Fort Hood, Texas and Lakewood, Washington, I was also vexed by America’s interest in other people’s personal lives, particularly Tiger Woods’ and Jon Gosselin’s. One week in August or September, a national, half-hour entertainment news program opened every night with reports on Gosselin’s activities over the previous 24 hours. After three or four banal stories with shots of Gosselin getting out of a car or walking down a sidewalk, I asked my mother why his pending divorce was of national importance. She told me that there had been a reality TV show about him and his wife raising their eight children (a set of twins and a set of sextuplets). I was still confused about why the nation pried into this difficult period in this ordinary family’s life and, fed the details, how we were supposed to respond.

I didn’t understand either why Woods’ fender-bender gripped the attention of America’s news, entertainment, and sports media for more than a week at the end of November. He was not injured, and he had enough money to buy himself a new Cadillac Escalade. He would golf again. Naively, I asked why the story did not end there. My brother-in-law explained to me that the morning of the accident, Woods had been running away from his Swedish wife, who had been chasing him down the driveway with a golf club because she had suspected him of having an extramarital affair. Again, I searched for the reason the eyes of America were transfixed on Woods even though he wasn’t on the golf course, wasn’t even tied for the lead on the final hole of a PGA classic.

Fortunately, my stomach did not explode after I ate a double bacon cheeseburger with onion, tomato, and lettuce from Steak ‘n Shake, one of my parents’ favorite restaurants. A few weeks later, it felt pretty good after three pieces of a cheesy, stuffed, onion, sausage, and green pepper pizza from the Giordano’s just off Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. I did not have indigestion after I ate a bean and cheese-stuffed burrito de pollo asada with rice from Luevo Leon in the city’s Mexican neighborhood. Yet news of a murder, whether it is from Springfield, Illinois or thousands of miles away in Springfield, California, makes me nauseous, and Americans’ obsession with digging for intimate details in the lives of people they do not know upsets my stomach.

Mu kahvatud sõrmed värisesid, kui mu lennuk Stokholmist lähenes O’Hare rahvusvahelisele lennuväljale 15 minutit enne plaanilist saabumisaega. Ma kartsin, et mu pagasit nuusib jonnakas Saksa lambakoer ja seda otsib läbi stoilise rahuga USA tolliametnik, kes mängib nädalavahetustel ragbit. Kartsin, et kõnnin lennujaamast välja ja kukun kokku betoonsillutisel ussina lookleva kollaste taksode rodu ees, kui mu kopsud täitusid lämmatava niiskusega ühel Illinoisi kurikuulsal kuumal augustipäeval. Harjunud Tallinna reisirongi tsuhh-tsuhhi ja Rakvere bussi tavapärase törra-törraga, olin hirmul, et pean sõitma kuuerealises liikluses maksustataval teel 75 miili tunnis (121km/h), silmad suletud ja kätega kõhtu hoides. Mitte vähem oluline oli kartus, et päeva lõpuks mu kõht lõhkeb mega-hamburgeritest, deluxe- pitsadest ja super-burritodest, mida mu pere minu kojusaabumise puhul tellib.

Seitse tundi pärast O’Hare’is maandumist jõudsin siiski õnnelikult Springfieldi. Abraham Lincoln elas Springfieldis aastatel 1837 – 1861 ja mu vanemad on elanud siin alates 1940st. Käisin siin lasteaias, alg- ja keskkoolis ning kolledžis. Pärast kolme aastat Tapal jäin Springfieldi paigale, et hinnata oma vanemate tervislikku seisundit, viia end kurssi oma kahe keskkoolis õppiva õepoja ning kaarte ja lauamänge mängida armastavate õetütarde tegemistega ning veeta aega tädi ja onuga, kes on vähiga kimpus.

Augustist detsembrini töötasin Decaturis, kuhu Kiirusega 65 miili tunnis (105 km/h) neljarealisel kiirteel Springfieldist itta on 35 minuti tee. Õpetasin 40 tudengile Richland Community College’is kolme kirjutamiskursust kolmel päeval ja juhendasin kolledži õpekeskuses tudengeid individuaalset. Kuna ameerika inglise keel nõuab komasid palju sagedami kui briti inglise keel, siis minu Decaturi tudengid, paljud neist 20. ja 30. eluaastates, tegid korduvalt samu vigu, mida minu Tapa õpilased.

Jõulude ajal ja uuel aastal jahtisin Ameerika alligaatoreid ja otsisin Hustonis hea sõbra ja tema perega keskkooli päevilt Coach’i rahakotte, saavutasin karjääri kõrgeima tulemuse 172 punkti pere Wii-keeglivõistlustel õe juures Petersburgis (Illinois); ja sõitsin Chicagos busside ning metrooga sõbra juurest sõbra juurde, kauplusest kauplusesse ja baarist baari. Otsustasin mitte õpetada Richlandis aastal 2010. Nii et kui ma praegu seda kirjutan, elan ikka veel oma vananevate vanematega koos ja otsin täiskohaga tööd mõnes Chicago mittetulundusettevõttes.

Esimesed paar kuud, kui olin siin Ameerikas tagasi ja istusin elutoas hommikust ajalehte lugedes või õhtusi uudiseid televiisorist vaadates, kippusid kaks asja mulle näkku kargama: mõttetu vägivald ja häbitu vuajerism. Septembris tapeti ühes külakeses, suuruselt umbes nagu Pariisi küla, 40 minutit Springfieldist kirdesuunas, oma kodus mees, naine ja nende kolm last. Oktoobris mõisteti umbes Haljala-suuruses asunduses, 20 minutit Springfieldist edelas, 74-aastane naine süüdi oma lapselapse abikaasa tapmises.

Springfieldis, kus on vaid mõned tuhanded rohkem elanikke kui Tartus, oli 2009. aastal kokku 12 tapmist, Chicagos aga 458. See oli 1,5 % linna elanikkonnast, kuna Chicago rahvaarv on kolm miljonit. Ent see tähendas lugeda ajalehest “tulistati”, “pussitati”, “tapeti”, “kägistati”, “jäi auto alla” või “lämmatati surnuks” aasta igal päeval. See tähendas kuulda neidsamu lugusid õhtustes uudistes. 16-aastase keskkooliõpilase juhtumi korral, kus surmatoov peksmine septembris oli võetud videosse, tähendas see näha rünnakut ikka ja jälle mitmetel Interneti-lehekülgedel. Viimaseks tähendas see ka seda, et too lai naeratus, mis oli mu näol, olles möödunud tollitöötajatest O’Hare lennujaamas, hakkas tasapisi haihtuma.

Isegi kui tundsin end turvaliselt kõndides ringi Springfieldis, sõites läbi Decaturi ja reisides metrooga Chicagos, olin häiritud mõrvade arvust. Olin tagasi pöördunud kõige jõukamasse, andekamasse, heldemasse ja tolerantsemasse riiki maailmas, eks ju? Kuidas selline ainulaadne mõttekeerukus, mis konstrueeris rahvusvahelise kosmosejaama, toetas rohkem kui kolme miljardi dollariga heategevust, valis afroameeriklasest presidendi, on säilitanud oma 1800. aastate kauboi-mentaliteedi? Ka mõrvamotiivid ajasid mind segadusse. Maffia ei vaigistanud ülesandmisi Kesk Illinoisis, Crips’id ei maksnud kätte Vice Lords’idele Chicagos. Ei - vanamemm kasutas relva Glock 17. Ei - kolm teismelist peksid korduvalt kaaslast raudteeliipriga. Lõpuks, ükskõik kui pahane ma olin oma õpilaste peale Tapal või kui iganes pettunud oma kaastöötajates Chicagos, olin võimetu aru saama sellest ülevoolavast vihast, mis õhutas tualetti-kasutavaid, kartulikrõpse söövaid indiviide tapma, tapma rohkem kui korra, tapma inimesi, keda nad tundsid.

Tundes vastikust nimetatud mõttetute mõrvade suhtes, samuti ka nende suhtes, mis pandi toime Fort Hoodis, Texases, Lakewoodis ning Washingtonis, valmistas mulle meelehärmi ka Ameerika huvi kaasinimeste isikliku elu vastu, eriti Tiger Woodsi ja Jon Gosselini eraelu vastu. Ühel nädalal augustis või septembris algas riiklik pooletunnine meelelahutus-uudiste programm igal õhtul ülevaatega Gosselini tegemistest eelneva 24 tunni vältel. Pärast kolme
-nelja banaalset lugu kaadritega autost väljuvast või mööda kõnniteed minevast Gosselinist küsisin emalt, miks mehe eelseisev lahutus on riikliku tähtsusega. Ema vastas, et oli näidatud tõsieluprogrammi Gosselinist ja ta naisest kasvatamas oma kaheksat last (kaksikud ja kuuikud). Ma ei saanud endiselt aru, miks rahvas topib uudishimust nina tema tavalise pereelu raskesse perioodi ja söödab ette lahendusi, kuidas me peaksime reageerima.

Ei mõistnud ka seda, miks Woodsi plekimõlkimine köitis Ameerika uudiste, meelelahutuse ja spordimeedia tähelepanu rohkem kui nädala vältel novembri lõpus. Ta ei saanud vigastada ja tal oli piisavalt raha, et osta endale uus Cadillac Escalade. Ta mängib jälle. Naiivselt küsisin, miks lugu sellega ei lõppenud. Mu õemees selgitas mulle, et õnnetuspäeva hommikul põgenes Woods oma rootslannast naise eest, kes oli teda golfikepiga mööda maja juurde viivat sissesõiduteed taga ajanud, kuna kahtlustas, et Woodsil on abieluväline suhe. Taaskord otsisin põhjust, miks Ameerika silmad kinnituvad Woodsil isegi siis, kui ta pole golfiväljakul või teda tabab ebaõnn PGA mängudes.

Õnneks ei läinud mu kõht lõhki pärast kahekordset juustu-peekoniburgerit sibula, tomati ja rohelise salatiga Steak ‘n Shake’ist, ühest mu vanemate lemmikrestoranidest. Mõni nädal hiljem tundus see üsna hea pärast kolme tükki juustumaitselist sibula, vorsti ja rohelise pipraga täidetud pitsat Giordano’st, veidi eemal Chicago Magnificent Mile’ist. Mul polnud seedehäireid pärast ubade ja juustuga täidetud burrito de pollo asada ja riisi söömist Luevo Leon’is, linna Mehhiko-piirkonnas. Ometi olid need mõrvauudised kas Springfieldist Illinoisis või tuhandeid miile kaugemal Springfieldis Californias, mis ajasid mind iiveldama. Ka ameeriklaste kinnisidee kaevata välja intiimseid detaile nendele tundmatute inimeste elust oli miski, mis tekitas mul seedehäireid.

Tõlkija: Anna Kraubner

3 Years in Estonia in 69 Photos

2010-01-02T21:19:00.004+02:00

A Difference of 24 hours and 6,000 Miles

2009-11-07T19:06:00.008+02:00

On November 6, Tapa got its first snowfall of the season. Eyewitnesses report children sledding and building snowmen. Roads were very slippery.

In Springfield, some 6,000 miles away, on November 7, less than 24 hours later, I cut the grass for hopefully the last time this season. It was incredibly sunny and, subsequently, more than 20 degrees Celsius.

Families

2009-10-20T19:30:00.012+03:00

I have - we are all really blessed with - many families.

At Tapa Gümnaasium, I had a family of teachers - the usual crowd that got together for one another's birthdays or to eat fresh mushrooms from the forest - as well as a family of students - a group of affable kids who didn't think anything about speaking in English and liked to laugh or travel or play cards.

In Tapa, I belonged to a family of librarians - a talented bunch that acquainted me with Estonia's less publicized cultural and historical sites in exchange for wine-infused accounts of my own excursions around the country and across its borders. I even had my own surrogate family with an Estonian mother, little brother, and niece and nephew to celebrate Christmas, New Year's Eve, and Jaanipäev with.

Now that I am back in the USA and chilling back in my hometown for the first time in almost 10 years, back in the house I grew up in, I'm with my "real" family, escorting my inquisitive three-year-old niece to the public library on the city bus, shopping at Walmart, Kohl's, and Bergner's with my gabby seven-year-old niece, watching one straight-laced nephew play soccer and a warm-hearted one play football, walking with my cheerful aunt to "make strides" in the fight against breast cancer, talking to my tale-laden uncle who's called or stopped by for the heck of it, and drinking coffee and reading the paper earlier every morning with my sometimes abrupt but nonetheless indefatigable parents.

How My American Students Described It

2009-10-06T14:56:00.016+03:00

"In Estonia, the traditions for graduation differ from those in the United States. For example, the students in Estonia do not wear caps and gowns for their graduation ceremony. In addition, the students carry flowers and wear dresses and suits for their graduation in Estonia." (Danielle)

"Graduation can have mixed emotions. For example, in the front row a senior has a frowned look upon her face. Next example, in the middle row, another senior has flowers in his mouth and he is smiling. Another example, the back row is laughing like they are having a good time. In conclusion, graduations can make you laugh, smile, or frown."

"The pink dress is really ugly, and there's some fire orange hair, and the guys seem to be having a great time, they all look anxious, nervous, but strangley exicted. It's a happy day, but a day that some fear, as you go from childhood to adulthood, scary stuff I've been there, I've done that." (Thomas)

"Graduation day in Estonia is a happy day when all seniors have flowers. In front of the men were all women holding different colors of flowers. In the back of the women are men all dressed in tuxes, and some have flowers. Beyond the group of seniors of 09 is large area of trees. Above the group of graduates, looks like a cloudy sky. In conclusion, graduation day is one day that the graduates will never forget due to happiness brought from the flowers."

