There's something that's been playing on my mind for a while. I can't shake the feeling that we're all slightly doomed, and the horseless carriage has something to do with it.
Let me put something to you - a scenario, if you wish:
You're driving (in a car) down a long stretch of road. You're tired and hungry and you could really do with a bite to eat and a cup of coffee. You really should think about finding a place to stay for the night, too.
You see a sign by the side of the road telling you the next town is ten kilometres away. Just a few hundred meters passed that sign, you see a guesthouse. The sign says it offers food, coffee and accommodation. It looks like it could be a perfectly comfortable, serviceable place to stay. It probably has decent coffee for all you know. But...
The next town is 10klm away. You know it's probably going to take you less than ten minutes to get to that town, because you're driving in a car. Do you stop at this place, spend your money on at least a cup of coffee, and thus provide income to the people who are trying to make a living there... Or, do you say "well, it's only ten minutes to the next place, I can wait," and drive straight past?
If you're anything like most people I know, you won't see the point in stopping at some out of the way place when there is the promise of a town so soon on the horizon. It's just ten minutes, right? Why stop? Besides, there's a town up ahead. A civilised, settled place with a choice of shops and accommodation. Why would anyone stay here if they could stay in an actual town?
So, my guess is, you'll probably drive past this place and keep going. You won't stay in their guesthouse. You probably won't even buy their coffee.
If everyone does that, how long can the place survive? Will it still be there for the few errant travellers who might need to take a break at that point? The people travelling by bicycle, for whom 10klm takes a lot longer than ten minutes? The people of dubious continence who might not be able to hold on that long? The small handful of "locals" who live on farming properties and regard this as their nearest coffee shop, even though it's almost 10klm from where they live/work?
Having spent a week travelling by bicycle, I can tell you that when you feel tired and hungry you stop at the nearest place. This location will serve me food and let me sit on an actual chair, therefore I will stop here and not push through for another 10klm just because there is a town up the road. BUT, put a motorised vehicle in the equation, and suddenly your priorities change, and these little places along the way cease to be serious considerations.
I remember, while driving between Charters Towers and Richmond, passing a pub in one of the little places along the way (Pentland? Balfe's Creek? I can't recall), which had a sign out the front pleading: "Drop in and have a feed before we both starve". Of course, I was in a motor vehicle, and didn't intend to stop for anything except a toilet break until I reached the next town...
These "little places along the way" used to be important stops for railways (when trains were slower), or coaches (when there were horses involved), or bicycles (when cycle touring took off before the widespread take-up of the motor vehicle) or - yes - even motor vehicles.
Back in the day, when fuel consumption wasn't so good and the ride wasn't so smooth, you'd want to stop at the little stops instead of pushing through to the next town.
Now, things are so much more "improved", aren't they?
Ah, I don't know. It just seems to me that every time we make an improvement to transport by car, something dies. A service station, a series of shops, a railway line, a town... We just don't want to stop, we want to keep going, and that means someone can't afford to stay "on the way" any more.
Not that we care. We don't even see all of the closed shops along the old highway, because we're so busy driving along the new, improved highway. We don't see all of the places where services stations used to be because our improved fuel economy means we don't have to look for them. And we don't see all the little places to stay along the way, which are slowly going away, because our cars are so comfortable and it's so much easier to just keep going to the next town...
The problem with cars (well, one of the problems with them) is that they change our grasp, which changes how far we try to reach. That's catching up with us (and going to keep catching up with us) in ways we don't even notice.
Sure, it seems like nothing terribly tragic or important but, mark my words, we're doomed. Not in emanate danger of being eaten by an enormous mutant star goat, or anything like that, but doomed none-the-less.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Celebrated in Stone and Street
I think this is one of the things I loved most about Estonia:
Yep, that's a sculpture of a sculptor. I found this gem nestled in a park in Tallinn - just outside of Kadriorg Palace - on my last morning in the country. It was one of the last things I saw before flying out of Estonia, and I found it strangely appropriate. You see, by the time I found this sculpture, I actually recognised its subject (in name, at least)... from other sculptures.
Quite often, in my rambles, I would come across a monument or sculpture that was originally created by an Estonian sculptor, before being destroyed by the Soviets and rebuilt after Estonia reclaimed its independence, and quite a few times the original "author" was none other than Jaan Koort. Heck, my accommodation when I first got to Estonia was right next to his deer sculpture in Tallin's Old Town.
The thing is, there are stacks of statues and sculptures in Estonia. They're all over the place. Walk through any given park in any given town and you're bound to come across a monument of some sort. Most of them are statues of people who contributed to Estonia's scientific knowledge, literary heritage or culture.
Like these two:
That guy at the top, Ferdinand Veiki, was a puppeteer (the founder of a puppet theater). Raymond Valgre was a composer of "pop" music. You would never get sculptures of people like that in Australia. We just don't think of our cultural history that way.
