We slept fairly long in the morning, and had then a late breakfast. Ruta had to go to town for a few errands, and letting us know we were going, she found a good moment when Uku, (her year-old son, yes?) was distracted in another room to slip away. Well, it didn't take Uku even four minutes to figure out the trick which had been played, and he was not happy about it. We found out later, that Uku was being weaned at the time, so he was feeling a bit abandoned anyhow. Then this made it all unbearable.

He was crying. He was screaming. I don't think anyone in the whole building, (and this was an apartment building, with at least ten flats in it,) failed to notice him. And he would not be comforted. Everything we could do just made it worse. He would allow nothing except lying at the door, wanting to go out and follow his mother. Screaming. He would not be moved from the door. He would not be held. He would not be distracted with toys, books, stories, food, or kind words. He was determined to lie there at the door crying until Ruta came back. Oh dear.

Pamela and I were not the only ones who could not cheer him up; Ruta's sister was there, (She had been asleep, until Uku started.) But an Aunt's love meant nothing to the miserable Uku. She was as helpless as we were to do anything for him.

So, what could we do?

I sat there, beside him at the door, (touching him made him cry more,) trying to think what to do, and making sure he didn't hurt himself. (Oh... have I said earlier? That Uku and I got along well, and we had much fun playing together. I should have said that. Then it's understandable that it was figured that I had the best chance of the people there of cheering Uku up.) But... what could I do? Well... when you can't see any solution, then I guess you'll have to get creative.

That's what I did.

He could only clutch two or three toys in his hands, and the others we'd offered as distractions were lying about him. So, I started taking these up, and balancing them in a little tower, leaning against the door. There was a toy car, a tennis ball, a bottle (with juice in it,) and a Frisbee. It was the tennis ball that made it a challenge.

The crazy thing is, this sort of worked. Uku noticed my great concentration, and couldn't help but to look at what I was so intent on. And I guess the idea surprised him a bit. At some point, (I can't say I noticed when, I was too focussed,) he stopped crying, and gave me his little stuffed zebra, to add to the pile. ("AHA!!" I thought, "Perfect!! He's becoming involved in this mad experiment!") Well, I tried to find a way to add the zebra in as well. I was happily convinced that it was impossible, -because that would mean that I could carry on trying to build it indefinitely, which meant that Uku would be too curious to see how it went to remember crying. indefinitely.

Then the worst possible thing happened: I succeeded.

"CRAP!" I thought. (actually, I thought a much nastier word than that.) Pamela was astonished that I'd succeeded in that feat of balancing. Ruta's sister was astonished. Uku was astonished. I was astonished, But I had no idea what to do next! If I just sat there dumbly, Uku would see that the interesting experiment was over, and remember that he had been busy being miserable and feeling abandoned. I needed to think of something fast! What could I do now? And the answer came to me:

A Shoe.

So, I took one of the shoes, lying there beside the door, and tried to find a way to incorporate That into the tower too. (And, thankfully, I believe that WAS impossible.) But trying to do it took up the time, and interested Uku enough, that he could eventually laugh when the whole thing toppled over, and then we could at length, move onto other games, and do other things.

For me, the whole thing was just... the way it went. I remembered, when I was young, that the worst thing, when I was miserable, was the feeling of uselessness I would get. When I would cry, and NOTHING would happen. And there was Nothing to do. That's when I couldn't stop. So... It seemed natural to me, that one way, (perhaps the only way,) of distracting Uku, was to involve him in something else. (Hmmm... isn't that basically the definition of distraction?) The challenge in it, was that he really didn't want to be distracted. Anyhow, the point is, that for me, it was just a bit of luck that my scheme worked.

In contrast, to Ruta's sister and to Pamela it seemed... that I was inspired. I was a little surprised actually, when Pamela said that what I'd done was unbelievable genius. (Oh, but I did like the praise. Ah, yes, I liked it.) And I guess that it could say something; mean something, when I was able to stop a child crying, when no one else short of the mother could have. (Perhaps I know more about parenting than I ever before expected; I always felt that I new very Very little. I'd nearly never baby sat. I don't really know the first thing about very young children. -except how to play with them. And that was the same thing, whenever I DID go to babysit: I would see it only as an opportunity to play with some people younger than me. I guess that it was fairly often, actually, that I "babysat" for the Barker family in Victoria. But for me, it was just... playing with them. (And perhaps helping them to make a sandwich or something, I guess.)

At length, Ruta came back, and then Pamela and I went to the center ourselves. We first went to the Photo-shop, where I'd left three or four rolls of film before going to Russia. And then we looked as some of these, on our way out to the Botanical Gardens of Tallinn. We got on a bus, and were a bit confused, but found that we could pay there. And it cost us 15 kroona each. (That's the Estonian currency.) This was nearly double the price of a normal bus ticket, but I thought that it must be return, or a day ticket, or a ticket that's good for the whole afternoon.

