I’m D-ficient!

It seems that Estonia may not be somewhere I’ll eventually be able to settle down forever and ever.

This saddens me, because I really do love it here. I love the culture, the old streets and buildings, the restaurants, the cold weather, and the fact that you can get an excellent cup of coffee for about 35p as opposed to £3.50. This is a great place to live!

It’s dark nearly all the time now, which is also a plus for me. I do not enjoy bright sunshine and stifling heat. I like long, dark evenings, fluffy snow, crisp breezes and that sort of thing – odd creature that I am. It does not bother me in the slightest that we never really see daylight any more these days, and that the hours that aren’t filled with total darkness are rapidly becoming fewer. All that SAD stuff? Seasonal Affective Disorder? Nonsense! Just a load of whiners moaning about the weather.

Anyway, it’s not like I’ve been able to experience much of the weather, because I’ve been utterly exhausted of late, and getting the energy to go outside has been a rare occurrence. No obvious reason, and yet there never seems to be a point in the day at which I actually wake up. Sluggish and sleepy, that’s me. All day, every day. It’s kind of depressing, to be honest, and makes me feel sad on a regular basis.

It was suggested to me that I might have a Vitamin D deficiency, as this is something that leads to chronic fatigue, constant tiredness, and the general run-down feeling of having less energy than… good grief, I don’t even have the energy to come up with a witty comparison, there. Wearily, I went online and did a spot of googling on the subject of said vitamin. The suggested diagnosis seemed highly plausible, which was great, as clearly all I had to do was start taking Vitamin D supplements and I’d be full of beans again. Hurrah!

I cheered too early, because every article I read seemed determined to redirect me in my clicking, sending me to various pages about a certain well-known condition resulting from this apparently common vitamin deficiency. So, boys and girls, who knows what causes Vitamin D deficiency?

The answer we’re looking for is “lack of sunlight”. How amusing. Vitamin D is, of course, only produced when skin is exposed to the sun. This is obviously a little tricky when you haven’t glimpsed the sun for several weeks. So your body stops producing Vitamin D, your bones weaken, and you get rickets. Isn’t that nice? Or, more commonly, you manage to get a tiny amount of Vitamin D from things like fish and dairy products, and take the highest recommended “safe” dose of supplements, and you avoid rickets… you just suffer from SAD instead.

The irony is not lost on me. Girl who hates bright sunshine and hot weather, loves cold, dark days, and scoffs at sufferers of SAD, finds self suffering from same. I didn’t want it to be true, and so it was with increasing despondence that I read the list of symptoms:

  • fatigue
  • difficulty concentrating
  • weight gain
  • avoidance of social situations
  • body aches, often for no apparent reason
  • feeling excessively tired
  • feelings of hopelessness
  • increased, excessive sleep
  • loss of interest in activities that were once enjoyed
  • lack of energy

Woe and despair: I am allergic to my preferred weather type.

Relieved as I am to find that there’s a reason for all this, and I’m not simply going round the bend as previously feared, I’m also somewhat disconsolate to read that in order to get the required amount of Vitamin D to avoid this unhappy condition, you’d have to drink 40 glasses of milk per day. And that can’t be good for you. It seems that there’s no way to do it other than fooling your body into thinking it’s sunny – and for this, there exist many ludicrously-priced “light therapy” lamps. A bit of research around this has shown me that (a) half the population of Estonia has SAD, (b) as a result there are specialist light therapy shops all over the place, and (c) those crafty sods must be filthy rich.

Well, I’m off to stare at the little blinky light on the dishwasher. It brings me comfort and carefully measured happiness at regular two-second intervals.

“!”

I’m not normally the sort of girl who finds herself stuck for words.

However, as I clung to a lamppost this afternoon while the wind howled around me in an effort to fling me into the middle of the road, with my feet sliding about underneath me and the blizzard stinging my face and making it difficult to breathe, I must confess that words did not come easily.

dsc01950

“Hhhhhh…. gaaaaaa….. uggggggg….” I spluttered eventually, letting go of the lamppost and allowing the snowstorm to hurl me effortlessly across the road, where I came to rest in a large snow drift. Riho gazed mournfully at me from the other side of the shopping centre’s glass door as I fought in vain against the driving snow that refused to let me climb the three steps to the safe haven of Indoors. “I told you so,” he mouthed through the glass, looking glum and slightly shell-shocked, having abandoned me some time earlier as I struggled to cross a road. It is every man for himself in these conditions, and I am not entirely convinced that I’m even vaguely likely to survive, to be honest with you.

