“A More real city might not have suited me so well . . . but [this city] was in its death phase; it lay still and let me look at it, and think about it, and look again. In a living city, I could never have noticed so much. Living cities don’t hold still.”
— John Irving, The World According to Garp

Jana looked down at the giant four on her chest and found little comfort in the giant fours on the chests of her entire tour group. They religiously followed the guide, who got to carry a likewise-branded paddle-sign, signaling which tour group she was giving the tour to. Jana had signed up for the tour to see Arvo Part at the opera house and should have expected to see the legendary composer on stage for a few moments and then the back of conductor Paul Hiller’s head during the rest of that evening’s performance. She reminded herself to inquire if her mother had a similar experience on her own pilgrimage to see Astor Piazzolla in the early 80s. After the musical reflection, she turned her ear back to the guide who was offering tidbits about the arbitrarily placed clock along the roadside outside the national museum.
 

Burton felt disappointment upon entering the museum that was to be his safe refuge from the rain. The museum, assuming he interpreted ajaloomuuseum correctly, had only two galleries which could all too easily be mistaken for one gallery. The first gallery held a permanent exhibit on the Estonian Kroon, and with each passing display case, Burton found it harder to see any resemblance between the artifacts on display and the coins filling the bottom of his pockets. After skimming the second brief display of the Estonian History, Burton headed back into the circular labyrinth of cobblestone streets heading towards the center of old town Tallinn.
 

The square was filled with tagged tourists following their shepherd-guides along the cobblestone streets. Jana imagined the vision that would greet someone from the café up in the yellow building at the far edge of the square. She looked down to see the group had moved down the road and was now in front of a restaurant named after Italian filmmaker Federico Fellini. Jana made her way to the group just in time to see that the group had voted in favor of dining there. She felt glad and spent the lunch hoping someone would inquire about the restaurant’s namesake so she could integrate with the group more and show off that she had actually seen 8 ½.
 

From the café in the top of the yellow building, Fellini’s looked like a green island on the other side of a swirling lake of mixing tour groups, each group resembling a hoard of ants carrying food back to the nest. Burton looked down and buried his nose back in the worn paperback he had carried just about everywhere since leaving Frankfurt airport two weeks ago.

A couple from one of the cruise ships was eating at the next table. The woman, who was dressed more appropriately for her native Florida than the Baltic region, asked “What are you reading?” then explained her intrusion by adding, “I’m always looking for books.”

Burton replied, “It’s the screenplay for My Dinner with Andre.”

“Andre?” she asked.

Burton would have answered, but she quickly returned with, “OH! Like the seal! Did you ever see that movie? There was a seal, and a little girl, and the seal’s name was Andre.” The last few words sped out her mouth sounding like “andthesealsnamewasAndre!”

“The Andre refers to Andre Gregory, a famous theater director,” Burton corrected.

The woman, whom despite the appearance of taking many art classes to pad her GPA back in college, looked at Burton with puzzlement. The waitress arrived presenting Burton’s lunch on a brown corkboard of a tray. It wasn’t the quiche or the atmosphere but the attempt at human conversation that could have been better.
 

Nobody inquired about the identity of Fellini. In fact the waitress’ short, mandatory questions was the only conversation Jana received during lunch. Upon departure, they were allowed to wander the various merchant carts in the square with instructions to meet back in front of Fellini’s in half an hour. Jana headed to the far corner of the square and entered the furthest shop she saw. Her spirit sagged when she found a run-of-the-mill souvenir shop inside filled with mediocre goods, and tourists buying them. A discussion had started around one of the display tables discussing the pros and cons of the various guides. A large woman from the States held sway over the impromptu proceedings, swearing on her God’s holy book that her guide, nine as indicated by her badge, was flirting with each and every woman taking the tour. Her cohorts— an early retiree from tour seven, a middle-aged homemaker or business professional dressed as a homemaker from tour twelve, and a teenager who didn’t have a badge covering her orange t-shirt with words “Cheap Cleavage” scribbled across it—nodded in agreement. The could-be homemaker thought the women who flirted back were the guiltier lot. Despite knowing better, Jana quipped “Well that’s all cheap cleavage will get ya.”

