Pärnu is frigging adorable

I don't know what's a better attitude in life: keeping an open mind, or having shitty expectations so that you're always happily surprised when things work out for the best.

The latter is actually my philosophy of teaching.  What you're told is to have high expectations for your students. And come at them like they have prior knowledge.  I do the opposite. I come in every day, and think "there's no way they're going to understand anything" and "there's no way they're going to remember anything from last year."  So when they DO, I can say "omg, you guys are so good and smart!  Awesome!" Like, "OMG you guys remember the Pythagorean theorem!  Fantastic!  I'm so impressed!"  And then Everyone's happy.  Even though not knowing the Pythagorean theorem is pretty fucking embarrassing.  Otherwise, it's all "how can you not know this?  That's ridiculous!  I just explained that!" And then they're angry and feel shitty about themselves.  My way: everyone feels great!

I had really low expectations for Pärnu.  the weather forecast for pretty much all of the Baltic region for the foreseeable future looked like rain.  And it's chilly here, for summer... It's been 72 degrees max every day, and in Tallinn I wore my lightweight puffy jacket and the same pair of jeans every day.  So I was pissed that I already spent an in refundable $90 a night to be at a beach town where I can't go to the beach.

We get off the bus in Pärnu and it seems to have stopped raining for the time being.  We walk a couple of minutes down the main road, which has been cut off for their "summer streets."  But it's rollerbladers.  Teams of rollerbladers.  Family teams of rollerbladers.  When was the last time you saw a family of rollerbladers, dad in front, mom behind, followed by 2 or three kids, in size order, in line, in stride, right arms moving at the same pace, left arm tucked behind their backs?

This place is like taking a step back into time.

Pärnu is a resort town.  I use that terms lightly.  It's no Hamptons.  It is popular with Estonians and Russians, and looks like most of the homes here were built in the 50s, reminding me of what those resort communities popular with European Jews in the Catskills (commonly referred to as the "borscht belt") were like back in the day.  I have no historical backup to this; it's just what it feels like.  Many of the homes look like log cabin barracks, time-worn but still nice.  There are placards on the wall to indicate the house number.  There's all the same.  Like a bungalow community, but the homes are bigger.

Just a couple of steps into this town and I'm already pretty happy.  There's more to it than I imagined.  From what I read, it seemed like it was going to be like Brighton beach... A beach, a sea front, a bunch of Russian restaurants, and with the constant threat of rain, what the fuck were we going to do?!?

Our apartment is in the "center" of town... A pedestrian mall filled with little cafes.  None are glamorous or fancy.  They have window boxes of flowers, but are very simple with Simple offerings and it's filled with families.

Really white families.  This might not be the whitest place on earth, but it is the whitest place I've ever been to.  More than Stockholm.  More than Tallinn.  More than upstate New York.  It's weird.

We get to our place and the door is locked.  Turns out it is not a hotel, it's a couple of studio apartments that's managed by some dude.  We go into the cafe on the ground floor to ask if they know how to get in.  IT'S A KNITTING CAFE.  Modern.  They have yarn, beautifully displayed, coffee, beer, wine, cake.  The girl offered to call the apartment owner for me, so of course I had to order something.  They SERVED ME MY ICED COFFEE IN A MASON JAR.  Things were certainly looking up.  For me anyway.  The sight of Justin drinking a beer in this knitting cafe, which couldn't be more feminine if it were in a douche commercial, was pretty entertaining.  He takes me to dingy, divey bars; I take him to knit cafes.  In good relationships there's always a trade-off.

The studio apartment is really modern and beautiful. And there's light-blocking drapes.  Maybe there's a chance in hell I'll sleep tonight.

We take a long walk to the beach.  I have zero sense of direction, so if I'm with Justin, I always put him in charge of figuring out where we're going.  Justin is always really confident in where we're going.  In theory this works.  But in my head, I have an idea (from all of the research I obsessively do while traveling) of how long it takes to get somewhere.  So if it starts taking a really long time to get somewhere, then I question Justin.  "Are you sure this is The right way?" Is a question I'm sure I've asked him about 1000 times.  He almost never says no.  I can't recall how many arguments we've gotten into on vacation, where I doubt his directions but I have nothing to offer.  I can't read a map.  His philosophy, to my understanding, is that as long as we get there, or really, as long as we get anywhere, what difference does it make, how long it takes?  He's a true artist.  I am a mathematician.  I want to find the most direct path, always.  I hate wasted energy.  So although i do love a good walk, I have a shitty back, so it's of paramount importance, both physically and mathematically, to find the most efficient route.

I knew where we were staying was close to the beach. I think the guy told me 10 minutes walk, down one street.  I wasn't paying attention to how long we were walking, but it was a long time.  I'd say 40 minutes.

I no longer ask Justin if he knows where we're going.  I take out my iPhone.  That little blue dot works even if you have no cell service.  For me, it is a lifesaver.  Although Justin never says it out loud, it must be just as annoying to him whenever I whip out that phone.  It is the physical manifestation of my doubt.

