Escape to the North

Prologue: In the summer, well before my first trip to the kingdom over seven seas (few less or more, who cares), I had bought tickets to 30 Seconds To Mars concert in Manchester in December. It was completely on the spur of the moment and much influenced by the fact that so many familiar screen names were going there as well.

So, December 3 found me sleeping on a tiny bench in Riga airport. Again. I’m getting quite comfortable with that place, to be honest (although I am glad to find that Ryanair now flies from Tallinn). This time I was mainly worried about the weather. A few days before, Liverpool airport (which was again my destination) had been closed down because of the snow. I hoped for the best but in my mind I also feared the worst. Lucky for me my flight was completely on time and much more pleasant than the one I had in the summer. I couldn’t sleep on the plane and got to talking to a Latvian girl who was going to work in Blackburn. She was slightly confused, so I tried my best to calm her but was glad to land and catch a bus to Manchester.

Having arrived there, I took out my excuse for a map which I had printed out from Google Maps and marked my way to the hostel with a yellow highlighter. Although I started moving in the wrong direction, I quickly understood my mistake and was soon on the right track. It was about a 20 minute walk (without me getting lost and to me, Manchester was the city to get lost in, I just could not find any logic to it) and I made it there. I managed to check in and quickly dropped my bags and soon I was out again to get to know the city… or should I say, to get lost. The latter I was excellent at. Luckily, it was just next to the Visitors’ Centre that I was getting a slightly panicky about my utter confusion about my whereabouts. There I equipped myself with a map and after rotating it a few times and staring at it for a few good minutes and after stopping at every street corner I managed to get back to the hostel. There I met one of my three roommates: a lovely Italian fan G. (I resort to using initials only for the sake of people’s privacy; I agree, this will lead to some confusion)

I had a quick snack and a lie down, when S., my lovely German roomie made it to Manchester. I learned from her that final roommate E. will be late as her flight was delayed. She wasn’t the only one that day… After a while I got a message from J. that they are gathering in their room at their hotel, about a 10-minutes’ walk away, so S. and I also made our way there. It was a heart-warming moment of finally meeting J. after so many years of online communication but there were so many other people I met there! (I could here present a list of initials but for the sake of anyone’s sanity, I refrain from that). I will say this, that everyone I met was so friendly and so wonderful that it still makes me smile when I think about all these beautiful people.

We tried to find a place in a pre-Christmas Friday night to eat with about 12 people but failing to do that, we sat down at Jurys Inn bar and had a bite to eat and a drink. (I tried to keep to my tradition that when on British Isles, I should have at least one Guinness.) Oh, it was a fun eveing just talking and laughing with this amazing group of people. Thanks to people’s BlackBerries we were constantly getting news about who has taken off and who has landed. One by one we were joined by more people. My third roomie E. from the Netherlands also arrived. It was already the early hours of Saturday when C. from Switzerland arrived finally, safe and sound. S., E. and I made it back to our room well past midnight and promised not to wake too early the next day.

Saturday, December 4 started with shouts “Training! Training!” coming from the hostel corridor and the three of us, S., E. and myself, slowly got up and ready to meet others for breakfast. We finally chose to sit down in Wetherspoons and have the all day brunch (full English breakfast with chips). We ended up sitting there for a few hours with new people coming in and others leaving to go shopping. Again, I met with some great people and had lots of fun. I found it a bit of challenge to fully understand the full and fast-spoken Mancunian accent but a confident look and a rightly placed “Okay” saved me from greater embarrassment. Later S. and I also went to HMV but I was not in the mood for shopping and just looked around. After having bought some edible gifts for those at home, me and S. made it to the hostel for a quick rest before the concert.

We again met the others at Jurys Inn bar for a bite to eat (and a pint to drink, in my case). Again, the time was spent with good banter and laughter; this might become the most repeated sentence of this post but I’m truly amazed how friendly and nice everyone was! I mean, I didn’t know most of them. I had seen their names on the boards or in someone else’s Facebook comments etc. but I had never personally spoken to many of them. But it fills my heart with joy thinking about how I was welcomed by all of them. My humble thanks to all of you!!! And my parents are still amazed if I read out all the nationalities that were represented on my pictures.

I didn’t bother to queue, unlike K. and a few other brave ones. Also, since my ticket was in the box office to be picked up anyway, I was glad to find that our great company didn’t plan to go to the venue too early. So, I managed to pick up my ticket, come back to the hotel, meet others, take pictures and only then did we slowly make it to the venue. The first support band was already on (Enter Shikari, I think) but I wasn’t particularly interested in them, so J. and I went to get some drinks. There was a lovely girl selling there, who liked my henna painting on my hand, so we talked for a few moments. So, before 30 Seconds To Mars started, I, J. S. and a bunch of other German girls and the lovely twins S.&P, and, of course, E. from Greece had positioned ourselves at the back where there was plenty of room to dance. We were shown the censored version of “Hurricane” and soon after than “Escape” started the show and the giant triad glowed over the stage. Although I was at the back, the big screen helped me to see all I needed to see. I didn’t take many photos, I concentrated on silly dancing and singing/screaming aloud (which probably ruined quite a few S.&P.’s videos.. sorry!). The set list was safe, no surprises. I think I had a bit of advantage over the people around me because my first and last concert had been nearly 3 years ago, so I enjoyed it much more. (Looking back, though, I will most probably remember the people from this trip rather than the concert.) Nevertheless, I will say no bad word about the concert. It was what it was, and the back row with some beer, good company and plenty of room to dance is my way of enjoying the concert.

After the concert, a quite a big group of people, who were all connected through some people gathered for a group picture taken by S.&P. It’s such a great shot and I think that in a way summarises these days in Manchester for me. After the concert we went again to the hotel bar for some drinks and for a last chance to spend time together. We just talked there and again one by one people went to bed, so it was time for some good bye hugs. I really liked the idea that L. threw out, that there needn’t necessarily be a concert to come together from all the corners around the world… And I like that idea.

Dead-tired, S. and I finally hit our sacks at about 2am, when our other roommates were already fast asleep.

