It is November. I will be posting here every day. I admit that today’s post leaves a little to be desired but hold on to your hats etc.
Archives for November 2024
Baltics V – Estonia – Pärnu to Tartu
I know, when will it end?
Thursday August 15
We went into town for lunch and, with some difficulty, downloaded the parking app and parked before going to the Edelweiss cafe for lunch. As you might imagine. Fine if you like Bratwurst and Sauerkraut.
We hired bikes and used the excellent cycling infrastructure to get ourselves to the beach. The Baltics seem to be big on cycling in beach resorts. The beach was pretty busy but nice and the water was lovely. Herself said to me “We’re fooling ourselves when we say it’s Baltic when we get into the water in Ireland – this is much warmer.” Very true.
There were some tensions in relation to directions on the bikes but eventually peace was restored and we went and looked at the Tallinn Gate and an art Nouveau house.
When we got home my brilliant husband suggested take away for dinner. What a thrill. The actual take away was only ok and subsequently herself informed me that the review did indicate some food hygiene issues involving rodents. However I was not ill and sitting in the lovely garden eating my mediocre take away all was right with the world.
Friday August 16
Herself, Daniel and I decided to go into town for breakfast. As we were driving in, I realised that the parking app was on Mr. Waffle’s phone. My digital natives downloaded it double quick including using my face to add my credit card details. I now use my face instead of passwords for many things and I have a vague fear that if I am disfigured and in the hospital in addition to all my other problems I will not be able to pay for anything as I have no idea what my passcodes are. Anyhow, we had a delightful breakfast and last wander around Pärnu. My God, herself is really a genius at finding cafes and restaurants.
We packed up and left Pärnu to get the ferry from Virtsu. In case you were wondering, it is not hard to change the time on your ferry ticket if you arrive early.
We had a lovely, lovely lunch in Muhu which is a tiny sleepy little island.
Saarema, where we are staying is attached to Muhu by a bridge.
We had plenty of time to get to our airbnb so we went to have a look at a large tree in the centre of a football field on Saaremaa. As Daniel said, “A solid presence in midfield.” A real holiday sight.
Kuressaare where we were staying was a holiday town and it is very strange to think that it was guarded by dogs and soldiers in another time. It’s pretty, it has a castle and shortly after we arrived, a car rally passed through.
Estonia is a very digital place and when we got to the supermarket to lay in supplies for the evening there were no staff that we could see and we were invited to download an app to pay for our shopping. Sadly, Apple told me that it was “not available in your region”. I had travelled all day, had a trolley full of shopping I was anxious to pay for, impatient Estonian customers behind me and no way to pay. I am not enjoying the digital revolution as much as I might be. Eventually we found a till where you could pay without the app. Possibly we would have found it earlier if we spoke better Estonian. It took a lot out of me.
I also had not one but two mosquito bites on the sole of my foot and three on my heel. Overall, I was not totally enjoying myself.
Saturday August 17
The morning was more cheerful. Those of us who were interested had breakfast and a wander around town.
After lunch Michael, Mr. Waffle and I went for a visit to the castle.
Aside from the loss of Michael’s cap (with us since an emergency purchase in Stockholm at prohibitive expense), it was an entirely successful visit. There was a really interesting exhibition about what Kuressaare was like in Soviet times. A bit grim. It seems very alien and different from how it is now.
It also boasted an excellent gift shop and cafe. What more could the discerning tourist want?
Saaremaa is famous for having a number of meteorite strikes so we went to have a look. Would I have known that it wasn’t just a pond without the helpful signage? I doubt it.
There was much trauma when we got home as we tried to book our ferry back to the mainland for the following day. Apparently everyone wants to go back to the mainland on Sunday. We had some debate about when to go (it was a long drive and Mr. Waffle wanted us to go in the morning, I felt it wasn’t that long and wanted us to go in the afternoon). As we…debated the 10.15 and 14.40 slots disappeared before our eyes and we booked the last slot on the 8.30 just in time. This meant we would have to leave at 7 in the morning which in my view was not ideal.
Given that our morning was to be so cruelly curtailed, Daniel and I went out for an evening swim behind the castle. There were other people swimming there but the water was odd, weirdly like swimming in a peat lake in the Wicklow mountains and there were ducks bobbing about so I am not entirely sure you could say that we swam in open water.
