echoes of eighteen

A CENTURY SINCE the end of the Great War, but the unraveling of Europe’s old empires at its finish — the Austro-Hungarian and Russian, especially — continues to haunt this peninsular landmass. It’s actually why you see these issues with nationalist governments, not only in Hungary and Poland, but also in Russia.

Russia’s issues with its neighbors mostly date back to this key period between the October Revolution (November 1917) and the Treaty on Creation of the USSR (December 1922). It was in this period that the modern borders of Ukraine, for instance, were drawn up, presumably by the Soviet leadership. Stalin himself no doubt played a role in creating this new “republic” that was never intended to operate independently from Moscow.

In 1991, this republic became independent, and was recognized as an independent state by the international community. But nobody knew what Ukrainian independence would mean. It is only now, nearly 30 years later, that this state is beginning to assert itself as an independent entity. Following the protests that ousted Yanukovich in February 2014 the state was put on a new, nearly irreversible trajectory, especially after Russia occupied and annexed Crimea.

Any political leader that came to power in Ukraine would have to defend Ukrainian sovereignty. But since Russia had annexed a part of Ukrainian territory, no political leader could emerge that would recognize that annexation. There simply is no way for Ukraine to “return” to Russia’s sphere of influence anymore. The West nominally supports the old borders, but what is really happening is that these two states are now finding their actual balances of power. Russia thought it would advance quickly west, perhaps linking its mainland with its outpost in Transnistria, with a defeated Ukraine suing for peace. Several years on, and Russia is still mired in the Donbas. A new line of control emerges.

Estonians look on this situation uncomfortably. Its original border with Russia was not drawn up by Stalin, but rather agreed to via a treaty with Lenin in 1920. It was only after it was occupied by the Soviets again in 1944 that Stalin conducted some cosmetic surgery on the eastern border. Historically, most of the land within Estonia was part of two duchies or governates — Estland and Livland.  The city of Narva, however, was for a long-time part of the Petersburg Governate, and parts of Setomaa in the southeast belonged to Pskov. Narva is an interesting situation because of its Russian super-majority.

Yet among the Russians of Estonia, it’s not language or culture that apparently counts most, but living standards. Russians can and do live anywhere in such enclaves — in London, in New York, in Israel — and that does not mean that the Russian Federation needs to annex Brighton Beach or neighborhoods in Tel-Aviv or London.

The Baltics have always been an interesting, exceptional case when it comes to post-Soviet affairs. They were full-fledged European states that were occupied and annexed at a fraught moment in history, when German Luftwaffe planes were bombing London while ground troops swarmed into Denmark and France. I have long thought that if the Soviets had secured cooperative but democratic governments in the Baltics in 1940, then NATO would have never arrived at its doorstep. This would still be “neutral” territory.

Unfortunately, Russia’s fatal flaw has remained its out-sized sense of importance. Over and over again, the great Russian Bear has been undone by his immense yet fragile ego.

Hindsight is 20/20 as they say. In little over a year, it will actually be 2020. Imagine that.

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hommikusöök

bomba
Bomba Calabrese, essential ingredient for tatrapuder Petrone style

IT’S BEEN A WHILE, but I had something to share. My aversion to some traditional Estonian foods has become the stuff of legend, but I’ve worked my way around with a few ingredients from the Mediterranean. I often eat tatrahelbed  — buckwheat porridge —  though — even without maple syrup — and soolast, salty, savory — but with my own additions.

One ingredient I add to my morning bowl of buckwheat porridge is küüslauk, garlic. Just one clove, thinly sliced will do. I add it to the porridge raw — it cooks through on its own. I also never put milk in my porridge, only ample helpings of salted butter (või soolakristallidega, produced by Saaremaa). This gives the porridge a rich texture. On top of this, I dash some cayenne pepper. This gives it that extra necessary kick.

That’s not all though. At some restaurants, you can order buckwheat with capers, onions, and a fried egg. I prefer to add slices of fried halloumi cheese to the mixture. Finally, for the really adventurous, pick up a jar of red hot Bomba Calabrese from Selver. This is an imported pepper spread — I guess is the right term for it — modeled on the piccante sauces of Calabria in Italy (the home region of the Petrones, for what it’s worth).

It includes Calabrian chili peppers (peperoncino), olive oil (of course), artichoke, eggplant, sun-dried tomatoes, and all kinds of other good things. My great grandmother Maria taught my mother how to cook, but Maria was from Puglia, where the local cuisine isn’t as hot. Still I have acquired a taste for spicy Calabrian food, and this stuff will clear out those sinuses. So a tablespoon of Bomba Calabrese in your tatrapuder is just what you need. Just don’t forget the garlic and salted butter. You’ll be sweating in no time.

ancient estonian land

estonia map.jpg

I came across this map on the wall of the Taarkataro cafe in Obinitsa, which is in Setomaa, this rather interesting border region separating, in some people’s minds, Estonia proper from Russia proper. For centuries, the Piusa River formed a boundary between the lands of the Estonian and Livonian Governates and the lands of Pskov. Those on the “Estonian” side became Lutherans, attained a high level of literacy already in the 17th century under Swedish rule, and developed a different kind of relationship with authority from those on the “Russian” side, who became Orthodox and remained illiterate deep into the 19th century. In some ways, the Seto people who lived in the border region were similar to other Finnic peoples in the Russian Empire who were not historically under Swedish or German rule, such as the Mari, Udmurts, Komi, Moksha, etc. They thought of themselves as one ethnic group within the greater Russian Empire. The border here, as most borders, has always been in flux. Many note that much of what is now Estonian “Setomaa” was, until 1920, always under Russian administration. Looking at this map, though, I noticed that a small village on the other side of Lake Peipsi, the “Russian side,” was apparently part of Livonia for some part of history. This is called “Soztinez” on the map, which dates to the 1790s. According to Google Maps, there is still a settlement there, but I cannot find a name for it. I wonder how many people there know that they were once part of the provinces that later became Estonia.

what everyone always wanted

 

kaljulaid

I SAW THIS news item on ERR and felt like saying something. President Kersti Kaljulaid sent a congratulatory message to Putin in the even of his re-election. Some people are obviously not thrilled by the Estonian head of state congratulating the Russian president, who has been in power for more than 18 years and runs an illiberal country. Russia’s recent botched assassination in the UK certainly has left a cloud of gaseous stink over any relations with the Kremlin.