On Sunday, December 5 S., E. and I quickly packed our bags and checked out just to get a quick breakfast before checking out. After that I hugged E. good bye and as I still had time till my bus, I sent S. to the train station, so she could catch her flight back to Germany. Until next time…

I myself thought I’d take one more look around in foggy Manchester and headed to confront the confusing maze of streets. I made it to the Town Hall and to the sweet Christmas market, which was filled with smell of Glühwein. I thought of it as a perfect place to find some fudge for the family and my search was successful. I bought a bagful of that sweet thing and then wandered around the stalls for a while before heading to walk around Manchester. I must admit that once again I was mainly lost and kept checking my map. Never before have I been so utterly confused in a city like in Manchester. Really… But after taking a few photos I managed to find again my bus stop and soon my ride back to Liverpool arrived.

I must admit that it was rather cold, so when I arrived to Liverpool airport, I tried to get warm with a cup of hot chocolate before heading to the city centre because my flight departed only early Monday morning. When I arrived at Albert Docks, the foggy weather had disappeared and I stepped out into the most wonderful sunshine. I fell in love with Liverpool all over again… I took a few pictures by the river Mersey and just enjoyed that wonderful city. I walked around in the familiar and a few unfamiliar streets. I stepped into a few shops but again, I’m not a very good shopper. In the end I witnessed a lovely dance on street, heard a brilliant joke and then sat myself down at a Starbuck’s, where a lovely girl persuade me to have cream with my hot chocolate (“Go on, it’s Christmas!”). I just love the friendliness of people there. I still have a huge grin on my face, when I think back to a paper salesman who answered my “No, thanks!” with a “Take care, love!” (in that beautiful Scouse accent) Ahh, my cold Estonian heart just jumps with glee….

It was getting cold and the fog was getting thicker and thicker, so I got on a bus and decided to get back to the airport to spend a night there. What a mess did I find there! The thick, thick fog and below zero temperatures meant that all flights from Liverpool John Lennon Airport were cancelled. Since my flight didn’t leave till next morning, I wasn’t that much worried… yet. So, I just went and bought myself a fresh issue of Sunday Times and sat down to read. I soon discovered that it’s bloody cold there. So I tried keeping warm and read the paper as around me there was a complete chaos. Nevertheless, some Irish people around me started playing a guessing game with film titles and I was nearly pissing myself with laughter. It proved once again that the Irish are my favourite nation in the world! (No offence to anyone)

Anyway, as the clock ticked forward, it got more quiet at the airport and colder. I was sitting there with my coat on and contemplating whether I have any more clothes to put on to keep me war. Unbelievably cold it was there! I know I’m Estonian and should be used to it but not indoors!! Anyway, somewhere around midnight I discovered that there was a girl alone with her huge luggage and I decided to make friends, so we could both move around without having to take our bags with us. She had had her flight from Manchester cancelled, got a new flight from Liverpool for Monday morning. It was much easier to pass the time with talking and complaining about the cold. Amazingly I did actually get about an hour and a half worth of sleep on the floor there… Anyway, as the time got nearer for us to move to check-in, she was called to the desk as I stayed to watch over her stuff. She comes back saying, “You won’t believe this!” Her flight was scheduled to leave from… Manchester. So, instead of having to spend the horrible night in Liverpool, she could have been at home! We hugged good bye and wished good luck with our flights. Only later did I realise that we had never even exchanged our names…

Just then it was also announced that my flight is 45 minutes delayed (in the end, it became 3 hours), but I still decided to go through security in hope of finding a warmer place. I got padded down at the security, they also checked my concealer and mobile phone through some fancy machine (entertainment for all my money!) So, finally 3 hours later my flight took off and I found myself sitting in the middle of a very funny Anglo-Spanish company. I saved one guys iPad and was shown pictures of my neighbours sleeping. This helped to make it a quick flight.

I arrived in Riga just when my train was leaving, so I missed that. I contacted my sister and made new plans for getting back to Estonia, had a breakfast and then went to city centre, got my train tickets and waited for the train. I slept throughout most of the ride to Valga but unfortunately the train was late as well, so I missed what I thought was the last bus home. Luckily, a cheerful local lad told me there was another one coming as well. And it came but the driver said he cannot take passengers from Valga to Tartu. What?! The man and I made had negotiations with the driver, in Russian. I’m still amazed at the amount of Russian I could speak… stressful situations really bring out unexpected sides of us! Finally the driver agreed to take 100 kroons and get me to Tartu. When we arrived to Tartu I thanked him and he actually gave me half of my money back saying that he also had a daughter and was just happy to help me. I could have given him a hug right there!

So just before midnight I finally made it back home… tired as hell and desperately in need of a shower but as happy as I could be.

Epilogue: I went to England to find some peace of mind after the horrible autumn I had had.. And I found it. The people I met there restored my belief in human kind and in myself as well. I’m happy to say that most of that peace I found there still lasts with me to this day… So, once again: thank you, thank you, thank you!

There are places I remember...

There! Here's a little summary of my trip to Liverpool and London I kind of promised to some people. I try to save you from the boring stuff and at the same time I'm exploiting my right to keep some of the details to myself. But this is pretty much how it happened...
I booked my plane tickets in April and did as little planning as possible and flew out on August 11.