Did you carry the sick and wounded through battle fields on the back of a donkey? Well, then we'll give you a statue. Were you a monarch nominally in charge of the country? Then I suppose you should also get a statue. Were you some public figure who could afford to donate important things to the city? Okay, you can have a statue, too. You were really good at cricket? Well, of course you can have a statue! You discovered a breakthrough in the genetic coding of sea sponges that could potentially save thousands of lives? That's really nice, but no statue, sorry. You were what? The founder of the most influential theater company in Australian history? Pffft! No statue for you.
Not so Estonia. They happily and willingly celebrate every citizen who contributed, well, anything. Scientists, poets, playwrights, newspaper editors, athletes... sculptors.
Then there are the "big guns". Like this guy:
Friedrich Reinhold Kreutzwald - the son of a shoemaker who wrote a poem and went on to have a street named after him in almost every second town in Estonia. I saw about three or four statues dedicated to him during my two weeks in that "Great Little Country", and his name just kept popping up on maps all over the place - along with the names of Lydia Koidula (I saw her statue in Pärnu), Johann Köler (Viljandi), Carl Robert Jackobson (I'm pretty sure he was in Viljandi, too), August Weizenberg (I didn't actually see his statue, but I saw some of the statues he "authored")...
Who were these people? Writers, artists and scholars, mostly. Sure, they were also political activists, in one way or another, but it was their cultural output that earnt them the streets and statues. Their works became vitally important to the Estonian people during the cultural revolution/National Awakening. When the country needed to say "Look, this is us, this is ours, we have a vibrant culture all of our own", these writers and artists gave them works to hold up, like a mirror, to their budding nation to see a reflection that wasn't German, Swedish or Russian - it was Estonian.
When you think about, that's something worth celebrating in stone and street.
Having grown up in Australia, where we're only proud of Australian things if they involve a ball or a battle of some description, it was strangely refreshing to see a country so thoroughly in love with it's own culture and the people who contributed towards it. Maybe, one day, when Australia grows up and has it's own "National Awakening", we'll have statues of Ray Lawler and streets named after Oodgeroo Noonuccal.
Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
Yep, that's a sculpture of a sculptor. I found this gem nestled in a park in Tallinn - just outside of Kadriorg Palace - on my last morning in the country. It was one of the last things I saw before flying out of Estonia, and I found it strangely appropriate. You see, by the time I found this sculpture, I actually recognised its subject (in name, at least)... from other sculptures.
Quite often, in my rambles, I would come across a monument or sculpture that was originally created by an Estonian sculptor, before being destroyed by the Soviets and rebuilt after Estonia reclaimed its independence, and quite a few times the original "author" was none other than Jaan Koort. Heck, my accommodation when I first got to Estonia was right next to his deer sculpture in Tallin's Old Town.
The thing is, there are stacks of statues and sculptures in Estonia. They're all over the place. Walk through any given park in any given town and you're bound to come across a monument of some sort. Most of them are statues of people who contributed to Estonia's scientific knowledge, literary heritage or culture.
Like these two:
That guy at the top, Ferdinand Veiki, was a puppeteer (the founder of a puppet theater). Raymond Valgre was a composer of "pop" music. You would never get sculptures of people like that in Australia. We just don't think of our cultural history that way.
Did you carry the sick and wounded through battle fields on the back of a donkey? Well, then we'll give you a statue. Were you a monarch nominally in charge of the country? Then I suppose you should also get a statue. Were you some public figure who could afford to donate important things to the city? Okay, you can have a statue, too. You were really good at cricket? Well, of course you can have a statue! You discovered a breakthrough in the genetic coding of sea sponges that could potentially save thousands of lives? That's really nice, but no statue, sorry. You were what? The founder of the most influential theater company in Australian history? Pffft! No statue for you.
Not so Estonia. They happily and willingly celebrate every citizen who contributed, well, anything. Scientists, poets, playwrights, newspaper editors, athletes... sculptors.
Then there are the "big guns". Like this guy:
Friedrich Reinhold Kreutzwald - the son of a shoemaker who wrote a poem and went on to have a street named after him in almost every second town in Estonia. I saw about three or four statues dedicated to him during my two weeks in that "Great Little Country", and his name just kept popping up on maps all over the place - along with the names of Lydia Koidula (I saw her statue in Pärnu), Johann Köler (Viljandi), Carl Robert Jackobson (I'm pretty sure he was in Viljandi, too), August Weizenberg (I didn't actually see his statue, but I saw some of the statues he "authored")...
Who were these people? Writers, artists and scholars, mostly. Sure, they were also political activists, in one way or another, but it was their cultural output that earnt them the streets and statues. Their works became vitally important to the Estonian people during the cultural revolution/National Awakening. When the country needed to say "Look, this is us, this is ours, we have a vibrant culture all of our own", these writers and artists gave them works to hold up, like a mirror, to their budding nation to see a reflection that wasn't German, Swedish or Russian - it was Estonian.
When you think about, that's something worth celebrating in stone and street.
Having grown up in Australia, where we're only proud of Australian things if they involve a ball or a battle of some description, it was strangely refreshing to see a country so thoroughly in love with it's own culture and the people who contributed towards it. Maybe, one day, when Australia grows up and has it's own "National Awakening", we'll have statues of Ray Lawler and streets named after Oodgeroo Noonuccal.
Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Enough Already!
Okay, I have to admit ('tis no secret, anyway), that I find Euro-English highly amusing. Although I can't stand it when native speakers produce muddled sentences as a result of not paying attention (you can tell, trust me), I love reading the kinds of crazy constructions Europeans come up with when they try to translate their own stuff. I don't read as many Asian websites, but I'm sure they are equally amusing.
I'm also quite taken with the vocabulary they often use in their translations - they have a tendency to use a wider and more interesting set of words than we usually encounter. It's like they play with our language more adventurously than we do.
However, something must be said about Estonian English. The word "already"... it shouldn't be used quite so much.
The, shall we say, ebullient use of the word "already" is clearly an insite into the normal Estonian sentence structure, but it is used a tad more sparingly in English. Most of the time it is implied or understood within the context of the other words in the sentence.
While I was in Estonia, I started to feel a little pestered by the word. It was completely superfluous about 80% of the time, and quite often it was in a slightly odd place.
Estonians, look carefully at English language texts written by native English speakers. How often do they use the word "already"? That's a good indication of how often you should use it.
I'm also quite taken with the vocabulary they often use in their translations - they have a tendency to use a wider and more interesting set of words than we usually encounter. It's like they play with our language more adventurously than we do.
However, something must be said about Estonian English. The word "already"... it shouldn't be used quite so much.
The, shall we say, ebullient use of the word "already" is clearly an insite into the normal Estonian sentence structure, but it is used a tad more sparingly in English. Most of the time it is implied or understood within the context of the other words in the sentence.
While I was in Estonia, I started to feel a little pestered by the word. It was completely superfluous about 80% of the time, and quite often it was in a slightly odd place.
Estonians, look carefully at English language texts written by native English speakers. How often do they use the word "already"? That's a good indication of how often you should use it.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Honkers
For those of you keeping track:
I'm back on Australian soil, safe, alive and lilting slightly to starboard. I've decided I don't like planes. I'm tossing up whether I really have to get the plane back to Townsville tomorrow. Can't say I'm sure there is any real benefit in it. I can just do my job from Brisbane, can't I? We've technically got a campus here...
Hong Kong was fascinating in a grotesque, hyper-real kind of way. Or maybe it just seemed grotesque and hyper-real because I'd just spent ten hours on a plane and had managed to move six hours forward in time while doing it.
I made a mistake coming into Hong Kong. You see, in Australia, people in official positions read things, think about them and make judgement calls, and being honest can actually make things go faster as they are less likely to take that much time thinking about you. In Hong Kong, they do it by the book. I was not aware of this, so when I was given a health card asking me if I had any of a list of symptoms, I answered honestly that yes, I did have a running nose.
I thought anyone worth their salt would say, "Well, she's been no where near swine flu infected areas, has only one symptom on the list - and an innocuous one at that - and hasn't done any of the other things we've asked about, so she probably hasn't got swine flu." After which they would respect me for not lying to them, let me through and I'd be on my merry way.
Not so, in China. In China they have a job to do - and by George they are going to do it without equivocation or interrogation. Runny nose? Straight to the health check zone for you. Do not come out and attempt to enter this country until at least three people have looked at your form, taken your temperature and asked you questions. Yes, this will add another half-hour to the time it takes you to get to the baggage reclaim area, during which time no one will tell you what you can expect to happen to your baggage. That's your fault for having a running nose and not being Chinese.
I suppose it keeps people employed, which is important in these times.
Then my pick-up told me to go wait for him "in the carpark", neglecting to mention that there were a number of different "carparks", and this one had a particular function. I managed to navigate my way around a small European country on a bicycle, but I had great difficulty getting out of the Hong Kong airport. By the way, following signs in Hong Kong is not the most useful past-time. Half of them seem to be pointing the wrong way, the others are pointing the right way, but are missing relevant pieces of information. It's almost like the entire country is based on the principles behind the Gruen Transfer (thank you, ABC, for telling me about that).
You can almost imagine the city planners chuckling to themselves: "Let's put a shopping mall directly in front of the park, and then make all of the signs to the park direct people back to the entrance of the shopping mall - even if they're already in the store! Hahahahaha! Ooh, and then we can neglect to tell them in any way, shape or form that they have to go out the side of the building and ride up four flights of escalators to get to this park. They'll spend so much money in our country because they're stuck in a mall, and when they finally get to the park they'll be so tired and thirsty that they'll spend more money in the restaurant. Mwuahahahaha!"
I have to admit it sort of worked on me. I bought I CD while I was stuck at the mall. I even looked at the clothes, before my natural aversion to paying AUD$150 for a dress kicked in. Sadly for them, I'm the kind of person who still goes to the park - even though it is nigh impossible to find, it's raining cats and dogs and there is thunder and lightening. I did buy an iced tea in the garden restaurant, but after that I refused to spend any more money until I picked up some lunch from the train station on the way back. Take that, you capitalist dogs!
