Month: August 1994

The Baltics

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August 24, 1994. I make arrangements with Family Hotel Services in Tallinn for a room in Riga and another in Vilnius, five days apiece. Then I go to the Chinese restaurant next door for lunch, before hitting the road to Latvia. Family Hotel Services — like their competitor, Bed and Breakfast — is a Baltic service that hooks up travelers with people who rent out rooms in their homes. The average rate is US$10 per night. I’m staying in more expensive places, US$15, because these homes have certain advantages; they speak English, or the are near the city center, or they have a secure place where I can park my car. Of the US$15, the family sees US$7. Breakfast is extra.

Now why is it so inexpensive? Because, to the families who rent out their rooms, US$7 is a lot of money. In Estonia, the average monthly income is US$145. In Latvia, it’s about US$160. In Lithuania, it’s US$80. Latvians actually seem to be the poorest because prices there are typically three or four times higher than in Estonia or Lithuania. This is mostly the result of high import tariffs and value-added taxes.

The Chinese restaurant, one of only a couple in Tallinn, is probably only in business for lack of competition. The restaurant is clean and the service is adequate, but the food is bland and heavy with oil. After a spring roll and a greasy plate of noodles, I’m off to Riga.

Steppin’ Out

The 300 km drive from Tallinn to Riga takes about four hours. The speed limit is 90 km/hour in the country and 50 km/hour in towns and cities. There is no such thing as a freeway in Estonia (though Latvia and Lithuania do have a few) and the main roads pass through small towns every 20 or 30 km. The border crossing requires four separate stops. If you’ve crossed the border between America and either Canada or Mexico, you know that none of these countries care what you are taking out of the country. To go to Mexico, you don’t need to talk to U.S. officials. In the Baltics, you talk to Customs and Passport Control for the country you are leaving, and then Customs and Passport Control for the country you are entering. Mainly they are interested in writing down your license plate number as part of an ineffective attempt to catch stolen vehicles. In addition, it is against the law to export items considered to be of cultural significance.

One of the big news items this week was the recovery of 3 kg of smuggled Uranium in Estonia. Apparently, Estonia is the prime transit route for smuggling radioactive material out of Russia. When nuclear scientists and border guards have incomes barely at the level of subsistance, bribery is pretty simple. A couple hundred bucks to look the other way and they’ve doubled or tripled their income for the month.

Hitchin’ a Ride

There are a lot of hitchhikers in the Baltics. Hitchhiking is apparently a common way to get from one town to the next, since it is cheaper than the bus or train. This would not seem unusual except that there are just as many women hitchhiking as men. In fact, just outside of Tartu on the road to Tallinn, the young women often dress provacatively to make it easier to catch a lift.

Coming from America, where hitchhiking is considered unsafe — and downright suicidal for women — this is both surprising and refreshing. On the road from the Estonian border to Riga, I gave a lift to an old woman and her daughter and grandson. They were going six kilometers; home from the store. The young boy stared at me the whole time with a look of wonderment. I think maybe he had never seen anyone who didn’t speak Latvian. The women smiled a lot and tried to say a few things in English.


Riga’s Old City is picturesque, but the rest of the city is pretty scary. Riga is the largest city in the Baltics, and it is terribly run down. The roads are in bad condition everywhere and the government has no money to repair them. For that matter, Latvia actually has no government right now. A couple of months ago, the existing goverment abdicated power, and a new government has not been established yet. Of course, people are still running the country but, officially, there is no government. Riga also has a terrible pollution problem, with over half of the city’s sewage flowing untreated into the Daugava river and Riga’s bay.

I stayed in the home of a wonderful young Latvian couple. The fact that they are Latvian is somewhat surprising because Riga is two-thirds Russian. They gave up their bedroom to me and slept in the living room. One thing I had to adjust to is a lack of hot water during the day. Hot water was only turned on in the morning, until about 9:00am, and after 5:00pm. When it was on, it was just a trickle. Bathing was a real chore. Still, this was better than the apartment in Tallinn that had no hot water at all. Bathing from a pot of warm water is even harder.

This couple took me to a small town called Sigulda. Sigulda is described as Latvia’s Switzerland. This is a ridiculous exaggeration, but Sigulda does have a more dramatic landscape than the rest of this flat country. They have skiing in the winter. In the summer, people bungy jump from an aerial tram over the river.