Day 1. Wednesday. It's only just begun
I won't go into the details of a long and sleepless night coach to Riga Airport or the long waiting at the airport including some sleeping on the benches. Nor is it noteworthy to mention how I stood like an idiot at the security when trying to untangle my scarf from my necklaces for a few long minutes. Unlike it seemed to me in the past, there is nothing glamorous about airports. And on this trip I saw exactly how unglamorous those places really are...
The flight to Liverpool John Lennon Airport was not the most pleasant one I've had. I know it was Ryanair but I've experienced better flights with the same company. Anyway, I couldn't sleep much and it was a bumpy ride but we did land safely in Liverpool nearly 3 hours later. There I had an excellent chance to stand in a queue (first of many times during the trip) for about 45 minutes before I was able to have my passport checked.
But this where the annoying things ended. As I stepped out of the airport, I saw that the right bus was there waiting. I stepped on it and was quite content with myself. Well, that only lasted for about 2 minutes after which I realised I had no idea how to recognise my stop. The door to the panic department was slowly creeping open. Luckily two lovely ladies sat in front of me a few stops later and I managed to plug up the courage to ask them if they could tell me when my stop is. This was my first experience with the helpfulness and friendliness of Liverpudlians. Not only did the ladies tell me my stop, they also chatted about all sorts of stuff the whole way there. For example, both of them had seen The Beatles playing in The Cavern hundreds of times before they became famous (well, I suppose many people did that... but still...); Ringo Starr had lived a couple of streets away from them (beat that) and that Billy Fury had been to their school. I would have loved to go and have a cup of tea with those two and listen to their stories for hours but my stop came and I had to get off to find my hostel.
I checked in, threw my bags on the bed, saw that there were 2 other people in the same room but neither of them was in and I was out to discover the town. I remembered that there was a tourist information on Albert Dock and that was the way I was heading to... probably taking the longer route than normal but I made it there. I grabbed myself the map of the centre and then just walked around the docks. It was quite windy there but all of this was much welcomed change for the heat in Estonia. The Albert Dock was lovely with small cafes and museums and... I visited the museum that displayed a house during the war and chatted a bit with a lady who worked there.
After having spent some time at the docks, I decided to try and get lost a bit and just discover places. Both of these ideas were a success. The first day in Liverpool I was lost quite a lot of my time. To be honest, once I'm old and wrinkly and look back at my life, I can say that I have spent half of my life being lost. But I don't mind that... Anyway, somehow I did manage to find myself on Mathew Street and before I even realised where I was, I was standing in front of the door to The Cavern. I followed the music and was soon in that famous cellar listening to some guy with a guitar playing The Beatles. I really liked it. I stood there listening, dancing a bit with a young girl who seemed to have the Down syndrome. Since I had no plans, I decided to have a half a pint and stay there for a while. I won't mention that it was only 4pm. As I was looking around the place, a lovely old gentleman confessed that there are no sign of The Beatles in The Cavern anymore... only the ones that crawl on the floor. As much as I enjoyed the pun and partly I think he was right, I still really enjoyed the place.
After leaving The Cavern I decided to just walk around the town a bit, grab something to eat from my great friend Tesco and find someone who would be able to point my position on the map. The girl I approached kindly asked where I wanted to go but I had no idea. Like a true friendly Northerner, she helped the disorientated Estonian and I was good to go again. I decided to work out the route to my hostel. After some wrong turns and U-turns, I managed to find the bus stop where I needed to catch my coach to London on Friday and finally also my hostel.
I stepped inside my room and unintentionally woke up my roommates, two lovely Danish girls Nanna and Kristine. Despite disturbing their sleep, they were very friendly and in a few minutes we had made plans to go out together.
I then went to the kitchen to make some tea and there I met Pascual, a Spaniard who's also staying in the hostel. We started chatting and ended up talking for about an hour. Ja juttu jätkub kauemaks... (never mind). As good as it was to chat with Pascual, I dragged myself back to my room to see how the plans for the night were coming together. After resting for about an hour or a bit more, Nanna and Kristine, who had met Chris the German in the kitchen, were back and we prepared to go out all four of us.
According to Chris' suggestions and directed by our wish for some live music, we decided to go to a place called Heebie Jeebies. We grabbed some drinks (Kristine and I decided to have a pint of Guinness) and went to the cellar for the live music but hearing that it will still take about an hour before they start, we headed to the courtyard just to chat and drink. We were soon joined by an Estonian girl Anni whom Chris had met through CouchSurfing.com. Couch surfing became a kind of theme for the evening, especially after a man wrote a poem for us about it in five or less minutes. Anni and I discovered that we're both Estonians (it took us about half an hour... don't ask) and of course we also discovered mutual friends. We then headed back the cellar where several young musicians played. I liked a guy who looked like Jack Sparrow and had a really interesting voice. The five of us, 2 Danes, 2 Estonians and a German had a really cool evening and we went back to the hostel at about midnight. (I hadn't slept for nearly 2 days, so I was quite knackered; I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.)