When I first got to my hotel, I was dying to go for a swim or something to clear the cobwebs from the flight, but my hotel didn't have a pool and I didn't have any togs, so I went for a run instead. I gotta tell you, going for a run in down-town Kowloon is not the easiest thing in the world. It's full to the brim with people - all hurrying, but not getting anywhere very fast. It's a fight for any and all available space, physically, visually and possibly even spiritually.
No body moves to one side, no body stops for a second. It's like they're afraid to, because someone will come along and put a newsstand where they happen to be standing, or try to sell them something they don't want if they're still for too long. Going for a run in that area was like some strange, thrilling game of dodgems.
In my efforts to keep moving for more than three seconds at a time I ended up cutting through any available space, turning corners at alarming rates and changing directions dozens of times. I saw a whole pile of amazing stalls and markets, but I have no idea how I found them or where they were. There was a whole section with people selling dried herbs, fruit, live chickens, stressed-out fish (I'm sure being kept alive in two inches of water can't be good for the quality of the produce) and hardware. Heck, I even managed to see an argument between two stall holders turn into an attempted knife attack. That slowed the human traffic down, I can tell you.
And then there was the Ladies Market. An entire street filled with stalls with people trying to sell you cheap Chinese knock-offs of anything you could possibly knock-off: T-shirts, handbags, watches, CDs...
I said somewhere to someone that visiting Singapore was like visiting the future - that it was so much like the futuristic cities you see in movies and television shows that I couldn't tell who was copying who - the designers of the shows or the designers of the city. Well, Hong Kong was a bit like that too, but one of those distopian type futures that you see in Ridley Scott films - or like the boarder planets in Firefly with the old and poor set right next to the new, high tech and wealthy. I got the feeling the people I saw selling chickens in the market never took the MTR into Admiralty to shop at the Mall - even though it was maybe a five minute trip...
Such was the impression of Hong Kong I managed to get in the day I was there. Oh, I also decided that, as my holiday was over and therefore wouldn't be ruined if I got food poisoning and died, I didn't have to be so careful about what I ate. I tried at least three things I didn't recognise, and a number of things I had never eaten before (like eel and sea snail). Hey, if the luke-warm keefir in Pärnu didn't kill me, I'm sure I'll survive whatever I put in my mouth yesterday.
If not, let's assume it was whatever that deep-fried stuff I had at the market was...
I'm back on Australian soil, safe, alive and lilting slightly to starboard. I've decided I don't like planes. I'm tossing up whether I really have to get the plane back to Townsville tomorrow. Can't say I'm sure there is any real benefit in it. I can just do my job from Brisbane, can't I? We've technically got a campus here...
Hong Kong was fascinating in a grotesque, hyper-real kind of way. Or maybe it just seemed grotesque and hyper-real because I'd just spent ten hours on a plane and had managed to move six hours forward in time while doing it.
I made a mistake coming into Hong Kong. You see, in Australia, people in official positions read things, think about them and make judgement calls, and being honest can actually make things go faster as they are less likely to take that much time thinking about you. In Hong Kong, they do it by the book. I was not aware of this, so when I was given a health card asking me if I had any of a list of symptoms, I answered honestly that yes, I did have a running nose.
I thought anyone worth their salt would say, "Well, she's been no where near swine flu infected areas, has only one symptom on the list - and an innocuous one at that - and hasn't done any of the other things we've asked about, so she probably hasn't got swine flu." After which they would respect me for not lying to them, let me through and I'd be on my merry way.
Not so, in China. In China they have a job to do - and by George they are going to do it without equivocation or interrogation. Runny nose? Straight to the health check zone for you. Do not come out and attempt to enter this country until at least three people have looked at your form, taken your temperature and asked you questions. Yes, this will add another half-hour to the time it takes you to get to the baggage reclaim area, during which time no one will tell you what you can expect to happen to your baggage. That's your fault for having a running nose and not being Chinese.
I suppose it keeps people employed, which is important in these times.
Then my pick-up told me to go wait for him "in the carpark", neglecting to mention that there were a number of different "carparks", and this one had a particular function. I managed to navigate my way around a small European country on a bicycle, but I had great difficulty getting out of the Hong Kong airport. By the way, following signs in Hong Kong is not the most useful past-time. Half of them seem to be pointing the wrong way, the others are pointing the right way, but are missing relevant pieces of information. It's almost like the entire country is based on the principles behind the Gruen Transfer (thank you, ABC, for telling me about that).
You can almost imagine the city planners chuckling to themselves: "Let's put a shopping mall directly in front of the park, and then make all of the signs to the park direct people back to the entrance of the shopping mall - even if they're already in the store! Hahahahaha! Ooh, and then we can neglect to tell them in any way, shape or form that they have to go out the side of the building and ride up four flights of escalators to get to this park. They'll spend so much money in our country because they're stuck in a mall, and when they finally get to the park they'll be so tired and thirsty that they'll spend more money in the restaurant. Mwuahahahaha!"
