I’ll be getting my “I heart Tallinn” badge any day now…

Posted on October 12, 2008 by Hails

I’ve said this sort of thing before, you know, but Tallinn is So Damn Cool.

Today Riho and I joined the hatted and mittened Tallinners out for a Sunday afternoon stroll, crunching through piles of yellow, orange and red leaves and taking in the sights in another nearby area, Kopli. It’s a… how shall I say… less prosperous area. Reminded me quite a bit of the place where I lived in Glasgow, only with imposing Soviet architecture instead of tenement flats and, interestingly, some sort of shandy drink instead of Buckfast. It was amusing, actually – every dubious-looking youth or scruffy old man we passed was carrying a brown, plastic 2 litre bottle in a most protective manner. A search of a local shop was no help in identifying the liquid itself, as the labels were in Russian. Some things are probably best left unknown – which is also how I felt about the ominous yellow tape that cordoned off a small patch of grass, with the words “ACID HAZARD DANGER” emblazoned quite worryingly across it.

We were a little surprised to see a hotel in the midst of it all, to be honest. I mean, it’s a residential area, populated mainly by working-class Russians; it’s slightly run-down, and not at all central. Why on earth would anyone come to stay here?! I asked in wonder. Maybe they just sell it as being close to the beach, suggested Riho -  and indeed, a few moments later, there was Stroomi Beach. It was no Pirita, but it was lovely all the same, with a pleasant little walkway alongside the shore, a beach house cafe, and plenty of sporting facilities and the like.

What makes it worthy of being in the So Damn Cool category? The part that at first looks like a children’s playground, but that on closer inspection turns out to be an outdoor gym, that’s what. It’s an ordinary, sandy-floored enclosure off the main path, with lots of brightly coloured contraptions. Only when you look more closely do you realise that instead of swings, seesaws and climbing frames, the contraptions are actually basic, simplified versions of gym equipment that you’d normally be charged a fortune to use. I went on every single thing, just because I could, and my limbs are now aching. But I was interested to note that the “gym” appears to be regularly used – several health-conscious individuals arrived by bike to work out whilst I was there.

Two points: firstly, what a great idea! Free gym equipment for everyone to make use of any time they feel like it. And not in a warm, sweaty, claustraphopic gym environment, either, but by the seaside, in the fresh air! It’d almost make you want to start exercising. But secondly, I just love that that sort of thing can exist here. You couldn’t have had that in any of the areas I’ve lived in before – vandals would’ve wrecked it in a matter of hours. In the last place I lived (housing estate in Ballymena), there were several attempts to provide a playground for the local kids. It was pointless – every time, it was completely destroyed by the next day, by thugs who seem to dislike shiny new things. If you wanted sporting facilities or playparks or anything of the sort, you had to surround them with high walls and fences, charge an entrance fee, and close them at night.

Yet here there are free parks, basketball courts, games areas, and apparently free outdoor gym sets, all completely unattended and also completely unharmed. No matter how run-down an area in Estonia might be, it never feels as if the residents have some kind of hatred of the place. They keep it clean and tidy. Sure, there’s graffiti, but it’s generally hilarious rather than offensive and pointlessly destructive… and more to the point, when they get something nice, they keep it nice. They look after it – they don’t go out of their way to destroy anything. Why would you, if you have to live there – isn’t it much better to be surrounded by nice things than by destruction?

It’s so, so nice to be asking that question in a tone other than one of despair and sadness…

Filed under: Ballymena, community, contemplation, Estonia, exercise, park, simplicity, walking | Leave a Comment »

Ma õpin eesti keelt

Posted on October 5, 2008 by Hails

Having made the decision to stay in Estonia for  while, the time has come for me to learn the language for real. The CD thing was – let’s be honest – a complete disaster, as it taught me random words that were of absolutely no use whatsoever when it came to trying to get by in real life. And so, after some searching online (do you realise how few teaching/learning aids there are for the Estonian language? Funny, that. It’s not like it’s ridiculously, ludicrously, impossibly difficult to pick up or anything), I found a recommended textbook with lessons and practice exercises. It’s like being at school again, only this time I’m conjugating verbs of my own free will, and not because Le Prof will make me write them out fifty times if I don’t.

Riho is giving it a go too, although his version of learning seems to involve complaining that it doesn’t make sense and then suggesting that I just teach him as well as myself. So far I have refused on the grounds that we would undoubtedly kill each other if I attempted such a thing. I am, however, fairly impressed that after just two days of fairly intensive study, I have a much better grasp of how the language works than I did after two whole months of trying to pick it up in a more casual, haphazard way. I can write sentences and everything! I exclaimed in some surprise as I finished today’s grammar exercises. Riho just muttered something from behind his computer screen. Apparently not everyone learns in the same way; Riho’s problem, sadly, is that he doesn’t actually know what his “way” might be.