Day 2. Thursday. I'll get by with a little help...
What a day! Nevertheless, I think it's wise to start from the beginning. We (the two Danes and I) woke up at about 9am, had a lovely breakfast and chat after which they checked out but before they left, we decided to go and see Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral. It's a modern catholic cathedral; I think (i.e. the Google says) it was finished in 1967. It was an awesome building (and I mean the word in the sense that I was awed by the size and splendour of it) but in my mind I just can't put together words modern and catholic. Something just doesn't fit...
After visiting the cathedral, I said good bye to Kristine and Nanna. Not good bye actually, it was more like see you soon because that I truly hope so. Just to illustrate how great they are, before we left the hostel, they remembered that the tickets to The Beatles museum are good for 48 hours and since they were there yesterday and were leaving for Scotland anyway, they gave me their tickets. Just like that. I was really flattered and promised to buy them drinks next time we meet.
The Beatles Story was the next stop on my tourist route in Liverpool. It's a museum dedicated to the Fabulous Four with each room dedicated to different phase in their career and the audio guide read by John Lennon's sister Julia picked with comments by other people and Macca told you all the necessary information. I really enjoyed my visit there; I'm not a huge fan of museums but somehow this one really got to me. I'm slightly ashamed to admit this but at one point my eyes were welling up. They were a true phenomena. How could a band be so huge? Amazing. (Although I'm not at all surprised that they were from Liverpool. I cannot think of any other place.)
I exited the museum and decided to go for the other building of it which was about a 5-minutes' walk away. That is if you know where to go. My progress was more like that: take two steps, stop, turn the map, look around with an extremely confused face and repeat. No wonder that at one point, a really laddish looking guy walked passed me, looked back and asked with a true concern in his voice, "Are you alright?" I was alright; just a bit disorientated. You know, the normal state of mind for me. Anyway and anyhow, I made it to the second building just in time for the Fab4 4D experience. Basically it was just a 15-minute cartoon with 3D glasses, shaking chairs and some water splashing in your face. But it was fun, no doubt.
The other thing in that part of the museum was an exhibition dedicated to John Lennon that was organised by his first wife Cynthia and his son Julian. It was really personal and simple and heart-warming. Once again I pretty much had tears in my eyes as I watched from the video Cynthia and Julian telling how Paul McCartney wrote the song Hey Jude to Julian. There were a lot of personal items of John and his gifts to his son. I felt really touched after leaving the place.
After that I just walked around the town a bit, made my way to St George's Hall which is a lovely Victorian building that is free for public access. I did a quick round there because museums really aren't my thing. For the same reasons I decided to skip The Walker Art Gallery and head out to discover the Liverpool Cathedral instead.
On my way there, I posted a card back home to my parents and walked in the garden of St Luke's Church which is a church in ruins after being bombed by the Germans during the Blitz. I then found my way to the cathedral. This time it was an Anglican cathedral and although it was only finished in 1978, it looked old and more like a cathedral in the sense we're used to. It's the largest cathedral in the UK and I can assure you, it is huge. Besides that it was absolutely breath-taking. I really must say that I'm a fan of churches but this one is surely amongst my favourites. I could have just sat down there and spend the day. It had beautiful stained-glass windows and the light coming through those painted the walls in different playful colours. I just don't have the words to describe that place and the feelings I had there. I also decided to light a candle just because it felt right...
After visiting the cathedral and taking a short walk in the park around it, I took the street lined with adorable Georgian houses back to the hostel to have something to eat and think about what to do in the evening. As the Danish girls and Chris the German weren't there anymore, I faced the possibility of going out alone. I took a little nap and decided then to have a quiet night: go see the river Mersey in the twilight, maybe have a drink somewhere and then get back to bed because I needed to get up early the next morning. I should have known better not to believe that plans like that really work...
On my way out of the hostel, I ran into Pascual, the Spaniard. He was also heading to town and we decided to go together. He was meeting some friends at the O'Neill's pub and I promised to stop by later to say good bye. So far, so good. It was quite magical by the river. It was low tide and the river was half the size. I took some pictures and headed to O'Neill's. There Pascual and his 2 Spanish friends had picked up 3 local girls. I had a cocktail and just chatted with everyone. After a while, the guys went out to eat and I asked if the girls would mind me staying with them to finish my drink. Christine, Clare and Zoe quite liked the idea of taking care of a stray Estonian tourist in their home town and decided to give me a proper night out. We left O'Neill's a started to go to some Australian bar that had a girls' night (I really can't remember its name at the moment) but on our way we stepped into Revolution where a band was starting to play. There I was announced that I had no say in things and that "I was drinking whatever they were drinking!" I have no idea how many shots I had at that bar but it's somewhere between 5 and 10. That's the closest I can get. After being loaded with a considerable amount of alcohol, we finally made it to the Aussie place where another cocktail appeared into my hands. We danced around, lost Clare, found Pascual, said bye to Zoe and then there were Christine and I. She decided to go home soon after that as well and I made sure she got to the taxi safely promising to write to her as soon as I'm back. Thus, I was the last one standing out of the three of them (to be honest, one of them was pregnant and didn't drink).
After that Pascual and I decided to look for some other places around where to go. I must admit that although I was the last one standing, I was still quite intoxicated by the spirits. So I have no idea what I was telling the poor lad that night; I only know that it was neither smart nor coherent. We finally went to Heebie Jeebies where they played 60s music and just danced, danced and danced. I made it back to my bed about 2.30am.
(Especially to Johanna: do you remember the night in Ireland when we went to Trinity and what happened after that? Well, it kind of happened again.)

Day 3. Friday. I've got a ticket to ride...
The morning, as you may or may not imagine, was not the most pleasant one (the short sleeping hours and the massive amount of alcohol...). Since my bus left at 9am, I somehow managed to get up before 8 o'clock... with a hangover. I managed to get through breakfast, said a few good words at the check-out and took Megabus to London. It was a 6-hour drive through rain and seven different shades of gray. But don't dismay, after the first 3 hours the hangover decided to get off, leaving me to suffer alone the boring drive.
I made it to London, Victoria station at about 3pm. After that I got hold of my precious Oyster Card so I could enjoy the full benefits of the lovely Tube, I headed to Turnpike Lane following the instructions sent by my host M. To my great surprise, I actually learnt that using the underground is incredibly easy and I managed to take the right trains and get off at the right stations. This also meant that I was where I was supposed to be a little too early. I called A. and he promised to meet me in a half an hour. To fill that lot, I grabbed a quick snack from good friend Tesco and tried not to look too lost.
A. showed up and led me to the right place, showed me around and gave me the keys. After refreshing myself a bit, I couldn't make myself to stay and took the Tube back to the heart of London and headed out to the most important tourist spots: Buckingham Place, Trafalgar Square, Westminster... After all, I needed to take some photos to show to the demanding crowd at home. There were a lot of people (read: tourists) flashing their cameras and making sure they manage to catch every single aspect of the famous landmarks. And I was among them. I walked around there for a couple of hours, making friends with the squirrels at St James' Park, before heading back to Turnpike Lane.
Before the crown princess of the underground, i.e. me, arrived back to M.'s place, I decided to grab something edible from the store. As I was paying for my goods, the cashier with huge hair (his hair was bigger than mine, and that's something!) just chatted with me which for me is quite a change from the half-forced "Hello" you get from most of the cashiers over here. Of course after exiting the store, I was once again a bit lost. I didn't quite remember which street I had to take but after walking for a while in the wrong direction I turned around and found the right street.
Doing my best to fight off Mr Sandman, I waited for M. to come home from work roundabout midnight. But as she arrived with 2 bottles of beer, it was a while before we got to bed to sleep because there was a lot of catching up to do. Last time I saw her was quite a couple of years ago at Stansted Airport...