The gardens of Tallinn are nice, spacious, and surrounded by coniferous forests. They have a nice selection of plants... and, and, and... what is there to say? Both Pamela and I felt more impressed with and good about the Tartu gardens. (Even though the Tartu ones are less than 15% the size.) But one thing I did impress me, and that was the age of the collection in Tallinn. There was one tropical tree, which they'd had in their green houses, for 150 years. Now then...

First of all, this is longer than Canada has existed as a country. So you can be pretty damned sure that the Tallinn Botanical gardens are older than any botanical gardens in my whole country. Secondly, although I have a picture now, of the modern Estonian being someone who gets their first mobile phone at age five, is introduced to the internet the same year, and is an all around worldly, modern person... I still have this idea of the Estonia of over 100 years ago, as being a bit backwards, and behind the times. So the fact that there was a state Botanical Garden, with continuous care for the trees in the greenhouses, (which couldn't just be left outside for a year, if there was no one to take care of them,) for the past century and a half, was... well, catching my notice, pounding the tobacco-juice out of it, and leaving it shaken and startled. Really, I wouldn't have expected the people of that time to care about the botany of far off, tropical places. (Where I'm sure not one out of every million would ever visit.) And also, it's so far out of town. To me, it looks like this botanical garden was planned, and laid out... while all the surrounding land was only rural farms. It would have taken most of the. morning to get out there on a horse. So... I was surprised. I was bloody well astoundedly impressed by it's age.

After a couple of hours, and a great deal of sticking our noses into roses, (they've got a couple hundred varieties, I think,) we headed back into the city. I showed the bus driver our tickets from the morning, trying to find out if they were day tickets after all, and she waved us on, seeming to say, "Yes, yes, they're good." It was some time later, perhaps the next day, that I got some idea how the bus tickets work, and found out that the bus driver then surly thought they were new tickets, which hadn't been used yet. So, riding back into town, the bus cost us nothing at all.

Now, way back, on the second day of this trip, we'd looked at some hand-blown glass, as a nice gift to take back to Pamela's parents. We thought it best to buy it at the end of our holiday though, so it wouldn't risk getting damaged, as we went all over Estonia, and into Russia. So, back in town, we had a nice little wander around the little streets, trying to get to the same glass shop we were at before. When at last we found it, we had a second good look at the glasses there, and at their prices... and decided they weren't really worth it. It was a pity, because some of their other work I've seen in past years was rather nice. But what they had to offer then, was not worth the price they were asking for it.

Back in the streets, we went wandering along, wanting to have something to eat. But the Kalev café, which is where we wanted to go, was closed. So we walked here and there, looking for a place to have some lunch, and not feeling excited by anything we saw. We ended up going into the courtyard of the city theater, (Liinatheater, for those people reading this who know Tallinn,) and deciding that the little restaurant there suited our needs nicely. And it was a bit funny for me, with my history touching the Estonian Theater culture. Ah, and I thought it quite interesting too, that the play that theater was putting on in the summer, was Orwell's Animal Farm. I've heard that this is quite a good, political book. Or, well, more a Social criticism. Or a suggestion of Social... political... ummm... whatever. BUT, the point is, that though I've heard it was a good book, I didn't think it was the type of thing that would make a good play. So, my interest was piqued.

Ah, and there were quite a number of stray cats, which hung around there, in the courtyard. (And the nice lady from the restaurant put out scraps for the young ones to eat. And then, Pamela and I were so... disappointed, when a Seagull came down, scared the young cats away, and gulped down all the scraps in the blink of an eye. Awful birds, aren't they?)

We were running a little behind schedule then, and we had to hurry to get to the Baroque concert in the Palace of Tallinn, (Kadriog Palace.) I sent Pamela into the hall, to get us good seats, while I went into the bathroom to change into my nice, new black shirt that I'd gotten in Russia. But this was my first time putting it on. And the time was a little tight. And there were SO many bloody little pins stuck through it, and little bits of plastic holding parts of it in shape, and then More pins which were keeping it neat. Even so, I got into the hall before the concert started. (And it wasn't until I took the shirt off in the evening, that I found I'd left a piece of cardboard sitting underneath the collar of the shirt the whole time; I'd thought the collar was impressively stiff.)

The music was quite pleasant, and both Pamela and I enjoyed the concert. The hall there is very lovely too, and the other rooms on that floor are all belonging to the museum. So, in the intermission, we craned our neck through doorways, into rooms that were closed, but only with an ornamental rope. I was a little disappointed not to see anyone I knew there. I thought it would have been quite fun to go and say "hello" to someone, and explain how I was working in Germany, and that the beautiful, stunning woman on my arm was my girlfriend. (Oh dear, but I can be vain, can't I?) But no; no one I remotely recognised. We took a couple of pictures, there inside, (But without flash, as that was forbidden within the rooms of the museums. And really, the little concert hall was a part of the museum. It's just that it's still Used, as well as sitting there static for people to admire.)