"In the middle of the tables are several half empty bottles of wine, large dishes of food, and empty plates from the feast that was just enjoyed. In front of the empty plates is a long line of women chatting away after filling themselves." (Danielle)

"Happy teachers pig out and get drunk after putting up with bratty students. In a tent, I see plus size women eating. On the table, I see empty plates and half empty red wine bottles. On the other side, there are a big bowl of salad and a long loaf of white bread. In conclusion, teachers should have fun after teaching."

"There are four bottles of wine. They are drinking out of coffee mugs. All of the plates are empty. All the women and men are sitting on one side. All of the wine is in front of the man. Teachers have a good time outside. In conculsion, all of the teachers were happy, drunk, and full. (Sikiesha)

"This class is very out of control and wild. For example, the students are up and out of their seats and some are standing in their chairs. In addition to being out of their seats, some students are showing inappropriate hand gestures. The most important example is the fact that the students are hurting each other by choking other students, trying to push students out of their seats, and pinching an ear of another student." (Danielle)

"One kid is flipping the camera off, another one is strangling another, it seems to be a very rowdy classroom, sexual harrasment, I swear I thought I saw someone picking their nose in there, and if I had to discuss this with principal, I would tell him/her that they're the same as every other class." (Thomas)

"Sixth graders can be bad. In the back of the room I see a kid standing on a chair. In the middle I see a boy holding up two middle fingers; in the front on the left I see two boys choking each other. On the right in the front I see a other boy standing on a chair. In the back there is a lot of kids putting bunny ears on other kids, and there are also kids holding there hands up. In conclusion sixth graders in Estonia can be very crazy in school."

"Kevin Hagen doesn’t have the kids under control. For example, kids are giving fingers to teacher. Also, one kid is strangling another kid. Moreover, one kid is standing on a desk, and a girl behind him is trying to push him off the desk."

This man ain't tired of London.

2009-07-31T20:54:00.008+03:00

An important personal achievement:

I was in London, England for at least four days in

August 2007,

August 2008,

and July 2009.

London for Free

2009-07-30T21:17:00.011+03:00

1. Tomorrow's Warriors live at Queen Elizabeth Hall, a jazz concert.

2. Parkour exhibition, featuring one of the founders of parkour, outside Festival Hall.

3. King's Place.

4. British Library.

5. Tate Modern.

6. The Ceremony of the Keys inside the Tower of London.

7. BBC Philharmonic and BBC Proms Family Orchestra at Royal Albert Hall, a BBC Proms concert.

8. Natural History Museum.

9. V & A Museum.

10. Refills of soft drinks at Pizza Hut.

11. British Museum.

12. A nap in Bloomsbury Square Gardens.

13. Evensong at Westminstrer Abbey.

14. A second Domino's pizza if you paid for the first one.

15. Pigeon friendships.

Backyard Hopping

2009-06-24T19:48:00.009+03:00

June 23 in Lairi, Aigi, Egert, and Tiit's backyard: After sauna, imported beer, pork and chicken kebabs, dil and cucumber salad, and frisbee, along about 11 p.m., we started capturing insatiable mosquitoes.

June 21 with Sveta (the school nurse), Naima (the dean of students), Mrs. V., Maija (a Russian teacher), Mare, (a PE teacher), Kersti (a math teacher), me, Kai (a music teacher), and Sirje (an Estonian teacher) in Kai's backyard to celebrate her birthday.

June 20 with Jürgen, Marge, Laura, Sigrit, Raili, Kristel (seated), and Anton nearly in the Baltic Sea at Eisma following their graduation from high school a few hours earlier in Tapa.

June 17 with Nik, Sirli, Külvi, and Rita (and her beloved Corgi), all fellow English teachers, in Rita's backyard to celebrate the end of the school year.

Dedication of the War of Independence Monument

2009-06-23T18:57:00.028+03:00

So, in fear of offending one million people, I am going to confess that I have had a problem with the Vabadussõja võidusamba from the very beginning.

The monument is part of a major reconstruction project of Vabaduse väljak (Freedom Square), which poured out from one of the gates on the southern end of Old Town in about 1910. I believe the square should have been restored to its 1937 appearance, given the similarity between the architecture surrounding the square then and now, with the new monument (maybe a little leaner but a little taller) erected where the column stood. Less is rarely more in Estonia.

Nevertheless, on June 22 at about 8.30 in the evening, the glass monument to Estonia's War of Independence, constructed with 3,000,000 Estonian kroons in privately donated money, stood at an awkward attention in front of two dozen rows of blue folding chairs and a surprisingly large crowd of people with cameras and flags, pressed against the customary metal barricades that circumscribed the empty chairs. Over the next hour, grey-haired veterans and hunched-over grandmothers shuffled to their seats of honor. Men in dark suits blew into the VIP section as well and waved a number of times but at no one in particular. A few clogged the aisle with their convivial hand-shaking and back-slapping. Other well-dressed indiviudals wandered into the cordoned off area, too, a bit put off that the only seats left were those in the last rows underneath the television cameras. Finally, the constantly constipated prime minister, the permanently squinting speaker of the Riigikogu, the perpetually smirking defense minister, and a number of other politicians filed in and dutifully filled up the first row.

Then the president rose from his blue folding chair, walked up the "steps of victory", opened his leather-bound folder and said - on this very festive occasion under a peaceful summer sky before so many talkative Estonians - "...only 190 years ago we were serfs. We were, literally, enslaved." And he continued with more poignant reminders: At the beginning of the last century we lacked liberty, ...the freedom to speak, to write, to sing, ...the right to elect our own government, ...to lead complete lives and to speak our own language." Well, that really burst my "We Are the Champions" bubble. The glass is usually half empty in Estonia.

"Pro Patria", Urmas Sisask's oratorio, sung by Finnish mezzosoprano Merle Silmato and Estonian baritone Jassi Zahharov with members of the Society of Estonia Choir, the A. LeCoq Chamber Choir, the Pärnu Chamber Choir, the Old Town Choir, and the Revalia Mens Chamber Choir, accompanied by the Estonian Military Orchestra (Peeter Saan, conductor) was absolutley fantastic!

Swans at 3:06 a.m. near Eisma

2009-06-21T03:06:00.000+03:00

Last Class of the School Year: Last 5 Minutes

2009-05-28T09:45:00.001+03:00

Last Class of the School Year: Next 30 Minutes

2009-05-28T08:56:00.001+03:00

Last Class of the School Year: Next 5 Minutes

2009-05-28T08:48:00.000+03:00

Last Class of the School Year: First 5 Minutes

2009-05-28T08:45:00.000+03:00

Navitrolla's Trees

2009-05-23T10:02:00.002+03:00

Most Noble Order of the O'Upstreamth

2009-05-21T08:28:00.014+03:00

Because of a series of upcoming national exams for 12th graders, today was my last class with Tapa's 12th graders, the 14 or so teenagers I have taught for the last three years. I began the 90-minute lesson with a look ahead, saying to them:

About a month ago, I received a letter from the Kodakondsus ja Migratsiooniament - the Citizenship and Migration Board. The letter said 'Lugupeetud Hogan: You have been in Estonia for three years, and you still cannot speak Estonian. We think it is time for you to leave.' About two weeks later, I received a letter from the Russian consulate. The letter said 'Uv-a-ja-yee-moi Gas-ba-din Hogan: You have been in Estonia for three years. You know how to speak Estonian. We think it is time for you to leave.'

And so, after three years of ironing my own shirts, after two summers that lasted no more than two weeks, and after a year of watching CSI: Miami, New York, Las Vegas, Detroit, Idaho and Extreme CSI and NCSI, I have - as many of you know - decided to return to the US in August. I thought about teaching in Viimsi Gümnaasium and even Jõhvi Gümnaasium, but when Elmu asked me a second time to stay here in Tapa for at least another year, I felt it could be only Tapa or Chicago.

I told Elmu I really couldn't stay for one year anyway. If I would stay, I would have to stay for two years, to see the 10th graders - who are my second favorites - through to graduation. But if I did this, I would miss my own nephew's graduation next spring. Moreover, I have a two-year-old niece I have seen for only two weeks, not to mention a whole Facebook friends list of individuals - colleagues as well as classmates - I haven't seen for three years.

The older my parents get, the more help they need. The older I get, the more difficult it is to find a job. Just as it was the right time for me to come here, so it is the right time for me to go back. Besides, after your graduation parties, I doubt there will be much Russkij Razmer left in Estonia.

Today, I would like to thank each of you, to thank you for letting me be a part of your high school years. When the 6th graders were like wild animals and acting all crazy and the 11th graders were like zombies and wouldn't say a word, I knew that I'd find mature, astute, and even funny young adults among the 12th graders.

I then addressed each student in the classroom individually, thanking Raili, for example, for her near perfect attendance over three years, Marge for the image of her walking out of a Subway sandwich shop on Oxford Street in London, Kristel for being an ambassador for Tapa with a sense of humor, Oleg for his enthusiasm, Mikk for his honest opinions, Jürgen for being my right-hand man, Mihkel for his leadership, Annika and Nelda for their fantastic compositions.... And then I concluded with tears in my eyes:

I have worked in big cities and little towns. I have worked with white people, with black people, with Hispanic people, with Asian people. I have hired people, and I have fired people. I have been in the homes of poor people and in the homes of rich people. I have peed alongside millionaires. Maybe you are from Tapa or Lehtse or Ambla. Maybe you graduated from Tapa Gümnaasium, maybe you are from Estonia. In my opinion, though, there's no one here who does not have the ability to be successful anywhere in the world.

After that, I had to blow my nose and have a cup of coffee in the teachers' lounge. During the second half of the class, I had - thanks to the kindness and cooperation of the esteemed Duke and Duchess of Upstream - the extreme honor and priviledge of bestowing upon my 12th graders - those who had stuck with me for three years - perpetual and irrevocable membership in the Most Noble Order of the O'Upstreamth. Because it was indeed an official induction, forever recorded in the Great Register of Upstreamth, I had to don the Great Miter of O'Upstreamth (above), sent DHL by the duke and duchess.

With the miter atop me head, I proudly gave each student a certificate that read:
The Most Noble Order of the O'Upstreamth is hereby bestowed upon...for hitherto participating in more than 400 English lessons from September 2006 to May 2009, taught by an inexperienced, balding, middle-aged, overweight American with a big Irish nose, and for hithermore completing tedious grammar exercises, reading uninspired textbook articles, acting out everyday situations, writing profoundly moving essays, watching tear-jerking black and white movies, and laughing countless number of times, especially on Friday afternoons after 1:45. And at the bottom of the certificate, the fine print read: This certificate entitles the bearer to one night’s lodging, one steak dinner, and one bottle of domestic beer anywhere in the United States, when accompanied by a valid Mastercard or $399 in cash.

There is a time for everything

2009-03-25T17:03:00.005+02:00

Bright sun.

Baby blue skies.

Thick blanket of white snow.

Thin bare trees blocking the horizon nonetheless.

Babbling stream wandering aimlessly through the middle of nowhere.

It is indeed postcard-perfect.

BUT IT IS FRIGGIN' MARCH 25 ALREADY!

Birthday Presents 2009

2009-03-13T18:57:00.000+02:00

Friday the 13th

2009-03-13T13:37:00.000+02:00

Party Starts - TG's 90th Anniversary - Saturday, 17.00

2009-03-07T14:26:00.005+02:00

Click here to see the official pictures of the Saturday afternoon gala concert. They include some of Tapa's own beautiful people, including one whole family of musicians. The MC Tanel Saar is a graduate of Tapa Gümnaasium and a relatively successful stage actor. Later in the evening, I drank Russian vodka with the guy on the right.

Registration - TG's 90th Anniversary - Saturday, 15.00

2009-03-07T14:04:00.003+02:00

The Friday night concert was repeated Saturday afternoon. Click here for the official pictures. All of the concerts were masterfully organized by Sirie Sell, who is director of Tapa's youth folk dance troupe and adult folk dance troupe (and one of my drinking buddies).

Opening Consert - TG's 90th Anniversary - Friday, 18.00

2009-03-06T22:10:00.006+02:00

Click here for the official photographs of the Friday evening concert. This 2nd grader, the son of a math teacher, had the initiative to write and the spunk to recite a poem about Tapa Gümnaasium. We all applauded; his mother cried. After the consert, there was a reception for retired teachers. God bless them.

Final Preparations - TG's 90th Anniversary - Friday, 8.30

2009-03-06T21:55:00.005+02:00

90th Anniversary - Tapa Gümnaasium - Thursday, 20.00

2009-03-05T20:40:00.008+02:00

Tapa Gümnaasium began its 90th anniversary celebration tonight with a disco in the school auditorium. Clap off. Clap on. The strobe light, that is. I was on the verge of an epileptic seizure sitting in the auditorium, near an open window, watching the kids dance. It makes everyone look like they are moving really fast. Turn it off and it looks like everyone is stuck in some vortex the crew of the Enterprise encountered. Add trance music loud enough that it drowns out passing freight trains less than a block away and you know why it is difficult for 15-year-olds to sit quietly through seven classes a day five days in a row.

One of Tapa Gümnaasium's - dare I say - most famous alumni is Priit Pärn, who drew a cartoon characteristic of his style for the commemorative t-shirts that will be sold during the anniversary. Pärn's recent film Life without Gabriella Ferri won the Scottish Leader Estonian Film Award at the 2008 Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival. Pärn was there in the Russian Theatre to accept the award with co-director Olga Pärn. I was there, too, and I was struck by how short Pärn is. He appeared to be sort of a Truman Capote-like character.

Estonian Trifecta 2009

2009-02-24T08:53:00.037+02:00

Täna Eestis on: 1) Eesti iseseisvuspäev, 2) Vastlapäev, ning ka 3) Madisepäev.

In other words, today in Estonia it is 1) Independence Day, 2) Fat - Shrove (Br.) - Tuesday, and also 3) Matthew's Day.