Herself, yet again, starred and found us an amazing place for dinner. It was newly opened and run by a lovely local who was full of enthusiasm. I am so impressed by my daughter’s skills; I asked her to show me how she did it and, honestly, it seemed like a lot of work so I think I will just call her, if I ever need advice. She’s delighted, obviously.
Sunday August 18
We were up at 6 and all v grumpy. We found definitive photographic confirmation of Michael’s lost hat in castle but we were not going to be able to retrieve it before departure. Alas.
Our airbnb had an electric gate and when we went to leave, a very, very drunken man was clinging to it. To be fair to him, it was actually the night before. He tried to launch himself away from the gate several times and each time, he had to come back for support. I thought we’d never get out but eventually he sailed off and we were able to get on the road.
We made the ferry no problem and our journey back to the mainland was uneventful. We began our epic drive to Tartu. It was not as epic as we expected. Somehow google maps had allowed hours and hours for the 15 minute ferry ride and it quickly became apparent that rather than driving all day, we would be there for lunch time. We were all pretty pleased, especially Mr. Waffle who regards google maps as the work of Satan and here was the proof.
On the drive we saw many storks in nests. Michael told a KGB joke which I definitely wanted to repeat here but sadly have forgotten in the two months since I first heard it. Herself told us that Byron and Moore of Moore’s melodies were best buds. Who knew? This is how we beguiled our journey. Good job it wasn’t as long as we thought it was going to be.
We had considered cutting Tartu from our itinerary because it was so far east of Saaremaa and such a long drive. For a range of reasons, I am very glad we did not. Tartu is a lovely, lovely university town. Our airbnb was absolutely fantastic and though relatively small, it was perfectly laid out ( it was down the road from a spot where Lesya Ukrainka had lived – I was charmed though I must say my attempts to learn her easy poems in Ukrainian had completely failed).
Mr Waffle, the Princess and I hired e-bikes – another app of course – and whizzed around the city centre exploring tea, supermarket and tourist sights of interest. We discovered that Tartu was the 2024 European capital of culture. Fancy that. Daniel went out for a run and Michael stayed at home glad of a short break from his family.
Can you believe that there is more to come? I know, neither can I.
Baltics VI – Estonia – Tartu to Tallinn
Monday August 19
Absolutely everything of a cultural nature appeared to be closed. It is not the first time I have been caught out by this and doubtless it will not be the last.
Buoyed up by our experience the previous day we headed off on the electric bikes. The brakes were a on Dan’s on the downhill trip into town in the lashing rain and he fell over in a controlled but none the less alarming fashion. No harm done but a slightly unnerving start to the day all the same.
The Princess and I went to the shops where she looked at skincare and we acquired another very expensive but lovely Moomin mug. I think if we only buy one every 3-4 years the expense is bearable.
The weather cleared up and again, building on the success of the previous day, a select group went to inspect the ruined cathedral on the hill and the university.
After depositing Michael at home, I went back into town with Daniel to inspect the really excellent sports museum. Open on a Monday what’s not to love? It was small but interactive.
It had some nice memorabilia from previous Olympics.
This included a lot of Olympic mascots.
Surprisingly entertaining. We went for a cup of tea in the square with Mr. Waffle to recover. All museums are exhausting.
We all had a chance to look at this peculiar sculpture. It’s the artist and his son and he scaled himself down and the baby up and the result is, well, peculiar.
When we got home, we were reminded that herself is allergic to mosquitos by the arresting sight of what looked like an enormous bump on her forehead but was in fact a mosquito bite. I don’t have a photograph – I’m not a monster – but she was most displeased.
Her boyfriend is thinking of going into her father’s line of work and he asked her about what her father does. “I don’t know,” said she, “he types on his computer a lot and shouts at it a bit.” Such an accurate description of the day to day travails of many knowledge workers.
Saintly Daniel made dinner.
Tuesday August 20, 2024
This was “Re-independence day” when the Estonians got their independence back after the events of 1991. The net effect was that everything was closed again. Sigh. One of the children said to me, “What do people who don’t visit museums do when they go to visit cities?” and I honestly don’t know.
Daniel and I were up early looking for breakfast – everywhere was closed but we had a nice cycle around the city, I said to him encouragingly.