Sigulda is a popular hiking spot, with lots of trails and many small caves. Legend has it that a young woman known as the Rose of Turida used to meet her lover, the castle gardener, in one of these caves. When a suitor lured her to the cave with a forged note from the gardener, she told him that she would give him her magical scarf if he would let her go. The scarf was a powerful shield she said and, to prove it, he could swing his sword at her. His sword killed her, and the suitor ran and hid in another of the caves. Today visitors place flowers at Turida Rose’s gravestone, under the trees that were supposedly planted by the gardener. The caves are made of a soft stone, covered with carved grafitti from the last century.


In Lithuania, I stayed in the home of a retired Polish couple who spoke no English. The woman spoke a little German, and we communicated in broken German with the aid of English-German and Russian-German dictionaries. I remember a bit of German from high-school, but only enough to get a hotel room or a meal.

I was told I might find Vilnius depressing, so I was surprised at how much I actually liked it. The people seem friendly and hospitable, and the city center is quite charming, if not as old and magnificent as Riga’s or Tallinn’s. Perhaps the most striking thing about Vilnius is the number of churches. Looking at the cityscape, you can count at least a dozen spires rising from the city center. Inside, these churches are some of the most lavish and ornamental I have seen.

They say Vilnius was founded when Gediminas camped here on a hunting trip and dreamed of an iron wolf with the howl of a hundred wolves. He took this to mean that he must build an impregnable fortress, as strong as a hundred wolves. The city was built around Gediminas Hill, atop of which sits Gediminas Tower, part of the old fortress which now houses a museum. While in Lithuania, I also visited the town of Trakai. Trakai is built on a peninsula in a lake about 30 km west of Vilnius. At the end of the peninsula, on a small island connected by a footbridge, is a large, well-restored brick castle. The history museum in the castle has an impressive collection of artifacts, arranged chronologically, dating from the middle ages to the early part of this century.

This was the last really nice day I saw in the Baltics. In Trakai, I laid on the grass and watched people rowing and paddle-boating on the lake. The next day the weather turned cold and it began to rain. It has stayed that way most of the time since.

The eight-hour drive back to Tartu, Estonia was interrupted only by a couple of difficult border crossings. At the Latvian border, the ten or so cars in front of me took about an hour to cross. The border guards were in no hurry. At the Estonian border in Volga, I tried three different border crossings before I found the right one where I would be allowed to cross. The border guards spoke no English, but some Estonians coming the other way were kind enough to lead me to the right crossing.

Light My Fire

The three cultural traditions of which Estonians seem most proud are their folk costumes, their folk songs, and their saunas (pronounced “sow-nah”). An Estonian sauna is a unique experience. The sauna itself is usually a small wooden building, like a tiny log cabin. Inside the front door is a small anteroom. This functions much like a decompression chamber; it is a place to cool off without going outside and it keeps the hot air from escaping entirely. The main room of the sauna is just large enough for a brick, wood-burning stove and boiler, plus some wooden benches where you sit and work up a sweat. There are stones on top of the stove for making steam. Here’s how it works. First you start a fire and let it burn for a few hours. The fire has to heat up the entire structure, as well as the air inside. By the time you go in, the inside air temperature is about 100 degrees celcius. That’s right, boiling temperature!

You go in naked and sit for a while to work up a good sweat. When you can no longer stand it, you go to the anteroom and cool off for a bit. Then you go back in, pour hot water on the stones for plenty of steam, and beat yourself vigorously with a large whisk made of birch leaves.

We took a sauna at Eerik’s summer cottage; a small farmhouse in the country near Oteapaa. This being my first time in a sauna, Eerik lent a hand. He poured the water on the stones and beat me with the whisk while I lay on the wooden bench. Well the pain of the whisk and the raw steam hitting my body was more than I could endure. I panicked. Without really knowing what I was doing, I jumped off the bench and ran outside. I may have been screaming something like “I gotta get outta here!” Eerik was confused. He really had no idea why I left. Meantime, our companion Wally, who was sitting in the outside room waiting for his turn to get beaten, was probably getting worried, since he had never experience this either.

After a few minutes to cool off, we tried it again. This time, Eerik was a little slower with the whisk. It was extremely intense, but tolerable. After an all-over beating we went outside and Eerik doused me with a large pan of cold water. Again, intense. I understand that, during the winter, they go outside and roll in the snow.