I’m still excited about the opportunity to experience new and different things, don’t get me wrong. I still love snow, and winter, and all that sort of stuff. It’s just that, until today, I don’t think I really had any idea exactly how new and different the Estonian winter would be to me, despite Riho’s grim warnings.

I can’t quite describe how utterly wild it is out there today. If I had a small child, I would be seriously hopeful fearful that it would blow away; as it is, I did become a little panicky when the wind swept me along and I simply skated, powerless to stop or change direction, and unable to even see where I was going because of the blizzard. It has not stopped snowing all day, and it is not just “snowing”, either – snow is coming down from the sky in torrents, sweeping across the land in sheets, being whipped from the ground and tossed upwards, whirling around in the air and piling into huge drifts. It is snowing vertically, diagonally, horizontally, up, down, across and around. It would be like a snow globe, if the snow globe was being shaken vigorously by a child in a temper tantrum, who had the energy to keep up the shaking without a break for over 24 hours.

The snow hits you in the face with a ferocity for which I was completly unprepared, stinging your skin so sharply that tears stream down your cheeks, and making you involuntarily splutter things like “Hhhhhh…. gaaaaaa….. uggggggg….”. It is impossible to complete a word, because the iciness of the wind both snatches away the sounds from your lips and makes breathing so seriously problematic that it requires all of your concentration.

So, it seems that winter is going to be an interesting experience.

One additional small concern is that the temperature today was something like -3°C. And I don’t want to sound like a wuss or anything, here, but… well… if that’s what -3° feels like, what does -25° feel like?!

Gulp.

I can’t knit waterproof boots

I’ve been delighted with the response to my Silly Hat Shop.

If you’ve ordered one, it should be winging its way to you round about now: wear it with pride, and perhaps send me a photo of you wearing it so that I can use it for advertising purposes. Maybe with a statement of endorsement such as “My Silly Hat keeps my head so warm and cosy, and everyone stares at me when I go out wearing it!” or “My Silly Hat is so great that I ordered another one just in case someone steals it!”.

On average, people have been generously paying about 20 quid per hat, meaning I make around a tenner for each one and also that I now have a rough idea of the sort of price tag I can attach to the Silly Hats (still cheaper than in the touristy shops!) when knitting and selling them becomes my full time job. It also means that I have been able to purchase a winter coat: hurrah! Many thanks to my group of Silly Hat owners for making it possible for me to survive winter.

The coat did have to come from a second hand shop, because coats here are – in contrast to just about everything else – incredibly expensive. This is presumably because anyone who is buying a coat in the Baltics in winter is not going to be satisfied with a trendy, sparkly, casual jacket, but will instead be looking for the type of garment that makes you sweat bucketloads and adds about 20lbs to your appearance. I now own such a coat, albeit with a few scuffed bits. I am going to be nice and toasty throughout winter, with my charity shop coat, my self-made Silly Hat, and my slightly dubious scarf purchased for approximately €1 at the market.

The blanket of snow on the ground this morning, however, presented me with a new problem. I own two pairs of shoes: one pair of open-toed walking sandal things (which I think we can safely say are now in their hibernation period), and one pair of light trainers with canvassy bits at the sides to let the air in. Unfortunately, I fear that these useful canvassy bits will also be prone to letting snow in, which isn’t quite so helpful. What to do, what to do? I can – and indeed, I plan to – knit a pair of snuggly slipper-socks to wear around the apartment. But as advanced as my knitting skills have now become, even I can’t knit waterproof boots.

Let it snowAnd as excited as I am to see my weather widget’s predictions for the week ahead, it really does present me with some difficulties re: footwear. I am about to go outside to run a few errands and visit the snow-covered Old Town for the first time, wrapped up warmly, with my feet squelching soggily in my summer trainers. Maybe I should just wear the sandals, since the wetness of the feet is inevitable and the sandals will dry out much more quickly.

