Today started out pretty slowly. It was a combination of cold and windy and just-barely-more-than-drizzling, which is close to the most miserable weather there is. Relatively undeterred, I had the leftovers from yesterday's lunch for breakfast and set out to find someplace to read my book. The Latvian National Library is two blocks from my hostel, but seemed quite closed, so I took off into "New Riga" to find a coffeeshop. Passing by dozens of chain places and a few character-free independent coffeeshops, I found just the right place. The interior was retro, homey Soviet-era kitsch, the crowd was made up entirely of friendly Latvian punks, and they were playing Pink Floyd on the stereo.
Yesterday, I did a whole bunch of sightseeing in Riga in the morning.
From there, I walked over to the Central Market, which is contained in three former zeppelin hangars near the riverbank. You could buy almost anything there. I got some dark rye and sausages and cheese and sat outside to have lunch.
In the outdoor portion, you could get clothing and fruit and beer and pirated CDs and DVDs, too.
Walking through a park, I saw that the bridges were covered with locks. I eventually found out that when a couple gets married, it's traditional to write their names on a lock, lock it to a bridge, and throw the key into the water, to symbolize the permanence of their union.
Then I went over to Albertas Street to check out the amazing art nouveau buildings.
I happened upon the fantastic teahouse mentioned in the previous post, then went to dinner at a dada-themed restaurant (waitresses in outfits slightly reminiscent of dada theatrical costumes, dada art themed decor, and so on). It was a little depressing, since it was part of a chain of well-turned-out theme restaurants, and shows, I suppose that almost anything can be made into a trivial restaurant theme.
After dinner, I went to Hamlet's, a small second-floor theatre space and bar run by the Latvian Actors' Association. There was a jazz quartet playing -- sax, guitar, bass, and drums. the crowd was small but appreciative; it was, after all, Monday night. I drank scotch and amused myself during the occasional long, meandering solos by making up a back-story for the young, stylishly-dressed couple at the table next to mine who sat the entire evening entirely impassively, with blank expressions and no drinks, not conversing with each other or anyone else. The quartet finished the night reading some charts the drummer had brought, and they gave some of their best performances of the night.
I just happened upon this very-serious-about-tea shop in Riga about a block from the amazing art nouveau buildings. There's free internet access and they're playing Amon Tobin on the stereo. This is perfect.
Hey! I don't feel like writing a lot of narrative text, so look at these pretty pictures of Tallinn!
Here are some bits from my journal.
You know what I love about Eastern Europe? I can do a silly Boris Badenov accent and not only does nobody bat an eyelash, they actually understand me better.
Best unintentional juxtaposition of the trip so far: At a cafe in the newer part of Tallinn, some nice slow electronica was playing in the background while the TV program changed from the news to some old Soviet-era stop motion animation. The combination of the music and the old, jerky film was perfect.
Three things I like about Estonia:
- The official abbreviation for the currency, the Estonian Krone, is EEK. (!)
- In a country of about a million, there are 33,000 people in organized choirs. This is the country that had the singing revolution. I'm not kidding.
- The only thing wrong with the old town of Tallinn is that it's a bit overbearingly Hanseatic. You can't say that about too many places.
I've reached Riga, Latvia -- though just barely. You see, I was saved by a Phileas Fogg error. I took the city bus that goes to the international bus station in Tallinn to get on my noon bus for Riga, but I got on going the wrong way, ending up on the outskirts of town before asking a fellow passenger why the bus station was so far from the center of town. After some directions from a nice old Russian lady (*gesturing a whole lot* "So I just WAIT over THERE for the BUS back THROUGH town to the BUS STATION?" "Da! Da, da, da, da.") I reached the appropriate bus stop to go the other way, but my watch told me it was already 11:30 -- hardly enough time to get back and on my bus by noon. I stopped into the flower shop on the corner to see about calling a taxi, and the woman at the counter, after checking a schedule on the wall, kindly informed me that I wouldn't need a taxi, because the next bus came at 10:37. I asked whether her clock might be mistaken. Then she began, slowly and patiently, to explain daylight savings time to me.
Just as Phileas Fogg thought he had lost the bet at the end of Around The World in Eighty Days but was saved because he'd forgotten about the international date line, I thought I'd miss my bus but was saved because I'd forgotten about daylight savings time. (It's amazing how easy it is to miss when you can't understand the radio, TV, or newspapers.)
So, after a perfectly pleasant five-hour bus ride, I'm in Riga. It's very cold, but that's all right. The city is beautiful.
I just finished reading JPod, by Douglas Coupland. I recommend it highly. My reaction is probably partially because I'd been jonesing so badly for a slice of North American geek culture, but I really enjoyed it. While reading it, at one point I thought to myself, "Shit -- do I have an ASCII table on me?" If that sounds like something you'd like to think while reading a novel, definitely pick this one up. (I didn't, and wasn't desperate enough to write Python code directly on my mobile phone to find the answer on the spot, but I looked it up later, and the string in Chapter One translates to "edgy".)