Day 4. Saturday. A fine day in London Town...
I had decided to be a culturally aware tourist on that fine day, i.e. my first stop was to be the British Museum. I got off at Russell Square and after a bit of mandatory feeling of confusion and disorientation, I made it to the building. My first visit was the lavatories and I'm only mentioning it because there was one of the most noteworthy things about the museum (the following probably just proves how un-fan of museums I am): Tyson Airblade hand drier. Just to explain myself, I have been listening to (old) BBC6 Music's radio shows with the brilliant Russell Howard and Jon Richardson (cf my last post) and the latter is a great fan of hand driers and the Airblade is his favourite; thus, it is often mentioned and often causes great debates between people. And now there's me, in the big awesome (i.e. eliciting feelings of awe) British Museum, being able to use this wondrous thing. I must admit, I actually giggled at the toilet just at the thought of it. Nearly took a picture...(not really!)
Nevertheless, I understand completely how culturally important this museum is. Really, I do. The Elgin marbles and what not... But for this half-witted English philologist, there is only so much of my time I can spend staring at old stones. In the end, next to the Airblade, the most interesting part of the museum for me was the Enlightenment exhibition where there were loads of old books: Donne, Spencer and even our great friend Tennyson's Idylls of the King (greetings to Ms Rajamäe).
After that I had arranged a meeting with my gorgeous and brilliant friend and course mate Liisa. She told me to come to Bethnal Green, which is (as she informed me) a very hip artists' quarter that has not yet been spoilt by commercialism. We tried to find a certain gallery but failed and instead decided to sit down in a place with good music and have a drink. After that we walked towards Brick Lane and she showed me some lovely cafés and what not. I really, really enjoyed this walk around there mainly because this was away from the landmarks and not written about in the tourist books. Just a bit of almost genuine London.
After that we headed towards Tate Modern (I know what you're thinking, yet another museum, Eeva?) and I was lucky to have Liisa with me because she unlike me she knows and loves art, so I didn't have to face this strange world alone. She showed me some of her favourite artists and then we just sat at the café enjoying the view to St Paul's cathedral.
After I had sent Liisa to work I came back to the Tate and had a look at a few other artists/paintings. As I came out of the museum, it was my plan to walk along the river to the Tower Bridge and take some obligatory photos for the dearly beloved at home. And so I did. I walked pass the Globe and smiled in the memory of my good friend Will. The weather was really nice and I truly enjoyed the walk by the Themes. I made it to the Tower Bridge, crossed it and walked back along the River Side Walk to Westminster Palace and back to Green Park to take the tube back home.
What comes next might sound quite bland and unoriginal but I had lots of time to think as I was walking and I think I made peace with the world in my mind there and then. I had the chance to think through quite a few things that had been in my mind for very long time... (Just jumping into today, i.e. September, then I can admit that it wasn't really a peace, more like a truce that has been broken... This is war or something.)
Arriving back to Turnpike Lane I had a lovely evening with M. and A. drinking wine and laughing-talking.

Day 5. Sunday. Personal GPS
I guess I need to finish this post once and for all. Here we go then...
I had a noble plan to see some markets on that day, so I met up with Pascual who had also come down to London for a few days at Liverpool Station and went to look for the market L. had pointed at the day before. This might sound quite incredible but even with my sense of direction, I was able to find this nice little market and look around. As I'm a very bad shopper and I really wasn't looking for anything in particular, I didn't buy anything.
We then headed to the most famous and popular market in the capital of London, Camden Town. I really liked it there, all sorts of more and less freaky stuff. I found a stall that sold old books and I almost got my hopes up in finding Sterne's Tristram Shandy but alas, I was not meant to be for me to be united with that novel just yet (of course, I could just go into the university book shop and get it but it wouldn't be the same, really). And once again, I didn't really go there with the intention to buy anything, so I left empty handed.
We then took a Tube back to the heart of London and went to Hyde Park just far a walk and to lie down. The weather was absolutely beautiful and warm, so the little siesta was much welcomed. I must admit that I actually managed to fall asleep there on the grass. This whole trip taught me to sleep in all sorts of conditions, Hyde Park was just one of them.
After staying there for a few hours, we decided to walk to Oxford Street and Picadilly Circus (with Pascual leading the way and then stopping after 10 minutes because he'd no idea where he was. Then I got out my map and used my wonderful topographical skills, and we made it to the right place!). We again walked near Westminster and sat at Traffalgar Square, talked and argued and made plans to go to Windsor the next day. I made it back to Turnpike Lane just a little before M. arrived early from her job.

Day 6. Monday. Royal fun
It had been my plan since I started planning this trip to visit Windsor and Windsor castle. I remembered that Jo and Kriss loved that place, so I thought that there might be something in there for me as well.
So, on Monday morning I made it to the Paddington station (it will always remind me of a children's book I really loved when I was little about Paddington bear that who was found from that station and named after it by the family that adopted it) and got myself tickets to Windsor even. The train ride was only about 30 minutes but we got to change trains in between. Exciting because there's always the possibility of not making it on the (right) train. Except there really isn't. So we made it to Windsor without any troubles. As we were making it to the castle, we also witnessed the change of the guards. After queuing for a while, we made it to the castle and got our audio guides. The Prince of Wales made his kind greetings and off we went to discover the castle. I really loved it. Something so genuinely English. And I must admit, that I really liked the audio guide as well (with trying to remember bits and pieces from British history - once again, greetings to Ms Rajamäe).
We spent quite a few hours in the castle and the abbey and gardens, after which we walked around Windsor for a bit and I found a shop that sold fudge. I managed to get my parents also like this sweet, sweet British delight, so I had strict orders to bring some back home.
We catched a train back to Paddington and I said bye to Pascual who was leaving for the North and went to M.'s work place in the Italian restaurant. She fed me some delicious bread with mozzarella, basil and tomato sauce (oh, I could do with some of those right now... mmm). Since she had a free evening, we thought we should do something. After a bit of shopping, we went home, changed and headed out to Camden Town to have sushi. I'd never had sushi before, so I was quite excited about that. I'm not sure if it was a particularily good Japanese restaurant but I loved the food there, just delicious. Especially when accompanied by some plum wine.
After dinner, we didn't feel like going home just yet, so we went to a bar to have a few coctails and just talk. We did, however, manage to catch the last train home and went to bed.