I am not really sure he was convinced. Before breakfast I find that enthusiasm levels can be low. Café Werner – famous local spot – eventually met our needs. I was extremely grateful.
It actually was a nice cycle and there were Estonia flags everywhere. Most houses seem to come equipped with a bracket from which to fly your flag. Perhaps a legacy of an earlier time.
After breakfast four of us left to drive to Tallinn and herself stayed on for the day to further sample the delights of Tartu (really probably my favourite place on the trip along with the Curonian Spit) and get the train later which was also a welcome development for her siblings who were crowded in the back of the car.
Our first port of call (har di har) in Tallinn was the ferry port. Happily we had a great deal of time on hand. It felt like we were driving around in circles but we did eventually reach our destination and send Michael off on the ferry to Helsinki to meet a Finnish friend from college. Again, I was slightly concerned about the fate of my chickadee but, spoiler alert, he was absolutely fine.
Daniel, Mr. Waffle and I repaired to a ramen place herself had recommended. Another triumph; the big revelation for me this holiday (aside from the Baltic Germans and the Teutonic knights I suppose – Mr. Waffle has just got a book about Baltic Germans out of the library so I look forward to further updates over the course of November) was my firstborn’s absolute genius for finding nice restaurants. You may recall that she had spent some time in Tallinn improving her Russian earlier in the summer so she had had ample opportunity to scout out the kind of place I like. People, she had not wasted her time.
After lunch we went to a nice park outside the city for a wander about – Mr. Waffle likes a park. I’m fond of a park myself provided it has a nice cafe. This one did. I enjoyed some miniature pancakes in the sun.
Access to our airbnb was a bit traumatic. It was in the pedestrian part of town and we had to park at the edge and lug the luggage from car to the flat and then up 5 flights of stairs. I say we but I was the one sitting in the car with the hazards on and then – traumatic enough in its own mild way – getting it to the car park. The accommodation was huge yet somehow unsatisfactory. Two of the bedrooms were divided from the living space by curtains. What is wrong with that very successful invention – the door?
The others were a bit flattened so I walked down to the station to meet herself.
When Mr. Waffle and I were young and used to go on skiing trips organised by my brother-in-law, people from the group would often ask him (b-in-l), “When’s happy hour?”. He would not know, having arrived at the same time as the rest of us. In our family locution when someone makes an unreasonable request which you cannot be expected to answer or know, the words “When’s happy hour?” are deployed to indicate that this is the case.
When the Princess and I returned to the flat, an exhausted me flopped on the sofa after a long day and some rash individual inquired, “What’s for dinner?” “When’s happy hour?” I replied grumpily. “This is unhappy hour,” said herself dolefully. Perhaps you had to be there but it effectively improved the mood.
We went to the supermarket and picked something up. I forgot my bag for life container (pictured below). Instead of writing it off, like a sensible person might, I wearily trekked back down the five flights of stairs and out to the supermarket. Great was my triumph on finding it but overall, possibly not the wisest thing I have ever done.
Nevertheless, after dinner we were all miraculously restored and went out for a drink. We returned to the restaurant in the main square where many years ago we had vareniki for the first time. Thrills.
Wednesday August 21, 2024
Mr. Waffle and I brought the car to the airport. Time was tight and I nearly had heart failure as I got us lost all over the city in an attempt to find a petrol station to fill up the car. As herself so wisely observed, we are not really car people.
When we returned the car it turned out that the boot remote control worked fine. You just needed to press it for a second longer. Can I say it again? We are not really car people.
On our return to the city, we had breakfast with herself but I was struck down by a migraine and retired to my bed until the middle of the afternoon when I gingerly emerged blinking in the sunlight.
Herself took us to a part of the city we had not been to before. The Tallinn locals seem to have made some kind of Faustian pact with tourism. The old town – which is lovely – is completely given over to tourists. It’s like Disney, no schools, few shops other than tourist ones and very few local residents as far as I can see. The part we went to that day was a shopping area outside the old town. It was nice and seemed to be almost tourist free. I found the whole thing slightly disturbing in a way I can’t entirely put my finger on.
We bought Daniel a new shirt as herself had booked us in to a fancy dinner place. We got him a grandfather shirt, something I last saw widely worn in the 1980s when I was in college. Is it back?