"Hon, I think we're going the wrong way.  We've been walking a long time."
"That blue dot is often wrong."

He's right. Sometimes the blue dot gets caught and confused.  Not this time.

We had basically been walking parallel to the beach for about a half an hour.  It was a lovely walk, and my back wasn't hurting.  And we got to walk the entire length of the beach on the way back.  So no drama.  I've learned not to complain about the length of the journey.  I have no right, considering I never help in the planning.  I think that in 8 years of being with Justin, it finally dawned on me: he doesn't care about the end result.  I do.  And if that is the case, maybe I'd better get better at reading a map.

The beach is lovely, but windy, and if tomorrow is like today there's no way I'm getting my pale white ass on this beach with all the other pale white asses here.  Too chilly.  But I'm sure there will be something else we can do.  It's really nice here.   There's a gorgeous Russian Orthodox Church, and it's lemon-lime colored.  There was a service going on and the churchgoers are wearing headscarves and we can't go in.  The hat (?) that the nun (?) is wearing looks like the one Margarery's grandma wears in Game of Thrones, but in black instead of light blue.  I don't know why this tickles me so.  We aren't allowed in, but you can't sit at a Russian Orthodox Church, anyway; something Justin learned in his recent trip to Georgia.

We sat at some outdoor cafe, where a teenaged, bored Dairy Queen got us a beer and a cider and we watched all the white people go by in this sleepy little beach town.  The big excitement of the day was watching a bee dive into Justin's empty beer bottle, and lick the sides of the bottle until he slowly, drunkenly, veered toward the bottom until he was too drunk to escape.  Accidental Bee suicide.

I pick this Irish pub for dinner.  The pickings in Pärnu are slim, according to reviews, so as much as I might want some traditional Estonian food, whatever that means, I don't think that's going to happen tonight.  I look at a map, and it's two blocks away.  This time I make a note of the street name.  I tell Justin he's in charge.  We walk two blocks and we are not at that street.  Justin says, "well, I guess we keep waking straight."  Time for the little blue dot.  We're walking the wrong way.

Justin now huffs.  "Ok!  Tomorrow, no more 'places.' No more going to places.  No more directions.  We just walk and pick a place.!"

Poor guy, I think I finally broke him.

The meals are about 6-8€ and are better than they have any right to be at that price point.  We're sitting in old, chesterfield-cushioned chairs and feel like kings.  I order French fries and change my mind to have mashed potatoes instead, and the model-gorgeous, platinum blonde waitress just lifts her eyes up from the iPad she's plugging orders into and gives me a cold stare with her crystal-clear blue eyes.  That is some eastern-European shit right there.  I apologized.  She scared the crap out of me.  We watch some Eurosport and spend some time talking strategies, rules, and tribulations of sports we know absolutely nothing about: shot put, hammer throw, indoor soccer.  Like why it must be really important for indoor soccer players to not fall, more so than regular soccer players.

One glass of wine later, and I'm doing my best to just stay awake til 10.  We watch some old Simpsons episode, subtitled in Estonian, which is funnier than it should be to us.  The words are often long and have a lot of double letters with accent marks on it.  It sounds funny to us.  There's a cafe called "mahedik".  There's a street here called "punane torn."  Go ahead, say that out loud.   That shit is funny.  I'm writing this right on from a coffee shop right now called "sõõrikuk."   This is ignorant as fuck, making fun of other languages and how they sound, but I figure since it's white people, it's totally fine.

I slept through the night, finally, and got up early to have coffee at the aforementioned sõõrikud cafe.  I feel like this place looked exactly the same 50 years ago,  The lady doesn't speak English but she seems to understand "black coffee with milk" which is all that matters.  That's how you order the most "regular" coffee here, and I'm pretty sure it's an Americano, which I don't even like but it's the best it gets when you just want a large amount of coffee.  They have about 8 varieties of donuts, many of which I think are meat pies, and people here are eating them by the half-dozen.  At least, that's what the man staring at me across the way is doing.

It did rain on and off, and through sheer laziness I didn't make it to the indoor water park.  We watched Tarzan, perhaps one of the shittiest movies I've ever seen, despite how long Alexander skarsgård was without shirt.  The movie only cost €6 thank god and had ASSIGNED SEATS, something we really need to adopt.  Anyway, it was something to do indoors.  Pärnu was adorable, and charming, and we enjoyed it so much, despite the not-so-beachy weather and the fact that everything closes by 11.

Going to Riga, Latvia tomorrow and super excited about it.  Hope I'm not disappointed, and I'm hoping to finally wear some shorts.

Pärnu: I hate rushing; he hates rain.

So, once again, I barely slept.  This is getting old.  I brought sleeping pills for a reason.  I have to start using them.

