When your friends pull you down

Posted on November 27, 2008 by Hails

It is nice to be snuggled up indoors, looking out at the snow, which is actually very lovely and sparkly and pretty when you’re not trying to wade through it.

I have just spent an enjoyable half hour watching a guy in an internet company van trying to drive out of the car park at the back of our apartment. I feel a little bit mean about this, as I would have been traumatised if such a thing happened to me in Rio the Clio, but it’s not like I would have been any use to him if I’d gone out to lend a hand. Then it would just have been me openly watching him in amusement as opposed to me watching him, unseen, from a seventh floor window.

Internet Guy made the unfortunate error of driving up the ramp to the top level of the car park. The one that’s uncovered and exposed to the elements. The one where the blizzard raged wildy for several days and buried the car mentioned in yesterday’s post. The one, in fact, that is actually waist-deep in snow at the corners, where the snow has drifted and settled in for the long haul. Poor Internet Guy.

He didn’t even make it to the top of the ramp before his front wheels became wedged in a pile of snow and started spinning wildly. Internet Guy made a concentated effort to advance, but the wheels continued to spin and the van pushed in vain against a solid white barrier, so he paused and thought for a moment before putting the van into reverse. He was not going down without a fight. In fact, he was not going anywhere, because he’d now dug the entire front half of the van into a rather deep hole, and so trying to go back was no longer an option either.

Internet Guy emerged sulkily from the van, immediately sinking into the mountain of slush that his revving had helped to create. You could almost hear the sighing from up here. With admirable calm and patience, he worked his way around the van, kicking away the snow as best he could, before getting back into the driver’s seat and having another shot at reversing.

Wheeeee! It was like the snow was gleefully rejoicing in its triumph as it immediately piled up around its captive’s wheels once more. Internet Guy made an exasperated phone call.

Five minutes later, a loyal friend arrived with a shovel. Much walking around, digging, and scratching of heads was performed as the two attempted to free the trapped van and eventually saw their efforts rewarded by more frantic wheel-spinning and snow-spraying. Loyal Friend appeared to give up and walk away, but reappeared in his own car at the bottom of the ramp. Ropes were attached; expressions were grim. Apart from mine, and Riho’s, which were more of the disbelieving variety. I have never before seen a vehicle being towed down a parking lot ramp and around the corner. I wouldn’t actually have thought such a thing was even possible, but you know what? Turns out, it is.

dsc01975“He’s free!” I exclaimed joyfully, as Internet Guy removed the rope from his van and drove off somewhat apprehensively towards a “down” ramp, having apparently decided against “up” for the time being. And so, my friends, you now know that if you ever get stuck on a ramp in a car park, you just need to get a loyal friend to tow you back down.

I really need to get out more, but it’s quite entertaining to watch exciting rescue operations taking place right outside your window. Plus it’s much warmer this way.

Filed under: Mishaps, rescue, snow | 2 Comments »

Birdwatching

Posted on August 1, 2008 by Hails

And don’t let that bloody bird bite you! warned House Owner as the family left for its holidays yesterday.

She’d been quite adamant about the parrot and its general hatred of humankind. There’s not a chance of me trying to befriend the thing now, animal lover or not. No, House Owners have shown me how to feed it by taking its dish out of a side bit of the cage – sort of like how you’d feed a cannibal in a prison cell. Slide the food through the slot and keep your liver. The parrot and I shall have minimal contact, I’ve decided. I talked to it as I was making my dinner. Politely, you know – friendly conversation. I told it what I was cooking, and it did a superb impression of a computer’s ‘error’ message warning tone. Familiar language – we were getting along quite well, I thought.

Then I walked back past the cage to put my plate in the dishwasher, and saw the bird sitting on top of said cage.

Wait, I said suddenly, staring intently at it, you weren’t there before. How did you get out? It looked smugly at me. Apparently the parrot can open its cage all by itself. Clever.

Throw a towel over it, House Owner had advised on the subject of parrot catching. It can’t bite you any more, that way.