It was decided that we would unwind and destress by going for another brisk evening walk – this time, however, we went through the Old Town. Partly to avoid the sheer terror that comes with walking at night in an unlit area, but also in the hope of seeing posters and signs in Estonian and attempting to identify the verbs. Look, I never said we were cool people.

Sina oled siin! said Riho enthusiastically, pointing at the map on the first sign we encountered. You… are… here! we chanted like schoolchildren. It was happening. We were applying our newfound skills to Real Life. Hurrah! Of course, we both knew that we were there before we read the sign, but what if we hadn’t? That could’ve been a real lifesaver, and one that would not have been available to us had we not learned how to conjugate the verb to be. I’m telling you. Practical advantages all over the place.

My proudest moment, however, came when I stopped to study a homemade, text-filled poster. Not only was it possible to identify the verbs, but I even knew what most of them meant! We spent about ten minutes standing there in the bitterly cold wind, staring intently at this poster on the wall as others hurried past and turned their heads to see what was so fascinating about it. My excitement at being able to form a loose translation of every single sentence was perhaps a little over the top, but honestly – you’ve no idea how utterly bizarre and alien this language has seemed to me since I first encountered it. It’s genuinely amazing when the words all start to mean something, right in front of my very eyes, rather than just being incomprehensible gibberish.

Plus, if I end up actually finding the lost dog and claiming the reward, Estonian will be well on its way to being the most lucrative language I have ever studied…

Filed under: conversations, decisions, Estonia, exercise, foreign languages, fun, nerdiness | 5 Comments »

“But I wore the juice!”

Posted on September 29, 2008 by Hails

I got you something to fix your brain, said Riho, a genuinely helpful and sincere expression on his face.

Unaware that my brain was in fact broken, I accepted his gift with some surprise. It was a book of puzzles intended to develop logical thinking, and he presented it to me with a pleased smile, telling me it’s like exercise for the brain. Lesser people would almost certainly take offence at this sort of thing, you know.

So, apparently I am not prone to regular bouts of logic, and this has been on Riho’s much too active mind in my absence. I can imagine his distress as he pondered the problem, and his relief when (in a fittingly logical manner) he found a solution. Just start at the beginning of the book, he told me encouragingly, and as you get the hang of it, and they get more and more difficult, you will train your brain to actually use logic!

Good grief.

Not one to be ungrateful for a present, I settled down to attempt the puzzles. What a nightmare. I think that when they were handing out logic I probably got lost on the way to claim mine, being unable to follow my map. The book is full of those puzzles with grids, where you’re given a handful of clues like the oblong box was made two days before the yellow box, which was not circular or decorated with glitter, and some time after the square orange box which was decorated with either sequins or stars, and you have to work out all the information about each item through a series of wild guesses by employing logical thinking.

Poor Riho. I could see his face crumpling as he realised that the situation (or my brain) was much, much worse than he first suspected. He let me wrestle hopelessly with the first (i.e. “easiest”) puzzle for as long as he could endure the wailing and groaning and hitting things as I exclaimed This is Just Not Possible! in an increasingly high-pitched voice. To his credit, he remained calm, taking the book and pen from my clenched fists and attempting to talk me through it. Three hours and several arguments later, the first puzzle was complete, I had a pounding headache, and Riho looked bewildered and decidedly disturbed.

Is it just me? Does this “logical thinking” stuff come naturally to most people? Are other people more resistant to being wound up than I am because this unknown thing called logic steps in and tells them “you know what, think about this – can it really be true?”?

At one point in my life, I believed that chicken fillets came from pigeons. Now, to be fair, I was very young at the time and, having just discovered that meat came from birds and animals, had gotten into the habit of asking “and what animal does this come from?” as I ate my dinner. Having dutifully answered my sausage, bacon and minced beef queries on successive evenings, Dad seemed to have run out of patience by the time I tucked into my chicken dinner. He looked seriously at me, perhaps exasperated at my lack of basic logic even as an infant, and said “pigeon”. My horror earned him a stern glare from Mum, and he hastily assured me that he was joking, trying to explain why it should have been obvious to me that chicken did not come from pigeon, but the damage was done. I was incredibly suspicious of chicken for quite some time.

You think I’m joking, don’t you? You haven’t even heard any of my driving lesson stories. Consider the following exchange between myself and my unfortunate driving instructor friend, which occurred when practising in an unfamiliar area shortly before I attempted my test for the third time:

Him: Take the next right.
Me: How?!
Him: What do you mean, “how”?! Turn right!
Me: But there’s too many lanes!! Which one am I meant to be in?
Him: To turn right?! This has been the longest 6 months of my life.
Me: Shut up, shut up, shut up, where am I going, help me!!!!
Him: Get into the right-hand lane. I mean, honestly. There is no hope. We might as well just buy you a bus pass and – WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!!!!!!!
Me: (scared by sudden yell) Turning right! You told me to turn right!
Him: (diving over and grabbing steering wheel in panic) Not on to the bloody railway track!!!
Me: (also panicking) I wasn’t going on to the railway track, I was turning on to that road, there!
Him: Oh, the one marked “No entry – one way”?
Me: Err… yes.
.
I shall persevere with my puzzles, but I don’t feel as if there’s much hope.

