Toole Castle on the Gulf of Finland [again, courtesy of the panorama setting on my camera]

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Entry II: Night Life and a Language Lesson

     "I think I'll leave you alone and you can two go and...yes. Goodbye."
She spoke with her hands, a task complicated by the plastic cup of beer in left and the sprig of a cigarette in her right. She turned from her two companions on the sidewalk. They leaned against the stone facade of the bar, arms slung low round eachother's waists and standing with hips touching, swaying almost imperceptibly to the American pop music leaking out from indoors.

     I was standing about ten yards away--or meters I suppose, now that I'm in Europe. I was outside of a bar called Hell Hunt, apparently famous in Tallinn. The others were indoors, settling up their bills; then it would be off to another bar, or maybe back to the hotel if nothing was open. I was a little tired, and returning to my room in the City Hotel seemed pretty appealing, especially now that the night was getting colder. I was thinking this, leaning against the storefront window of the bar when she walked up to, half a smile playing across her face, an expression softened by the evening's cider. She planted her feet somewhat unsteadily in front of me and said something in Estonian.
     "Vabandust," I said, offering my apologies. "I don't speak Estonian. English?"
She looked a little surprised, a little pleased, and took a drag from her cigarette.
     "You speak English? Where from?" Her accent sounded almost like Cockney English, extra pressure pushing out the long vowels, and gritty hard consonants led with the jaw.
     "America--I mean the United States." Her eyes lit up, immaculately plucked eyebrows arching a gentle crease in her forhead.
     "Ohhhh!" she said, bending deeply at the waist so her cheek brushed my chest. "America is cool! I want--" she pulled from her cigarette. "So badly to go there. So cool."
     "Yeah, it is a nice country," I said, trying to speak slowly and avoid conractions as we'd been told to do. "But Estonia is cool too. I like it here a lot." She nodded along, ear tilted up to me.
     "Yes, you like? I live here."
     "In Tallinn?"
     She nodded, lips pursed on her last drag, then flicked the butt onto the sidewalk. "I am local. It's okay. Not cool like America." I smiled with only the right side of my mouth and shrugged. "Estonia is here: okay." She held her free hand flat in the air in front of her chest, palm down, as if showing the height of a younger brother or sister. "And America is here: coooooool." She brought her hand high above her head, reaching with her fingertips and standing on her toes, revealing delicate hips and a small navel beneath her lifted skimpy tanktop. She lost her balance and dropped back to her heels. Her hair was in her face. She brushed it aside and took a long drink from her cup.

     We talked for a while. Her name was Riina. ("You won't know to spell it," she told me. "It is Estonian.") She had traveled to Finland, Sweden, France, Germany, and Egypt. (About 5 times to visit her brother. Egypt, like the U.S., is cool.) She spoke Estonian, German, French, and English. She kept apologizing that her English wasn't very good, but I thought it was excellent--easy to understand even through slurred speech.
     "I am done telling every place I went, so...when you get here, to Tallinn?" At this point the others spilled onto the sidwalk, reaching into fleece sleeves and zipping up hooded sweatshirts. I introduced her to my classmates.
     "You are all students together? All American?" She asked. "Wow! I thought Americans would be...fat. And stupid. But you are not this." We all laughed. Earlier, over dinner, Larry had told us that Estonians didn't have an opinion of the United States one way or another, didn't harbor the usual prejudices for Americans. I guess not.
    "No, because in the movies Americans are this way," she added, inhaling deeply from another cigarette she had procured from her back pocket a moment ago.

     Two of her friends ("friends" in the sense that they met about fifteen minutes earlier, and drank together inside for a while) joined us: a Spanish guy named Sergio and a Frenchman named Nicolas. I recognize Sergio from the twosome Riina left behind when she first approached me. In introducing ourselves to Sergio and Nicolas, some of us toyed with rudimentary French and Spanish, but it turned out they spoke English. We made fast friends.

     "So you are in Estonia, but you don't speak our language. Why not?" The local girl asked, bringing up the obvious question. She stood next to me, leaning against my shoulder. It was partly flirtation but also for balance I'm pretty certain.
     All of us Americans of course leapt lamely to our defenses, collectively muttering that they don't teach Estonian in America, it's the education system, and we'll start classes soon anyway, so then we'll know. She offered to teach us Estonian, to give us our first lesson.
     "Okay, so: Üks, kaks, kolm, neli. Okay?" 1, 2, 3, and 4 in Estonian. "Üks," she said expectantly.
     "Ooks," we chimed back.
     "No no. Not ooks," she screwed her mouth into a perfect circle, aping our long English "o" sound. "Üks. It's different. Üks. Üks."
     After a try or two we got it right, correctly pronouncing the umlaut over the 'u.'
     "You are all American, yes?" she asked us again, maybe for the third time since we met.
     "Yes," we answered, nodding and smiling. Her hand was snaking under my hoodie, absentmindedly untucking my shirt a bit at a time.
     "Mmmm. Well, your English is very good." It took a moment before I realized she wasn't being sarcastic.
     "Thanks," I said. "It's all we've got, so we better do it well." She tried to wedge her hand under my waistband and snug along my hip. Her hand was rougher than expected, with callouses where her fingers met the flesh of her palm. They were cold as hell, too. I stood up straight and redirected my lean away from her a bit. She settled for putting her hand in my back pocket.

     We all talked for a while, sharing of our time in Tallinn: how long we will stay, what have we seen, what is most beautiful, and what do locals think of all the tourists? Sergio and Nicolas worked in Barcelona, doing computer programming or something like that. They were visiting Estonia for two or three days. Riina asked us if we were American several more times. She periodically leaned in for hugs and asked me for kisses.

     After a long engagement on the sidewalk in front of Hell Hunt, our group parted ways. Riina and Sergio stumbled down the street together (Riina stumbled while Sergio steadied her), and Nicolas joined us in the search for another bar, which we soon found in the form of "O'Malley's," an odd hybrid of Irish pub and glitzy karaoke bar.

    We stayed for a while at O'Malley's, and added our names to the long karaoke lineup. I joined Dominique and our new friend Nicolas for a trio performance of "Bootylicious." I thought I was at least a little familiar with this song, but soon realized I had absolutely no idea how it went. Thankfully, Nicolas didn't either. We mumbled into the microphone, "I don't think---ready...for---jelly...jelly," and variations on that theme, while Dominique led the way. After that, Nick and I did a soulful rendition of "Wonderwall." This was a good choice for the occasion: there was a group of young British men in the bar, and they sang along passionately, standing up and raising their drinks to the rafters.

     Soon it was 2 o'clock, and time to return to the hotel. We talked and laughed together on the way back home, all of us pleased that we had decided to ignore jet lag and stay out that night. The streets had mostly emptied: it was a Sunday night. Before bed, it occurred to me that Riina was the very first Estonian I had met since arriving. I wondered if any others would try to put their hands in my pants.


  1. I was like "I should read Steven's stuff, he's such a good kid and I do miss him a lot."
    Then I was like "Wow, he sure writes a lot. and a lot better than me."
    Then I skimmed to the part "absentmindedly untucking my shirt a bit at a time. "

  2. Steven, I guess I should have known from your round table article about the Alabama OEC trip, but now I know for sure: you really are a truly gifted writer! Looking forward to reading more entries as your time abroad progresses! A book some day perhaps? (I'm not joking, I think your style is mellifluous.)