I have to admit it sort of worked on me. I bought I CD while I was stuck at the mall. I even looked at the clothes, before my natural aversion to paying AUD$150 for a dress kicked in. Sadly for them, I'm the kind of person who still goes to the park - even though it is nigh impossible to find, it's raining cats and dogs and there is thunder and lightening. I did buy an iced tea in the garden restaurant, but after that I refused to spend any more money until I picked up some lunch from the train station on the way back. Take that, you capitalist dogs!
When I first got to my hotel, I was dying to go for a swim or something to clear the cobwebs from the flight, but my hotel didn't have a pool and I didn't have any togs, so I went for a run instead. I gotta tell you, going for a run in down-town Kowloon is not the easiest thing in the world. It's full to the brim with people - all hurrying, but not getting anywhere very fast. It's a fight for any and all available space, physically, visually and possibly even spiritually.
No body moves to one side, no body stops for a second. It's like they're afraid to, because someone will come along and put a newsstand where they happen to be standing, or try to sell them something they don't want if they're still for too long. Going for a run in that area was like some strange, thrilling game of dodgems.
In my efforts to keep moving for more than three seconds at a time I ended up cutting through any available space, turning corners at alarming rates and changing directions dozens of times. I saw a whole pile of amazing stalls and markets, but I have no idea how I found them or where they were. There was a whole section with people selling dried herbs, fruit, live chickens, stressed-out fish (I'm sure being kept alive in two inches of water can't be good for the quality of the produce) and hardware. Heck, I even managed to see an argument between two stall holders turn into an attempted knife attack. That slowed the human traffic down, I can tell you.
And then there was the Ladies Market. An entire street filled with stalls with people trying to sell you cheap Chinese knock-offs of anything you could possibly knock-off: T-shirts, handbags, watches, CDs...
I said somewhere to someone that visiting Singapore was like visiting the future - that it was so much like the futuristic cities you see in movies and television shows that I couldn't tell who was copying who - the designers of the shows or the designers of the city. Well, Hong Kong was a bit like that too, but one of those distopian type futures that you see in Ridley Scott films - or like the boarder planets in Firefly with the old and poor set right next to the new, high tech and wealthy. I got the feeling the people I saw selling chickens in the market never took the MTR into Admiralty to shop at the Mall - even though it was maybe a five minute trip...
Such was the impression of Hong Kong I managed to get in the day I was there. Oh, I also decided that, as my holiday was over and therefore wouldn't be ruined if I got food poisoning and died, I didn't have to be so careful about what I ate. I tried at least three things I didn't recognise, and a number of things I had never eaten before (like eel and sea snail). Hey, if the luke-warm keefir in Pärnu didn't kill me, I'm sure I'll survive whatever I put in my mouth yesterday.
If not, let's assume it was whatever that deep-fried stuff I had at the market was...
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Viljandi, Pärnu, Tallinn again
Well, the weather made it difficult to see that much of Tartu, but I still like what I saw. It looked like a very 'liveable' city - and oh, so definitely a university town. The campus of the university was basically the town center, with university buildings scattered throughout the place: next to shops, tucked in with council buildings, doubling up as museums and gardens...
Coming from Australia, it was quite a shock to see such a celebration of intelligence. Almost every statue or monument in the place was dedicated to a scholar of some description - a university alumnus or luminary who contributed something to the literature, art or science of the country. You almost felt like aspiring to greater things, just walking around the parks in town.
I still did not see any of those soul crushingly ugly apartments. There were some apartments that weren't pretty, but they at least had character. They could still make you smile for some reason. I'm sure the ugly ones must be there, somewhere, though.
Viljandi was my first destination traveling by bus. It was also the first guesthouse I had to choose for myself since coming to Estonia. Fortunately I lucked out and got a comfortable one (Endla Guesthouse, if anyone's asking). It was cheap, but nice and charming, in its way. I shared the place with a busload of Finnish Jehovah's Witnesses. I think I was handed three tracts within less than three hours. I suspect at least one of those tracts was in Finnish, rather than Estonian. Not that I would have been able to read the Estonian ones, anyway.
Viljandi is a very pretty little down. There used to be a castle with a moat involved, and now the moat is this funny little mini-valley meandering through the town, and the ruins of the castle sit at the top of the park, overlooking the river and the beach. It has a beach - it's a weird little inland beach that boarders the edge of the main lake, but it's perfectly fine for kicking a ball around and having a picnic with family and friends (provided it's not raining). It was freezing cold when I got there. As in, the-blood-in-your-fingers-doesn't-quite-flow-properly kind of cold.
The town is home to the Folk Music academy (that's the kind of country Estonia is - there's a whole academy dedicated to preserving and exploring the musical heritage of the people). My 'cousin', Johanna, is studying the fiddle and some funky Finno-Ugric harp/lyre/fiddle thingy there. She did tell me the name of that other instrument. One day I might be able to find it again.
You can easily see everything of interest in the town in a day. I managed to get there in time for the first day of the Hanseatic festival, which involved a market place with a hell of a lot of stalls taking up about four streets and a couple of squares. They were selling everything from smallgoods to wallpaper (shame it was raining, really).
