We pulled up into a large light-colored wooden chalet, surrounded by some large open area, but it was dark so I couldn’t see much. We hopped out of Veljo’s Nissan Patrol 4×4 and walked up to the door. We were greeted by a cacaphony of Estonian singing and general liveliness. Veljo asked for the owner, Mellis, and they didn’t seem to know where he was. They suggested that maybe he was in the sauna. We walked across the road to the sauna building and found no one.
Then we headed back up along the side of the house into the snow-covered field and ran into a bunch of clearly drunk Estonians. When it became clear that my Estonian was limited to simple greetings like: Tere! (Hello!), a couple of them tried their hand at English. One 30-something woman, with short dark hair stumbled towards me, after Veljo told her (in Estonian) that I spoke English and not Estonian.
“Hello! How are you?”
I smiled and said:
“Good. How are you?”
“It’s my birthday.”
I couldn’t tell if she was just rattling off English phrases that she knew without knowing what she was saying, or if she really did know English, or if she was just too drunk to know the difference.
I found out later that it really was her birthday. She and a bunch of friends from Tartu (and a few from Tallinn) had rented a few rooms at Metsavenna Talu, a working farm turned tourist attraction just outside the village of M�niste, about 2 km from the Latvian border, deep in southern Estonia.
If you clicked on the above link, you’ll find a logo of some shadowy characters with guns drawn. I discovered that this place’s main attraction was that it was a former hideout of the Forest Brothers, an anti-Soviet Estonian group that hid out in the forests of the hinterland.
The Soviet authorities could impose their will with relative ease on the open countryside and in the town. This did, however, leave the forests, which they were unable to control until well into the 1950s. These forests provided a relatively safe haven for an extensive underground guerilla movement that could move swiftly and safely to attack vulnerable targets. The movement becameknown as the ‘Forest Brothers’ and, although neither organisation would ever be aware of the other, the techniques they used in Estonia came to be used with equal effect by the Viet Cong in Indo-China. The Forest Brothers were a Baltic-wide phenomenon but it was impossible for co-operation to be established between the three countries. Russians might control villages by day, but rarely by night. . . . Once the Western power made clear their lack of interest in the former Baltic states, it was futile to hope for the imminent overthrow of the Soviet regime, but the Forest Brothers could maintain morale and a commitment to Estonian culture at a time when the future looked particularly bleak. . . . The greatest tribute to the Forest Brothers comes ironically in Soviet histories of Estonia: that frequent mention has to be made about ‘bandit’ activity in the 1940s shows how powerful they were. (Estonia, Bradt Travel Guide, 4th Ed., Pgs. 17-18)
Veljo explained that Mellis, the owner, was the son of a Forest Brother. The Soviets had confiscated his father’s farm, but he was able to get it back after independence. Mellis, it turned out, was with the group of drunk Estonians. Perhaps his portly frame allowed him to carry his liquor much better. Or maybe it was his country blood. In either case, we were introduced and he led Veljo and I back into the house.
We’d only had a peek into the entry before, but as we stepped in, I realized that this party had been going quite a while. There were empty beer bottles everywhere, and dinner plates that had clearly been well-used. The group was raptured in folk songs and/or drinking songs, I couldn’t quite tell which. Mellis introduced us to the group and led us into the connecting room, just in front of the kitchen, which the party hadn’t invaded.
Veljo and I waited in this room for a few moments while Mellis went into the kitchen. A few moments later he had returned with a large unlabelled glass bottle, filled one third with a clear liquid. At first I thought it might be water, but when he produced a shot glass, I realized what it really was. Not just vodka, but homemade, bootleg, real Estonian moonshine.
He poured a glass of vodka and said to me (as translated by Veljo): “Do you trust me?”
I didn’t really have a choice, but I said yes.
Mellis dipped his finger into the vodka and then waved it over the candle that was burning on the table. His finger caught fire and burned a bright blue. He grinned, as if to show the purity and power of his drink, in the finest traditions of the Forest Brothers. He blew out his finger and in one swift gulp, downed the vodka and smiled again. He poured me the first shot.
I blinked a few times at him as the cold liquid seared down my throat. Strong, indeed.
Mellis then poured one for Veljo and we sat down at the table. The large bottle loomed over the empty table. Mellis disappeared again and produced a few plates, and plate of pickle slices. A few moments later, a bowl of gratin-type potatoes, a sweet mushroom slaw, and a slab of salted ham were set down in front of us. Veljo and I dug in. We hadn’t had hardly anything substantial to eat, save a bowl of soup back in Imakere, in the late morning.