Under the Ilves Administration, Estonia's official Independence Day military parade has moved around the country. Last year, it was on the coast of the Baltic Sea in Pärnu, the summertime capital of Estonia. This year it was on the Russian border in Narva, the country's third largest city (first pic, from the Postimees). Even though a reported 90-95% of the population in Narva speaks Russian, the city is really not quite a visa-free replica of its big bad neighbor to the east. To me, Chinatown in Chicago is more Chinese than Narva is Russian. That may be a good thing based on reports from Ivangorod.

America's beautiful people walk the red carpet at the Academy Awards. Estonia's beautiful people do the same at the President's Independence Day reception. After the parade in Narva, the festivities moved to the concert hall in Jõhvi for the President's (long and glum) Independence Day address, an (artistically uneven) Independence Day concert, and the President's (traditionally subdued) Independence Day reception (Presidendi vastuvõtt) and ball. It was broadcast live on Estonian public television.

Back to the beautiful people. Yes, Estonian women are naturally strong, but First Lady Evelin (b. 1968) looked a little too buff and a little too broad-shouldered in her whimsy-flimsy, crepe paper-like, sort of powder blue gown. Similarly, former First Lady Ingrid looked down right mean and wicked even though she was in her colorful folk costume with a cotton apron, a lace collar, and billowly sleeves.

Kalle Palling (b. 1985) is a relatively new member of the Estonian Parliament and apparently hasn't earned enough money to buy a nice suit for the red carpet. Yet I really liked his unnamed date's gold, softly crumpled, sleeveless dress with a plunging neckline that flashed a delicious peach border.

I thought Evelyn Sepp (b. 1972), another member of Parliament, and her date Peeter Rebane (b. 1973), chairman of the board of the entertainment company BDG, looked absolutely elegant. It is difficult to say which is more stunning: Sepp's pink gown or her height and boney, bronzed shoulders. (Rebane reportedly graduated from Harvard University cum laude.)

I'm not sure, though, if pink is the best color for a grand evening out at the end of February in slush-covered Estonia. So my favorite gown of the President's reception was the on/off the shoulder, harvest gold one that Keit Pentus (b. 1976) wore. I think the red shoes really lit up the dress's bejewelled top. Ms. Pentus is a member of Parliament, too, and was accompanied by fellow MP Rain Rosimannus.

The Postimees has photos of all of the beautiful Estonian people who attended the President's ball, from the prime minister to the chief of police to the 2008 woman of the year.

Although Vastlapäev and Iseseisvuspäev fell on the same day in 1998 and 2004, it won't happen again until after 2050. Thank goodness. You see, on Vastlapäev you have to eat a fresh vastlakukkel (pea soup, too, but that's not quite as fattening) but bakeries are closed on Iseseisvuspäev so this year you couldn't get a fresh vastlakukkel on Vastlapäev, which threw Estonians into a dither much like a December with no snow on the ground. The appeal of vastlakuklid (or, Shrove Tuesday buns) is their real whipped cream filling. Vastla in Estonian means "shrove", more or less, I guess, and "shrove" is the past tense of "to shrive", which means to hear the confession of and give absolution to someone, which is what they used to do in the UK on the day before Ash Wednesday. In the US, in the tradition of Carnival, we eat on the Tuesday (thus Fat Tuesday, not Shrove) before Ash Wednesday in anticipation of some serious fasting during Lent.

Every day in Estonia is somebody's name day. Come to find out, Madisepäev is no different than the other 364 days, at least according to my 10th and 11th graders. And at least one Madis.

A Look Back at...Me :-)

2008-12-31T07:24:00.021+02:00

1. Yellow mums: We teachers of Tapa Gümnaasium were at the country house of Alo and Rita, husband and wife and boys and girls PE teachers. It was Rita's birthday, not too long after school started September 1. That's Tiiu, the German teacher, with her black-and-white pirates bandana on, if you could have gotten close enough to get a good look. She often gets the party started wherever we are, whatever we are celebrating. Just as it is proper - demanded at Tapa Gümnaasium - that a man pours the wine and champagne, so it was etiquette for me to present Rita with the birthday gift from the kooli collective.

2. Plastic pale: Not quite in the country this time, I was in the backyard of Kai's Tapa home. Kai's a music teacher, and it was her birthday this time.

3. Inner-tube: It is never all work and no play at summer English camp, especially when there is a pond right behind the cabin and especially when the rain lets up for an afternoon in July.

4. Airplane: A farewell in June as I embarked on another mission from the Royal Museum of the Armed Forces and of Military History in Brussels.

5. Fireplace: Part of the real Estonian experience is here in the sauna in Tiit's brother's country house, situated on a hill at a bend in the Loobu River.

6. Apartment: Frank, a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer like me, took the picture. Kathy, his wife, both from Washington State, stood by the door. We had all been at the theatre in Tapa one May evening, and we went to Maija's (with the glasses and big smile) apartment afterwards for a bite to eat and, of course, a bit to drink.

7. Standing around: Maija (a Russian teacher) and I stretched our legs somewhere in Bulgaria or Romania during spring break 2008.

8. YMCA group photo: Jenny, a former colleague of mine from the YMCA, sent this updated photo to me in March, showing who is and who is not still in the Financial Development Department back at the YMCA. Three are still there plus one who came back.

9. Beach: Like I said, it is not all work and no play at English camp, especially when (in July 2007) the sun was out! But, next time, tell me that that is no reason for me to take my shirt off. There were children around!

10. Ice sculpture: Estonian Independence Day, February 2007.

11. On the track: Tiit at a competition in Tallinn in the fall of 2006. I met him after shopping in Tallinn, naturally.

12. Two kids: Where did all of the legally responsible adults go? Tiit and his wife Lairi made me feel right at home back in September 2006, shortly after arriving from Ameerika.

Christmas (in Estonia)

2008-12-24T14:59:00.024+02:00

I stopped when I got to Lembitu Street. There was indeed more "Christmas magic" in the air, although, as I stood still, it felt and sounded more like ice than snow. The other magical, nearly miraculous, thing, was that not one dog had barked at me as I walked down Pikk and Õhtu Streets. It was around 12.30 a.m. - truly a silent night. In spite of its intentional and absolute austerity, the Soviet-era high rise across from me glowed from the electric Advent candelabra in a dozen or so windows. (There are seven candles on each candelabrum: four for the four Sundays of Advent plus three for the three Sundays to St. Knut's Day on January 13). I looked up over the otherwise colorless building to see if Santa was overhead. If he didn't have to worry about Russia for another week, would he be coming up from Southeast Asia through Greece and Poland to Estonia? Or would he be working a split-shift and be coming down from an eggnog break at the North Pole through Finland?

Christmas dinner at Tiit's house was exceptional. In "food world" at the Kaubamaja in Tallinn over the weekend I had seen frozen turkeys imported from France and frozen geese imported from Hungary. (That just doesn't seem right, does it?) At Rimi in Rakvere earlier in the day, Tiit and I had seen frozen turkeys. With no time to thaw one out, he bought a duck from the refrigerated section that was ready for the oven with not only a timer but with prune and apricot stuffing as well. In the picture above, in the aluminum pan in the center of the table, you see what was left of the duck.

In the upper right hand corner, in front of the Mandarin oranges, there is a decanter of Mrs. E's (Tiit's mother) homemade Christmas drink. Served in shot glasses, it was as thick as cough syrup. A concoction of a few different types of Estonian berries (along with spirits, of course), the drink had fermented since August. From this "natural" hooch to Bacardi Black and cokes (with ice and lemon, mind you) to champaign to coffee, Tiit keep the drinks flowing all night.

To the right of Mrs. E's Christmas punch is Mrs. E's homemade (and alcohol-free) "cranberry sauce", or what tastes and looks a lot like our cranberry sauce but is made with what Estonia has instead of cranberries. A piece of verivorst (which were sitting in a pan on top of a warm oven) and a spoonful of this cranberry sauce is what Christmas in Estonia is all about! Finally, just below the duck, underneath the knife, are Mrs. E's homemade hapukurk, or pickles. Nothing in a jar comes close to tasting as good and as fresh and as crisp as these do.

An Estonian dinner, let alone holiday dinner, would not be complete without potatoes, and Tiit made some oven-roasted potatoes smeared with garlic and mayonnaise. They, too, were sitting on top of the oven. I would have eaten the rest of them - they were the size of apples and very nicely browned - had I not been in mixed company and thought that the children had to eat, too. The plastic bag (to the left of the pickles) was full of soft gingerbread cookies that Titt's wife baked and baked and baked and baked until she was tasting them in her sleep. We bought the chocolate tort, or cake, at Rimi, along with the duck, and it turned out to be a cake from the Pihlaka Kondiiter (or, bakery) in Rakvere, where I will occasionaly go in the morning for a cup of coffee and two or three sweet rolls!

Add a couple of kids opening up a couple of presents that appeared under the Christmas tree from nowhere, and you have Christmas.

Indeed Santa delivers presents to Estonian children on Christmas Eve, but he does it before they go to sleep! I remember a Christmas Eve 10 years ago with an Estonian family when, outside their house, Santa passed off their presents to an Old Mother Hubbard of sorts, modestly disguised - eerrr, dressed - for the occasion, who was quickly ushered inside to distribute them to all of the anxious kids. Your name on a package is no guarantee that you will get the package. No, in this country you have to sing - or dance or read a poem - for your Christmas presents, whether you are seven or 47.

As we played Lotte dominoes, one of Santa's presents, Aigi, Tiit's daughter, kept telling me she just didn't know where the presents had come from. Egert, Tiit's son, went to bed with a van in one hand and a box of wooden blocks under his arm. And I went home with Scooter's latest CD "Jumping All Over the World." That Santa.

Christmas Eve (in Estonia)

2008-12-23T18:09:00.014+02:00

Even though it is only December 23, it is basically "Christmas Eve" here in Tapa. Most of the shops (two years ago I would have said "stores") closed at 15.00 today (like they do in the States on the 24th) and will be closed tomorrow, Thursday, and even Friday. Ten years ago, grocery stores (ahhh, there it is again) would have been closed for three straight days, too.

The Selver calendar in my kitchen says that December 24 is Jõululaupäev (literally, Christmas Saturday, or Christmas Eve), December 25 is 1. jõulupüha (Christmas Sunday, or the first Christmas Day), and December 26 is 2. jõulupüha (the second Christmas Day). Students and colleagues have explained to me that "Christmas" in Estonia, that is, the day presents are exchanged and verivorst is eaten, is December 24. Then, December 25 is a day of rest, and the 26th (Boxing Day in the UK and Canada) is a day to visit family and friends. At Tapa's St. Jacob's Lutheran Church Püha Jõuluõhtul Jumalateenistus (Holy Christmas Night church services) will be at 17.00 on December 24. Then 1. jõulupüha services December 25 will be at 14.00 (kindly allowing folks to sleep in), where individuals will be baptized and confirmed.

There has been a little "Christmas magic" here in Tapa (in lieu of sunshine, I suppose). During the last couple of days of school last week, I showed "A Charlie Brown Christmas" and Dr. Suess's (not Jim Carey's, as students had hoped) "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." After each screening, I pulled up the blinds to reveal a steady stream of snowflakes quietly covering the grey slush outdoors. Then, Friday night, stepping out of Tapa's cultural center after the Virumaa boys, Virumaa girls, and Virumaa young men's choirs' annual Christmas concert, more snowflakes fluttered down beneath the street lights onto the slippery sidewalk. It snowed today, too, as "shoppers rushed home with their treasures...".

The coffee and walnut pie I baked this morning (pictured above on my kitchen counter) and took to the librarians this afternoon was my last official holiday "obligation", if you know what I mean. Last night was the teachers' Christmas party at the Wild Buffalo Saloon. Given the location, everyone dressed up like cowboys and -girls and did a little line dancing. I wore an $8 Indian "headgear" from a costume shop in Tallinn and drew Christmas trees on my cheeks with green finger paint. You can feed the six or seven buffalo that live on the premises of the restaurant/conference center/tepee park. They walk into a stable built into the restaurant (the place is in the middle of nowhere, so I'm sure they can get around any public health codes). You lift up a long, rectangular window. The buffalo stick their wet noses through it and unroll their skinny, black tongues. Then you drop a roll covered with sunflower seeds.

I made biscotti (for the first time in Estonia) Sunday for the half dozen teachers I usually hang out with. I finished my Christmas shopping Saturday and Sunday in Tallinn. I sent my last package to Illinois Friday afternoon (albeit a present for a nephew whose birthday was in November). I attended Tapa Gümnaasium's Christmas service Friday morning at church. I saw the annual 12th grade Christmas play Thursday night. This is something of a Tapa Gümnaasium tradition: The 12th graders (two years ago I would have said "seniors") write, produce, direct, and star in their own production, which they present to the entire community, including the gümnaasium's graduates who are back in Tapa with their families for the holidays. Earlier in the day, I bought myself lunch at the elementary school's Christmas bake sale and craft fair. I dropped the last of maybe a dozen Christmas cards into the mailbox Thursday morning.

I had the honor of playing Jõuluvana (Santa Claus) for a third grade Christmas party on Monday. We sang "Jingle Bells" together in English, and everyone was a little startled when I added "Ho-ho-ho-ho" after "...laughing all the way." Before that, I attended the teachers' union's annual Christmas dinner, where, like the last two years, I got my first taste of the season of verivorst.