Day 7. Tuesday. She's leaving...
As it was my last day in England, and M. had a day off, we both decided to stay in the area. I did some "gift" shopping, that is I bought a load of chocolate and other sweets to take with me home. We also went to see a few flats, as M. was looking for a new place to stay. I'm now glad to know that she's moved into one of the flats that we went to see.
M. was so great to cook a dinner before I left. She grilled some chicken with aubergine and tomatos together with rice. A. also came, so we had a nice evening with some wine and Vana Tallinn and at about 10 pm I said my good byes and left to catch my bus to Stansted.
I had to wait for about 45 min at the Baker Street bus stop for an EasyBus to take me to the airport. On the bus I talked a few words with a Chech couple (whom I saw several times at Stansted in the next few hours; everywhere I went, there they or one of them was). As soon as I arrived at the airport I started to look for a place to sleep for a few hours. Since all the benches were taken, then I settled for the floor next to a post, so I almost had a cave where I could just lie down. I didn't expect to sleep actually, but to my great surprise, I managed to sleep nearly two hours before some airport officials started waking everyone up. The time was already okay for me to go through security (no problems there, phew!), have some hot chocolate at Starbuck (a slight dejà vu...) and then queue for boarding. I slept most of my flight sleeping, waking only to buy some juice and when the captain announce that we'll be landing in 15 minutes.

Day 8. Almost home..
Arriving in Riga meant that I was almost at home. I only needed to catch a bus to the train station and then a train back to Estonia. Incredibly, the lady at the information desk at the airport spoke fluent English (I've had some fun with that in Riga airport) and I managed to catch the bus and get off at the right stop, buy myself train tickets and then wait for nearly 3 hours for my train.
The train ride was quite funny, because I kept dozing off and then waking up at every stop with a sudden fear that I've missed mine (which is a bit irrational because I was to get off at the last stop and there's no way that Latvian ticket inspector would have left me on the train). So, three hours later I'm back on the Estonian soil. A short bus ride from Valga to Tartu and I'm back in my dorm room and could finally have a shower before my sister and cousin were to join me for a nice evening with some glasses of wine only to leave for family reunion the very next morning...

So, there, this is my trip summed up just as good or bad as it is. All in all, I loved every second of it. It taught me so much about myself and assured me what a great experience it is to travel all by myself. I'd surely do it again... In fact, Manchester is waiting for me in a little more than a month...

Laughing out loud

I thought it's about the time I admit my great obsession over here. Not sure if it helps me 'healing' but at least then you know.
(This reminds me an episode of House, M.D. when Wilson and House have a bet that the latter doesn't have a Vicodin addiction and House has to stay away from the magic pill. Obviously, this is quite difficult. So, at the end of the episode House admits (not a direct quote but something along the lines), "Alright, you win. I have an addiction" Wilson is happy, "That's good! Admitting that you have a problem is half of the solution." House looks at him with surprise and says, "I said I have an addiction not a problem!"
Same with me. I have an obsession. But not a problem)

Now, back on the subject, if I may. What's this mysterious obsession of mine? Not so mysterious, really. I love (stand-up) comedy. I just can't live without it.

I don't really know when it started. I know when I was quite young (not that I'm particularly old at the moment), I remember watching The Benny Hill's Show with my dad. Then came the absolute classic, Monty Python's Flying Circus. I love that show. These 4 guys just are brilliant.
Then for a long time there was nothing particular for a while. Several years ago, J. showed me the American improv show Whose Line Is It Anyway on YouTube. Maybe that was the start of it all. Or maybe it was Jeff Dunham, the ventriloquist with Peanut and Achmed the Dead Terrorist. Anyway, somewhere along these lines my interest was started.
I think then someone showed me bits of Dylan Moran's show and I thought, "Well, this is fantastic". I think then J. send me a link with Adam Hills in the Comedy Store. Things just got better and better.
Nevertheless, I think that the final catch was when H. suggested that I might like a BBC TV show called Q.I. - Quite Interesting. There. I signed a contract with the devil. I gave my finger, and not only did he take my hand but also my head and heart. Q. I. introduced me with several pearls of British comedy, starting with the grand master, Stephen Fry (cf A Bit of Fry and Laurie) and Alan Davies, the permanent panellist. The panel of the show had lots of other wonderful names: Sean Lock, Jimmy Carr, Dara O'Briain, Bill Bailey, David Mitchell, Phil Jupitus etc. One by one I started looking into these names. And I must admit, I liked what I saw.
Along with the clips of stand-up on YouTube, I started to look for some other panel shows on British TV. I really can't remember what was the next one I started watching but it was either Have I Got News For You with the legend Paul Merton and the brilliant Ian Hislop or 8 Out of 10 Cats hosted by Jimmy Carr with Sean Lock and Jason Manford as team captains. Not only did these new shows provide me with new names which to enter into the search engine of YouTube but also they raised my interest in current British politics. Especially, HIGNFY which is a brilliant topical news quiz. It's my way of keeping up with things. And Cats is also quite topical but even more about the mainstream culture. Pretty soon I learned who is who in the British media.
After that, all sorts of other TV panel shows followed: Would I Lie To You, Never Mind The Buzzcocks, The Big Fat Anniversary Quiz... And all these new names: Michael McIntyre, Jack Dee, Frank Skinner, Alan Carr, David Walliams... etc. It was this summer that I discovered the amazing thing called Mock the Week with Dara O'Briain as host and Frankie Boyle, Hugh Dennis, Andy Parsons and Russell Howard as panellists. Political satire with such talented comedians... I was in heaven.
After that, my life hasn't quite been the same: trying to keep up with the new series of different shows; discovering yet new ones (Russell Howard's Good News for example... Such a giggle!). I keep roaming the YouTube for new clips, for new comedians... Really what have I got myself into?
I even have a celebrity crush on one of the comedians... Jon Richardson. Look how cute and funny he is... and miserable! Seriously, the list of British comedians I could name is longer. I'm just afraid you think I don't have a life. (I don't, by the way!)
This spring I got to see live comedy for the first times thanks to Tartu Comedy Festival. It was great. Of course, my dream was to see some of these names I have mentioned (or those I haven't) perform in the UK but I booked my trip so that I'm there in August when everyone is doing the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Still, I always have the chance to go back as long as Ryanair still makes flights!