Our fancy restaurant had a tasting menu. Michael is not a fan of the tasting menu so it seemed a good thing to do while he was off in the flesh pots of Helsinki. I must say we had a really lovely time. And it was delicious.
Thursday August 22
Herself had identified somewhere out in the suburbs as a good spot for breakfast so with our local guide we got the tram successfully. Public transport in a foreign city; always such a challenge.
It was very Russian out there in the cafe in the suburbs. Interesting.
After breakfast we did some mild shopping. I love a high class souvenir shop and herself knew where to bring me. Satisfactory.
After lunch we went to the seaplane museum which is supposed to be excellent but I found it pretty dull. There was some interesting stuff about ice roads and how in winter in the old days there were all these roads on the sea but, I could take it or leave it (even if it does also feature a very claustrophobic submarine).
Leaving those with higher tolerances for seaplane trivia behind me I took a taxi to the port to collect Michael. The taxi driver spoke only Russian and Estonian so yet again I hauled out my limited Russian linguistic skills. You can tell how well it went because after my attempts at communication he said to me, “Are you Polish?”.
Michael made it back safely though completely exhausted. In my mind’s eye I had seen him playing very elaborate board games and not leaving the house. I think that is how he saw it in his mind’s eye also but his friend felt obliged to show him all the sights. Even though Michael reassured him that he had seen all the sights in Helsinki and really had no particular desire to see them again, his friend was not to be deterred. I think Michael was quite glad to be back in the bosom of his family.
It turns out that like his Latvian friend, his Finnish friend’s family were also Russian speakers. “This is beyond coincidence,” I announced to the family when we got home. “Twice is the definition of coincidence,” said herself. Truly I have a great deal to put up with.
Friday August 23, 2024
We went to visit the Kiek in de Kok tower which is an interesting and well laid out city museum with a restaurant with no savoury food. They are truly missing a trick there.
After lunch at home, I forced everyone out to recreate the photo we had taken when we were last in Tallinn. Very low levels of enthusiasm from the troops but I had the bit between my teeth.
We went for a wander round the old town which is nice, I mean it is, but somehow not as nice as it was when we were new to it in 2019. “Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder” as Patrick Kavanagh would say. And I think we were all keen to get home by this stage so perhaps that accounted for it too.
Saturday August 24, 2024
We hauled the luggage downstairs and took off for the airport in two taxis. To my absolute delight – and hers – I had a Ukrainian taxi driver and we were able to have a mild conversation. I mean, she did lose me regularly but it was better than my Russian conversations. And it was Ukrainian independence day so that was nice.
And then we were at the airport, glad to be going home. It presented its own photo ops which I am a little curious about.
I wandered to the newsagents and there was the FT weekend. I forked out a fortune but it was a long enough flight, I reasoned. Yes, you have guessed it, for the second time I purchased a weekend edition I had already read (in fact, if you’re counting it was third time in all that I had purchased that edition). As Mr. Waffle said, the FT welcomes detail orientated purchasers.
It’s Decorative Gourd Season
Every year, at Halloween I think about this article. And I am, apparently, not alone.
When I was a child, the following were standard at Halloween: Barmbrack; bobbing for apples (and pennies); trying to bite an apple hung on a string from the door frame; and getting your face covered in flour (surely you are familiar with the game where a grape is placed on top of a heap of flour and you each cut at the flour mountain in turn until the grape falls down and then get your face rubbed in the flour? No? Your loss.). As I write this list it seems bizarrely Victorian. There were, of course, plastic face masks held in place by elastic but they were barred in our house as my father was convinced that we would somehow melt them to our faces. He had a bizarre list of potential injuries to which he feared his children would succumb, these included, but were not at all limited to, fears that we would set ourselves on fire with the aid of our acrylic pyjamas; poke out each other’s eyeballs by looking through keyholes and putting pencils or screwdrivers through them; choke on chewing gum; and fall off the banisters and split our heads open on the cast iron radiator in the hall. I often think his time as a junior doctor in A&E must have been particularly formative.