Fathers' Day

2008-11-09T18:19:00.005+02:00

Today is Isadepäev (Father's Day) in Estonia. Yesterday, I was in the kontserdimaja (consert hall) in Jõhvi, which was opened in this eastern Estonian city in 2005, to hear the Grammy-award-winning Eesti rahvusmeeskoor (Estonian Men's Choir) and the Rahvusooper Estonia poistekoor (Estonian National Opera Boys' Choir) sing songs from "fathers to sons and from sons to fathers". The conductor was the famous Hirvo Surva. He is famous in his own right for sure, but I like him because he is just about the same age as I am and enjoys working with young people...and likes to have a little fun on stage.

Mina ikka olen siin

2008-10-27T08:45:00.025+02:00

Yes, I am still here...
in Tapa, soon-to-be viisavaba Estonia...
teaching the Queen's English (when was the last time you heard someone from Joliet say "I'd rather we had left home a bit earlier, then we wouldn't have been caught in the rush hour traffic on the Stevenson"?) to 23 sixth graders and 50 high school students...
for 11,044 Estonian kroons (EEK) a month before taxes - that's $920 on the days the dollar is really strong...
or about $7 an hour for a contractual 35-hour work week.

According to Eesti Statistika, in the second quarter of 2008, the average gross monthly wage in Estonia was 13,306EEK ($1,109). The highest monthly wage was in the financial sector (21,876EEK; $1,823); the lowest was in the hotel and restaurant industry (8,323EEK; $686). The average wage in the education sector was 13,907EEK ($1,159). So I really can't complain. Crew jobs at the McDonalds on the corner of North and Wells in Chicago, on the other hand, pay $1,050 a month for a 35-hour week, or $7.50 an hour.

It seems to me more and more that I am earning Estonian wages but paying American prices. A small jar of Barilla spaghetti sauce costs $2-$3. You can't buy a brand new pair of tennis shoes, no matter how pimped out they aren't, for less than $75, even when everything is on sale. My friend Oleg has always said that the price of a movie ticket in Tallinn is more than in Riga and Vilnius. A matinee at Coca-Cola Plaza costs 70EEK ($6); an evening screening costs 120EEK ($10). Comparably, a matinee at the Kerasotes City North 14 in Chicago costs $8.50, and an evening screening $10.50.

Speaking of movies, the title of this post Mina ikka olen siin means I am still here. Mina olin siin (I Was Here) is the name of one of the latest in a string of Estonian movies to come out. Click on the Estonian title above for a YouTube trailer. Detsembrikuumus (December Heat) is yet another new Estonian movie. A portion of this one was filmed in front of the train station in Tapa, which in the movie is the train station in Tallinn. The film will be shown an unprecedented two times in the same day at the culture house in Tapa, which is grossly inaccessible to people in wheelchairs. Click on the Estonian title above for a YouTube trailer with English subtitles. Click on the English title for the English version of the movie's website.

First Day of Wint-- errr I Mean School

2008-09-01T19:26:00.010+03:00

Yes, it is September 1, the traditional first day of wint-- errr, I mean, school, in Estonia. Why do I keep doing that! We were outside for a few speeches, a couple of songs, and the ceremonial donning of the school caps by the 12th graders. I think each senior was also tapped on the top of the head with the book of wisdom by Tapa's mayor. Inside, the 12th graders officially welcomed the first graders into our lovely gümnaasium community. I'm not sure, though, that this year's class of first graders were as happy as the grinning first grade class of 1958 above.

While this was only my third 1. september ceremony, it was Tapa Gümnaasium's 90th. So, in the evening, the very popular rock band the Smilers kicked off the school's 90th anniversary celebration with an outdoor concert for the entire city. For 15 minutes or so there were these three local guys - probably in their 20s - standing in front of me. If it were two o'clock in the morning and these guys were walking towards me, I would definitely cross the street. Yet, they were having a remarkable amount of innocent fun here, playing their air guitars and singing every song along with the Smilers. That's the kind of band I think the Smilers are: no one admits they like them but everyone knows the lyrics to their songs.

My International Music Video Debut

2008-08-24T10:03:00.028+03:00

The port in Hamburg (Germany), along the Elbe River, is massive - like the guts of a city with big shoulders - and yet fairly accessible to little people like you and me. It is a lively tourist destination, a popular venue for local events, and a fitting companion to the city's saucy Reeperbahn district.

When I was there in August, that ship from Monrovia (pictured above) was in one of two dry docks across the Elbe from the Landungsbrücken metro station, which is sort of the pedestrian's gateway to the harbor. You can transfer from the metro to a ferry on the same ticket and ride up the river past the dry docks to the beach at Neumühlen. If all that is not cool enough, you can take an elevator down into the ground and walk under the Elbe through two tunnels to look at Hamburg from the other side. Not so very long ago, cars, loaded with shipyard workers, used to take larger elevators down into the ground and drive through the tunnels, too. Now note just how small the white van is compared to the Monrovian ship's propeller, let alone to the ship itself.

I was in Hamburg in August with 10 teenagers from Tapa to participate in (another; my second in two years; ssshhhh) international youth exchange. The host organization was Weltenlos e.V. , and the name/theme of the youth exchange (or, jugendbegegnung in German) was Europe: Your Roots. Your Targets. Your Actions. Youth from Sliven, Bulgaria, population 110,000, and Ancona, Italy, population 102,000, as well as Hamburg, population 1,800,000, joined us country bumpkins from Tapa, population 7,000.

The beauty of an international youth exchange - well, I think there are many, especially for the teens in a relatively small and backward town like Tapa and a relatively poor and under-developed country like Estonia. Of course I really enjoy riding the inter- and intra-city trains in Germany. Truly, the Estonian passenger train service (as hard as it tries) is just one step above horse-drawn carriages compared to German rail service. Yet I get more of a kick out of seeing young people, particularly my students from Tapa Gümnaasium, grow, adapt, blossom, branch out, connect, mature, etc. over a 10 or 14 day period. At first, it's within the Estonian group. Gradually, it expands into other country groups. After a week, a couple of kids have enough self-confidence in themselves and their English that they come to feel right at home with the whole group, with the youth and the adults alike.

Although Hamburg was about as damp and dark as Estonia (IT'S AUGUST FOR GOODNESS SAKES), the kids heated the place up by creating their own multi-lingual music video All Is Love, with a young man from Tapa in the leading role and a young woman from Tapa one of the principle singers (and I thought all Estonians were shy). My close-up in the video, unshaven and all, comes at 6.37 by the way.

Õpilastega: London

2008-08-01T09:14:00.009+03:00

Six 12th graders from Tapa Gümnaasium and I were in London from Friday, July 25 to Tuesday, July 29. I had my wallet in my back, left pants pocket; DK's Eyewitness Travel: London Pocket Map & Guide in my back, right pocket; my Oyster card in my front, left pocket; and my "handy" (as the Germans call cell phones) in my front, right pocket.

We again stayed at the London Backpackers Hostel across from the Hendon Central Tube station on London's north side. Over the course of four nights, I had roommates from Mexico - sisters on their way to Rome and a Ph.D. student coming back from a conference in Glasglow; Switzerland - a junior at university majoring in biology going to an intensive English course in Edinburg; Canada - a photojournalist who was a little vague about his assignment in London; Germany - a young woman putting off starting university; and Oregon - another young woman who had just flown in from China where she is teaching English.

The weather was fantastic. So I hung out in Hendon Park - just half a block from the hostel - in the morning with a cup of coffee and one of London's dailies and in the evening with a proper doner kebab and brochures from the museums we had visited during the day. One evening, I watched a group of Indians play cricket. Yes, maybe it moves a little faster than baseball, but I think you would still need a beer, some peanuts, a "Kissing Cam", and fireworks to really enjoy the game.

On this trip (by the way, my second in two years), for the very first time, I walked around the Brompton Oratory in Knightsbridge, walked along the Princess Diana Memorial in Hyde Park, walked through Southwark Cathedral in Southwark, and finally - after more than 25 years - got to Brent Cross Shopping Center, a 10-minute walk from the hostel and probably a 15-minute drive from Finchley, where I lived in 1982 during my semester in London with Rosary College.

Like last year, on the day of our departure, from the time I got to the school in Tapa to the time I got through passport control at Stansted Airport, I second guessed myself: Is it a good idea to organize a trip like this? Am I doing too much? Am I taking too many risks? Is it too much responsibility for me and too much to ask of students? What will their parents think when they tell them about the hostel? the snack food meals? the crowds of people? Then, in London, first in Camden Town and then at Oxford Circus, I saw groups of kids, younger than the students from Tapa, smoking, of course, speaking Spanish or Italian, and, eventually, huddled around a twenty-something adult in a blue EF shirt, listening for details about what was going to happen next, as soon as so-and-so appeared. So, yes, I re-assured myself, it is a good idea (certainly not a novel one). The more I do it, the easier it gets and the more the risks are minimized, or at least anticipated. I like the hostel (with a full kitchen and renovated bathrooms), the neighborhood (with the park, a grocery store, and Brent Cross), transportation from Stansted and to central London, and, well, while I would pay 22 pounds to see Vanessa Redgrave in the Year of Magical Thinking at the National Theatre, even with a real job, I don't think I'd pay 16 pounds to go into the Tower of London, especially when the British Museum, the National Gallery, the Tate, and the Wallace Collection are free.

English Teachers in Latvia

2008-08-01T09:13:00.002+03:00

Õpilastega: Ohepalu

2008-08-01T09:12:00.001+03:00

The 4th of July

2008-07-06T09:11:00.008+03:00

Den Haag

2008-07-06T09:11:00.006+03:00

Brussels: Capital of Europe

2008-07-06T09:10:00.003+03:00

Toijala: Tapa's Finnish Sister City

2008-06-07T16:26:00.002+03:00

Tampere: Site of the Finnish Civil War?

2008-06-05T23:13:00.003+03:00

Kihnu: A pine tree is a pine tree is a pine tree

2008-06-05T23:12:00.002+03:00

Estonian Written Language Conference

2008-05-30T06:22:00.015+03:00

One hundred years ago - on May 30, 1908 - learned individuals from Tallinn and Tartu met in Tapa to agree on how the Estonian language should be written. By the beginning of the 19th century, two forms of Estonian had evolved: a Tallinn Estonian in the north and a Tartu Estonian in the south. So the Estonian Literary Society (Eesti Kirjanduse Selts) in Tartu and the Literature Department of the Folk Education Society of Estonia (Eestimaa Rahvahariduse Selts, Kirjanduse Osakond) in Tallinn convened a conference (Eesti kirjakeele konverents), the first of four held from 1908 to 1911, to decide which of the two forms would be used.

The first conference was held in Tapa, because it was in the middle of the country, more or less, and because it was easily accessible by train from both Tallinn and Tartu. The meeting took place from 9.00 to 18.00 in the Harmonie room in what is today Tapa Music School (Tapa Muusikakool).

On this 100th anniversary of the conference, the municipality of Tapa organized its own conference with esteemed representatives from the Mother Tongue/Native Language Society (Emakeele Selts, which obviously doesn't translate well literally into English; something more like the Society for the Preservation of the Estonian Language might be a little easier on American ears), the Estonian Language Institute (Eesti Keele Instituut), the Language Inspectorate of the Estonian Ministry of Education (Keeleinspektsioon), the Estonian Ministry of Education and Research (Haridus ja Teadusministeerium), Tartu University's Estonian and General Linguistics Institute (Tartu Ülikooli eesti ja üldkeeleteaduse instituut), and the Estonian Writers Union (Eesti Kirjanike Liit). The theme of the conference was - my translation - Language Grows from Me Myself (Keel kasvab minust enesest).

The day began with a little music from the Tapa Municipal Orchestra and ended with my to-do list and bald head on the 9 o'clock news. A plaque to commemorate the first conference of the Estonian written language (Tapal toimus esimene eesti kirjakeele konverents) was dedicated in front of the music school with a few words by Kuno Rooba, Tapa's mayor. Then Marika Rajur of the Tapa Literary Club hosted the distinguished speakers and the general public inside Tapa's cultural center. After a 20-minute lunch break, for which the Hagar Bakery furnished meat (Am.) pockets (liha ampsukas, literally, "bite-size meat") and sweet pockets (sotsnik kohupiimaga, a (Am.) pocket with sort of a cream cheese filling), we returned to the auditorium to hear youth from Tapa read poems written by youth from Tapa about "home". After the conference, I went shopping in Tallinn for a new backpack and didn't get back in time to see myself and my Harris Bank appointment book on ETV (beginning at the 14:22 mark).

What was so different about what the Estonians in the north were writing and what their fellow countrymen just 240 km to the south were writing? Well, as the ETV clip briefly showed, the spelling of some words was a little different because (I think I understood) the pronunciation of the words was different in the north and south. For examle, the word pea (meaning head) in the south was pää in the north; hea (good) in the south was hää in the north; and seal (there) was sääl. Similarly, the õõ (diphthong?) at one end of the country was written õe at the other end, õuu was õu, and the -gi ending was written -ki. Also, in both the north and the south (I think I understood) the h sound at the beginning of a word, like hõbune (horse) and hoidma (to hold), was spoken very softly. So why write h when you really don't pronounce it?

A Saturday Morning in Spring

2008-04-26T06:55:00.005+03:00

It is 7 a.m., and reportedly it's 7 degrees already. There's no frost on the ground. The sun is already way above the treetops. It is higher than my fifth floor apartment, and it has forced its way into my living room, spilled across the corridor, and dribbled into my kitchen. The sky is so clear I can see up into space. I'm going out onto my balcony in my thick robe with The Master and Margarita and a cup of Sumatra Extra Bold. Such will be the weekend routine for the next four months.

When I Am Laid to Rest

2008-04-13T08:43:00.003+03:00

I want life to flurish all around me, as many months of the year as possible.

Kebabs, Romans, and Chili Peppers

2008-04-13T08:14:00.003+03:00

Dracula's Castle

2008-04-12T11:00:00.002+03:00

The book is better.