After the sauna, we made dinner with Eerik’s mom. Barbequed pork, Chicago-style pizza, roast sausages, tomato salad, boiled beans from their garden, beer. Wonderful.

Sometimes a Banana is Just a Banana

September 6, 1994. Estonia is truly a small country. I don’t just mean the fact that they have a population of only a million people with their own language and culture. I mean that things happen here that simply don’t happen in larger countries.

First, I find that often when I meet someone, they know the other people I have met. Several times I have met two people independently — in different cities, even — only to find out that they know one another. In one case, I met a man in Otepaa and a woman in Tallinn and, a week later, saw them walk into a bar together. I would chalk it up to coincidence, except that things like this happen again and again.

Second, in a country this small, people in high places are not as insulated as they are in larger countries. Last night I was at Hell Hunt having drinks with people from the Foreign Ministry. At 1:00am, the Chief of Policy Planning made a phone call and then said she had to go meet with the President. I drove her and a colleauge to the President’s manor. They said I could come in and meet him if I liked, but it didn’t seem appropriate. I’m just a tourist, but they were there to discuss business.

Also, coincidentally, two different people have jokingly speculated that I probably work for the CIA — The Pickle Factory, I’m told it’s called — because technically savvy Americans just don’t show up and hang around with no apparent source of income for long periods of time. I must be a spy. Tomorrow morning, I’m taking a ferry to Germany. I plan to spend a couple of days in Hamburg and then head to Munich for Oktoberfest.

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Copyright © 1994, Kenn Nesbitt


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August 17, 1994. Russian Mafia are easy to spot. They drive mostly Mercedes or occasionally a new Opel, usually with dark tinted windows. Their cars are always immaculate. They wear suits — sometimes flashy outfits with purple sportcoats, modern-day zoot-suits — with cellular phones dangling conspicuously from their belts. They are young, clean-cut and tough-looking. And they are everywhere.

They seem to hang out in the city center. They relax in expensive cafes and chat with one another, or perhaps with a sexy girlfriend. When the phone rings, they always get up and walk outside. I don’t know if this is because of bad reception or so that they can be seen using their cellular phone, their symbol of wealth.

Can’t Buy Me Love

This week, while trying to find a hotel near Pirita, a seaside area 6 km east of Tallinn, my friend Eerik (pronounced like “Eric”, but with a trilled “r”) and I accidentally wound up at a Mafia-run whorehouse. (Eerik, I should mention, I met at the Irish pub in Puhejarv where I left off in the last installment. I’ll tell you more about him and his girlfriend Kristiin in a moment.) In the office of this small, grimy orange motel — the Rumma Velodroomil — eight or ten large Russian men in suits sat around a coffee table. The desk clerk wore a very tight, short black dress and white fishnet stockings. Eerik spoke with her in Russian and she showed us a couple of rooms. He then thanked her and told her we would keep looking. As we left, he explained “It’s a brothel.” While I was oblivious to their conversation, she was telling him that they have women for 350 EEK per hour (about US$29). She assured him that if I didn’t need the room all night, I didn’t need to stay. Very creepy.

While we are in the neighborhood, I should tell you that the jammin’est disco in Tallinn is a place called Piraat (that’s Estonian for “pirate”) right next door to the Hotell Pirita. Piraat is large, loud and crowded. If it’s nightlife you crave, reserve a room at the Hotell Pirita and walk over to Piraat after 10:00pm. Another good discotheque is Lucky Luke’s Saloon at the Tallinn port. It is half the size of Piraat, but still quite fun.

Thank You For Being a Friend

Necessity is the mother of all battles, to coin a mixed metaphor. Traveling solo — being alone most of the time — creates a need to meet people, and the necessity itself seems to make it happen.

I never thought of myself as being good at meeting new people. I am finding, though, that I am meeting lots of people. There seem to be two reasons: first, I am more inclined to make an effort to connect with strangers and, second, others seem to be interested in me when they hear about my journey. In the last two weeks I have met a number of wonderful people, both Estonians and foreign expatriates.

