In the middle of my affair with Helsinki, a hostel roomate said, "You want to see a Real Living Bathhouse? You should go to Estonia!" So I spent the weekend in Tallinn, in the 1/2-mile
square of Vanalinn (Old Town) a beautiful crumb of medieval cobbling
holding down a port city. It overlooks the bay from a seat equal
parts living stone and masonry, and every wall feels about 3 feet
thick. I'm sure there are other parts of Tallinn which are lovely and
interesting, I'm sure this city's public transportation system and
everyday neighborhoods are full of adventure. But I feel such a
vacation-like luxury here, I have no interest in them at all. All I
want can be found wandering down tiny streets and craning my neck at
stone reliefs. Tiny shops full of amber and pottery and the clouds of
glowing wool creations. Museums venerable and contemporary, and art
galleries by the acre.
One most excellent museums is the Nuku Museum of Puppet Arts: this is their "Steampunk Puppet Theater" -- a glowing window of clockwork automatons that whirl into jangly action every 30 minutes.
There's a funny thing happening to my
field of vision, out here where I well and truly have no
comprehension of the language. Automatic and endemic reader that I
am, imagine my surprise now that the printed word has absolutely no
meaning here. Advertising has turned into simple visual impact.
Signage is visual noise. I might as well read dream newspapers. At
first this was distracting, a little distressing, and I felt its
loss. But now its like being sent home from work, with only a slight
fever, and nothing to do the rest of the day. I've been freed from
responsibility, in a bewildering way. Where did I put that ability to
comprehend? I have become that smiling foreigner who simply has no
clue. Strangers are lovely and helpful in need. Children think
pantomime is hilarious. Shopkeepers are either kindly or exasperated.
Bus drivers will let you get away with anything. I'm in a silent-film
comedy.