Spring Break 2008: Romania

2008-04-12T08:29:00.002+03:00

Spring Break 2008: Bulgaria

2008-04-12T08:28:00.017+03:00

Every year, Elmu, my boss, organizes a trip for spring break. He picks a package from Embach Tours, with input from a handful of teachers at Tapa Gümnaasium, and then recruits 35-40 people from across the country to come along. He has been doing this for 10 years or so, and there is a group of "regulars," mostly professionals in the field of education and their spouses, who join him every year regardless of the destination.

In March 2007, the group went to Italy. I declined invitations to join them, because the eight- or nine-day itinerary included just a day or two in Rome and Naples and then an excursion by bus all the way to Sicily. I successfully quelled a couple of my colleagues who insisted that I come with them by explaining that, given a week in Italy, I would spend all of my time in Rome and Naples. Who really wants to be dropped off at the Piazza del Plebiscito with instructions to be back in an hour for an eight-hour bus ride to Palermo? What was most distressing to me was the fact that nobody had said anything about a "pizzeria crawl," hanging out with the locals in Naples all day and eating pizza napoletana.

But such is the stuff Estonian tours are made of: 1) see more of what's along the highways in the countryside than what's on the sidewalks in the cities - this gives the guide ample time to read guidebooks to you over the bus's PA system, interfering with your own leisure reading; 2) avoid capital cities, world-class museums, and major shopping districts as much as possible - the only reason to go into a local supermarket is to load up again on alcohol for the next four- or five-hour leg of the bus trip; and 3) at all times stay within a 50m radius of the bus, the hotel, a souvenir shop, or a group of at least three of your fellow travelers.

This year, in order to get me to come along on his spring break trip, Elmu asked me if I'd rather go to Portugal or to Bulgaria and Romania. Frankly, I couldn't think of any reason to spend a week in Portugal, or, more precisely, a week in a bus in Portugal. Besides, if Lisbon ever got on my list of cities to see, I could get there fairly easily from the States.

On the other hand, I didn't see myself flying from Chicago to Sofia and then onto Bucharest on a week-long vacation. Although the time on a 777 or an A330 with a good book and those personal entertainment screens goes by fairly quickly nowadays, I just have to get up and walk a couple of blocks every few hours. From Tallinn, though, Sofia was just two, 90-minute flights away. OK, I told my colleagues last December, I'll think about it.

Elmu labeled a trip through Bulgaria and Romania as "shock tourism", and he took a bit of pleasure in the opportunities he foresaw to scoff at the lack of progress and development in these two countries. After all, both Bulgaria and Romania had just been just admitted to the European Union, while Estonia had been admitted way back in 2004. OK, I confessed to myself, Bulgaria and Romania had a certain raw appeal to me, too.

I looked at Embach's itinerary to see how much time were we on the bus and how much time were we in Sofia and Bucharest? Well, the distance between Sofia and Bucharest didn't look as great as the distance between Naples and Palermo or Tallinn and Prague. The eight-day itinerary started with a tour of the center of Sofia, and near the end there was scheduled free time in Bucharest. In between there was a visit to Dracula's birthplace as well as a tour of Dracula's Castle. Now when would I ever have the chance again to be in the Dracula's Castle? OK, I told Elmu, I would go.

Day 1. Well, our motel in Sofia was no where near the city's center (commonly called the centrum across most of Eastern Europe). So as soon as we got off the bus and checked in, we got back on to go downtown. Much to my excitement, we parked alongside a herd of other tour buses at the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral (the second picture above) and hit the pavement!

Inside the cathedral I bought and lit a candle for Grandma Spears, who had died just a couple of days before in Springfield. I hoped that prayers originating from an Eastern Orthodox Church in Bulgaria could be translated by some heavenly intermediary into the English of the Catholic Church in America and passed on to my grandmother. If not, I figured that upon receiving a message in Cyrillic, my grandmother would eventually deduce that it was from me.

Our two-hour walk around Sofia, which included a peek inside a mosque and a bite of salty goat cheese, unleashed the adventuresome globetrotter in me. Early the next morning, I walked a few square blocks from the motel and even went into a corner grocery store (which was, literally, on the corner). For the most part, I could have been in a neighborhood store in Estonia. The name brands on the shelves and even the packaging were very familiar. In the wall, next to the meat counter, however, there were shelves of not just fresh loaves of bread but fresh loaves of white bread -the kind you tear off a big chunk of and eat, which I did as I walked back to the bus.

Day 2. From Sofia, we drove up into the Rila Mountains to the Rila Monastery. The church (the third picture above) is covered with frescoes, inside and out (fourth and fifth pictures). The monastery itself is surrounded by the mountains. Rushing waters were always within earshot. It was sunny and warm enough that day that we ate lunch outside. I sat across from Sirje, an Estonian language teacher and Maija, a Russian language teacher, and next to Ursula, a chemistry teacher, and Helve, a music teacher, who went on to snap more than 500 pictures of just about everything that crossed her (and the bus's) path, including the delicious onion, tomato, and cucumber salad, topped with that salty goat cheese, that we ate there with the mountains on both sides of us.

At the end of the day we were in Veliko Turnovo, a city of about 65,000. We got suckered into paying too much for a Disneyesque laser, sound, and light show that 10 or 15 years ago might have been entertaining. I remember the sound and light show at the Old State Capitol in Springfield - something about walking in Lincoln's footsteps. That was 20 years ago.

Day 3. Much of Veliko Turnovo seems to be built on a mountainside at a bend in the Yantra River. It's like an enourmous amphitheatre with the windows of houses and apartment buildings (the picture to the left) looking out across the river onto an island where there's a monument to.

On an unguided walk around the city we discovered a series of cement staircases and passages that went from the top of the city to the bottom, squeezing in between houses.

On Grandmas

2008-04-12T08:25:00.004+03:00

My grandmother died in Springfield on my birthday. I still think about my grandparents - both my mother's and my father's parents. My dad's mom always said "peeza" and "niggas". My mom's mom made Texas cake. More to come.

Forty-seven Years Old

2008-04-12T08:23:00.002+03:00

My fellow teachers gave me candy and flowers. My students gave me hard liquor. Two classes sang to me; one of them composed their own song. More about my birthday coming soon.

To the tune of YMCA:
Now you work here
Where your students are dear
When you speak it is easy to hear you

You teach English real well
Your Estonian's swell
You let us out before every bell

But you still look rich
You've got no reason to bitch
You drink so much damn coffee
You're twitching

March 12 - April 12

2008-04-12T07:40:00.002+03:00

It is not yet 8 o'clock. The sun is shining; there's not a cloud in the sky. I ground some Starbuck's (extra bold) Sumatra beans. As the coffee pot gurgled, I hung my wool blankets out over the balcony in the blinding sunshine and crisp morning air. Glancing between two houses, I saw a couple walking swiftly no doubt to Tapa's outdoor market. Let me catch you up on what's been going on over the last month.

Yesterday afternoon on Estonian television, Dr. Kate Rowan - from the British television show Heartbeat - died of leukemia, just a few days after giving birth to her first baby. Kate had originally died on ITV in 1995, but the series is still running in the UK.

I couldn't stay and watch the funeral, because Tiit and Egert picked me up, and then we went and picked up Aigi at pre-school. Of course, Egert and I had to check out the center's new red swings, blue spring rabbit, and yellow sliding board. At Tiit's house I played hopscotch (keks in Estonian) with Aigi, cars and trucks with Egert, and badminton with Tiit and his wife Lairi. The we watched "Dr. House", simultaneously eating, drinking, tickling, climbing, laughing, cautioning, conjecturing - like a regular family. It was the episode where House feigned having brain cancer.

Then I walked from Tiit's house to the last disco of the school year in the auditorium at school, where our resident DJs unveiled new laser lights and an accompanying fog machine. Back at home at about 11 p.m., I watched an episode of Friends where Monica and Phoebe take care of a cute guy in a coma. Had I looked at the tv guide, I could have gone to Kate's funeral during the re-broadcasting of the show at midnight.

Eesti vabariik 90 juubileaastapäev

2008-02-24T17:16:00.023+02:00

Today is the Fourth of July in Estonia.

Two Independence Days - Sort Of
On March 15, 1917, Nicholas II renounced the throne. Subsequently, the provisional government in Russia handed control of Estonia over to Estonians. On April 12, an Estonian provisional government pulled north and south Estonia together into one administrative unit, and all of Estonia's political parties agreed the country should be an autonomous part of any Russian democratic federal republic.

On February 24, 1918, as the Germans were pushing the Russians out of Estonia, Estonia published the Manifesto of All Peoples, declaring Estonia a democratic republic. Konstatin Päts was appointed the head of a provisional government. Yet the next day, German troops invaded Tallinn. Ultimately, they failed to turn Estonia into another duchy of Germany. However, on November 28, the Russian army marched into Estonia, igniting the Estonian War of Independence.

Fast forward 70 long hard years. On November 16, 1988, the Supreme Soviet of the Estonian SSR passed a declaration of Estonian sovereignty. In January 1989, the Estonian Supreme Soviet declared Estonian - not Russian - the official language of the country. On February 24, the Estonian independence of above was celebrated for the first time under Soviet occupation. The country's blue-black-and-white flag was hoisted over Tallinn. On March 30, 1990, the Estonian Supreme Soviet proclaimed the restoration of the Republic of Estonia, citing the period of Soviet rule unlawful. On May 8, the first six paragraph's of Estonia's 1937 Constitution were implemented.

On August 20, 1991, the country's second Independence Day, the Estonian Supreme Soviet restore its statehood. Two days later, Iceland recognized Estonia as a democratic republic; four days later, the Russian Federation; a week later, the countries of the European Union; and, on September 2, the United States. On October 7, 1992, the Estonian Parliament affirmed the legal identity of the Republic of Estonia declared 90 years ago, back on February 24, 1918.

A Word about National Holidays
So, February 24 is Estonia's July 4. In Estonian, it's Iseseisvuspäev, which, in my crude translation, is something close to Stand Up on Your Own Day. August 20 commemorates the restoration of that independence more than 70 years later. So it's Taasiseseisvuspäev, which, with all due respect, is like Get Back Up on Your Own Two Feet Day.

February 24 is indeed a national holiday here, but it is not an automatic day off. Alas, today is Sunday, and we do not get tomorrow off. As with all Estonian national holidays, it's only a day off when it's on a business day. August 20 is not a national holiday, but, since it is in August, the month everyone in Europe goes on vacation, many people are off anyway.

How cheeky of me to associate national holidays with days off work? Veterans would shoot me. But come on: for 14 years I worked for the State of Illinois. I still go into painful withdrawal when my alarm clock goes off on Martin Luther King Day, Lincoln's Birthday, and Washington's Birthday/President's Day. I'd much rather have one day a month off work than five days off every two-and-half months. Wait! That doesn't sound right, does it?

We Estonian teachers are further screwed this year because Good Friday, which, curiously, is a national holiday in Estonia, is during the spring break. So, the only day off we get in the looooooong third and fourth quarters is May 1. (It wasn't even cold enough this winter to get a snow day.) I figure Estonia is not so keen on days off, because Estonians don't ever work a full 40-hour week anyway or, when they are at work, don't work all that hard because there just ain't that much to do!

Independence Day Festivities
Well, there are no fireworks - or bar-b-ques, of course. There is a military parade that I really like, but last year, it was cancelled because it was too cold. I guess that since serving in Afghanistan, what the Estonian military considers "too cold" has moved up on the thermometer. This year - yesterday, in fact - for a change, the parade was held in Pärnu. I couldn't get there from Tapa before the parade started, and if I could have gotten there it time, it would have taken me three hours, or a total of six hours bouncing up and down on a bus to get there and back. The parade only lasted an hour and was broadcast on Estonian public television. So I stayed at home and made bean burritos while I watched it.

At sunrise this morning in Tallinn, there was the raising of the flag over the Estonian Parliament building, as I believe there is every morning. Again, I couldn't get there from Tapa in time. I could have gone to the flag-raising ceremony here in Tapa but I didn't. Later, though, I thought that maybe a battalion from Tapa's military base would have marched to and from the center of the city to give me my parade fix.

I guess there can't be any fireworks, because the who's who of Estonia are all at the President's Independence Day concert and reception inside the elegantly understated Estonia Concert Hall. Both the concert and the reception - invitation-only events - were televised live on Estonian public television tonight. Just as Hollywood rolls out the red carpet for the Oscars, Estonia rolls it out for this reception, where the president and his wife limply shake hands with, half-heartedly smile at, and laconically chat with soldiers, politicians, and businessmen. ETV has it on film for a price, but the Postimees, the Tartu-based newspaper, has the movers and shakers easily accessible on the web. In the spirit of Joan Rivers, here's a look at the highlights:

The Armpit's Past, Present, & Future

2008-02-09T09:01:00.004+02:00

The Armpit
The words dirty - appalling - disgusting - uninviting - revolting - loathsome - and scandalous - all synonyms from Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus for the word ugly - are just not adequate to describe Tapa over the last three or four weeks. Reading in The Guardian Weekly (31.01.08) that the US version of "The Office" was now on British television, I was reminded of the "armpit of" phrase. Scranton, Pennsylvania, where the show's Dunder Mifflin office is located, was once called "the armpit of America." For all its current ugliness and dirtiness, I would like to nominate Tapa as the Winter 2008 armpit of Lääne Viru County, Estonia.

Without the traditional winter snows to conceal the summertime's soft dirt, loose gravel, and black puddles, Tapa looks disgustingly raw - like a 13-year-old two days after he slipped on the stub of a pine tree branch and slid down the scaled trunk, like a New York fireman down the firehouse pole, ripping the skin off his palms, the underside of his arms, and the tops of his knees. While there was a beautiful crimson sunrise just after 8.00 on February 1 and while you can still see a city block ahead of you as late as 17.30 most afternoons, the increasing number of hours of daylight only expose a revolting look back to the crude Tapa of the 1930s.