Quickly – someone think of something else I can sell online, so that I can afford a pair of boots….

Pauliine the café tram

It’s starting to get pretty cold here.

It’s nice – I prefer cold weather to the scary, baking temperatures I suffered through in Lyon this summer – but I really must get a coat soon, you know. It’s all very well having a scarf and a Silly Hat, but light summer jackets just aren’t going to be enough in a few weeks from now.

As I walked back from the supermarket tonight, rosy-cheeked from the cold air, I played my favourite game of pretending to be smoking a cigarette by bringing my hand to my mouth at intervals and then exhaling slowly, watching my breath form white clouds in front of me. It is not much of a game, I’ll agree, but it’s the sort of thing that gives a nicotine-deprived ex-smoker a very small feeling of pleasure with the memory. On a scale of one to ten, in terms of the satisfaction brought about by this activity, I’d say it was a three. No, a two. A three would be if I also had an unlit cigarette in my hand, just to aid the illusion/delusion.

Anyway, as I was walking along briskly, shivering underneath my light summer jacket and pulling my Silly Hat as far down around my ears as I could, I glanced casually at an approaching tram Then I had to stop and do a double take, for this was no ordinary tram, boys and girls! My first clue was the fact that all the windows had neat little curtains at them – sort of like the kind you’d get in a coach, only bigger, and tied back neatly and prettily. Confused, I stared at it. Trams do not normally have curtained windows. Then I realised that instead of the usual rows of seats with an aisle down the middle, there were large gaps in between the seats. A closer look as it rumbled past me revealed that this was due to the presence of tables. Tables! And then, as it passed under a streetlight, I saw the writing on the side of the tram: Kohvik-Tramm.

It is a café. On a tram. It is a tram that is a café. I cannot express how happy such a concept makes me. I looked enviously at all the people on the tram, sitting at the cosily-lit tables, drinking coffee and just trundling around Tallinn, watching the city all lit up at night. And there was me walking home in the cold like a sucker.

Excitedly, I raced home to google the kohvik-tramm. I am sad to report that it doesn’t seem to work like a normal café, in that you don’t appear to be able to just get on at any stop, have a coffee, and get off again when you feel like it. I suppose that would be unprofitable. Apparently, the kohvik-tramm is something of a celebrity in Tallinn, and has been for many years. Her name is Pauliine. Pauliine the café tram. And you can hire her out for an hour with a group of your friends for a silly amount of money, if I have deduced this information correctly from the Estonian-only articles on the subject.

Still. A café tram. Called Pauliine. Gotta love it.

Knit-picking

The search for fluffy winterwear has been ongoing since I last blogged about it. I think it’s become an obsession, actually, but at least it’s an entertaining obsession. I can’t walk down the street without looking interestedly at everyone I pass, taking in their hats, scarves, gloves, fluffy-hooded coats and so on; traditional Estonian knitwear shops have become my favourite haunts.

Yet despite all this, I am still seriously lacking in the winter clothing department. I do have a nice fluffy scarf and an even nicer fluffy hat. I do not, however, have gloves, jumpers, a coat, or (most importantly) a Silly Hat. And being a girl of strange priorities, it is the latter that most concerns me. I cannot find the right Silly Hat anywhere. To be slightly more accurate, I cannot find the right Silly Hat anywhere that will charge less than twenty quid for it, and I am not the sort of person who is going to pay twenty quid for a hat, silly or otherwise.

And so Plan B has come into operation. If you can’t buy it… knit it. Excitedly, I ventured into a craft shop and browsed through the overwhelmingly large selection of wool, eventually choosing a fluffy black one with bright neon colours through it, and picked out some needles. And not only have I been knitting, I have been circular knitting! (I can’t help but feel that I’m several large steps closer to being Crazy Cat Lady now.) It shall be decorated with mad tassels and pompoms and the like. Hooray! It’s all gone surprisingly well, until the present moment, when I am having to take a break from the joining/casting-off three-needle bind-off process before I lose my temper altogether and rip the entire thing to shreds. I mean, honestly. The pattern (yes, I also googled “free online knitting patterns” – I’m getting a rocking chair soon, too) said “Easy Funky Hat!”, and it lied. Either that, or I am not a natural knitter.