From there, another bus to Pärnu, 'the summer capital of Estonia'. Quite frankly, I was a little bored with Pärnu. Sure, it had a real beach (one bordering on the sea), and that beach was kind of impressive, but I felt I'd seen everything to see in half a day. If I was camping somewhere with a book, it would be a nice enough place to do that (but I'd rather do something like that in Viljandi).
The hotel at which I stayed was the Grand Victoria, and that was quite alright. The room was pokey (but I have learnt that pokey rooms are my punishment for travelling alone), but the restaurant was magnificent - and they put on one heck of a breakfast. One of the highlights of the trip, really.
Then back to Tallinn (again by bus), to find myself in the second worst place I've been in since coming to Estonia. I actually ended up asking for a new room, as the bed was so uncomfortable that it made sleeping next to impossible. The second room they gave me has a better bed, but the bathroom isn't quite finished. I keep reminding myself I chose this hotel because it was cheap, and I could have forked out for the Spa place if I wanted flash surroundings.
I can't shake the feeling that the people who own the hotel aren't the people who originally set it up. It's like someone sold it on a w-i-w-o basis, and it was bought by a bunch of young Russians who thought owning a 'trendy' hotel might be a bit of a lark. I'm probably way of the mark, but it feels like that.
Anyway, one more night in Estonia, and then it's back on the plane(s) for another marathon trip home. I have to admit, I'm tired now. Ready to find a bit of normality. Whatever that may be...
Coming from Australia, it was quite a shock to see such a celebration of intelligence. Almost every statue or monument in the place was dedicated to a scholar of some description - a university alumnus or luminary who contributed something to the literature, art or science of the country. You almost felt like aspiring to greater things, just walking around the parks in town.
I still did not see any of those soul crushingly ugly apartments. There were some apartments that weren't pretty, but they at least had character. They could still make you smile for some reason. I'm sure the ugly ones must be there, somewhere, though.
Viljandi was my first destination traveling by bus. It was also the first guesthouse I had to choose for myself since coming to Estonia. Fortunately I lucked out and got a comfortable one (Endla Guesthouse, if anyone's asking). It was cheap, but nice and charming, in its way. I shared the place with a busload of Finnish Jehovah's Witnesses. I think I was handed three tracts within less than three hours. I suspect at least one of those tracts was in Finnish, rather than Estonian. Not that I would have been able to read the Estonian ones, anyway.
Viljandi is a very pretty little down. There used to be a castle with a moat involved, and now the moat is this funny little mini-valley meandering through the town, and the ruins of the castle sit at the top of the park, overlooking the river and the beach. It has a beach - it's a weird little inland beach that boarders the edge of the main lake, but it's perfectly fine for kicking a ball around and having a picnic with family and friends (provided it's not raining). It was freezing cold when I got there. As in, the-blood-in-your-fingers-doesn't-quite-flow-properly kind of cold.
The town is home to the Folk Music academy (that's the kind of country Estonia is - there's a whole academy dedicated to preserving and exploring the musical heritage of the people). My 'cousin', Johanna, is studying the fiddle and some funky Finno-Ugric harp/lyre/fiddle thingy there. She did tell me the name of that other instrument. One day I might be able to find it again.
You can easily see everything of interest in the town in a day. I managed to get there in time for the first day of the Hanseatic festival, which involved a market place with a hell of a lot of stalls taking up about four streets and a couple of squares. They were selling everything from smallgoods to wallpaper (shame it was raining, really).
From there, another bus to Pärnu, 'the summer capital of Estonia'. Quite frankly, I was a little bored with Pärnu. Sure, it had a real beach (one bordering on the sea), and that beach was kind of impressive, but I felt I'd seen everything to see in half a day. If I was camping somewhere with a book, it would be a nice enough place to do that (but I'd rather do something like that in Viljandi).
The hotel at which I stayed was the Grand Victoria, and that was quite alright. The room was pokey (but I have learnt that pokey rooms are my punishment for travelling alone), but the restaurant was magnificent - and they put on one heck of a breakfast. One of the highlights of the trip, really.
Then back to Tallinn (again by bus), to find myself in the second worst place I've been in since coming to Estonia. I actually ended up asking for a new room, as the bed was so uncomfortable that it made sleeping next to impossible. The second room they gave me has a better bed, but the bathroom isn't quite finished. I keep reminding myself I chose this hotel because it was cheap, and I could have forked out for the Spa place if I wanted flash surroundings.
I can't shake the feeling that the people who own the hotel aren't the people who originally set it up. It's like someone sold it on a w-i-w-o basis, and it was bought by a bunch of young Russians who thought owning a 'trendy' hotel might be a bit of a lark. I'm probably way of the mark, but it feels like that.
Anyway, one more night in Estonia, and then it's back on the plane(s) for another marathon trip home. I have to admit, I'm tired now. Ready to find a bit of normality. Whatever that may be...
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Tudulinna, Kallaste, Tartu
Well, quite frankly the last half of the cycling tour was a bit odd, so these thoughts are a bit scattered. Vabandust.
The two longest days on the bike were long. I have not said much about the cycling side of things, but it is both a great way to get around and a pain in the backside (literally and figuratively) at the same time. The first day of cycling I was, as mentioned, not feeling the best, and I thought the entire trip was doomed.