The food was excellent — and it felt like real down-home Estonian country style. Hearty portions that fill the belly. Mellis left us alone and joined the party, and produced a guitar and led the group in some folk songs. We ate until we could eat no more. I knew that I had to record these songs, even if I couldn’t understand them. Among my standard backpack o’ tricks is my MD player, headphones and microphone — standard radio gear. I asked Veljo if they’d mind if I recorded, and he said no.
We went back through the party room, and I got my recording equipment and sat down and fired away. Mellis had passed out song sheets of Forest Brothers songs in Estonian for everyone to join in on. There was even a Latvian version, which they tried a little later — no Latvians among them, however. Everyone seemed to know most of the songs and reveled in singing. This was the first proof that I’d seen of one of the defining characteristics of Estonian culture: music. (Forbes magazine says that there are 133,000 Estonian folk songs, one of the highest numbers in the world.)
The songs were wonderful, some melodic, some percussive. I participated as best I could, but mostly I just watched and let the drunk Estonians fill the cold evening with Estonian folks songs.
At some point, Veljo decided that it was time for us to hit up the sauna. Now I actually have been in a sauna before (first time was in Finland when I was six years old) and I’ve never really taken to it. But I humored him. We walked down to the frozen river and headed into the sauna. It was burning warm there in the first room. Laying on the floor was a hookah pipe, some cinammon-coated apple slices and some drinks. We hung up our clothes and headed in. The sauna was divided into four rooms. The first room where we entered was the entry room, and was moderately warm. The second room was smaller, and had a wooden bench to sit up on, and was much warmer. The third room was colder and had a cold shower rinse. The fourth room was the main sauna room, which had a large wooden bench on which to sit and enjoy the steam.
We headed in all the way to the last room, and I was hoping that Veljo would be satisfied to have me just get a feel of it — because I’ve never been a big fan of the sauna/steam room experience. Don’t get me wrong, I like the heat (I’m a SoCal boy at heart), but too much is just too much. While Veljo seemed quite content to just sit on the bench and lounge, I was hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean. I couldn’t keep still, as it only made me hotter. Veljo said that he usually stayed in the sauna with his friends for up to three hours at a time! Three hours! I could barely stand it for three minutes! He even went as far as taking a wooden ladle in a bucket and poured cold water over hot stones piled in the corner — which only added fuel to the fire. Steam pervaded throughout the small room.
Sensing my discomfort, Veljo suggested that we head out and plunge ourselves in the river, as locals do. Only one problem, the river was frozen over. But that didn’t stop Veljo. He ran out, giddy as could be and did a bellyflop straight into the snow bank alongside the river. I watched and stood by as I watched the sweat droplets start to freeze all over my body. Extreme heat to extreme cold? How could anyone stand it? He stood up and brushed the snow off of himself and insisted that it was good for the body and soul. For several years he’d never been sick and has always gone to the sauna. I couldn’t get into it.
We went back in, but I could only take it for about another two minutes. Veljo was clearly dissapointed, but I really wasn’t enjoying it. I think a sauna is comething that you have to grow up with. I really couldn’t take much more of it. So after another two minutes in the second round, I had to bow out. Veljo stayed another minute, but I rushed through the other rooms to get to my clothes and happily stepped into the wintery snow-laden evening.
After Veljo rejoined me, we headed back to the house again, where the singing continued. One of the portly and jolly Estonian guys started to talk to me in English. I had assumed up to this point that none of them spoke English. But it turned out that he did (at least a little bit), as did another guy, who had spent some time in California. The first guy launched into several stories, one of which involved his experiences in California. He and a group of Estonians had been told by some Americans that all they needed to go to Mexico was a driver’s license. Of course, they failed to mention that it had to be an American driver’s license. So off they went and spent a day in Tiajuana, only to be stopped by the American border guards on the way back. Somehow they were able to get back through with a $500 fee/bribe. The portly man also said that while in California he met a plumber who told him the two secrets to life: 1) Payday is Friday and 2) Shit goes down. (He asked me to recall these to things the following morning.)
After more songs, including one (called “The Happy Brewer”) that involved various body motions like bowing and standing up on the benches and then the table, it was time to head to bed. Veljo and I had the office space, upstairs of the main room. There two couches and some blankets, plenty for us weary travellers. Because we were guests of Mellis, we didn’t have to pay for any of it. I fell asleep around 1:30 am.