Filed under: confusion, conversations, exercise, logic, mental health, pain | 4 Comments »

Post-Girl Hails, Post-Girl Hails, Post-Girl Hails and her black and white Kat…

Posted on August 30, 2007 by Hails

This week, I have been mostly delivering leaflets.

I volunteered to distribute the 4000 or so direct mailers for our upcoming sale at work, thinking it would get me away from the desk and give me some breathing space, exercise and time to think. Three days and 1500 leaflets later, I weigh much less, have decidedly sore feet, and feel a little differently about dogs than I used to.

I have learned a great deal, so far. For example, there are some houses in Ballymena which have driveways longer than my actual housing estate. (Well, no – that may be a slight exaggeration. But it certainly feels that long when you’re trekking along the 6th one in a row, usually uphill, with a bag of mailers over your shoulder.) Also, certain types of letterbox are unspeakably difficult to open, and can seriously damage your health, or at least the health of your fingers. And finally, there are some very intelligent dogs in the world. (This is setting aside for now the not-so-intelligent ones that assumed, without even giving me half a chance, that I was a burglar, and hence tried to maul me, eat me, bite my hand off, jump on me, deafen me, scare me, intimidate me and/or kill me.) In no less than six houses, I was greatly entertained and surprised by a small but efficient dog waiting patiently on the other side of the door for me to push the leaflet through. I got it halfway in when the clever wee thing jumped up, took it gently between its teeth, pulled it all the way through, and trotted off through the house to deliver it to its owner. “Well, isn’t that something?” I found myself murmuring in delight (after initially pulling my hand away with a panicky “Oh, crap!”, thinking I was under attack again). Well done, intelligent dogs of Ballymena. I salute you.

Also, saw this sign in someone’s garden. I liked it.

I’d get one myself, but the only wild flowers I know how to grow successfully are weeds.

Filed under: Ballymena, exercise, Fear, marketing, pain, walking | 2 Comments »

Everybody Hurts Sometimes

Posted on July 16, 2007 by Hails

“Let’s go and find the caves!”

Dirk is being enthusiastic again.

Our day of tourism has brought us to Cavehill, where Dirk, for some reason, suspects there may be caves. He asks a hardy-looking runner about this possibilty as we saunter from the carpark, and I am alarmed when I see the guy pointing upwards and hear him using words like “four and a half miles” (upwards!!), “an hour”, and “climb”. “Follow the green trail!” he calls over his shoulder as he takes off running like some sort of mountain goat, skipping nimbly over rocks, puddles, large boulders etc.

My comrades start off on the green trail, which looks a little like a ladder ascending into the clouds, only with no rungs, and a lot of rocks and mud. I gaze wistfully at the blue trail, which goes downhill, and the black trail, which is fairly horizontal, as trails go.

Approximately 30 seconds later, I reach a flat bit, gasping for breath. Jay admits that his calf muscles are burning. I, however, am unable to localise the pain. Suffice to say it all hurts. Calf muscles, knees, lungs, the whole bodily shebang. “It’s good for you!” says E1 cheerfully, striding ahead.

I am sure she is right. I am just not sure how.

15 minutes later we meet the Hardy Runner, running hardily upwards, having already done a short warm-up lap of County Antrim. “You’re going the right way!”, he calls encouragingly, leaping and running and skipping past us at 70m.p.h. “It’s straight on up,” he adds helpfully, as he zooms into the clouds like the Roadrunner on Red Bull. It would be wrong for me to scream obscenities at him. It would also be impossible, as I can no longer breathe or speak.

30 minutes later we meet the Hardy Runner, running hardily downwards. It’s like Groundhog Day, only with a lycra-clad Hardy Runner. “You’re nearly there!” he re-encourages us. He is cool and refreshed, and sounds like he has been lying in a hammock drinking Pimms and reading the sports pages all afternoon. I wipe the sweat out of my eyes and continue resignedly upwards.

“A cave! A cave!”

Dirk has found a cave. He runs to explore it. I collapse on the grass, fighting off death. The worst is over. There is no more up. The only way is down, and in this particular situation, that is a Very Good Thing.

Down proves to be quite difficult. Less painful, less sweat-inducing, but difficult. I stumble, I slide, I panic occasionally – but I make it. I have succeeded!! I have climbed to dizzying heights; I have pushed my leg muscles to the limit; I have lost 4 pints of fluids through my pores; I have climbed, rambled, walked, descended, balanced and, most importantly, not died. I grin triumphantly as we stroll along the easy, flat path to the carpark.

I fall over my own foot.

I sprain my ankle.

I give up.

Filed under: Belfast, Cavehill, caves, exercise, friends, pain, tourists, walking | 3 Comments »

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