The second day - to Palmse - was magic. The pills I had bought from the pharmacist had kicked in, the scenery was marvelous, and I was in high spirits. I stopped off at manor houses, museums, small shops in the middle of nowhere and käsitöö stalls in the front yards of farmers. I made excellent time, and did not get lost at all, and found my way into Palmse with grace, aplomb and barely a hair out of place. It was a good day.
The third day, into Rakvere, was shorter but seemed longer. My feet and butt both hurt and the highlight of the trip was a late lunch I had at some place called Forell Haljala. The place I had planned to stop for lunch was not a town with a shop so much as a hamlet without one, so I had to push on longer than I would have liked.
However, this Forell place (forell is Eesti for trout) was worth the stop. It was beautiful, the food was good (and massive), and the people who lived there and ran the joint were friendly. They actually caught the fish from their pond - to order! I think that was the first time something has been specifically caught and killed for me instead of lying around dead in a shelf somewhere. Freshly caught, barbecued trout, really good chips and a nice fresh salad - and all more food than I could eat. Well worth it.
Rakvere was... well... let us say I would rather have stayed the extra day in Palmse than Rakvere. At least the break from riding helped me get my wind back. The fourth day on the bike was okay... until I shot straight past the place I was supposed to be staying at and continued on for another three or four kilometers. Then I had to ask a local for directions. She spoke a dialect of Estonian that had a few Russian words thrown in for good measure. I knew just enough of both languages to work out that she said here and there a few times.
Anyway, I eventually found my way back to where I was staying. It was not, in fact, in Tudulinna at all (which my directions had implied) but a few clicks north of that town. Quite a comfortable place - with a hell of a lot of wood everywhere. Walls, furniture, decorations... all carved wood. It looked like it might be a heck of a summer camp, but I was clearly there during the off season. My host did not speak more than a few words of English. I did not speak more than a few words of Estonian. We managed. I was exhausted.
I was asked a few times if I spoke German, as that would have made things easier. I must remember to learn German before coming back to Europe. Maybe French, too.
The trip to Kallaste (actually, a place just south of Kallaste), was exceptionally long. Only, on paper, on or two km longer than the trip the day before (which I had actually exceeded, so in theory it was actually shorter), but my get-up-and-go got up and went at about the 40km mark, leaving me with 25km to pull out of thin air, with nothing in the tank.
I passed the best place to stop for lunch at morning tea time, and spent the rest of the day buying little things to keep me going, thinking I would get something more substantial at Kallaste, or at least make up for it with dinner. At Kallaste, I ended up buying another little thing (a tub of yogurt), and as luck would have it, this guesthouse was the one place on my list that A) did not serve dinner, and B) did not have a restaurant nearby. A fact not mentioned in my notes. Thankfully I had some food in my pack, and my kind hosts at Willipu Guesthouse took pity on me and gave me some of the dinner they had made for themselves.
The ride into Tartu was quite enjoyable. It was a shorter trip (even shorter than it was described on paper), and I managed to see some nice scenery and a museum dedicated to Joseph Liiv. The docent (was she also the curator?) gave me a student discount because I said I was hoping to study in Tartu in the foreseeable future. She said to call it a good-luck charm.
Mercifully, this stretch of the trip had undulations in the road. The trip to Kallaste had been mostly flat and, if anything, slightly uphill. I could not coast for any of it, thus dragging it out all the more. This stretch had some nice rolls, letting me rest occasionally.
Tartu is nice. Really livable. I can definitely see myself coming back to spend some quality time here, down the track. I decided to spend an extra day here so that I could spend one day just toodling about the place on the bicycle, and the other day checking out the museums. The toodling day was most successful and highly enjoyable. I even met up with my distant cousin, Airi, for lunch, which was nice. Today, however, it is raining.
Raining, and really, really cold. I keep getting flashbacks of a horrible knock-knock joke I read as a child:
Tomorrow I have to get halfway across town to put the bike on one bus, and then get myself back to the bus station for people to travel to Viljandi. I suspect there shall be taxis involved, especially if I do not get myself an umbrella shortly...
The two longest days on the bike were long. I have not said much about the cycling side of things, but it is both a great way to get around and a pain in the backside (literally and figuratively) at the same time. The first day of cycling I was, as mentioned, not feeling the best, and I thought the entire trip was doomed.
The second day - to Palmse - was magic. The pills I had bought from the pharmacist had kicked in, the scenery was marvelous, and I was in high spirits. I stopped off at manor houses, museums, small shops in the middle of nowhere and käsitöö stalls in the front yards of farmers. I made excellent time, and did not get lost at all, and found my way into Palmse with grace, aplomb and barely a hair out of place. It was a good day.
The third day, into Rakvere, was shorter but seemed longer. My feet and butt both hurt and the highlight of the trip was a late lunch I had at some place called Forell Haljala. The place I had planned to stop for lunch was not a town with a shop so much as a hamlet without one, so I had to push on longer than I would have liked.
