If anyone ever tells you to buy a “Grow Bag” suitcase, strike them with a lethal blow to the solar plexus. As I embarked on the impossibly long walk down the five gangways of the Helsinki ferry terminal, two wheels on my “Grow Bag” instantly crumbled like clay. After some all-too serious thought, I decided that I couldn’t just leave my only suitcase and all its contents behind, not just yet anyway. So, I dragged the f’n thing, with my guitar on my back and my laptop bag forming a loose triangle choke the entire time. The Supercoat, the Wilson to my Tom Hanks on this voyage, was doing me no favours in the 21 degree heat, under the Atlas-weight of all my personal belongings. I got so bad that a Finnish guy, about fifty years old, stopped and said “Let me carry your guitar.” I thought about it for a second, the veins in my neck at popping-tension from dragging the gd Grow \Bag, but my brother’s advice of “Don’t be so trusting,” was ringing in my head, so I politely declined. He started to walk away, and then looked back upon my pitiful form and said accurately, “Come on, you will die!”
When you’re right, you’re right; and this Fin was telling true facts, as Ed Duggan would say. So, calculating my priorities in case I never saw him again, I kept my guitar and gave him my laptop bag and watched him walk away, twice the pace I was going, even with this lightened load. Well, there goes that, I thought, but he stopped, turned around and had a little laugh at my expense as he waited for me to catch up.
On board, I dragged my chattel and my carcass to the elevator and went to the 9th floor deck (this is a big boat/ship). There things were better, despite the fact the bar on this deck was closed, because of a stunning panorama of the Baltic Sea. Absolutely beautiful. The sun started to sink beyond the glistening grey-eyed blue of the ancient horizon, and I was reminded of why I was wandering in the first place. The rest of the ride was fairly uneventful, basically consisting of my reading and trying to stay awake after Neptune knows how long, and drinking one new type of beer along the way. It was called “Le Coq”, a pleasant 5.2% lager that I found amusing, as the brand name is quite similar to my nickname from this summer in Sherbrooke, Quebec. I was called “Le Coque”, which means rooster, because my trademark lilting-staccato laughter seemed to serve as alarm clock for a neighbour. What can I say? Life is funny. Everyone should laugh more, and louder.
We arrived in Tallinn in two hours, and it was gorgeous from the sea. It is an interesting mix of super old (there is a pharmacy here that has been open for 600 years), Soviet-style grey squares and modern glass and steel. My tutor (something like a student ambassador) was waiting for me with a hand drawn sign at the bottom of another near-fatally long gangway drag. From there she sputtered some guttural Estonian to the cab driver, and off we went to my hotel/glorified hostel. No dragging the bags this time, as my room was on the third floor and elevators, like fire escapes, are rare luxuries in this part of the world, apparently. Anyway, I threw down the accursed Grow Bag and then we went to get something to eat --- I had the Kangaroo burger. It was chewy, with a taste somewhere between beef and caribou, fyi.
Oh, and the first two English songs I heard? “Take It Off” by Kei$ha and Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again (on My Own).” I think I’ll adopt the latter as my theme for the journey, as long as the Supercoat doesn’t mind.
Tomorrow: Tallinn University, and preliminary interaction with the locals.
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