There’s got to be an easier way, I moaned sorrowfully as I wrestled with a stitch that was stubbornly refusing to be pulled over another stitch. Like… buying a hat. Riho glanced at me, or rather at what was visible of me underneath a large and frightening tangle of multicoloured wool. Ah, he said cheerfully, but then you wouldn’t have all the fun of making it! He is fortunate to have escaped without some sort of puncture wound.

Anyway, assuming I actually get it finished, it seems that I have quite a bit of wool left over, so my next project will be a pair of mittens to match my hat. A spot of research into mitten patterns online has indicated that these are approximately a squillion times more difficult and confusing than the hat, which didn’t look the slightest bit difficult or confusing when I first read the pattern (and given that the part that has caused me so much anguish came from one simple sentence beginning “To finish, all I did was…”, I can’t help but feel slightly duped). Still. They’re only small, right? How hard can it be?

And just to finish with an amusing observation, I was delighted to see a knitting pattern for the Lovers’ Mitten. This is one large mitten with two cuffs, so that each “lover” can put a hand in, and then they can hold hands “whilst walking in cold weather”.

They really do think of everything, these days.

Silly Hats

I went to the Russian market today, in search of some cheap winter clothing.

It was foolish of me to leave home with only summer clothes simply because of the fact that it was nearly summer then and warm clothes were (a) unnecessary and (b) too bulky to pack. I can’t fathom why it didn’t occur to me that it would be winter at some point, and that the strappy tops and light jackets would be of no use whatsoever in the prevention of frostbite, hypothermia and so on.

Fortunately I am residing in a country where winter is Very Cold Indeed, which means that the choice of winter attire is vast and varied. Fluffy things are particularly popular: coats with fluffly hoods, fluffy scarves, fluff-lined boots, that sort of thing. This pleases me. There should be more fluffy clothing in the world, I feel. However, choosing the appropriate winter accessories is proving to be a long and intensive task for me – partly because of my limited funds, but also because I want to try the sorts of things that I would never have the opportunity to wear in normal (i.e. non costume party) circumstances.

Estonian people like to wear hats. Incredibly silly hats. And the sillier the hat, the more serious the expression of the Estonian underneath it. Which somehow makes it even sillier. It’s wonderful, actually. They start them off at a young age, too. The schoolchildren don’t wear uniforms, as far as I can tell – they wear hats. A different hat for each school, and oh, what a wonderful variety of hats! Peaked caps, coloured hats, jaunty berets, you name it and they’ve put it on a kid’s head. Despite my firm Anti-Child stance, I have to confess that I think it’s dead cute to see all the primary school children skipping down the streets wearing their quaint little hats.

I want a silly hat. A hat of some description is probably going to be a necessity in the winter here, so it might as well be a silly one, don’t you think? And yet a search of the Russian market today did not lead me to the perfect silly hat. I saw a nice fluffy one, but it didn’t have any horns or ear flaps or tassels or pompoms or pigtails or anything even remotely silly, so in the end I decided to leave it and purchased a nice fluffy scarf instead. Be warned, though. The day is fast approaching when a picture of me in a perfectly silly hat is going to appear on this page.

I can’t wait.

Dark times

Last night, feeling a bit restless from having been cooped up indoors for most of the day, Riho and I went for a spur-of-the-moment walk around the local area.

Tallinn by night is something of a new experience for me, given that when I was here in the summer I very rarely saw any hint of darkness. This is, however, a country of extremes, and the sillily long days are rapidly being eaten up by increasing periods of darkness. Gone are the midnight sunsets and 3am sunrises; when I got here last week it was already getting dark by 8pm, and now darkness only waits until late afternoon before going about its work. It doesn’t bother me – after spending my very first summer outside the UK, I’ve had my fill of long, hot, sunny days. I’m from Northern Ireland: there’s only so much bright light and warmth I can take before my brain explodes and my body melts in protest. I’m loving the cooler weather and dark evenings, and am suddenly feeling enthusiastic about the idea of spending winter in the Baltics. I mean, having just experienced the hottest summer of my life, it’s fitting that I now go for the coldest winter, too. More on that later, once I get photos of the Estonian winterwear that I intend to kit myself out in. It’s the first time I’ve ever been excited about fashion! If you can call funny hats and furry boots “fashion”…

Anyway, for now it’s just refreshingly cool – perfect for an evening stroll. We headed off through a residential area rather than taking the more familiar route through the Old Town, and I have to say that all the little wood-panelled houses look even more sweet and endearing at night, in the glow of the streetlights. It really is like walking through a fairytale sometimes.