The day after arriving in Puhejarv, I saw the pub’s owner, Liam, speaking with several people outside on the deck. Knowing that Liam spoke only English, I decided to join them. Liam introduced me to Eerik and Kristiin (pronounced like “Christine”, but with a trilled “r” and the accent on the first syllable) and two of their friends from Tartu. The six of us had dinner together, plus several beers and whiskeys, and then went for a jump into any icy-cold lake in our underwear. I think this is what’s known as a rollicking good time.

Eerik mentioned that he was taking his vacation the following weekend and going to Parnu and Saaremaa. Parnu is a beach resort in southwestern Estonia and Saaremaa is the largest of Estonia’s islands; several people have told me these are the most beautiful places in Estonia. Since I was planning to go to Parnu, I suggested we go together. We agreed to meet on Friday.

During the week, I met with the man who established Estonia’s satellite Internet connections to the West. He told me numerous stories about the politics of setting up digital links to Sweden and Finland during the fall of the Soviet Union. He chose a “Gordian knot” approach to the problem. Just do what needs to be done — to hell with the bureaucracy — and sort out the problems afterward. I will tell you about our conversation — and about the introduction of the Internet in the Baltics — in a future article.

On The Road Again

Friday, Eerik, Kristiin and I drove first to Haapsalu and then to Parnu. We arrived in Haapsalu during the “Days of the White Lady”. The White Lady was the lover of a man in the piiskopilinnus, the bishop’s castle. She was bricked into the castle walls for the crime of entering the male-only castle. During the August full-moon, her ghost is said to appear in the cathedral window. The Days of the White Lady is a big festival in Haapsalu, with plays and concerts staged on the castle grounds. Despite the festival, Haapsalu is still a small and sleepy village; after a picnic lunch and a play at the castle, we decided to push on to Parnu.

This week, Parnu hosts the Finn Cup Sailing Championship. The final race is Saturday. Since we planned to see the race, we looked a place to stay. We chose our hotel by its price: 60 EEK for a single, 120 for a double. That’s US$5 and US$10. My room was not much larger than a Chinese shoebox. No phones, no TV, no towels, no soap. Shared toilet and shower. Noisy at night and not terribly clean. Hot water only in the morning. This hotel is not in my guidebooks and, as far as I can tell, it has no name. If you would like to try this place, it’s at Roosi 4a, behind the kauplus (shop).

I should mention that, compared to most of Estonia, Parnu is very beautiful. Houses are well cared for, yards are tended, streets are clean. Parnu has lots of parks and a gorgeous beach. The beautifully remodeled Rannahotell is right on the beach, with rooms starting at a whopping US$80 a night. Despite the high room rates, their elegant restaurant is surprisingly inexpensive.

After a rest, we went in search of nightlife. Parnu has two discos: Hamilton and Miraz. Hamilton is small and uninteresting. Miraz (pronounced “Mirage”) is a mecca by comparison, but still pretty lame next to Piraat or Lucky Luke’s in Tallinn.

Sailing Away

For us, the sailing championship was a fiasco. The boat from which we watched the race broke down after the first leg. We did not see the remainder of the race, but just drifted for several hours until another boat came and towed us in. Our boat was good-sized, with perhaps two dozen other passengers. We had paid 50 EEK apiece for tickets but, naturally, our money was not refunded.

Island Life

During the Soviet occupation, Estonian citizens needed a visa to see to the island of Saaremaa. Saaremaa was the westernmost point in the Soviet Union, and the home of Russia’s early-warning radar installations. Today the radar bases are gone and Estonians can visit Saaremaa as easily as any other part of Estonia. For 40 EEK per car, a ferry takes you to the smaller island of Muhu which, in turn, is connected by bridge to Saaremaa.

Kuressaare is the largest city on Saaremaa and it is becoming an attractive spot for tourists, now that the island is open. There is an outdoor market in the center of town where local women sell handmade woolen sweaters and socks, amber necklaces, and knickknacks carved from dolomite.

Kuressaare grew up around an impressive and well-preserved castle, built in the mid 14th century. Today the castle houses a history museum and a nature museum. The history museum is filled with old weaponry, furniture, photographs, etc. Unfortunately, the descriptions are only in Estonian and Russian. The nature museum is a taxidermists heaven, with stuffed deer and moose, flamingos and seagulls, boars and porcupines; dozens, if not hundreds of animals, representing all of the local wildlife. This nature museum is apparently newer, because the descriptions here are also in English.