I've started in on another of Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels -- this time, Going Postal. It's kinda-sorta-partly about telecom regulation and internet startups, but mostly just the usual silly-smart Pratchett things, like social relations between golems and Igors and terrible postal puns.
I'm likely to finish it on tomorrow's 5-hour bus ride to Riga, Latvia, so I bought a few ancient Bantam and Penguin paperbacks at a used book store here. More on them once I can give you pictures of their gorgeous 1930s-1950s covers.
It's been an enjoyable few days in Tallinn. The concert last night was great. Here's a bit from my journal.
The Prokofiev ["Ode to the End of the War"] was gorgeous -- played perfectly, alternately serene and bloodthirsty. . . .
The Antheil ["Ballet Mecanique"] was just awesome. I can only imagine the film he had in his head while he was writing it. The forces tonight were 4 pianos, 3 or 4 other chromatic percussion, timpani, and electronics. The alarm bells and airplane propellers were pretty well done, triggered by one of the chromatic percussionists and played in effective stereo on two speakers in the back corners of the stage.
"Sloath" [a work by Juri Reinvere commissioned for the festival for chrous, 4 pianos, and percussion] was really cool -- heavy on non-vocalized mouth noises, especially hisses and plosives and other air sounds. Like the Prokofiev, it was occasionally gorgeously tonal, setting its bleaker, more frozen-tundra-like parts in stark relief. From a technical standpoint, the choral parts were incredibly difficult. [The piano parts were so spare that it would be almost impossible for the singers to get their pitches.] I saw one tenor using a tuning fork, but at least half of that choir has got to have perfect pitch. For an avant-garde choral piece, the crowd responded quite enthusiasticaly. They seemed to get it. But their closeness with the feel of the windblown tundra struck through occasionally with flashes of heartbreaking beauty is probably greater than that of most audiences.
I wish I could understand Russian or Estonian so I'd have some idea what the Stravinsky piece ["Les Noces", which it turns out is a hodgepodge of Russian wedding song lyrics] meant. The soloists were doing all sorts of cool dramatic shit, and it all flew right past me because I had no idea what was going on in the text. Unlike Don giovanni last night, however, the music was interesting enough to keep me on board even without understanding the text.
I'm at Stereo now, a bar described in one review as akin to being on the the inside of an iPod. It's pretty close. The wall behind the bar is covered with 18 big plasma screens -- right now, they're demuxed into groups of 4, showing what looks like Lava Life ad-style flash animations. There are 4 Xbox 360s, and some lads were playing FIFA World Cup '06 on one of them when I arrived. It's all white, and pretty Supperclub-like -- smooth-color LED strips under the bar, upholstered square vinyl panels on the walls, lots of sexy rounded corners.
The girl at the bar next to me -- the one whose hipbones are jutting out well above the waistline of her jeans and well below the bottom of her shirt -- has just pulled out her white iBook and is iChatting. There's a flat-panel iMac perched on the bar near the DJ booth for bargoers to use. This is like a Jonathan Ive theme bar.
Today's purchases:
- 1 slice of quiche and cup of tea at Cafe Tristan und Isolde;
- 1 ticket to tonight's performance of Don Giovanni by the Estonian Opera;
- 1 ticket to tomorrow night's gala closing concert of the 2006 Piano Festival at the Estonia Concert Hall, featuring full orchestra, chorus, and soloists and including, among other things, Antheil's Ballet Mécanique, which I've wanted to experience live for a long time (it's scored for, among other things, 10 pianos and 3 airplane propellers);
- 1 admittance ticket to the Estonian Music and Theatre Museum, which I happened upon by chance on the way between the Cafe and the Theatre, and which had in its collection a number of really cool mechanical instruments from the late 19th and early 20th century;
- 1 pint of pilsner and 1 hour of internet time, both being consumed in tandem right now in the basement of a bar that has that combined smell of old cigarette smoke, old sweat, and cleaning fluid that the UW-Milwaukee student union used to have when I'd go there to play pool with my Dad when I was a kid.
My first day in Tallinn was not terribly exciting, but exceedingly pleasant. I dropped my bag off at the (clean, new, simple, friendly) hostel where I'm staying . . .
. . . then headed out to wander around the Old Town. Incidentally, Old Town is one big UNESCO World Heritage site, making this the umpteenth such site I've visited, but the first I've actually slept in.
I came across Musi, a sexy little cafe and wine bar, and sat reading Dashiell Hammett stories while Ella Fitzgerald crooned in the background.
I'd also picked up a copy of the Baltic Times, which had this story in it. The first sentence still cracks me up every time I read it. (Click for a larger version.)
After that, I had a little internet time and went to the Estonia Concert Hall to see what might be up. I was treated to a pleasant and competent, if seemingly jet-lagged, four-handed piano recital by the Paratore Brothers from Boston, USA.
Then I headed back to Old Town, getting tapas and vino at an establishment conveniently named "Tapas y Vino".