The fairytale became more like a scary story when Riho had the bright idea of getting home by following the old disused railway track. I don’t mean by walking along beside it, on a brightly lit path, oh no. This railway track stretched off into the distance, crossing the road we were on and plunging into unknown territory of broken sleepers, rubble and long grass. We had to walk on the track itself, which gave me another of my Famous Five moments. I had just finished explaining to Riho about the one where they followed a railway track in the middle of nowhere (and then it broke off and they got lost and captured by a group of Bad Men), when I realised that we’d completely left the lights of civilisation behind and were now in near darkness, with only the faint lights from the harbour to guide us. Faint light is worse than no light, because faint light means scary shadows. And scary shadows play tricks with your mind, especially when the wind is making noises and the trees are rustling and you’ve just finished talking about Bad Men lurking at the side of an abandoned railway track much the same as the one you’re currently stumbling along.

Riho lamented my overactive imagination as I became more and more convinced that we were going to die at the hands of smugglers or be run over by a ghost train. I jumped nervously at every cracking twig or moving shadow, and Riho showed his sympathy for my nervous condition by yelling “what’s that?” at regular intervals and doing the age-old reaching around and tapping me on the shoulder furthest from him manoeuvre. When a small heap of rubble shifted beneath my feet and made a sudden noise, I jumped so violently that my instinctive grab for safety and reassurance almost dislocated his thumb (this did not go down very well with Riho, who did a whole big song and dance about his injured thumb as if I hadn’t just almost been killed), and by the time I inadvertently stood on something soft and apparently moving, my nerves gave up altogether. I screamed rather loudly, and shot along the track at a greatly increased speed. I have no idea what it was. Possibly a victim of the Bad Men. Or a large, poisonous rat. So much for a relaxing walk – I could’ve cried when I finally saw the main road in sight.

Darkness is all very well, but I much prefer seeing it by streetlight.

Tallinn: beachin’!

I really am beginning to feel that Tallinn has everything.

Go to the Old Town and you can experience the whimsical delights of a place that is steeped in history, culture and architectural beauty. Into the city itself, and you’ve got a contemporary, bustling, busy, fast-paced lifestyle that instantly hooks you and drags you in. Wander into an area of parkland and you could be miles out into the countryside, enjoying peace, quiet, and soothing scenery. Or take a 20-minute bus journey and you’ll find yourself on the beach at Pirita, which, to be perfectly honest, might as well be a sun-drenched holiday hotspot on a Greek island. It is, in a word, beautiful.

I’m really only acquainted with beaches of the Northern Irish variety. I’m a big fan of the Northern Irish coast, as you know – I’ve spent many a happy day on the Strand at Portrush, wandering along the seafront in Newcastle, clambering over rocks at the Causeway, and body-boarding/dodging glaciers at Benone.

The Estonian beach experience is a little different, however. For a start, you don’t have to bother about bringing your own entertainment. Pirita’s beach is set out like a play park for all the family. There are swings and see-saws, exercise bars, climbing frames and volleyball nets. For refreshments, there’s a bar. There’s internet access (or so I imagine, as there’s internet access everywhere here, and I saw some boys using laptops on the beach). There are even little cubicles dotted around for the benefit of those who are self-conscious about changing in public.

Incidentally, these cubicles are unnecessary further along the beach, where, if you were taking a leisurely stroll along the sand, you might suddenly notice an absence of clothing on the sunbathers around you. As you aren’t yet fluent in Estonian, you were unable to read the sign that presumably announced the start of the nudist section. It is difficult to know where to look in this sort of situation. Stare pointedly at the sea, or your feet, and it becomes obvious that you are uncomfortable with nudity. Not cool. Very British. However, gaze freely around, and there’s every chance you could find yourself gawking uncontrollably at sights you’re really not used to seeing. Equally not cool. Very pervy.

