on a wintry, post-Soviet beach

At the end of the last millennium:

I'm in a hotel bed, drinking Coke and watching Back to the Future 3, dubbed into Estonian. Not what I expected of a Friday evening.

I was sent to Estonia to help out at an international Methodist conference. A young student of English, I was supposed to interpret the proceedings into Swedish for the benefit of Swedish participants. I wasn't actually a Methodist myself and could not understand why people would come together for something like this.

But, hey, a paid trip to Estonia! Who would say no?

Pärnu  is a famous resort city of Estonia. At the time, it still had a post-Soviet look of dilapidation. I found it desperately romantic, like something out of an old spy movie. Weak street lights, far apart, barely managed to illluminate dark wintry streets and ancient houses falling apart. Very broad streets at that, Soviet-style. A once-grand stadion where I could still, at least in my overactive imagination, see a larger-than-life statue of Lenin. Dreary shops with half-empty shelves. The antique tea rooms of an old hotel where we sipped our strong tea out of delicate china cups. Jungle-like back yards where snarling dobermanns guarded junk like old tractors - and even a real, rust-spotted fighter aircraft. Telephone lines hanging so low you had to duck under them. And, in stark contrast, streets crammed with shiny new BMWs and Mercedes.

Typical Estonia in the 1990s.

I struggled valiantly through the difficult interpretation at the conference and hung out with some new-found friends there, like my fellow Finn whom I followed around loyally since I was too scared to venture far on my own. Luckily, he was of the gentlemanly type who looked after me and made sure I got home safe to my hotel.

The hotel was magnificent - or had been once. When I opened my balcony door, I was right on the mile-long beach, facing the endless horizon of the Gulf of Riga. Since it was February, the beach was completely empty. The Gulf was frozen over and far away I could see people walking on the ice, even driving cars on it.

The winter evenings were quiet, the room chilly. I curled up in the bed, drank my Coke, tried to prepare the following day's interpretation and watched incomprehensible Estonian TV. I felt a bit lost and quite a bit happy.