The women, especially the teenager, looked at the intruder with mild disdain. Jana, having reinforced the knowledge that the words on a person’s t-shirt was not the way to enter a conversation, grabbed the first item she felt on the table and walked to the register hoping never to see them or their respective tour groups again.
 

Exiting the café, Burton instinctively turned right and followed the streets as they sloped downwards, keeping at a speed equal with the water flowing down the gutter. As he walked, the streets grew more crowded and the buildings became more modern. The ground leveled out and Burton could see an automobile covered street a half kilometer or so off. Before he hit the street he turned into a local bookstore with a bright blue sign reminiscent of the Daily Planet in early Superman comics. He wiped his feet off on the mat and then quickly located the section “English Language Books” nestled in amongst those in the native tongues.

He liked the feel of these books; the rougher cover and tight binding made for a fresh contrast with the sleek looseness of the American product. Beyond the section near a magazine rack, he saw stairs leading up to more sections and the required coffee shop. No fan of coffee, he shifted focus back to the shelf. Among the brightly colored contemporary British authors and the big fat Russian classics carrying the Penguin Classics symbol of approval, Burton saw a thin blue book. Picking it up he found that it was The Little Prince. He had never been drawn to it as a child nor as a nostalgia-minded adult. He thought back to his poker-buddy and occasional co-worker who swore on this book, and he decided to buy it. Taking it, he wrapped it up in the bag and then walked back into the steady drizzle.
 

Jana nervously opened her bag. She had no clue as to her purchase and was glad just to be rid of the stares of the tour women. She was disappointed in herself—the item nearest her had been a bright orange neon colored t-shirt with the familiar “Welcome to Estonia” logo that identifies merchandise sanctioned by the national tourism board. She didn’t mind getting a shirt. If it didn’t fit she could always pass it along to an unsuspecting friend or sister—gifts from foreign countries are automatically considered special. What disappointed Jana was that she had gone into the most cliché spot in the whole square and inadvertently purchased the one thing in the whole shop every tourist was sure to get. A quick, visual skim of the area revealed no fewer than five people who had bought the shirt and another four who had bought it and were now wearing it. She glanced at her watch and then at the clock above the café in the big yellow building. She decided she had enough time to walk further away from the designated meeting spot. Jana turned and followed the flow of people, heading down towards the rim of the old town district.

After a few blocks, Jana turned into a large alleyway and found a small line of merchants specializing in beautiful wool sweaters. A step above caves carved into the building side of the open-air market stretched in front of her. One of the people minding the stand, an elderly woman, watched her. Jana, finally free of the number-system umbilical cord—if only for a half hour- had yet to get used to the way locals distanced themselves from people. The lack of the automatic ‘hey, how are you’ routine found in big retail chains made shopping a lonely activity—even if it was less annoying. Jana eventually picked a dark brown sweater with dirty white weaved in. It would be an ugly sweater anywhere else – but here it appealed to her. Jana bought the sweater, and ditched the shirt at a bench outside one of the inevitable McDonalds.
 

The girl in the pink dress caught Burton’s eye and did nothing with it. She was happy with her issue of Total Film and content to leave Burton with nothing to show for daring to enter the coffeehouse as escape from the current downpour; with one hand she turned the pages as one turns a car during a leisurely drive, while her other hand held an overpriced drink that she sipped from a straw. Burton thirsted for conversation and quickly thought of five conversation starters he could get off the cover. In the end he decided on the opener: “It’s nosey, I know—but I have to know what you’re reading.”

The girl in the pink dress took an extra-long sip and held the magazine up so he could read it for himself. Still feeling Burton’s presence, she looked up at him, moving only her eyes. “Total Film,” was her first response. She then followed it with, “Some article on Truffaut.”

She rolled her eyes back to the article. Burton seized the moment and quickly professed his love for Shoot the Piano Player. The girl in pink raised the stakes by using the proper title, “Oh, you mean Tirez sur le Pianiste.”

“Sorry, but I don’t speak Estonian.”

“Neither do I; that was French.” Then she left.

Burton turned his attention from the exiting girl to the waitress who asked, “What’d you like to drink?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

“Don’t mind her. She never walks out of here with anybody, never walks in with anybody either. If you saw her entering and leaving the store alone as often as she does, you’d think she worked here.”