The town is not just uninviting right now; it's practically uninhabitable. What little snow there is, melts overnight and, unable to run off, spreads out from the curb into the street. Inattentive or insensitive drivers splash the water (and crumbs of gravel or asphalt from the street) onto the sidewalk, where it soaks the loathsome slush that is never, ever shoveled away. No, it is left to harden night after night and to be continuously remolded during the day by the paws of stray dogs sniffing the corners of buildings, the outdated dress boots of old ladies shuffling from one end of Main Street to the other, the brightly colored hand-me-down galoshes of elementary school children, and the wide tires of the baby strollers that young Russian mothers push around in all four seasons.

On many of Tapa's residential streets, where there are no sidewalks and consequently no curbs, let alone gutters, not to mention street lights, the slush lurks in the muddy, ankle-deep ruts of the cars, buses, and even semi-trucks that park alongside the road. The footpaths in the town's parks, genuinely charming six months out of the year, are either mud pits or shallow canals today. After a good freeze, where it is common to ski from one end of town to the other, residents can ice skate. The potholes in front of the bus station, seeming as old as and as permanent as the craters on the moon, are miniature ponds of eau de Tapa from which passengers, alighting from their four- and five-hour journeys from Narva or Pärnu, can immediately freshen up.

It is appalling that the very country that the North Atlantic Treaty Organization regards as an international leader in cyber defense, according to Mike Collier's article in the February issue of City Paper, still sows a thin string of sand on its sidewalks as well as on the platforms of its train stations to keep people from slipping on the ice and snow. It is scandalous that the country that is, according to Collier, "committed to developing a cutting-edge cyber-security industry [and selling] its expertise around the globe" doesn't know what the hell road salt is and doesn't think twice about walking in shit and slush all winter.

The Past, Present, and Future
Yet, while at-a-glance, Tapa could be the armpit of Lääne Viru County, deep down, it could well indeed be its heart as well. On Friday, February 7, I attended the Noored Muusikud (Youth Music, Music for Youth, or Young Musicians - I'm not sure which but all three are appropriate) concert at Tapa's cultural center where there was a confluence of Estonia's past, present, and future.

The past was obvious: the cultural center itself, a 15-year-old block of cement with enough steps on the first floor alone to take you to the second balcony at the Civic Opera House in Chicago. The present was impressive: this was Tapa's third annual Noored Muusikud, conceived and organized by a student at the gümnaasium. The goal of the program is to showcase young artists performing exceptional music. The future was inspiring: excellent young Estonian musicians, some of them with roots in Tapa.

Margus Vaher (pictured above, with the guitar) was the evening's humble headliner, a 23- or 24-year-old student at Tartu University, who sang a little Gershwin, a little Alice Cooper, and a little Jäääär. In December 2007, Vaher won Estonian Television's (ETV) 2007 "Kaks takti ette" song competition. (The Kaks means two, ette can mean before or forward, and maybe takti means beat.) This 13-week competition that aired on ETV in the fall is quite a bit more prestigious (it's been around for 35 years) and a lot less commercial than "Eesti otsib suuperstaari" (Estonia's franchise of "American Idol"). Vaher was again on ETV in February 2008, singing a duet in the Estonian Eurovision contest. He sang "God Inside Your Soul" - not the most politically correct lyrics for an international song contest - with a 2007 "superstaari" finalist and my personal favorite Luisa Värk. Although Vaher's head is nearly the same shape as Herman Munster's, his husky voice, strong and solid like oak, made me crave a glass of cabernet savignon with some songs and a cold, frothy beer in a thick glass stein with others.

By no means was Noored Muusikud a one-man show. In fact, it was a two-and-a-half-hour show. A clarinet quartet from the Estonian Music and Theatre Academy performed as well as Mirjam Dede, another 2007 "Kaks takti ette" contestant, and her jazz ensemble. Kadri Kipper (above, in an elegant black dress), another student of the Music and Theatre Academy, belted out Mozart, Puccini, and Glinka arias. And last, but certainly not least, the Virumaa Tütarlastekoor (Girls' Choir of Viru), in their red Clara Barton capes, sang, among other songs, "Ei tahati minna" ("I don't want to go"), which gave me goosebumps. With this much class in Tapa, you'd think they'd keep the sidewalks clean.

Familiar Faces of Christmas 2007

2008-01-27T11:51:00.000+02:00

The reclusive Estonian sun re-appeared Thursday, December 20, dissolving the winter's heavy layer of grey clouds and warming the first two legs of my journey back to the Land of Lincoln. With the sun overhead, the short flight from Tallinn to Helsinki was surprisingly beautiful. While the city looked uncomfortably compact from the sky, the country looked incredibly large and unihabited. It only took me a few steps to get from the arrival gate to the departure gate at Helsinki-Vantaa, which gave me an hour or so to stick my head into The Guardian Weekly before my Finnair flight to London Heathrow. Finland is the home of Santa Claus, and Finnair is his official airline. These are pretty gutsy claims for a country and an airline less than a hundred years old.

We just had to circle once out over southern London before landing at Heathrow on what was a wet, dreay afternoon that didn't come at all close to dulling the grandeur of the 747s and the A340s of Qantas, Varig, Air China, South African, and British Airways standing docilely at the gates. Corridors, escalators, ramps, and moving walkways got me to the security checkpoint for connecting flights. Once I got my coat back on, my shoes back on, my belt back on, my laptop back in its case, and my change and wallet back in my pockets, I checked in again and again answered questions about my luggage for the American Airlines flight to Chicago. I had about 45 minutes to get to Terminal 3, which was just a bus ride away, down the escalator on the left. Well, more corridors, escalators, ramps, and moving walkways in Terminal 3 made my sprint to the gate just as long as the bus ride to the terminal. With 10 minutes to go before the scheduled take-off, I was still in the check-in line, but definitely not the last one in line. I wiped the sweat off my forehead after a woman from American welcomed me with a very warm and sincere Southern accent and allowed me go down the gangway to the plane.

So, say hello to my 93-year-old grandmother in her comfy recliner; to my parents, there in the food court at the mall; my sister and her husband (with a log for the fire) and their daughters/my nieces; my sister's sons/my nephews (next to Santa); my two nieces again, the older one is a huge Hanna Montana fan as well as a fan of her sister; my aunt (my mother's sister) in the coffee cup cardigan; my best friend from high school and his family; and my friend Oleg and his family.

Is Gas More Expensive in Estonia than the US?

2008-01-01T18:02:00.000+02:00

How much is gas in America?
Well, it's a straightforward question but one I could never answer confidently.
Having finally sat down and worked out the conversions of dollars to kroons and gallons to liters, this is... my final answer:

Gas in Estonia is almost twice as expensive as gas in America.

Price of Gas in America
-3.07 USD for 1 gallon
-3.07 USD = 32.51 EEK for 1 gallon
-32.51 EEK for 1 gallon = 3.785 liters
-8.59 EEK for 1 liter.

Price of Gas in Estonia
-15.90 EEK for 1 liter
-15.90 EEK = 1.50 USD for 1 liter
-1.50 USD for 1 liter = 0.26 gallon
-5.78 USD for 1 gallon.

How far is it from Chicago to Springfield, where both the Hogans and the Simpsons, live?
It is another straightforward question that requires, first, the simple conversion of miles to kilometers and, then, some type of conversion of the highways and expressways in Illinois to the two-lane roads in Estonia.

Speed Limits
-65 miles per hour on intercity highways in the USA = 105 kilometers per hour
-90 kilometers per hour on intercity roads in Estonia = 56 miles per hour

The distance from Chicago to Springfield is about 176 miles (283 km), and, without stopping at a rest stop or a McDonald's, it takes about three hours (176/65) on good ole, eight-, six-, and four-lane Interstate 55 (longer, of course, if there is traffic on the Stevenson).

So how far can you get in three hours in Estonia? Well, you can't go as fast, because the roads are not as good or as wide. At 90 km/h, you can drive only 270 kilometers, or 168 miles. That's Chicago to Sherman, but that's on a eight-, six, and four-lane highway.

Let's try Tallinn to Tapa, or maybe, how many kilometers can you drive in three hours in Estonia?

Live from Panera's on Dirksen Prkwy in Spfld, IL

2008-01-01T18:01:00.001+02:00

Incredibly convenient. Large selection. Reasonable prices.

Dobele 1. Vidusskola

2007-12-09T17:13:00.000+02:00

And that was only Sunday

2007-12-09T11:21:00.001+02:00

On Saturday, I went to Tallinn with a busload of my fellow teachers to see Fantoom, the Estonian version of the unknown off-Broadway musical Phantom by Yeston and Kopit. It was at the Linnahall, a humongous boulder on the Bay of Finland that would have fit right into the concrete campus of the University of Illinois at Chicago.

While, yes, Fantoom was a warm ray of sunlight of hummable American showtunes in the otherwise grey and damp winter of prosaic Estonian folk songs (not to mention the drone of Eastern European d&b), it was also a rare opportunity to see and hear in person a handful of Estonian musical superstars.

Chalice (pronounced "Shaa-lease") was the phantom, and surprisingly, he had a strong and crisp Broadway-like voice that stuffed the auditorium with both gruff and soothing sounds. Born in 1983, Chalice is in real life a chubby, white Estonian hip-hop artist. He performed "Minu Inimesed" ("My People") at the youth song festival in Tallinn in July. I saw him hanging out like a regular Joe (like all Estonian superstars hang out) behind the bandshell a few hours before he went on stage. In 2004, Chalice won Male Artist of the Year, New Artist of the Year, and Alternative Artist of the Year from the Estonian Music Association. Umblu is his record label.

Hanna-Liina Võsa was Christine, the phantom's love. One of the songs she sings in the show is "My True Love" ("Mu truu arm"). I actually saw the sort of petite Ms. Võsa in concert in Tapa last December. She was the co-headliner of a Christmas show that was touring the country. You see, Ms. Võsa studied at the American Musical and Dramatic Academy. Shortly after graduation, she toured the USA as Sandy in Grease. So performing in Tapa, she made her co-star look like a zombie tenor. She exhibited all of those bad, bad traits that make Estonians gasp and shake their heads: energy, enthusiasm, a smiling face, arms that really bend, an improvised dance or two, a smiling face, and direct eye contact with the audience. Yes, they were both excellent singers in that Christmas show, and I would buy a ticket to see and hear Ms. Võsa again. But for her co-star and other singers like him, I think I would simply download one or two of their songs.

The list of superstars goes on. Mikk Saar was de Chandon, Christine's boyfriend outside the opera house, and Tõnis Mägi was the phantom's ever-loving father. Saar, born in 1980, is a pop music star who has been in Estonian versions of musicals like "Oliver!" and "Chicago". He got a little more recognition among the populist when he appeared on the Estonian version of the tv show "Dancing with the Stars" (Tantsud tähtedega) in 2006. Mägi, born in 1948, is a singer, composer, and actor, who sang at the 1980 Olympic games in Moscow. He sings with the group Muusik Seif (Music Strongbox). Last but not least, Kaire Vilgats, born in 1976, whom I've never heard of, played Carlotta. She was an excellent singer in the hallow Linnahall and a fun (ohmygod, those bad, bad traits again) performer.

Instead of returning to Tapa - I'm not sure if it the bus or the teachers that turn into pumpkins two hours after the end of any performance in Tallinn, thus requiring everyone to return immediately to Tapa without so much as a coffee cup or a shopping bag in their hand - I stayed in Tallinn to catch a couple of PÖFF movies.

During Chicago's annual fall international film festival, one of my former co-workers at the YMCA of Metro Chicago always took a week off, bought a festival pass, and then saw 15 to 20 movies. One or two of the movies on my "wish list" was on hers as well, and we met after work for dinner and a two-hour trip to some foreign country (often with the actual director as our guide). For the last two years here in Estonia, I have promised myself a weekend in Tallinn to see six to eight foreign films during the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival (Tallinna Pimedata Öode Filmifestival, or PÖFF). Last year, I saw a Serbian/Croatian movie with my friend Oleg. This year, I saw two films, one with Sam, my colleague at school and another American, who, like me, is immune from turning into a pumpkin in Tallinn.

After getting a little Christmas shopping done and grabbing a Finnish hamburger, I went to see La France at the Russian Theatre. It was sort of like two for the price of one: I've always wanted to see the grand interior of the Russian Theatre. And during any international film festival, you just have to see at least one French movie. Well, I needed my friend Gina with me to tell me what the hell the film was really about. Not that she speaks French; it's just that she would have figured out the movie more than I had. I did discover that the ceiling of the Russian Theatre is ornate to keep your mind off your butt. The wooden seats were very uncomfortable, given the plush, gilded environment. Our school desks are more comfortable.

After La France, I met up with Sam and his friends. Rather than mixing with the teachers in Tapa, whom he thinks are a little too much like his parents, Sam is slowly integrating into the expat community in Tallinn. So a Canadian he knows, who runs hostels in Tallinn and Tartu, took us, along with a couple of his English guests from the hostel, to the Valli Bar. For not liking old Estonian people, Sam was in the wrong place. I, however, was in heaven! The Valli Bar is nothing but an honest to goodness dive in the middle of chichi-wannabe Old Town. In 2006, the New York Times called the Valli Bar "one of the few blue-collar pubs in Old Town, where locals still outnumber tourists." In 2007, the Baltic Times admitted "there’s nothing fancy or pretentious about the Valli Baar. It’s a dive and proud of it. Little has been done to alter the look of the place since it opened circa 1969." There was no cover charge for the accordion player, who honored us native English speakers by playing John Denver's "Country Roads". Having owned the album 30 years ago, I am not ashamed to admit that I knew more of the words than anyone else.

