Light came in through the shade early with the amplified notes of early-morning conversation. Young men in the street woke me laughing in a foreign tongue. For a long time I lay still, willing sleep, then turning pointlessly in the sheets. I thought of getting up, projected full color visions of myself in the shower, pinning up wet hair and joining breakfasters in the cafe downstairs. It was a very convincing fantasy. Finally I did get out of bed, shut the window, and returned for a few more hours of dream-thick sleep. Then I could have slept for days. At 11 we dressed and re-packed, left absurdly heavy bags with desk staff and went into Tallinn.
"How far do you think the old town is?"
"Probably right over there," I pointed to a huge cylinder of brick atop a man made hill. It looked pretty old. It was a good guess.
The streets were cobbled between immaculate homes in bright antique colors. Pale rose and butter colors accented with white trimmings and those funny sash and bough shaped embellishments which Europe seems to like. Quite a few were stone, huge blocks painted over in light earth tones, and there was some brick. Everything neat, fresh, acceptably antiquated but without a trace of rot. No trash in the streets, tourists quietly amazed behind cameras, and finally a big open square with a stone church and much milling about. Girls in ugly purple ponchos that screamed "Traditional!" silently handed out flyers for shops. A dozen cafes swarmed with lunch hour customers fenced in squarely under big umbrellas that read "Saku" and "A Le Coq". We picked a place and sat, suddenly prone to rampant wind gusts.
From the long menu's awkward English I chose tomato soup. One of the very pretty girls took our order and asked was that all. Her tone made me wonder wether it was customary to order a great deal more at such establishments. Perhaps we were rude not to sample a wider selection of their wares. Yes, we said, that's it, and she left us with the wind. We waited, talked, half-hearted in our exploration of this place so close to "home". We ate, good soup, saw a few more "traditional" costumes in the antique streets, then turned back toward our bags.
Taxi to Tickets to Tartu to leave in half an hour, we sat in a clean and comfortable cafe. Nicely decorated and well stocked, cheap food and drinks. I drank some keefir and we discussed the impossibility of having such a place in America. In a Greyhound station. We passed nothing ugly dirty or drunk on our way out to the bus, found seats together and started away. I promptly slept. The "most dangerous highway in the EU" travelled without incident, we arrived in Tartu. On the short cab ride to Raatuse I reflected:
1 Train
1 Cadillac
2 Trams
2 Airplanes
2 Taxis
3 Buses
And a Cruise Ship.
That's how I got from Olympia to Tartu. And once there, dropped off, dragging bags to the door of a building seen often in photos, we explained ourselves and paid deposits, acquired keys, rode an elevator, unlocked unlocked unlocked, and there we were. About 12X15, grey floor walls and ceiling, 2 beds 2 desks 2 wardrobes, 1 wall mounted shelf divided in 2 compartments, 2 under-bed boxes on rollers, and one big picture window opposite the door with a spectacular view of the city and sky.
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