Burton listened patiently, hoping his lack of comment would instruct the waitress to inquire as to the thirst of other patrons. But this waitress was good at her job. “You look like a smart man,” the waitress said. “I bet you’d answer the trivia question right.”

Burton spoke, “Trivia question?”

The waitress smiled at having won his interest and explained. “Every time someone comes in here alone, we offer the chance for them to earn a free drink—all they have to do is answer the question up on the blackboard there.”

The waitress nodded across the room at a blackboard with a nicely chalked question in-between a window and some form of modern art. Burton read the question to himself: What was the original title for the film Annie Hall?

“You’re right,” Burton said, “I can answer the question. The answer is Anhedonia.”

The waitress smiled. “You’re the first person all week to get it right.”

“If you want a quick replacement question ask them what it means.”

“I assume you know that as well?”

“It’s the inability to enjoy yourself.”

“Looks like I owe you two coffees.”

“You drink it. I’m going to brave the rain.”
 

As the drizzle had turned back into downpour, Jana ducked into a archway halfway back to her tour’s designated spot. She looked down at her black top and wished she had worn something else. She looked at her watch and was disappointed by herself when it took a few moments too long to realize she had no time to make it back to the tour. She decided to double check and asked a dancing child in a Pippi Longstocking-style outfit for the time. Miss Longstocking looked at her bright green watch and proudly announced that “The big hand is on the two and the little hand is on the three.” Jana thanked Miss Longstocking and then quickened her pace to make up for her tardiness.
 

Burton left the coffeehouse knowing that starting now, anybody willing to talk to him would invariably know they where his second choice. Downpour or not, he headed back into Old Town. He curved into a covered path and dropped a kroon in the hat of a violist who played partly recognizable hymns while his daughter danced in an outfit straight from Astird Lindgrin’s children’s novels about the redhead.
 

Jana made all the right turns in the wrong order and ended up not back in front of Fellini’s but in front of a large medieval- themed restaurant staffed with disproportioned women and overweight men. She surrendered to the city and went to a pay phone. The booth was cut into a building’s side with a small wooden door to keep amateur eavesdroppers away. She slid her phone card into the slot and dialed home, to her mother.

“Hello mom.”

“Jana! You’ve finally called. How’s the pilgrimage.”

“It’s a cruise, mother.”

“If Jesus had a travel agent you bet he’d have traded his forty nights in the desert for a cruise. Look Jana, before I forget, your father and I are brushing up on our American lexicon. We’re traveling there next month and I’m worried about communicating with the locals.”

“What is it you want to know, Mother?”

“Well, we were wondering if there is a feminine equivalent to Son of a Bitch.”

“I don’t think so, Mother.”

“Well how do you insult a woman’s parentage?”

“I don’t know, Mother. It seems to take care of itself.”

“Oh. Well, have fun anyway. Do you want to speak to your father?”

Jana heard her father yell from the other room, “Never mind dear; he just sends his best. Good-bye, dear—don’t forget to sit at the higher class table in the dining room.”

Jana hung up first and stayed in the phone booth, looking out the window.
 

The covered path abruptly stopped and Burton found himself on another downhill slope and moved down it. This path headed deeper into Old Town, and Burton tried to recall it in his mind. His brain ached from the mental Google on a dial-up wired brain. He flung his bag around and took out the train schedule. The rain finished the paper off quickly, and then died down to nothing as if to mock Burton’s timing. He threw the paper away and avoided a bum asking him for his country of origin. Burton walked further down and immediately knew where he was.

He glanced up at the sign reading Old Hansa, one of the most popular restaurants in all of Old Town. He then made his way to the phone booth; he waited for the occupant to leave and then got in, leaving the door open.
 

Jana let the next customer into the booth and stepped outside. She leaned against the wall weighing her options. She could call the cruise company and have them hail the ship or she could accept the loss of her parent’s outfits and take her chances alone. “No, Jana” she thought, “think logically.” Jana tried to recall the usual departure time from the rest. The most logical time seemed too right, and too wrong. Jana glance at her watch, about an hour till five. She’d never find the cruise ships in time. She hadn’t even found the square.