The parrot wouldn’t bite me. I love animals, and animals love me. We have a bond. There was no way I was throwing a towel over the poor thing’s head. Here, Parrot! I crooned softly, edging up to it with a sunflower seed. It stared benevolently at me and I gained confidence. Good parrot! I added reassuringly, sidling over. It knocked the seed out of my hand, caught hold of my finger, and squawked loudly.

Argh! I shrieked, trying to salvage some of my finger. Get off me, you vicious monster!

I retrieved a towel from the bathroom and, sucking the blood from my finger, crept nervously towards the scary bird. It attacked the towel somewhat aggressively. No amount of gentle reasoning would persuade it to get into the cage, and now the dog was starting to bark because I’d locked it in the room with us in the fear that the parrot would make a bid for freedom out of the back door.

Unable to console myself at having failed so immediately at housesitting, I retreated to the garden with champagne and dog, and sat there wondering how many mosquitoes would bite me if I slept by the pool.

Hayley? I jumped violently, honestly thinking that the bird had followed me out and was taunting me from the side of the house, but it turned out to be two teenage boys, friends of the family children, whom I’d met earlier. They were calling in on their way past to check that I was OK and see if I needed directions to anywhere. With some miming and simplified English, I explained the parrot situation, and they leapt into boyish action. Of course, when we went inside, the bird was sitting innocently in its cage. One of the boys closed the cage door, and looked questioningly at me.

Erm… thanks, I said, feeling a little foolish. They left, grinning and talking in Dutch. It’s not too hard to take a decent enough guess at the type of things they were saying. I suspect that they’ll be back to check on me every few hours, as, let’s face it, I would clearly not survive for very long if left to my own devices…

Filed under: dogs, Fear, how embarrassing, Mishaps, pain, parrot, pets, rescue, unexpected, worry | 2 Comments »

Life is what happens while you’re busy waiting in a queue

Posted on July 19, 2008 by Hails

I’m waiting anxiously in the queue at La Poste, passport and Western Union Money Tracking number in hand, to claim the emergency rescue fund sent to me by The Parents.

The queue is approximately 2.3 miles long, and I’ve already wasted half an hour today by walking here earlier, forgetting that everything in France closes for ages at lunch time. They take their lunch break very seriously here. Weaving my way through some roadworks on the way here, I saw the workers sleeping in the driver’s seats of their weapons of mass destruction, newspapers over their heads to block out the sunlight. I don’t blame them. If I had to perform manual labour in these temperatures, I’d be dead after about 20 minutes.

The queue is moving so slowly that I’m fairly certain time has started going backwards. There are no signs anywhere to indicate that I’m in the right place, and I fear that I’ll be met with a confused stare when I finally reach the counter, several weeks from now. Excuse me, I say politely to the woman in front of me, I have to claim a payment from the Western Union. This is the right place, isn’t it?

I don’t know why French people put on this great pretence of not understanding anything I say in their language. I try so hard. I repeat my sentence slowly, and she responds with the typical fast-paced babble that strikes fear into my heart. I catch a few words and try to guess what the general gist of the sentence might have been. I fail. We look blankly at each other for a moment. Um, I say nervously, trying again, My parents have sent me some money. Through the Western Union. Is that here? She replies with more babble, shrugging and looking confused.

And now, of course, the other people in the queue are intrigued by the sunburnt girl who speaks French with a silly accent. You want to send money? asks one lady. No, no – she has to pay a bill! interjects another. They are all crowding around curiously as if I am some sort of science experiment. I half expect them to start taking photos of me. No, I say helplessly, I *have* no money. I am looking for a Western Union agent. I saw on the internet that there was one here. My parents have sent me some money and I need to collect it. Am I in the right place? Understanding dawns on the face of the woman nearest the front of the queue. Yes, she says, nodding in the exaggerated way that people do when talking to someone who hasn’t got a clue what they’re saying, I think it’s here.