However, this Forell place (forell is Eesti for trout) was worth the stop. It was beautiful, the food was good (and massive), and the people who lived there and ran the joint were friendly. They actually caught the fish from their pond - to order! I think that was the first time something has been specifically caught and killed for me instead of lying around dead in a shelf somewhere. Freshly caught, barbecued trout, really good chips and a nice fresh salad - and all more food than I could eat. Well worth it.
Rakvere was... well... let us say I would rather have stayed the extra day in Palmse than Rakvere. At least the break from riding helped me get my wind back. The fourth day on the bike was okay... until I shot straight past the place I was supposed to be staying at and continued on for another three or four kilometers. Then I had to ask a local for directions. She spoke a dialect of Estonian that had a few Russian words thrown in for good measure. I knew just enough of both languages to work out that she said here and there a few times.
Anyway, I eventually found my way back to where I was staying. It was not, in fact, in Tudulinna at all (which my directions had implied) but a few clicks north of that town. Quite a comfortable place - with a hell of a lot of wood everywhere. Walls, furniture, decorations... all carved wood. It looked like it might be a heck of a summer camp, but I was clearly there during the off season. My host did not speak more than a few words of English. I did not speak more than a few words of Estonian. We managed. I was exhausted.
I was asked a few times if I spoke German, as that would have made things easier. I must remember to learn German before coming back to Europe. Maybe French, too.
The trip to Kallaste (actually, a place just south of Kallaste), was exceptionally long. Only, on paper, on or two km longer than the trip the day before (which I had actually exceeded, so in theory it was actually shorter), but my get-up-and-go got up and went at about the 40km mark, leaving me with 25km to pull out of thin air, with nothing in the tank.
I passed the best place to stop for lunch at morning tea time, and spent the rest of the day buying little things to keep me going, thinking I would get something more substantial at Kallaste, or at least make up for it with dinner. At Kallaste, I ended up buying another little thing (a tub of yogurt), and as luck would have it, this guesthouse was the one place on my list that A) did not serve dinner, and B) did not have a restaurant nearby. A fact not mentioned in my notes. Thankfully I had some food in my pack, and my kind hosts at Willipu Guesthouse took pity on me and gave me some of the dinner they had made for themselves.
The ride into Tartu was quite enjoyable. It was a shorter trip (even shorter than it was described on paper), and I managed to see some nice scenery and a museum dedicated to Joseph Liiv. The docent (was she also the curator?) gave me a student discount because I said I was hoping to study in Tartu in the foreseeable future. She said to call it a good-luck charm.
Mercifully, this stretch of the trip had undulations in the road. The trip to Kallaste had been mostly flat and, if anything, slightly uphill. I could not coast for any of it, thus dragging it out all the more. This stretch had some nice rolls, letting me rest occasionally.
Tartu is nice. Really livable. I can definitely see myself coming back to spend some quality time here, down the track. I decided to spend an extra day here so that I could spend one day just toodling about the place on the bicycle, and the other day checking out the museums. The toodling day was most successful and highly enjoyable. I even met up with my distant cousin, Airi, for lunch, which was nice. Today, however, it is raining.
Raining, and really, really cold. I keep getting flashbacks of a horrible knock-knock joke I read as a child:
Knock knock(I told you it was terrible).
Who is there?
Martini
Martini who?
Martini hand is frozen from being left out here in the cold.
Tomorrow I have to get halfway across town to put the bike on one bus, and then get myself back to the bus station for people to travel to Viljandi. I suspect there shall be taxis involved, especially if I do not get myself an umbrella shortly...
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Apartments
To be fair, Rakvere isn't the only Estonian town with ugly apartment buildings. In fact, I think they're compulsory. It seems as if every town I rode through/past/whatever since leaving Rakvere had at least one blog of dead-ugly apartments.
I don't know why... Quite often they're the only "blight" on an otherwise lovely old town. Was it some Soviet plot to make sure the humble Estonian knew that, no matter how pretty the lake-side fishing village they lived in might be, their soul still belonged to the state? Look up and see the uniform, spiritless, characterless building, and know your place.
Or was it just some sort of affordable housing initiative? "That town is big enough to have a shop, it must need an apartment building. May as well make it one of those ugly ones we're sticking every where else."
So far I haven't seen any in Tartu, but I can't help shake the feeling they must be around here somewhere.
Oh, and while I haven't been attacked by any bears recently, I have been attacked by bugs. Damn bugs.
I don't know why... Quite often they're the only "blight" on an otherwise lovely old town. Was it some Soviet plot to make sure the humble Estonian knew that, no matter how pretty the lake-side fishing village they lived in might be, their soul still belonged to the state? Look up and see the uniform, spiritless, characterless building, and know your place.
Or was it just some sort of affordable housing initiative? "That town is big enough to have a shop, it must need an apartment building. May as well make it one of those ugly ones we're sticking every where else."
So far I haven't seen any in Tartu, but I can't help shake the feeling they must be around here somewhere.
Oh, and while I haven't been attacked by any bears recently, I have been attacked by bugs. Damn bugs.
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