Bored, she took to eavesdropping on the phone’s current patron. “Chuck, it’s me. My train schedule got ruined. Do you have one handy? ...that’s right, rain.”

Jana tried to imagine who Chuck was. Best friend? Brother? Wife’s former lover? His former lover? Jana chuckled and looked down the street. An average-sized marquee caught her eye. The sign advertised a Jaques Tati Film Festival the coming Saturday. “I could stay for that” she thought. “I’ve loved Tati’s film ever since I first saw Mr. Hulot’s Holiday.” She stiffened, worried. “How could I have forgotten?” she said aloud, following with “I need to get to the ship” even louder.

But how? The trains! She looked to the booth and waited for Chuck’s friend or wife’s lover to finish and rushed towards him when he exited.
 

The woman carrying the wool sweater assaulted him, while knocking into him sending him backwards. Burton had enough time to flip through all of his worst fears regarding homicidal tourists before he fell on the sidewalk. The woman apologized and he got up, seeing she meant no intentional harm.

“Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t help overhearing. Did your friend have the train schedule? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“I heard you talking about the train schedule. Did you find out?”

“My schedule was ruined by the rain. My friend didn’t know.”

The apologetic-turned-worried woman frowned. “Do you know where the train depot is? I need to get back to the cruise ships.”

“I know where the depot is, but even better, I know where the ships are. You want to get on one or something?”

“I’m already on one—I just got really separated.”

Burton pointed at her chest, “Where’s your badge? I thought they branded you guys.”

“I think I threw it away. I’m Jana.”

Burton introduced himself then offered: “I guess I could take you down there.”

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

Jana thought of what her mother would think in regards to her current activity: walking down the foreign Estonian streets with a strange man. No better remedy to that predicament than to make him less of a stranger. She started in, “I overheard your call.”

“I remember you saying that.”

“Oh. I probably did. Are you in town visiting a friend?”

“Chuck? Yeah, I guess I’m visiting Chuck.”

“You guess?”

“I’m planning to go into the smaller villages tomorrow.”

“Then you have friends down there.”

Burton looked up thinking about—or stalling—Jana couldn’t tell. “I do, but they’re not really the reason I’m traveling down there.”

Realizing she would be asked the same, Jana asked, “Then what does bring you to Estonia?”

“I came to find out how to build one of the swings.”

“The swings?”

“You haven’t seen them?”

His last inquiry validated Jana’s feelings that she had wasted much of her trip with the tourist crowd. She followed by saying, “These swings must be some sort of cultural experience the cruise liners miss.”

Burton was enjoying the conversation and found something to like in her having not seen one of the many things commonly known as “Estonian swings.” He found her ignorance made for good practice for when he would have to explain it back home to those who would assist him in the building of one on his property.

He explained that they were triangular in appearance and made entirely of wood; the two sides of the swing had ledges on them and you stood on one side with a friend on the opposite side. To begin the swinging motion, the riders alternated, getting into what is best described as a squatting position. Burton made sure to emphasize that when the side you were on was higher than the other, you should be squatting; otherwise you were in danger of being flung from the swing.

Burton saw Jana smile as he finished explaining.

“Sounds dangerous,” Jana said.

“It could be.”

Jana stopped, distracted by a large building she hadn’t noticed coming in. It was an eclectic mix of medieval themes and modern times. She was mostly intrigued by the young man outside dressed as a minstrel playing a much more modern instrument singing a song. She caught a few of the lyrics: I think I know what’s making me sad it’s a yearning for my own backyard...

“What is that place?” she asked.

“That is the Peppersack Restaurant,” Burton replied, “I’m working on a theory that suggests no person can walk around Old Town Tallinn without passing it.”

They stopped and looked at it. Jana noticed Burton mouthing a few of the words along with the modern minstrel and quickly asked, “Do you know that song?”

“It’s a favorite of mine, actually.”

They continued walking, albeit slower in hopes of catching more of the song. “What is it? I can remember hearing it back home, but I can not recall the title.”

Burton chuckled, “I’ve won a free coffee earlier with a trivia question—didn’t think I’d find myself asking one.”

Jana pleaded, “Do not make this hard.”