Not at all standard were the American pumpkin and trick or treating and decorating your house. I thought I was above these vulgar things (what a tiresome ten year old I must have been, I blame my parents). Well, I’m not too proud to admit it, I was a fool. My objection to trick or treating was demolished by a trip to a friend’s house at Halloween in about 1980. We dressed up and went out to her neighbours and it was very exciting; I didn’t quite understand what we were doing but I liked it. I think it must have been the very beginning of trick or treating in Ireland. My father had heard of tick or treating and was appalled. He called it begging from the neighbours; little did he know that his first born and her best friend were out shaking down the wealthy of Sunday’s Well for their monkey nuts and satsumas. Sweets came later, I think. Then when I had children of my own, they had a fantastic time getting dressed and going around to the neighbours; it wasn’t just the sweets (and, honestly, 15 years ago still quite a few monkey nuts and satsumas), it was the feeling of mild danger being out in the dark with all of the decorations and other costumed children.
And the pumpkins. What fun we had decorating them (far superior to the traditional Irish turnip which is almost impossible to cut up even when you want to eat it let alone for decoration) and even though the children now have no interest, I enjoy it. Behold my selection for this year.
I am particularly proud of the eyeball, I can tell you.
And then cycling home from work after dark at Halloween is quite a thrill. The city is alive with illegal firework displays. Dangerous, I know, and alarmingly noisy too but undeniably pretty and exciting.
And how are you enjoying decorative gourd season yourself?
Patron of the Arts
The autumn is a very exhausting time for those of us who are arts enthusiasts.
Kicking off the season is Heritage Week in late August. The clue is in the title and there is a brochure of activities nationwide. Since the children have grown up, I’ve largely given up on this one. My loss but time is finite.
Then it’s straight into the Dublin Fringe Festival in September. This year we went to see Killian Sundermann; a man who wrings quite a bit of humour out of being half-Irish half-German.
Sometime during September is Open House where various buildings not normally open to the public throw open their doors. Some that are already open to the public also get re-badged as open house venues. You’ve got to love architects, I saw a volunteer in front of Phibsborough shopping centre, quite possibly one of the ugliest buildings in Ireland and that is, regrettably, a competitive field. Again, I have gone into interesting buildings in the past but not this year. You have to pace yourself.
Then it’s the theatre festival. I went to three, yes three, plays this year. Exhausting. I went to see “Reunion” in the Gaiety. I generally find Mark O’Rowe plays just a bit too edgy for me. You would really want to be in the whole of your health to see, for example, “Howie the Rookie”. However, although this play was a bit edgy, it was also very funny and really well done. The Gaiety audience is a bit less sedate than the Abbey or the Gate and they gasped and laughed in ways that I found quite refreshing. Robert Sheehan was in it and pretty good I thought. Were the kids impressed or even a tiny bit interested that I saw a play with the guy from the Umbrella Academy which we watched on Netflix? You know the answer to this.
I also saw “Agreement” which is about the Good Friday Agreement and has been garlanded with laurels. I am sorry but I found it a bit dull. The playwright is from the North and it is always interesting to see a Northern take on things but I felt it was a bit unfair to Bertie Ahern and Tony Blair and positively sanctified Mo Mowlam. I was unconvinced. I went with Michael who thought it was great so maybe it was better if you hadn’t watched it all on the news in the 1990s.
We went to the latest Anu production “Starjazzer”. I generally like an Anu production; immersive and a little alarming. This one didn’t totally float my boat though. It was about two women dealing with poverty and domestic violence a century apart. In many ways it just wasn’t immersive enough or something. Suspension of disbelief was a bit of a challenge. Still I have a soft spot for Anu who gave me what I am beginning to think will be the most memorable theatre experience of my life.
Also in October is the Festival of History. It always has a fantastic programme of talks but I couldn’t face it on top of the constant plays.
Bear in mind that my programme of cinema attendance continues unabated during this difficult time for the culture maven. I saw an Iranian film, come on, an Iranian film called “My favourite Cake” which was sad and funny. I saw “Small Things Like These” at the weekend. A cousin is in it and she was fantastic, we are all very proud. She also met Ed Sheeran at the premiere so we were all thrilled for her by proxy.
Mr. Waffle and I went to a very disappointing exhibition of the bridges of Dublin in Dublin port; I would not recommend but I did enjoy exploring the new Dublin port greenway which was, the day we went full of walkers and cyclists admiring the new vistas opened up across the bay.
Then there’s the Dublin book festival this weekend. A truly excellent line up (including Jan Carson who I nearly saw before and who is a wonderful writer) but a part of me is relieved that I will be in Cork for the weekend and can’t even book anything.