We ate dinner on the third floor of a restaurant built inside a large stone windmill. The local beers, Saaremaa Olu and Kuressaare Olu, are potent and tasty. Saaremaa also has its own local blackbread, Saaremaa leib, and cheese, Saaremaa juust. The bread is one of many subtle variations of the dense, hard ryebread that is found on nearly every restaurant table in Estonia. The cheese is remarkably like Monterey Jack. Once again, though, dinner was a plate of fries, a few vegetables, and a chunk of meat. Originality does not seem to be a virtue among Estonian chefs.

As in Parnu, we chose our hotel in Kuressaare by its price; 100 EEK per person (that’s US$8 to you and me). This place was spartan, but still a big step up from our hotel in Parnu. Clean rooms, comfortable beds, private bathrooms with plenty of hot water, and concrete walls for a quiet sleep. According to an instruction card on the desk, “If there are any disorders in your room announce it to the administrator, please.” We returned to Tallinn on Monday, and on Wednesday I left for Latvia.

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Copyright © 1994, Kenn Nesbitt


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August 8, 1994. We have email. We have email! I’ll tell you about more about that in a minute.

Foreign countries, especially non-Western foreign countries, can be confusing. I am in Tallinn, Estonia, which is perhaps the most Westernized city in all of the former Soviet Union. A great many people here speak English or German. Nonetheless, the first few days can be like a trip to the moon. After that, things slowly begin to make sense.

Let me tell you a little of what I have seen here. Although Tallinn is the crumbling and decrepit victim of 50 years of Soviet occupation, it has some truly outstanding features. First is a medieval old town unrivaled in all of Europe. Despite a bombing raid by the Soviet army in 1944 that destroyed 40% of the housing in Tallinn, the old city is very much intact. Today the old city is alive with the sound of hammers and workmen, restoring many of the buildings that have fallen into disrepair. When the state owned all the buildings, nothing ever got fixed. Now that they are in private hands, repairs are going on everywhere.

Another outstanding feature of Tallinn today is the opportunity. Everywhere entrepreneurs are grabbing their new-found freedom and turning a buck with it. This is not to say that the people here are wealthy; most, in fact, are very poor and have a real problem stretching their income to meet their expenses. A free market economy has created very distinct upper and lower classes. You can see it on the street: Estonian Yuppies make deals on cell-phones from their Mercedes, retired pensioners try to get by on US$20 a month.

Baby, You Can Drive My Car

I am fortunate that I have had quite a bit of help from an Estonian native. With his assistance, I have managed to buy a car — a 1982 BMW — and get it registered and insured. I do not recommend you try this unless you absolutely have to. If you think the California DMV is bad, the Estonian Autoregistri is like some bizarre mating of a Russian breadline and a Turkish Bazaar. You have absolutely no idea what is going on, but there are a dozen different forms to complete and several different lines to wait in. On top of this, you must have Estonian residency papers to register a car here. Lacking these, I had to get special permission from the head of the Estonian automobile registry and the head of the local registry office before I could even begin the process. Registering involved paying three different taxes — for what, I have no idea — and waiting for several hours sandwiched among a bunch of fat, sweaty Russians. But it’s done, and I’m mobile. All that is left is to install a hefty alarm; car theft is a big problem here.

Ricki, Don’t Lose That Number

Back to the email. The phones in Estonia — how can I put it? — suck bad. There are three kinds of common phones in Estonia. First are the telephones you find in homes and hotels. These are suitable for voice communications, but more or less useless for data.

The second are common payphones. These are ubiquitous gray metal booths on which is stenciled the word “Telefon”. They were made to accept rubles but, since the phone company does not have the money to convert them, they can now be used for free. Like regular telephones, they are suitable for local voice calls, but useless for anything else.

The third kind of phones are the new, orange payphones labeled Eesti Telefon. These phones use a special phone card that you can usually purchase somewhere nearby. A 16 krooni card (about US$1.30) will give you about 2 hours of local calling time. However, trying to connect your notebook PC to an email service at a payphone is not the easiest thing in the world. Here’s the trick. First, you must have an acoustic coupler for your modem. Mine came from Unlimited Systems in San Diego, California; they make good equipment and I recommend them highly. Next, find a phone with nearby seating. My favorite so far is in the lobby of the Hotell Mihkli on Endla street. It is installed right next to a sofa. You can sit down with your notebook while you transmit. Of course, this got me some amazed looks from the hotel staff who told me, in their halting English, that this is the first time they have seen a computer used on a phone. Lastly, although these phones seem to dial using the same tones as American phones, they do not recognize the tones when they are played into the receiver by a computer. You will have to tell your communications program to connect as it normally would, but then dial the number manually. This seems to work.