One picture I took was of a painting on the ceiling, which depicted a scene from an ancient myth I remembered: Diana, goddess of the Hunt, is bathing in the forest. And some man, (Whose name I can NOT recall,) is out hunting in the same forest, and comes across her. Now, she's not fond of men drooling over her naked body, so just like that, she turns him into a stag. -And then his fellow huntsmen, and his own dogs, attack and kill him. Happy end.

(Well, as happy as Greek endings can be, right?)

Anyhow, I felt wonderfully clever, and cultured, to be able to figure that out, from the horns growing from this man's head, who had two hunting dogs, at the edge of a pool with lots of naked women in it, -and a bow and quiver laying by the side of the water.

Back at the concert now... I had some trouble... staying awake. The days were telling on me, and it was a real challenge to keep my eyes open. At length, I found I couldn't, and thought I'd have to close my eyes, to rest them, and just keep my mind alert. -which I couldn't. I had no choice at all, except to let myself drift into the land of half sleep. I truly couldn't help it.

But for me, this is not always a bad thing; Years ago in Toronto, I was going to the university library, and studying from the books there. I'd take my favourite one, go and sit at a desk, and work my way further through it, making notes, and generally learning everything it could teach me. But like clockwork, after about three minutes, the words would start to swim before me, I would feel warm, and ever so tired. I'd be unable to focus on anything at all. The words would just repeat themselves again and again in my head, but never taking on meaning. And I would soon find myself, without fail, lying my head on the book, closing my eyes, and going half to sleep.

And then I'd come out of the half sleep. (I'm guessing it was always in under five minutes.) I would be refreshed, energetic, motivated, and as sharp as a tack. I would have the clearest concentration then for hours. I wouldn't feel any fatigue at all then. But, the next day I'd come in, it would be the same: I'd have to lie my head down on the book, and completely abandon myself to sleep, before I could concentrate on the studying. I came to think of it something as a system-wide reboot. It was a clearing of my whole brain, so that I could think properly. It was turning off, and starting up again.

And that's what happened to me in the Baroque concert. By the end of the piece they were playing, I'd gone from unconscious, to wide awake, bright eyed, vital, energetic, and enjoying the music more than I had before. I wonder, does this sort of thing happen to other people as well? I mean the... rebooting of their systems?

After the concert, we went walking together through the gardens around the palace. The one directly adjoining the palace was formal, not too big, and... decent. The one just across the street... ummm. Was, in the eyes of Pamela, a disaster. It was under construction. Ok. But she also found the way it was Being constructed to be inexcusably bad. And then there was the fact, which I found out from a man working on the construction of it, that it was intended for some hundred year's celebration, which took place a week ago. So, all around the place, there were poles with ribbons and oak leaves tied to them. This was amid the planks, piles of dirt, stacks of cement blocks, mini-backhoes, and so on. It was unbelievable.

We decided to walk around and see some other things in the neighbourhood, so we went to the sea side, which was near. We looked at the Rusalka Monument, which is large, and... a monument. It was a decent sculpture, but not so interesting that I remember anything about it now. I couldn't even say what it was a monument For. As we were by the sea then, we decided to walk back into the city, (keeping an eye out for bus stops along the way, in case the weather got worse.) The weather was a bit chilly, very grey, and on and off rainy. At one point the sun came through the clouds though, and was beautiful. -Not that the sunlight got to us; it was only shining on the harbour, but that was a perfect photo opportunity.

Back in town, we went again to the Kalev Café, (which was closed when we wanted lunch.) It was at last open, but we were rather hungry for dinner by this time, so we just bought some nice chocolates to eat later. Then we went looking for a nice restaurant. Rather like we did in the afternoon: wandering around, feeling hungry, and a little worried that we'd find nothing good, and then very pleased when we discovered something which suited us perfectly. It was the "Turg" restaurant, which means "Market." It was a restaurant though, not a buffet. Only the interior design of the building was made to look like the old style markets, and the menus were also nicely made in an old style.

And the food was good too. But more importantly, the bottle of Italian Chardonnay which we got was pleasing to us both. I found it to have a sharp taste. A bit what I'd think of as what you'd get from a concentrated Chardonnay, (if such a thing were possible;) A bit too much Essence of Chardonnay. Pamela however, found it better to describe it as a "Spiced flavor."

By the end of our meal, the wine, and a nice chocolate desert, we found that we'd used up the whole evening, and that it was by then quite night. In fact, we'd missed the last bus going out to Ruta's. So we got a cab. I asked the cab driver about how much it would cost, and he thought about it for a second, and gave an approximation. It was a ten or fifteen minute ride, and just as we pulled up to the house, the meter ticked over to exactly his estimated price. If he had driven for twelve seconds longer, or shorter, it would have been a different price.

Well, I feel a bit silly writing about it now, but at the time, I was very impressed. Good taxi driver.

And that, was the end of our last day together on Vacation.