Speaking of Cork, the Crawford gallery closed on September 22 for renovation and extension and won’t reopen until 2027. I anticipate slippage and the proposed extension looks horrific. Woe. I’d say it will be grand from the inside but the outside leaves a great deal to be desired.
And in final update from the arts there is a new Sarah Purser exhibition in the Hugh Lane Gallery which is lovely. I recommend.
Is it any wonder the blog was languishing with this full cultural programme?
The Month of the Dead
November is the month of the dead for Catholics and we say masses for dead people and think about them. I am not normally a big fan of Michael Harding who has a quirky column in the Irish Times but he had a lovely column the other day about visiting the cemetery which I would link to, if their paywall policy was not weaponised. I’m going to Cork at the weekend, and this article has reminded me that it might be a good opportunity to visit the cemetery where my aunt and my parents, and indeed my Cork great-grandparents and almost all their children are buried (my grandmother and grandfather were buried elsewhere with his people).
I often think of my beloved Limerick grandmother in November. Her birthday was November 25th and I can still remember how excited I felt whenever she came to visit. Limerick was a lot further away in those days and when she travelled to our house in Cork she came for long visits of (is it possible?) up to a month at a time. I loved it when she stayed. She was just a delight. I may have mentioned that the children pointed out to me that I am so old that not only do I know someone who was born in the 1800s but I am old enough to miss someone born in the 1800s. This has given me pause for thought.
My mother-in-law’s first anniversary is coming up. My father-in-law and my own parents are long gone. I mean, am I next for take off? Let’s not be morbid here, but this quote really spoke to me:
Always lots of funerals available in Ireland. Someone emailed me about a former colleague’s father (“I knew you’d want to know” – did you? did you really?). I decided to ignore it until I got a further email from someone else about the same man so I reached into my pile of sympathy cards and wrote a nice note. I personalised it, talked about how hard it was so soon after his wife’s mother’s death; how difficult it must be for the children. I addressed it. I came very close to posting it when I suddenly realised that I was thinking of a completely different person with the same slightly unusual first name. It took a lot out of me.
I sent a whatsapp message to another former colleague who is now distinguishing himself elsewhere. It’s a bit weird on whatsapp because you see a profile picture in a personal context and if you only know someone from work, it can be a surprise. He had a profile picture of himself and his mother to whom I knew he was very close. In between congratulating him on the new role, I commented on the lovely profile picture. I think you know where this is going. She had died since I saw him last over the summer. Apparently this is a thing, if someone’s parent dies they use pictures of the parent and themselves as the whatsapp profile photo. I only tell you this so that you don’t have to suffer similar embarrassment to me.
So you know my view on the unnecessary funeral information. However, my friend in America’s father has been ill for the past 6 months but managing ok. She was over and back a fair bit and I asked her to let me know, if anything happened. Then she texted me one Sunday to say her father had died the previous Wednesday. I instantly began calculating when the funeral would be. Provided it wasn’t the next Wednesday, I felt I could move things and make it (it was in Cork). Then she added that the funeral had been the day before. I was gutted. Saturday is a very convenient day for a funeral in Cork and she is one of my oldest friends. I frequently stayed in her parents’ house in west Cork during the summers. I would have wanted to know. But what was I to do? Upbraid her for not telling me earlier? She didn’t want to inconvenience me but I really wanted to be inconvenienced. I had actually considered putting an alert on rip.ie (a thing!) but it just seemed too weird. I was sure that news would reach me through the inevitable grapevine but it did not. Alas. And now I have a card to write to her and another for her mother and I am finding it quite hard. Yes, it is all about me. Your point? I remember many years ago when I started my blog my friend mocking the “About” bit saying, it’s all about you.
And finally in funeral news, Mr. Waffle’s friend’s father died. They live right at the bottom of Wicklow. A good two hours drive away. Mr. Waffle couldn’t go to the funeral on Tuesday due to a work commitment so he went to the removal on Monday night (my friend says no one in England knows what a removal is – can this be true? – it’s a service the evening before the funeral). I knew all this. But yet, I promised my friend around the corner a lift to bookclub 10kms away and when I came out of the house at 7, I was surprised to find the car wasn’t there. We may be looking at compartmentalisation. Which, by the way, is a good way to deal with thoughts of the inevitable.