“I won’t. Did you ever see or hear of the film Walkabout?”

The look on her face suggested she had and the tone of her voice confirmed it, “Do you mean that overtly erotic film about the outback with Jenny Agutta?”

“It suffers that reputation,” Burton said before explaining it, “It is Gasoline Alley by Rod Stewart. It’s on the soundtrack shortly before the dad tries to kill them.”

“Sounds like the feel good movie that year.”

“It was. So, why are you here?”

Jana grimaced “I told you. I’m here on a cruise.”

“You never told me why you were on the cruise. You certainly never told me why you were on a cruise through the Baltics.”

Jana continued her grimace.

Burton filled the quiet, “I told you.”

Jana broke, “I’m on the cruise to please my mother.”

“And the Baltic?”

“I chose to see Arvo Part at the opera house last night. That’s the only reason I chose to visit here.”

“Now you’re off with no reason to continue the journey.”

Jana muttered an agreement.

Burton looked up and saw they had hit a dead end.

Jana worriedly smirked, “I thought you knew it here.”

“I do, we forgot to turn.”

They turned around and headed back towards the Peppersack.

Burton was frustrated. It was a moderately well-off conversation after all the run-ins he’d had today, and he topped it all off by getting lost. He turned the attention back to Jana: “So, pleasing your mother, uh?”

“She thought it would be good for me to get out of the house.”

“I agree. Everybody should get out of the house.”

They walked in silence for a moment.

“You know,” Burton said, “you’re the first tourist I’ve met today that’s not half bad. You have a worthwhile reason for coming, a desire to see the city on your own and the only pain you’ve caused me was accidental.”

Jana’s face shined with recognition. “You had trouble meeting non-idiot tourists today too?” Burton nodded yes.

Jana continued, “I wouldn’t have gone back but... This is going to sound stupid.” Burton egged her on and she continued, “Well, I had a copy of a Jacques Tati film in my room and didn’t want to lose it.”

“You’re wrong - that doesn’t sound stupid. Jacques Tati films are worth keeping.”

Jana stopped as they neared the restaurant, “Is this where we made the wrong turn?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure of it now.”

They walked down the other path leading from the Peppersack. A while down the path they saw the shipyard. “You recognize any of those?” Burton asked.

“The big white one with the flags.” Jana’s chuckle was quickly suppressed when she looked down from the ship and saw the group coming up the path. They were from a cruise ship—Jana’s cruise ship. Burton saw the group and inquired,

“You recognize them too, uh?”

“Yeah.”

Jana’s face cringed with recognition as she saw the group leader see her and wave. The leader shouted, “YEAHNA! Oh Yeahna! I’m so glad I found you!”

Jana weakly waved. The group leader had stepped up her speed and was now up close to them. “That’s okay, I found my way back.”

The leader spotted Burton, “Who is this? A friendly local showed you the way didn’t he? They are so friendly down here. I found this lovely little shop that sold the cutest bright orange neon t-shirts. Can you believe it?”

“Only a little” Jana replied, wanting it to end.

“We’re heading up to the Peppersack restaurant up the hill for dinner. You should join us. Don’t forget to tip your friend.” The group leader continued her walk up to the restaurant.

Burton spoke first, “It’s a tradition here that in order to show respect you finish all the food given to you. It doesn’t extend to restaurants, but an Estonian chief always notices an un-empty plate.”

“I’ll show them up for you,” she said.

Afterwards, as he walked the streets along the bay of Tallinn, he passed a young tourist couple on there way to their ship. He heard the girl speaking, “I swear she just left this shirt on a bench. She was carrying some ugly sweater thing. UGH! Remember when we’re married I have a rule about souvenirs: An impractical souvenir lacks the location’s name printed on it.”

Burton shook his head and then continued on his way.
 

Jana’s dinner provided more conversation than her lunch did. Instead of being asked nothing, she was asked once to pass the rolls. She did listen to one of the men describing a café he was at earlier where they had a trivia question you could answer to get a free coffee. She missed the question but found out the question meant the inability to enjoy yourself. The man laughed, saying he had never heard of anything so stupid.

“I don’t know” Jana thought. “I mean it takes most of your day just to find someone worth talking to.”