Thank you, I say gratefully. They all turn around again and my brain quietly implodes.

Only 4 days later, I reach the counter and repeat my earlier question. Three times. Ah, says the woman behind the counter, you need my colleague. Him. She points at the man beside her, whose desk, not marked any differently from all the others apart from the word “pros”, appears to have a completely separate queue. Here, says the woman, reaching me a form, fill this in while you’re waiting. Gloomily, I take the form and join the other queue. It is not quite 2.3 miles long, but the counter is once again a small speck on the horizon. I glance at my form – which is for people wishing to send money with the Western Union, and therefore completely useless to me – and resume my wait.

Only a day or so later, I reach the counter. I’m only halfway through my familiar speech when the man taps the “pros” sign and goes off into one of those babbles that I can’t understand. It seems to end with this desk is only for professionals! I consider telling him that I’m a professional YouTube video reviewer, but I don’t know how to say that. That woman told me to come here! I exclaim indignantly, pointing. I’m looking for a Western Union agent. He subdues a little, despite still obviously wanting me to go away. To send or receive? he asks. To receive, I reply. He thrusts the correct form into my hands and tells me to go away and fill it in, and come back when I’m ready.

Glowering, I do as I’m told and rejoin the queue. For the third time.

It’s all worth it, of course, to be no longer penniless and starving with hunger. In a rather paranoid move, I stand secretively in the corner of the post office and divide my money into 4 batches – one for each buttonable pocket of my three-quarter lengths. I’m still not ruling out invisible thieves. And this way, even if one does manage to unbutton a pocket and steal my money without me noticing, at least he won’t get it all. You don’t need to teach me the same lesson twice.

Apart from sunburn.

Filed under: confusion, conversations, French, Lyon, money, paranoia, parents, queues, rescue, Western Union | 7 Comments »

Toilet hell (sinki)

Posted on June 13, 2008 by Hails

It is Helsinki Day, and so naturally I am in Finland. There is music all round me, and everywhere I look I can see people in strange costumes doing remarkably odd things. Riho has taken off to explore a large, crazily over-priced bookshop, and I am wandering the slightly manic streets of Helsinki on my own, with the usual expression of awe on my little new-traveller face. Life is good.

All of this is overshadowed, of course, by the fact that I really, really need to pee.

I head for the nearest building, which may or may not be a bus station. Along the way, I am stopped by several survey-takers, attacked by a seagull, and almost killed at the even-scarier-than-Estonian-roads pedestrian crossing. By the time I find myself wandering dazedly through the maybe-bus station, I am understandably a little on edge.

And now I cannot find the toilets. At first, I determinedly followed a sign for the elevator (a mistake I also made in Tallinn. The picture of the little man and woman confused me until Riho gently pointed out that they were in a box representing the lift, with up and down arrows in case there was any doubt remaining). When I do actually find the WC sign after a lengthy trek around the entire building, I walk past the toilets several times, owing to the fact that they look like the entrance to some kind of lab for scientific research, although this would be a little out of place in a bus station, if that is in fact where I am. Huge steel doors with flashing lights and scary-looking signs. Tentatively, I go forward and try to open a door. It doesn’t open. Someone comes out of another one, and I run to catch the door before it closes, but it whizzes shut in exactly the way you might expect it to, if it was a high-security entrance to the afore-mentioned lab for top-secret scientific experiments. Perhaps on aliens or similar. Sadly, and with my bladder beginning to cause me considerable discomfort, I retreat to the other end of the corridor. I have no idea how to get into the toilets.

Lingering in a most suspicious manner, I watch as someone else approaches the Scary Doors. She does something to the door, and a digital countdown shows on the display. She pulls the handle, and the door opens as if by magic.