Why I love comedy so much is a question much more difficult to answer. On the surface, it seems rather easy: we all like a bit of laugh every now and again. Nevertheless, some of my friends who like laughing as much as I do don't roam around YouTube trying to find new clips with an unstoppable zeal.
One reason I can think of is the fact that I love political satire and social criticism (cf my BA thesis) and more often than not, comedy is absolutely full of it. I believe that one of the purposes of literature or fiction (les belles lettres) is to point out the problems in society and possibly comment on them. Comedy often does exactly the same, maybe in a slightly different form. Comedians are often rather topical not only in different panel shows that demand them to be so (HIGNFY, Mock the Week etc.) but also in their stand-up routines. Thus, I think they are also on a mission to help the public to be aware of the problematic issues in society.
Moreover, I also think that it is a sign of a healthy society that is able to make fun of serious things. I was slightly weary when I went to see Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds but after having seen it I was amazed. It was about time that the horrible reality of WW2 was seen at a somewhat comic angle (although, what comes to my mind is the famous sitcom 'Allo, 'Allo which was also set in Nazi occupied France and it wasn't very serious either...). What I meant to say was that most of the films on WW2 are some horrible war dramas and there's just so many of these. Coming back to comedy, I also think that being able to make fun of some painful issues and more importantly, being able to laugh at these things is always a good sign.

In the end, I think comedy is just one of the cultural texts in modern society that has some kind of purpose, even if only as entertainment. And by God, I am entertained.

May I present....

The representation of Thatcherism in Alan Hollinghurst's The Line of Beauty

The science of humanity

Today, in one of my seminars, the whole discussion somehow drifted into this problem in Estonian society that sciences (physics, chemistry etc, the 'real' thing) is much better funded and propagated by the government than the humanities (such as my own field of study). There is constant complain in the media that there are not enough science students and not enough science at schools.

First of all, I must admit that I don’t know much from science myself. I remember I liked the equations in chemistry but I wouldn’t be able to solve them anymore and all I can remember from my physics class is the teacher shouting at me “Sadam, you root of all evil!” as soon as I walked through the door. Nevertheless, I think that science is very important and very interesting and I have huge amount of respect towards people who are involved.

Having said that, I believe that humanities are just as important for progress in any given society as is science. It is the task of science to ensure that progress and to test new ideas and whatnot but it is the humanities, literature, philosophy etc, that give meaning to everything that science has achieved. It is those soft fields of study that provide us, humans, with value systems and moral conscience.

The question in science often seems to be where to draw the line. Genetics is an immensely popular field in Estonia at the moment. Most probably (I can’t be bothered to actually check), it is also the field that receives the most money from different administrations. Yet, genetics is a very controversial field of study as well. All this research done with stem cells has called for quite a heated debate. Surely, there are numerous reasons why we should do that; think of all the diseases that we might be able the cure or prevent. But the question remains, how soon that we are able to change the human genome? What’s the etiquette in that situation?

I think that this is the situation where those soft ‘sciences’ come to play their part. I am a student of English language and literature. Although I often ask myself the question that several people ask, “What can an English major actually do?”, I still very much love what I study. One thing that studying literature has given me is the ability to have a critical view of what is going around me. I believe that it is the role of literature, ethics, philosophy etc to ensure that there is still some humanity left in humans.

More and more technology is taking over our lives and some times I feel that there is a lack of human touch in things. I’ve come to hate social networks: they are meant to make communication between friends (or ‘friends’) easier and faster but in reality, they seem to kill the actual communication between friends. You can now consider your social duty to be done by clicking ‘Like’ button on Facebook. I know, I know… I’m all over the social networking sites myself. I click the ‘Like’ button as well. God knows how much I’m in love with Twitter. And finally, instead of just talking to my friends, I’m sitting in my small room and writing this moaning blog. But I must say, I’m really close to erasing my accounts on these Internet sites because the lack of communication and humanity is becoming quite unbearable. I feel that the meaning of things is being sucked out by those horrible networks.

If we lose touch with humanity through these impersonal sites, how long till the horrible settings of dystopian fictions become a reality? Maybe I’m pushing it too far but sometimes one gets weary… Or possibly, I’m living in the wrong century.

(Inspired by Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake. If in Tartu on Friday, May 7 then come to UT library café at 3pm and I’ll rant about similar things for about 3 minutes and more intelligent people will talk more on Atwood and her works)

Old friends and bookends

Why is it that some people come into your life and stay no matter what you do or don’t do and then it just won’t work out with other people no matter how hard you try? And my god, you do try! You scorn, you put on a brave face, you doubt your sanity, your ability to experience feelings, you fight with yourself, you fight with people around you… and you give in and give up because you realise that at the end of the day, it’s just not worth it.

The long, long winter (which I’m not sure if I mentioned but was really long) is gone and the melting snow has displayed some of my age old (existential) problems: what exactly am I doing? There are some relationships in case of which I feel disappointment and I find it hard to figure out why. I’d like to think that it’s because I feel like I give out more than I receive but my conscience doesn’t allow this to be the only reason. Most probably there is no particular reason but being the sensible organ, my brain cannot refuse the opportunity to place the blame on someone. In the end, I have to admit that just like the compass needle that points to the north, my accusing finger always turns to myself (I have to apologise for this horrible bastardised version of a quote from K. Hosseini’s ‘A Thousand Splendid Suns’ which, by the way, is a wonderful book).