CompuServe has a local access number in Tallinn. If all you need is email, CompuServe is a good choice here. Access is provided through SprintNet, a computer network owned by U.S. Sprint. Connecting via SprintNet is an adventure in itself, so let me give you this rule of thumb: if you plan to travel and use CompuServe for email, make sure you get a copy of the access telephone numbers and all instructions for connecting before you leave your home country. Oddly, my contact here was surprised and happy to hear that CompuServe has a local access number in Tallinn. His company had been calling Germany to connect.

One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer

Every day in Estonia is a new opportunity to drink alcohol. Drinking seems to be the national sport. A bottle of Finlandia Vodka that costs US$29.00 in Finland, costs US$6.00 here. Local vodka can be had for about US$3.00 a bottle. The “most popular drink in Estonia,” according to my unofficial sources, is called Gin Long Drink. It is gin and tonic in a can, available for 8 or 9 krooni (about US$0.75) at every restaurant, bar, grocery store, street kiosk, fast food joint and bus stop in Tallinn. Anywhere you can buy a candy bar or a Coke, you can buy a Gin Long Drink. It’s not bad, by the way.

The national beer, Saku, comes in several different varieties — all of them mediocre. And, so far, all of the food here is equally mediocre. A Brit whom I met at lunch yesterday told me “You don’t come here for the food.” Basically, there seems to be one meal in Estonia, with slight variations. It consists of a plate of french fries with sliced tomatoes and cucumbers on one side and a slab of meat — pork beef or chicken — on top of the fries. In many places they will add some form of cabbage salad or fried vegetables to this. I have had this meal in different places almost every day so far. I am surprised, though, because I always I am ordering something different. I think the name for this meal literally translates to “gut bomb.”

Hit the Road, Jack

August 12, 1994. Tartu, Estonia is 200 km southeast of Tallinn and home to the most well known university in Estonia, founded in 1632. Now that I have registered, insured and put an alarm on my car, I am beginning to see this country. I am staying for a couple of days in the home of a talkative Estonian woman 2 km north of Tartu. Her home is remarkably clean and well maintained, and her English is unusually difficult to understand. She is friendly and hospitable, but talks like a machine-gun. Next month she goes back to the university for her second semester of much-needed English lessons.

Back in the USSR

This morning I met with the networking manager of the University to discuss Estonia’s connections to the Internet. You see, three years ago there was no Internet in Estonia. Three years ago you would have to get official permission well in advance just to use a photocopier which, naturally, were kept locked and well guarded. This was to prevent the spread of subversive ideas. Today, you can walk into any of a dozen buildings around the town square in Tartu and download the U.S. constitution or explicit nude photographs or instructions for building an atomic bomb. All the world’s “subversive” ideas are now so ripe they are falling from the trees.

Three years ago, Western visitors were not allowed to stay overnight in Tartu, presumably to keep them from spying on the nearby airfield, which was the largest in the Soviet Union. Today, there are many new hotels and restaurants in Tartu, and the airfield is abandoned.

I have already met several Americans who are here to consult with the Estonian local governments about the nature of democracy. One couple gave me a tour of the Supreme Court building and the Tartu History Museum. At night we went to a local restaurant/bar/casino/disco and talked about Estonia, while the college students danced and smoked cigarettes.

Enjoy the Silence

August 14, 1994. At a lake called Puhajarv, just outside of the small town of Otepaa, about 60 km southeast of Tartu, there is a small pub and inn called Kolga-Oru. The inn is small, but the rooms are modern and comfortable. This is the nicest hotel I have found so far. The pub plays Irish music and serves Guinness on tap. Kolga-Oru was built by an Irishman who came for a visit and was so taken with the place, he never went back; I don’t blame him. Yesterday I rented a rowboat for 15 krooni (about US$1.20), paddled out into the lake and relaxed in the sun for an hour. This place is quiet, wooded and peaceful. I’m beginning to really enjoy this trip.

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Copyright © 1994, Kenn Nesbitt