I bought bus tickets to Pärnu for 12:30pm.  There's a tram that passes right outside the hostel (the same team keeping me up half the night), and google maps say it takes only 16 minutes to get there.  Because I'm my parents' daughter, and I'm terribly high-strung, I tell Justin we have to leave at 11:30.  If you're having trouble following the math, that's an hour to make a 16-minute ride.

At 11:30, Justin asks, "when did you say we are leaving?"  "Now," I respond.  He's downloading some update or something important on his computer, and asks me if we have 10 minutes.  I say sure, although already I feel my nerves starting to clench.

Justin is not the kind of person who is late all the time.  Those people drive me batshit  crazy.  Justin is usually on time, but often shit gets in the way, and he's on time, but just barely.  That doesn't make me angry, but I can't live with that kind of stress.  I am perpetually early, and if I'm late, it's strictly by choice.

I cannot STAND being late, and when it comes to planes, trains, and automobiles, I have to be early.  I'm a nervous wreck.

So although yes, we had 10 minutes, I wanted to go.  But I said nothing, because I could see that Justin needed whatever thing it was he was working on to happen, and I was sure he would have been just as stressed if I said no as I was being stressed that we weren't out the door.

10 minutes turns into 20, and now we're leaving the hostel at about 10 to 12.  Still PLENTY of time, especially if we catch a cab instead.  The cab would take 6 minutes instead of 16.  So we ask the guy at the hostel how much a cab would be.  He says "don't pay more than 3 or 4€.  He has to say this because the taxi drivers are well-known scammers in Tallinn.  You have to ask, or read the window... Every taxi company has a different rate.  4€ is perfect... The tram would cost the same, anyway.

I'm really bad with directions, and I've been relying on my little blue dot on my iPhone to direct me everywhere.  I don't have my phone turned but the little blue dot still works!

The SECOND we walk outside, it POURS.  Like the sky opens up and there's a torrential downpour.  Justin hates getting wet.  I don't even bother taking out my umbrella.  There's one taxi guy on the corner.  I ask how much it is to get to the bus station.

15 euros, he says.

Fuck you, asshole.  Goddamnit.

So I run to the corner, and tell Justin to get on the tram that's approaching.  He says he's not sure it's the right one.  I don't even care.  It's better than getting soaked, although I'm already halfway there.

We get on the tram.  The driver is locked behind plate glass.  There's only a little basket to put your money in.  She ignores me, cause she's driving.  I look at the little blue dot.

Of course we're going the wrong way.

Of course the rain has stopped the second we get on the tram.  That rainstorm lasted about 3 minutes.

We get off the tram, a good 15 blocks away from where we started.  I am beyond stressed out.  And I'm really angry I didn't insist we leave at 11:30.

We get on the tram in the other direction.  We still should have time.  Not plenty of time, but maybe 12 minutes to spare.  We get off the train, and in some sort of well-timed cosmic joke, the rain starts again. Hailstorm sized raindrops.  The streets flood immediately.  I am now pretty wet and am so nervous that I feel like I'm going to vomit.  Did I mention I cannot handle this kind of stress?

We wait one minute and Justin looks at me.  These kinds of situations he's used to finding himself in.  I can't handle it.  He asks if I want to wait.  I sternly say "no."  I know Justin can read that I just can't take it any more.  So we run into the rain.  I eschew the umbrella.  I am really wet, but the bus station is in sight. I'm now cracking the fuck up, not even trying to avoid the ankle-high, ice cold, fresh pools of rain at every sidewalk we cross.  We will be on time, dammit!  I run right through them.  My one (of only two) pants I am wearing is wet, and we're getting on a 2-hour bus ride.  Justin is soaked from the knee down.

I would like to point out the ridiculousness of my nervousness right now.  That bus ride cost €18 each.  Big fucking deal.  The next bus wasn't for another 3 hours, and that's really what I didn't want to deal with.  But it's not like missing a plane.  I really have no perspective sometimes.

We've got only 8 minutes left to go when I see the bus, almost completely boarded.  We have assigned seats, but maybe Estonians leave early. I am thrilled.  I quickly open up my bag, change my wet sweater and sneakers for dry coat and flip-flops, carelessly throw them into my bag, and run to get on the bus.

Justin now makes me wait until he gets a red bull.  I just want to get on this damned bus.   I see that the bus is leaving in 4 minutes; I'm determined to get on.  Justin sees that there are 4 minutes left, he sees he has time to get a red bull.

And that's one big difference between the two of us.  I see 4 minutes left as a failure; he sees it as an opportunity.

Also, because of all that rushing, I lost my iPhone.

We get to out seats, numbered 37 and 38, and someone is sitting in one of the seats.  I say, "hi, these are ours."  She replies, in very good English, "but now my seat is taken!"

BITCH, GET OUT OF MY SEAT.  DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'VE JUST BEEN THROUGH?!?

I didn't say it, but I know she read my vibe.


**iphone not lost... In suitcase... SUCCESS