From the Valli Bar, Sam and I went to see a midnight showing of the New Zealand horror comedy Black Sheep in which there's an oddly pastoral scene of charging sheep scampering over a green hillock, baaah-ing with a disturbing attitude.

I headed back to Tapa Sunday morning on the 6.15 train in order to be at St Jacob's church at 10.00 and officially kick off the Christmas season.

Eestis Nüüd, 'Tis [Officially] the Season

2007-12-02T08:42:00.000+02:00

Sans Thanksgiving on its calendar, Estonia officially "kicks off" its Christmas season on the First Sunday of Advent. While in the US, thousands of local Best Buy managers - wearing wrinkled, cardinal-red Stafford dress shirts - unlock their store doors at 5 a.m. the day after Thanksgiving to kick off the Yuletide season, hundreds of Lutheran church pastors and ministers, wearing long, black robes and white, lace dickies, bless five-story-tall evergreens around dusk in the center of towns across Estonia.

Early this morning in Tapa, it was Bears-Packers weather. It was around -5 degrees Celsius (that's the low 20s). The wind was blowing 3 to 4 meters per second (around 10 mph), putting the dreaded wind chill factor at around 0 degrees Fahrenheit. I came back from Tallinn on the 6.40 stagecoach, and, as I trudged to my apartment at 8.00, I felt as if I were walking down Oak Street in Chicago against those back-bending gusts off Lake Michigan. Safely inside, I warmed up quickly with two heaping spoonfuls of Nescafe Classic in a reindeer mug Gina sent me for Christmas last year. For the last three months, I've been drinking Starbucks coffee, which Sam brought over with him in August. It's probably just a matter of days before I start going through withdrawal with these instant coffees and medium roasts.

On this particular First Sunday of Advent, St. Jacob's Church in Tapa (above) celebrated its 75th anniversary and the Estonian Evangelical Lutheran Church kicked off its celebration of the Republic of Estonia's 90th birthday. The first time I was in Tapa - back in 1998 when I was a green Peace Corps volunteer - I lived with the pastor of St. Jacob's and his family. So I often attended Sunday services with them - dad at the altar, mom at the organ, big brother in the bell tower, a couple of sisters in the choir loft, and the rest of the three or four children with me in the pew. Lutheran services in Estonia are not all that different from the Catholic Mass. We have an/the Our Father; they have an Our Father (in Estonian, Meie Isa), which they say before Communion. We have a Lord, Have Mercy; they have a Lord, Have Mercy (Isand, halasta!), which they, too, say at the beginning of the service. We believe in "God, the Father almighty, Maker of heaven and earth"; they believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth (...Jumalasse, kõigeväelisse Isasse, taeva ja maa Loojasse). I don't know if I built up any treasures in Catholic heaven by going to these services, but the prayers and songs during the services gave me an excellent outlet for practicing my Estonian aloud.

At this morning's service, Pastor Reet Eru (a woman, by the way, there on the left) presided with Archbishop Emeritus Kuno Pajula. The opening hymn was the Estonian national anthem "My Fatherland" (Mu isamaa), and the first Advent candle was lit beneath the Estonian flag. The closing hymn was called something like "God, Hold and Keep Estonia" (Hoia, Jumal, Eestit). While I was a pinch bit uncomfortable with the cooperation - some might say collusion - between this church and the state, especially on the first Sunday of Advent, Estonia does not have an official religion. According to the constitution, there is no state church. While the Lutheran church has played the leading role in Estonia, each and every citizen is free to engage in acts of worship, in public or in private, as long as this does not impair public order, health or morals. This is a far cry from Soviet times, when KGB-like officials staked out local churches and noted who was going in and out and when teachers reported to state officials which students were absent from school on December 24 and December 25. Today, unfortunately, at least in Tapa, the congregation is so old that they remember those times.

The Republic of Estonia's 90th birthday (or jubilee) is February 24, 2008. Every month from December 2007 to November 2008 is dedicated to someone or something Estonian. For example, December is dedicated to the Estonian people; January to the War of Independence, and February to the President.

But what exactly happened 90 years ago? Estonian President Toomas Hendrik Ilves set the scene in a speech last month: "the first democratically elected body of representatives in [Estonian] history – the Provisional Land Council of the Estonian Province – declared itself the supreme power in Estonia" on November 28, 1917. But then the Bolsheviks forcefully dissolved the council, and leading Estonian politicians went underground. On February 24, 1918, however, following an election which the Bolsheviks organised and then declared null and void because they didn't like the results, the Committee of Elders of the Land Council declared that "Estonia, with her historic and ethnic boundaries, is...an independent democratic republic...." This is the Estonian Declaration of Independence.

St. Jacob's joyous 75th anniversary celebration continued immediately after the service and into the early evening. The Tapa Vald Children's Choir, dressed in the vald's red and black colors (above), sang. At 18.00, after an afternon open house with refreshments and look back on the church's history, in more Cubs-Cards than Bears-Packers weather, the Arsise Youth Bell Ensemble (Arsise Noorte Kellade Ansamble) performed in front of a packed, standing room only church.

Two Birthdays, Two Continents, One Uncle

2007-11-24T15:54:00.000+02:00

On November 16, at the Õnnela Külalistemaja in Ohepalu, Kadrina vald, Lääne Virumaa, Estonia, EU, my good friend Tiit celebrated his 30th birthday.

On November 18, at home in Petersburg, Logan County, Illinois, USA, Ava, my sister's younger daughter and youngest child, celebrated her first birthday.

Yes, I was at Tiit's party. For a month's salary, I could have made it to Ava's party as well, but I would not have been able to get back to Tapa for my 8.55 class Monday morning. In Tapa, your 20th, 30th, 40th, 50th, etc., birthdays are juubelid, or jubilees, and they are often done up with a bit of pomp and pageantry.

This Time the Party's Over for Real

2007-11-04T08:14:00.000+02:00

What's the saying? If you don't like the weather in Chicago, just wait a minute.

In a speech about New England weather that he delivered in December 1876, Mark Twain said: "You fix up for the drought; you leave your umbrella in the house and sally out, and two to one you get drowned. You make up your mind that the earthquake is due; you stand from under, and take hold of something to steady yourself, and the first thing you know you are struck by lightning."

Yes, the lovely pictures below from November 3 were taken in Pärnu on Friday. Then, it snowed all day Saturday here in Tapa. Unlike the snow of October 20, this snow did not melt by noon. I took this picture Sunday morning.

Mark Twain ends his speech with a tribute to the ice storm, something I am all too familiar with having lived in central Illinois: "...when a leafless tree is clothed with ice from the bottom to the top - ice that is bright and clear as crystal; when every bough and twig is strung with ice-beads, frozen dew drops, and the whole tree sparkles cold and white, like the Shah of Persia's diamond plume. Then the wind waves the branches and the sun comes out and turns all those myriads of beads and drops to prisms that glow and burn and flash with all manner of colored fires...the tree becomes a spraying fountain, a very explosion of dazzling jewels; and it stands there the acme, the climax, the supremest possibility in art or nature, of bewildering, intoxicating, intolerable magnificence.

Twain might have cursed the Good Lord for the weather in Estonia; Kilmer would undoubtedly have praised Him. I think I will start my own praising in December, when the civilized world generally welcomes snow, and start my cursing in March, when everyone else has bid it adieu.

POWs in Tapa

2007-11-03T18:34:00.000+02:00

The Estonian International Commission for Investigation of Crimes against Humanity (EICICH, in Estonian Rahvusvahelise Inimsusevastaste Kuritegude Uurimise Eesto Komisjon) focused on three distinct periods in the history of Estonia: 1) its occupation by Soviet forces in 1940-1941, 2) its occupation by German forces in 1941-1944, and 3) its second occupation by Soviet forces beginning in 1944.

According to the EICICH, German forces took control of Tapa on August 4, 1941. Soviet forces, also known as the Red Army, took Tapa back from the Germans on September 21, 1944.

From 1941 to 1944, German forces had five main centers in Estonia with Soviet prisoners of war (POWs). One of the five was in Tapa. In October 1941, Stalag XXIB in Tapa was supplying Tallinn with a prison labor force, first for agricultural work, then for industrial work.

Stalag XXIB eventually became Stalag 381 (and later Dulag 110). According to the EICICH, Stalag 381 had 11,372 POWs from which 69 escaped and 8 were shot dead in attempting to escape.

AGSSt17 was also a POW center in Tapa but was one that was constantly on the move. Stalag 375, while located in Tapa, was a subsidiary of a center in Viljandi.

Moreover, there was a special seven-man unit of the Home Guard (in Estonian Omakaitse) in Tapa. The Home Guard was formed nation-wide in the initial period of the German occupation to carry out executions. The EICICH found that in August and September 1941, the Tapa unit drove nine people to their executions.

A Tree along the Sea in Pärnu

2007-11-03T18:15:00.000+02:00

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day;
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Joyce Kilmer, 1886-1918

Saturday morning, 20 October 2007, Tapa

2007-10-20T10:57:00.000+03:00

Teacher's Day 2007

2007-10-06T19:01:00.000+03:00

08.00 - First period: With the high school senior who was me for the day, we played my own version of bingo with a map of England to teach fifth graders what "to the north/south/east/west of" means.

08.55 - Second period: With the seniors teaching classes for the rest of the morning, the director of the Hallik Company in nearby Tamsalu came and spoke to all of us teachers about their business. Hallik, under the Hagar brand name, makes bread, including pretty good rolls and - do you believe it? - ciabatta. They make a well-meaning pizza "crust", too, but, like too many Estonians, they just don't know what a Chicago-style deep dish pizza really is. Check out the video on the Hallik homepage, to the right, under "Hagari pitsa". No, I just don't want to know what that white stuff is he is spreading on the pizza crust. You know, neither Estonia nor Finland know what Italian sausage is! I'm afraid I'm going to find out that it is an American invention, despite the "Italian" name.

09.55 - Third period: Kristiina Ojuland, a member of the Estonian Parliament, spoke to us teachers. She spoke in Estonian but quickly gave with me the impression that she was a no-nonsense, shoot-from-the-hip type of person who knew what the hell was going on. One of my colleagues, a math teacher, called her a real "daam", Estonian for "dame" with all of the English class rather than the American connotations.

10.55 - Fourth period: Üllar Saaremäe, a member of Rakvere Theatre, a professional theatre ensemble just 20 minutes from Tapa, told us a few stories about the teachers he had when he was in school.

12.00 - Fifth period: I played basketball. Three teachers, the school's business manager, the school's director, and me played six remarkably tall and unbelievably fast boys from the senior class. We played two 15-minute halves. We may have been up by one point at halftime but got beat by more than 10 points. I went one for two and missed two easy free throws. Yet the real victory was that my 46-year-old ankles and knees held up as we ran up and down the court trying to snatch the ball from those 18-year-olds.

13.00 - Sixth period: Together, the teachers and the seniors were treated to a concert by Kait Tamra, a big guy with long hair and hints of Neil Diamond in his voice. Generally, I think all Estonian music, especially the songs the children sing, sounds the same. But every once in a while I get broadsided by some great original Estonian music. Music by the rock 'n' roll band Propeller blew me away in May. After the Tamra concert, Urmas Tamm, the maavanem of Lääne Virumaa - essentially the governor of the state - presented each of us with a certificate of appreciation. I know Mr. Tamm from my Peace Corps days, when he was just the mayor of Tamsalu. So after the presentations, I went up to him to say hello. I looked at him and asked "Kak deela?", and he looked at me and asked "How are you?" I knew his English was not very good and, because my Estonian was not very good, we would exchange greetings in Russian. Well, later that night, the director told me that Mr. Tamm had recently taken a two-week course in English in London!

14.00 - Seventh period: Cake and coffee in the student lounge.

15.00 - Eighth period: Late lunch -school's treat - at Jäneda's famous Musta Täku Tall, or the Black Stallion Stable.

23.30 - Last period: Bedtime.

You Just Never Know For Sure about Estonia

2007-10-06T18:30:00.000+03:00

Well, damn. I got to see Brooke Burns on Estonian television in July. Unfortunately, there were more twists and turns in one episode of Hawaiian Paradise (North Shore in the US) than on a roller coaster at New York New York (check out the video). I was so sea sick (yes, I'm mixing my methaphors) after a half-dozen episodes that I stopped watching it. I understand that Nicole married the guy, and just when they could have lived happily ever after (the show was cancelled), the guy's car exploded. Just so nothing happened to Brooke's legs, posture, and smile (yes, in that order).

Now, out of the blue, much to my delight, Eddy Monsoon and Patsy Stone have stumbled onto Estonian television! I guess Patsy really sort of does look like Brooke, but Patsy...Patsy doesn't have Brooke's smile!

Teenagers and textbook authors think differently

2007-09-30T13:01:00.000+03:00

I laughed so hard a tear slid down the right side of my nose after one of my eleventh grade students read this question from a listening exercise in our Upstream Upper Intermediate B2+ textbook (p. 12) a little bit differently:

7. You hear a couple talking in a cafe. How does the man feel about what the woman is showing him?

He is convinced he needs it.
He doesn't understand it.
He think's it's too expensive.

The correct answer is he thought is was too expensive!

I think I miss going to meetings

2007-09-30T11:28:00.000+03:00

The beginning of this article by Rod Liddle in The Spectator (18 August 2007), which I picked up from a corner market near the Hendon Central tube station in London, made me surprisingly nostalgic for those 7:30 a.m. and those 1.00 and 4:00 p.m. meetings we used to have back at the YMCA. I remembered the Association's own belt-tightening and selective ban on box breakfasts and meat platters for most of its meetings. Yet, while we saw fewer and fewer granola cookies in meetings, we indeed heard more and more outside consultants.