Money! It wants money! I fumble desperately for money. Joy and jubilation, there is a €1 coin in my pocket. Excitedly, I race to a door and insert the coin into the slot. It spits it back out and beeps at me in what I can only imagine is an angry tone. It does not want money after all. Somebody passes by and says something that I have no hope of understanding. I look blankly at him and he points at the lights above the door. They are very pretty. I nod in acknowledgement of this and then realise that the lights mean there’s someone in there. D’oh. I move to the next door and insert my trusty €1 into the slot. It spits it back out, and doesn’t even bother to beep at me.The toilets hate me.

Woe is me.

I begin to walk dejectedly away from the toilets, but a woman who looks like my mum has been observing me with an amused but sympathetic expression on her face. She says something, I shrug helplessly, she realises my plight (surrounded, as I am, by signs in Finnish) and gently beckons me to a machine on the wall. I cannot read the instructions. In a gentle, motherly way, she takes my coin and puts it into the machine, which does some whirring and spits out a little token. She gives it to me and points at the doors, with a smile. I want to hug her, but settle for a sheepish ‘thank you’ with an exaggerated in-case-you-don’t-understand nod instead.

Nervously, palms sweating, I put my token into the door slot. A digital countdown begins on the display, and the door makes a much friendlier noise. I think it is pleased with me. I try the handle and have to stop myself from doing a full-on celebratory happy dance when it opens.

I could quite easily write a Part Two: How I eventually got out of the toilet cubicle, but there are some things about my travel experiences that I’d really rather forget.

Filed under: confusion, Finland, Helsinki Day, mysteries, patience, rescue, toilet, Uncategorized, woe | 5 Comments »

The Dangers of Eating Out

Posted on May 23, 2008 by Hails

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.

Filed under: bloodshed, Estonia, Estonian wildlife, Fear, paranoia, rescue | 3 Comments »

Utterly Unappreciated

Posted on April 17, 2008 by Hails

“Kaaaaaaat!”

I stood at the back door shaking the cat food like Crazy Cat Lady. There came the familiar tinkling noise of Kat the Cat’s collar bell, and I waited for her appearance.

Miaow!

The distressed noise came from somewhere above my head, and I rolled my eyes in some annoyance. She was on the conservatory roof again.

“Get down!” I ordered firmly, stepping out into the yard to look up and glare sternly at the cat. She hesitantly put a paw over the edge of the roof. “No!” I yelped in alarm, “Not like that, you twit! Climb down the way you got up!” Kat stared blankly at me, ran along the edge of the roof several times, and then crouched down nervously. I sighed.

“Here,” I said patiently, lifting the lid of a Kerbie box over my head and setting it in front of my incredibly stupid pet, “Step on to this. Come on. There’s a good cat. Come on, Kat…”

No amount of coaxing would persuade her that I could be trusted. I returned to the house, but after a frustrating few minutes of hanging out the bathroom window in an attempt to drag her upwards, I found myself outside once again.

“Right!” I said determinedly, really trying not to lose my temper as she whimpered pathetically at the edge of the roof. “You want me to come up there? Fine. It’s not like I have anything better to do than clamber around on rooftops in the dark, rescuing mentally challenged animals.”

Miaow! said Kat, pitifully.

I climbed on to the garden wall, hoisted myself up on to the gate pillar, and wobbled precariously, my hands on the conservatory roof. “Come on, Kat!” I said in a voice that was much more gentle than I felt. She ran gratefully towards me and I caught hold of her. I paused momentarily, wondering how to get back down without the use of my hands. Could I just throw the cat, or would that be mean?

Kat the Cat read my hesitation as a murder plot, and went into automatic defence mode. Miaow! she cried angrily, as her claws came out and swiped me across the face. “Owwwww!” I howled, staggering back and making a less than graceful dismount from the pillar, all the while holding the cat above my head in a most self-sacrificial manner. Kat stalked indignantly into the house without a murmur of gratitude.

I sat for a long time in the yard, clutching my injured ankle with one hand and rubbing my scratched face with the other.

Seriously. Whoever ends up with my cat when I leave: good luck with that. Let me know how it all works out for you.

Filed under: blood, cat, ingratitude, Mishaps, pain, pets, rescue | 6 Comments »

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