I guess I’m too tired to actually make sense and to retreat from speaking in riddles. The thing is that I feel like I have ran out of tricks how to keep some relationships going. Maybe I’m a horrible person but if friends are the family we choose then I want to make sure that I make the right choice. (Especially considering that the relationships in my real family are not perfect either.) It means that if I feel I don’t get anything in return from that relationship, I won’t press it. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be… But why do I still feel so bad for even having these thoughts? And I’m still very much afraid that at the end of the day I’m standing here alone, thinking how wrong I was in my judgement.

Well, actually things are not that bad. There are still some great people to be found. For example, people who make sure you are ready for a zombie apocalypse; people whom you only see a few times a year when they invite you over for a lovely dinner and board games; people whose kind words make tears well up in your eyes. And the fact that these people actually exist and consider me as their friend never ceases to amaze me.

In much the same way my oldest best friends have not yet disappointed me. Who are they? Not who but what: books. I’ve been reading some amazing books lately and on my book shelf, awaiting, are also some promising works of literature. Not to mention the few that are on their way to my warm room. So if all else fails, I still have something to fall back on…

First impressionist

First and foremost, don’t be alerted – this blog has nothing to do with art. Unfortunately art (in sense of fine art: paintings, sculptures, graphics and everything in between) is something quite distant and unreachable to me. I’ve never been able to fully understand art. But this was not what I wanted to talk about…

I have realised how much first impressions mean to me. Especially, when it comes to making one myself. Last Friday I went through some nerve-wrecking hours before meeting my supervisor whom I had so far only been in contact via email. It was quite ridiculous how nervous I was. I was so afraid she would consider me light-headed, incompetent and generally, not really a very bright individual (which, by the way, she had every right to think and probably also still thinks that to some extent). In the end, nothing horrible happened (as it would have!); the meeting was quite successful for me and I’m not dropping out of university just yet.

I think it’s natural to wish to leave a good impression on someone you meet, especially someone who has more power or authority than you do; especially someone who holds a piece of you future in their hands. I always wish to seem like someone very polite, helpful, clever and understanding. You know, the usual qualities. Nevertheless, I usually assume that people would not see me like that unless I put on an extra effort to seem like that. This of course means that the whole thing is quite not as natural as it should be and everything is not quite as smooth as it could be. I play some situations, where I’ve made small mistakes, over and over again in my head feeling the sharp pain of embarrassment. Probably this is the reason why I’m usually the quiet one whenever there are people around whom I haven’t met before; that way I can save myself from having to replay a new bunch of embarrassing moments in my head.

The question is, shouldn’t people like (or dislike) us for who we are? Thus, we ought to appear as we are with all our faults and short-comings. I never could. If I cannot actually be better than I am, I would at least like to appear better than I really am. I wish I could be naturally quick-witted and someone who can communicate easily with everyone but I’m not. Instead, I usually put on a pretty big act. (Not that my act would make me quick-witted.) Tiring, one might say. Definitely. And imagine the surprise when people find out that it’s not really me. Oops. But I can’t really change that. I’m like a dog from the shelter just begging, “Like me, like me!”

I must admit, though, that I often discover that first impressions can be very much misleading. I’ve come to be like people who at first I did not like at all or vice versa. Still, more often than not I might judge people by the first impression, then see that they are really not like that all and in the end discover that actually, they are just like they first seemed. This means that the impression I leave on people might change just the same. I’m sure that there are plenty of people out there whom I’ve met and who, based on the first impression, do not like me. As much as it might pain me, I cannot change that.

For the time being, I keep on making those false first impressions.

(To be completely honest, I’m not sure how much sense this particular post makes. Considering my fatigue and absolute absence of even a half-intelligent thought, not much. But bear with me: I might have my bright moment soon enough)

I hate days like this!

Disclaimer: the following post is dripping from negativity and self-pity. You are discouraged from reading it, but if your curiosity wins despite that, don't come blaming to me. For my own apology, I have to say that since I don't have any other way to put my misery into something creative, the poor pages of the Internet must endure my bad moments. Still, it is not too late to turn away from this page. You have been warned!

I hate days when I feel like I hate everything (it's a paradox, I know...). As shallow as it might sound, I actually like being the cheery and silly me who can always laugh and think of a joke and who doesn't have a care in the world. Lately, I'm seeing less and less of that side of me and more of that nasty moody side. Where did this smiley girl go? And why?

I have always thought that 'hate' is such a strong word and that I don't actually hate anything in the world. I did use that word, of course, for the sake of being understood but I really believed that I couldn't be so bitter to actually feel like this. Now I'm discovering that I am quite capable of hating and rather competent in being angry. They say that you can only hate someone or something that you used to love (hence the saying: there's a thin line between love and hate). It is true but I would also add to this that it is possible to hate people who ruin the things you love for you. And this has happened to me.
It is incredible how much energy hating takes away from you; the energy you could use to do something fun and good and useful but all of that is used to keep the fire of hate burning. And I really, really wish I could let go but I can't... And I hate it.

I have discovered that I have become more cynical and more irritated in the last few months. I can't really put my finger on why this has happened but I can see the change in me and unfortunately, I can also see how this affects the people close to me: my friends and family. It has become more and more difficult for me to hide it under a smiley face.
I think the first sign of warning came when I heard my father complain that I nag the most in our family. And I probably do! My mum was of course extremely happy to hand that title over to me but I'm not too pleased about it myself. I'm all hot and bothered whenever I'm at home and this probably makes me nag a lot. My relationship with my sister is completely in ruins and I just don't have the nerves and energy to fix it.

It is incredible that I still have such awesome friends around me despite me being a total mess. I've discovered that I'm completely abusing the phrase: "I'm sure (s)he is a very nice person but..." (meaning: I'm sure (s)he is a complete and utter idiot). I'm glad that there are at least a few people who understand what I mean and are able to turn it into a joke. Nevertheless, I have a secret fear that if I cannot go back to the old me, the most amazing friends that I am blessed with will turn from me one by one.

I try to be better but every day I see that I'm more and more turning into a miserable whinging b*tch: exactly the kind of person I cannot stand.
Sorry!