And of course, your other option is to take the if you can’t beat them, join them approach, especially if you’ve spent the duration of the walk wishing you’d brought your swimwear so that you could have a dip. What would be to stop you glancing around, realising that nobody cares what anyone else looks like, remembering that nobody knows you, and, in a moment of liberating recklessness, stripping off and running gleefully into the sea? Not that a timid, prudish, shy and self-conscious Ballymena girl would ever do such a thing, of course, unless a few weeks in a vastly different culture had completely altered her attitude to life. I imagine that skinny-dipping in the Baltic Sea would be something of a shock to the system, anyway, most likely leaving you shivering and gasping for breath.

Plus it would take at least half an hour to warm up and dry off in the sunshine afterwards, particularly when you realise that you have no towel…

CNS

It baffles me that the nose is somehow able to achieve a temperature of at least 10 degrees lower than any other body part.

I have always suffered from Cold Nose Syndrome. When I’m outside in the winter, I’m not generally a shivery sort of person. I remain fairly toasty in my coat, my cheeks are flushed, my feet are warm… but my nose is practically frostbitten.

The problem is made worse by the fact that I am a glasses-wearer. Scarf manufacturers clearly did not foresee the difficulties faced by the glasses-wearers of this world; it is a physical impossibility to pull a scarf over your cold nose without your breath coming back at you and steaming up your lenses.

In light of recent heating-related events, I am struggling womanfully with my Cold Nose Syndrome. Lying in bed last night with a duvet, a dressing gown, a blanket, a large Eeyore and a cat, I realised that a cold bedroom was really not a big problem as long as I had all the necessary layers/furry animals. Apart from the nose issue, that is.

The only way around it is to put your head under the covers. Then, you might well suffocate and die, but at least your nose is warm. And so it was that I spent most of last night either gasping for breath with my face covered by a blanket, or breathing normally with a painfully cold nose.

C’est la vie.

From the Igloo

So the central heating has died. Kicked the bucket, breathed its last, given up the ghost, had it, popped its clogs, ceased to be: stopped. I add these words and phrases not for your entertainment, but to emphasise the grim finality of the situation with which I find myself encumbered. Basically, it is cold at Hails’ House.

The Landlord called round while I was at work and left the following note:

image114.jpg

It seems fairly detailed, but in essence all he said was silly woman, you don’t have enough oil.

Flashback to Saturday night, when the heating stopped working and I realised that someone had stolen my carefully rationed oil. After much why me?ing and driving around the garages of Ballymena, I obtained an emergency 20 litre drum of oil, clambered on top of the oil tank, permanently damaged my back by hauling the drum up with me, and emptied some of the oil into the tank (and the rest of it down the sides and around myself. I was actually a highly flammable substance last weekend). Exhausted, I crawled back into the house, switched on the heating, and – hooray! – it worked. I then got 300 litres (the minimum they’d supply and the maximum I could afford) put in on Monday morning. All was well, and I had also proved that I am not a helpless, clueless woman who can’t solve practical problems.

So, to rejoin our initial tale, the heating has died. Just stopped altogether last night. The Landlord says the boiler is fine and it’s perfectly simple: put more oil in. Kind of makes my £127 from Monday a bit redundant, I feel. Anyway, He Who Brings The Coffee (either taking pity on me or unable to bear any more of my Why me?ing) came round tonight, having declared The Landlord to be a ‘dipstick’ (Topical Insults R Us) for saying 300 litres makes no difference. He clattered about with spanners and torches and things for a while before announcing that:

(a) there is plenty of oil,

(b) the boiler is ‘dead as a dodo’, and

(c) he was going home to the heat.

And so another cold night is in store for Hails, Sister and Kat. He Who Brings The Coffee is directing me to his Boiler Man in the morning, and I can only hope and pray that said Boiler Man does not give me a £200 bill for telling me that I don’t have enough oil.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.