"A short while after becoming director-general of the BBC, Greg Dyke gathered a whole bunch of staff together at some warehouse near the City Airport to thrash things out and to deliver unto them his vision for the corporation. There was an air of trepidation among those gathered; Greg had very recently flexed his muscles at Television Centre by banning biscuits. These biscuits were the sort you have at meetings and which, incidentally, I have never seen anywhere except in meetings - three or four different kinds of biscuit waiting balefully on a white plate alongside a screw-top jar of stewed, rubbery coffee, telling you that you were in for an hour or two's concerted misery, probably with a PowerPoint presentation on an overhead projector and maybe even a professional facilitator."

Summer days driftin' away....

2007-09-03T17:37:00.000+03:00

I really don't want to throw these things away without a little reminiscence:

a bus ticket from Vilnius (Vilniaus miesto, vienkartinis bilietas). Even though it was 10 o'clock at night (and dark), I opted to take the regular city bus instead of a taxi from the airport. And even though the guesthouse had told me which bus stop to get off at, I took my own route with the map I had in hand, walking through a little bit of the real Vilnius as well as the Old Town. As I stood up to get off the bus, the elderly man who was sitting next to me was kind enough to point me in the direction of Old Town.
a bus ticket from Tapa to Aegviidu (sõidupilet nr. 0101, liin nr. 020-02) and a ticket for the electric train from Aegviidu to Ülemiste (Pilet säilitada reisi lõpuni!). It was a dog day of August and even hotter inside the train, which barely had any ventilation, let alone air conditioning. I got on the train just a few minutes before it left, and so the seats in the shade and near the open windows (about the size of a loaf pan) had already been taken. I had a 20.25 flight to Vilnius, and I would have arrived after the gate was closed had I taken the 18.39 train from Tapa. So I put the bus and trains schedules together and discovered that I could get to the electric train (and thus the airport) on a mid-afternoon bus from Tapa. Well, the bus driver really has no idea where anyone is getting off (short of the last stop in Tallinn), let alone any real enthusiasm for making a timely connection with the train.
a credit card receipt for the excess baggage fee I paid on easyJet. Boy, have they got a racket there. The measurements for the size of carry-ons are much smaller than the size of the Airbus's overhead compartments. My carry-on would have fit in the overhead, but I could not make it fit in that "Is your bag this big?" thing they have at the check-in desk. So I had to check my bag, along with another bag I had for nine days in Berlin. easyJet is like Southwest in that there is no assigned seating onboard. Yet, easyJet does not have roped-off areas for the A, B, and C groups like Southwest does. Well, they did in Berlin, but they didn't mean anything. In Berlin, London, and Tallinn, we boarded like cattle being herded into the slaughterhouse.
a credit card receipt for the $115 worth of pizza (with tip) 18 of us ate in Tallinn at the beginning of my summer English camp with teens from Tapa and Dobeles, Latvia.
a receipt for the 4 Lithuanian litas I paid to get to the top (literally) of the castle in Vilnius, which was in addition to the 2 litas I paid to ride the funicular up the hill.
my London Transport 3 Day Travelcard. Except for a 15-minute delay Sunday morning in getting a train at Hendon Central going south to Embankment, we really had no complaints about the tube. Well, other than the fact it stops running before 00.30 a.m. on Sundays!
a credit card receipt for eight tickets to the BBC Proms at Royal Albert Hall, which a BBC commentator said during the last prom, must surely be one of the greatest musical festivals on earth.

01.09.07

2007-09-02T08:26:00.001+03:00

"This looks familiar, vaguely familiar, almost unreal yet, it's too soon to feel yet, close to my soul and yet so far away...." Can it already be my second year at Tapa Gümnaasium?

In the picture on the right, that tree with the reddish-orange berries is a pihlakas in Estonian, sorbus aucuparia in Latin, and rowan or mountain ash in English. It is found in temperate European countries. The American variety is simply the American mountain ash, or sorbus americana in Latin. It generally grows east of the Rockies.

I don't believe it is a freak of nature that the tree grows in front of the school. I have been told that Estonian teachers hate the mountain ash trees because those berries, which ripen in August, are a sign that their summer vacations are coming to an end.

93 Royal Years

2007-08-31T18:04:00.000+03:00

HAPPY belated BIRTHDAY to my grandmother Her Majesty Marian Spears (born 25 August 1914), pictured here holding my youngest niece Her Royal Highness Ava Hillyer (born 17 November 2006).

PALJU (hilinenud) ÕNNE minu vanaemale Tema majesteet Marian Spears (sündinud 25. august 1914.a), piltis minu kõige noorem õetutari Tema kõrgeausus Ava Hillyeriga (sündinud 17 november 2006).

LONDON!

2007-08-24T06:30:00.002+03:00

Well, yes, London is just two-and-a-half hours from Tallinn. But getting there from Tapa seems just as arduous as leaving from Chicago.

First, there is the trip from Tapa to Tallinn. Okay; it's about the same as taking the el from the Loop to O'Hare. But the check-in time of your flight has to jive with the train schedule. If it does, then the stop at Ülemiste is not far from the airport. No, passage is not as smooth as it is from the O'Hare el station, but it is still within walking distance. Never mind that it could be pouring down rain or that there might be a foot of snow on the ground. Once you jump across the gap between the train and the platform and then get down the 30-40 steps at Ülemiste, the rest of the way to the airport is pretty much flat. If your plane leaves in the middle of the afternoon and in the early evening, though, you need a Plan B to get to the airport.

Secondly, in European airports there's these paternalistic "gate" open and "gate" close times. So "What time does your plane leave?" is inconsequential, because you have got to be checked in before the "gate," that is, your airlines' check-in counter, closes. For example, our easyJet flight left at 11.55, but the check-in counter for the flight reportedly closed at 11.15. So I added the customary "be at the airport two hours early" to that time, and we were there before the damn counter even opened!

Once you have gone through security, checked your email on one of the four computer terminals at the real gates, and squirted some cologne from the duty-free shop on your neck, the easyJet flight to London is relatively nice. Due to construction to expand the airport, we took a bus to the plane and got to board from both the front and rear doors! The Airbus A319 planes that easyJet flies are really very nice and, despite the two rows of three seats on either side of the aisle, very spacious.

So, yes, after an hour or so train ride from Tapa and a two-and-a-half hour flight from Tallinn, shaving four hours off the flight from Chicago, I'm in London. More or less. Truthfully, more "less" than "more." Actually, I'm in Stansted, and I've got another 90 minutes by bus to get to London. Okay; it's about the same as taking the Underground from Heathrow. But the Underground goes through neighborhoods; our National Express coach took the M11, through the middle of nowhere. Stansted is in the middle of nowhere. While the easyJet ticket to Stansted was cheaper than the Estonian Air ticket to Gatwick, how much did the time we spent getting to and from Stansted cost us?

The only good thing about our 6.55 flight back to Tallinn (the "gate" closed at 6.15, the National Express bus left at 4.40, we were up at 3.30) was that, once we got to Stansted, we saw that there were a wholeheckavalot of people who had earlier flights to catch than we did.

Vilnius: A City of Churches

2007-08-24T06:30:00.001+03:00

I had the unexpected pleasure of being in Vilnius on Assumption Day (banks and government offices were closed) and walking into the cathedral during Mass said by, I think, His Eminence Audrys Cardinal Backis, the archbishop of Vilnius. More to come on this surprisingly religious Baltic capital.

Vilnius: More of a City than Tallinn

2007-08-24T06:26:00.001+03:00

Of the three biggest children in the Baltic family, Tallinn is the oldest who has gotten everything from his parents growing up. Riga and Vilnius are his little siblings who have not gotten as much. It happens.

While Uncle Helsinki and Aunt Stockholm (both of whom work at the local mobile phone factory) have always sent gifts to Tallinn for his birthday and at Christmas time, Uncle Warsaw (who is still working on his parents' farm) has not been as generous to little Vilnius. Yet, somehow, off on his own, Vilnius has grown up to become more of a genuine cosmopolitan city than Tallinn.

For every souvenir shop in Tallinn's Old Town, there's a business in Vilnius's Old Town. For every skinny, hungover British bloke; every 70-year-old cruise ship passenger; and every well-dressed Finn with really cool eyeglasses, sitting outside underneath an A. Le Coq umbrella in Tallinn, there's a Vilnius resident doing the same in his own Old Town under a Svyturys umbrella. For every costumed Hansa character hocking bags of roasted almonds coated in brown sugar and every six-foot-three, hooded medieval executioner stuffing leaflets about the exhibition of torture instruments at the House of Tourism in your face, there's a twentysomething guy with a rectangluar "pork chop" or "hip bone" bag on his shoulder and a five-foot-tall old woman with big hands gripping a bouquet of flowers from her garden shuffling into a Baroque-style church in Vilnius.

We talk about having had everything fed to him/her on a silver spoon, of having grown up too fast, and of advancing to "c" before you have really fully figured out "a" and "b". My students hate to read an article on Tuesday and then re-read it on Thursday when we meet again. I don't know if it is because they didn't understand it the first time and don't want to be bothered with deciphering new words and phrases or if they thought it was too boring the first time and want to move on to the next inevitably boring exercise. Vilnius, on the other hand, has plodded through, reading the text three and four times, extracting a few new vocabulary words, digesting the major points of the article, and then articulating an informed response.

Mushroom Picking - 12.00 to 14.00

2007-08-24T06:23:00.000+03:00

This is another part of the forest at Lasna, in northern Estonia, just off the Tallinn-St. Petersburg highway. This is where mushrooms grow, but it has been a dry summer. So the mushrooms are, literally, few and far between.

Berry Picking - 8.00 to 11.30

2007-08-12T08:42:00.001+03:00

This is the forest at Lasna, in northern Estonia, just off the Tallinn-St. Petersburg highway, about 30 minutes from Tapa.

These are berries - blackberries, maybe blueberries - growing all over the ground in this particular area of the forest.

This is me pulling the damn little berries from the short little plants that are over the ground in this particular area in the forest at Lasna.

These are the two camera-shy girls who showed me how to pick the damn little berries from the short little plants that are all over the ground in this particular area of the forest at Lasna.

This is one of the two camera-shy girls who showed me a poisonous berry, which grows on a fir-like plant rather than a leaf-like plant, all over the ground in this particular area of the forest at Lasna.

With Brooke Burns in paradise!

2007-07-29T20:20:00.000+03:00

I fell in love with Brooke's legs and her smile when she hosted the American prime time game show Dog Eat Dog in 2002 and 2003. Now she is here on Estonian television in North Shore, or as the Estonians have named it, Paradiis Havail (Hawaiian Paradise, I think). It's good to have Brooke back in my living room, even if her character's life is a little messed up.

Helsinki: Newsprint on my fingers

2007-07-29T08:27:00.000+03:00

I hadn't had any "hard" newsprint on my fingers for a long while - no Reader, no Friday Sun-Times, no Sunday Tribune.

Yesterday morning, though, in Helsinki with a 10 euro note burning a hole in my pocket, I walked into to the city's train station and purchased: The Guardian (27.07.07), 40 pages, plus the weekend "g2" section, another 16 pages, each 32x47cm, a little smaller than the Tribune and the Helsinki Times (27.07-02.08.07), 24 pages, each 29x40cm, a little longer than the Sun-Times. I also picked up a free copy of Six Degrees, "Finland's English Magazine", 44 pages.

Like a kid unwrapping a present on Christmas morning - wide-eyed, grinning, and oblivious to everyone around me - I looked through half of the Helsinki Times as Tallink's M/S Star chugged away from Helsinki's Länsiterminaali. "Prime Minister's media policy under attack", "Number of vehicles grows even though car registrations are declining", "Sweden beats Finland in honesty test", and "Income disparities increase prostitution". I was outside on deck nine, overlooking the Star's stern, in the morning sun and cool sea breeze. I would have had a cup of coffee with me, too, but in order to get this prime seat, adequately sheltered from the wind even when the ship is at full throttle in the middle of the Gulf of Finland, I couldn't waste any time in the growing lines of Finns at bars and cafeterias.

Then yesterday afternoon, on an express train from Tallinn to Tapa that felt more like a horse and carriage ride over 100 kilometers of cobblestones, I looked through Six Degrees with the same grin and wide eyes. "Will Finland Take Racism Seriously?" "Television Is Dead?" and "Working It Out without Finnish". By the time I got to the "Out&See" section, my fingers were grey from the newsprint! By the way, according to "Traditions May Change but Sausages Remain", the Finns' favorite food is meatballs. And I guess mahi-mahi doesn't sound so bad compared to sauteed reindeer (poronkäristys), a Finnish speciality fried in oil and spiced with salt and pepper.

This morning, Sunday morning, at about 6.30, with faint smudges of newsprint on my fingers, I delved into The Guardian out on my balcony with a cup of Jacobs instant Espresso (imported from Berlin by yours truly). "Boy shot dead after bike chase is 10th young London victim in six months", "Widow of July 7 ringleader tells of miscarriage on day of bombings", and "Extra cash found for low-paid NHS staff".

I left Tallinn on Friday at 14.00 and got back on Saturday at 12.30. For $142, or about one-fifth of my monthly salary before taxes, I got the round-trip ticket on the Star (which is a big ship doing the Tallinn-Helsinki run in a civil two hours instead of the arduous three or four like the other big ships) and one night at the Sokos Presidentti Hotel in the heart of downtown. I went to Kiasma, Helsinki's museum of contemporary art (free after 17.00 on Fridays), to the men's and housewares departments at Sokos Department Store, to S-Market, a grocery store (it seems the S-Group owns all things Sokos in Finland), and to the Academic bookstore, which I bet has more books in English (and Finnish and Swedish, for that matter) than most Waldenbooks in American malls.

So who is the Asian-Finnish woman in red? Wait....