Coffee Helps

The sun is shining.

I am sitting cross-legged on a bench next to a pretty flower bed outside a shopping centre, having just come from an invigorating walk down by the docks. There is music playing on the centre’s tannoy system: it’s a lot of hippy-dippy sixties stuff, and I am happily singing along as I share my warm, cheese-bread roll with some friendly sparrows. I am at one with nature, and with delicious savoury leivapood (bakery) products.

A couple of hungry pigeons join the friendly sparrows, and I hesitate before giving them, too, a little bit of my freshly-baked bread. I am non-discriminating in my generosity. Even against feathered rats.

A less generous woman eating a bun on a nearby bench looks on interestedly as approximately 2 million pigeons descend from the heavens and strategically position themselves around me. Nervously, I continue to eat, pretending not to be intimidated by the increased pigeon density of the area, and dropping a sneaky crumb here and there to the little sparrows under my bench. Suddenly, however, there is a hurricane.

It turns out not to be an actual hurricane, but rather a gust of wind caused by the wing-flapping of the Biggest Seagull Of All Time, which has flown in from the beach upon hearing a rumour about the Generous Bread Woman.

Giant Seagull does not seem at all interested in the food. He stands there, loftily, staring at us (the pigeons, the sparrows and me) with his freakishly pink-rimmed eyes. His bill is longer than my fingers. I suspect that he wants to kill me, and I am alarmed because I do not know how to cry for help in Estonian. A foolhardy pigeon sidles up to Giant Seagull, perhaps to ask him if he’s heard about all the free bread around here. Giant Seagull stabs him suddenly and violently with his dagger-like beak. Feathers fly through the air, and I jump with fright. “Oh!” I cry helplessly, as Injured Pigeon retreats to inspect his remaining feathers. Giant Seagull goes back to standing there, motionless and staring. The other birds have all retreated to a safe distance. I am alone, and at the mercy of Giant Seagull. My pleasant picnic lunch is ruined.

I am relieved when Giant Seagull suddenly starts walking away from me in a very purposeful manner, towards a man at a bench behind me. I watch suspiciously to ensure that he’s not just trying to lull me into a false sense of security, and then heave a sigh of relief. My smaller feathered friends return, and everyone relaxes. Except, of course, for the unfortunate man on the distant bench, from whom there comes an angry and frightened holler.

I look around. Giant Seagull has stolen a paper bag containing Bench Man’s lunch, and is dragging it determinedly across the grass as Bench Man looks on in a helpless manner with which I can completely identify. His cries alert a passing middle-aged woman, who instantly removes a baguette from her shopping trolley and begins to chase Giant Seagull, beating him around the head with the baguette when she gets close enough. I couldn’t make it up.

Travel lessons learned today: Estonian wildlife is dangerous. Estonian housewives, doubly so.