In times like these though, when it seems that Estonia is becoming “Finlandized,” I remember that Estonians actually wanted that to happen 30 years ago. The drive for independence was for a) national preservation; b) material gain; c) to achieve the same successes of their Finnish neighbor. They wanted to be a free country, as free as Finland.

Bringing about political changes within Russia weren’t at the top of that list, though there is a strong argument that they might increase Estonian security. That being said, any kind of political collapse in Russia could have an opposite effect. It could actually lead to a full-scale European war across the east. I recall something that Finnish President Tarja Halonen said in the prior decade about Finnish-Russian relations. “We’ve never had it so good.” The reality is, in her lifetime, which started at the peak of the Second World War, up to the moment she uttered it, the Finns probably hadn’t had it so good. It does leave one feeling a bit uneasy. It’s not easy to bite your tongue all the time. It feels dishonest.

itching for eestimaa

Sketches-of-Estonia-_-kaas-220x322Hi there! Tere päevast! This blog is largely ignored as I work on various projects, which is unfortunate. However, the archive is quite good. I think that for me, as a writer, many of the things that once seemed odd or noteworthy to me became mundane or routine as I acculturated to Estonian life in the years 2007-2017. So it doesn’t make much sense for me to post here anymore. Most of my regular work as a columnist appears on my other blog North!

I urge you to check out my new book Sketches of Estonia. A new collection of columns and unpublished pieces, called Mirror Man, is set to appear later this year. My life these days is still deeply Estonian and sometimes I do still wonder at the curious ways of these adorable and prickly people from the north. Mostly I am at the Rohelise Maja Kohvik ja Pood in Viljandi writing. So if you stop in, feel free to disturb me and we can go to the garden, weather permitting, and share an espresso!

wana eesti raha

The first currency of the Estonian Republic was the mark. It was introduced in 1918 and tied to the German ostmark. It remained in circulation through the late 1920s, at which time the kroon became the new currency. I have heard interesting anecdotes about Estonian children finding stacks of old 1000 marka or 100 krooni bills stashed away in attics during the Soviet era, and presenting them to their parents and grandparents who just shrugged as if they really had no recollection of seeing them before. Interesting that the Estonian mark was once pegged to the German ostmark, just as the reintroduced kroon was once pegged to the Deutsche Mark and later the euro, before full euro adoption in 2011.

It is a good example of the centrality of Germany’s influence on the Estonian state.

head aega

Head aega! This is the all-purpose Estonian goodbye. It is more sincere than the forced nägemist which implies that you might see the person again, and though you most likely will, there is the possibility that you won’t. (There is also the presumption that you might actually want to see the person again). Then there is the androgynous nägemiseni. I once used this with my friend Mart, but he blushed a bit and said, “Justin, men don’t say nägemiseni.” That’s nägemiseni. It’s for little girls. Yet head aega! It just means, literally, “good times.” Isn’t anyone worthy of good times? I can still hear Nile Rogers’ chinkalink guitar on Chic’s old disco hit “Good times/These are the good times/A new state of mind/These are the good times.” The funny thing is that for the Estonians, head aega is something an older serious person would say to you. The cry of the old men. For Americans, it sounds like leftover stoner. “Good times, man.” “Same to you.” Like you should be munching on chocolate chip cookies in the corner of a college keg party in Connecticut listening to Chic. Not that I know anything about that. Gotta run now. Head aega!

when the heart corrects itself

All of life is a process of tuning in, and a process of making decisions. I can find the very places in my old journals where certain decisions were made. These are silent, internal decisions. I wonder sometimes to what extent the Estonians around me have mastered these kinds of facts. Many seem to be experts when it comes to the human condition. I recently asked K. and M. at the cafe if they believed that it is possible to feel another person’s feelings, even if they never express them, even if they are in another city. Both of them looked up from their coffees and said, in unison, muidugi! Of course. M. is a woman and so a witch. Most Estonian women see an equals sign between nõid (witch) and naine (woman). There is no separation between the two. If you are an Estonian woman, you are a witch. So, yes, we are dealing with some ‘next-level’ stuff here. The idea that your heart can correct itself, can choose to tune into something, if it so decides, makes perfect sense in this eerie place. The twin enemies of these things are fear and doubt, I’ve learned. If you can ignore your doubt, accept your fear, you can get somewhere.

when the heart goes silent

A morning where it’s hard to get out of bed. I used to have these long ago, before and after. After school, too I would come home and just try to sleep through the rest of the evening. And then the morning too. I felt myself in free fall without any catch. You cannot expect anyone else to bail you out in your life, but what if you can’t be bothered to catch yourself? I realize this is depressing, but that’s how I feel. There is something truly isolating about this country too, and this feeling does come to other foreigners here. The distance between people is greater, the embraces are not genuine, at times, or feel awkward, and beautiful women run roughshod over your heart, like one of those primitive plows they use out in the countryside. But what do you do when the heart goes silent? You try to tune in, but it tunes out. The signal is lost. No frequency.

where’s your seal?

N. needs a man with a hammer, but M. is a höövel sort of man. This was related to me recently by an estranged yet amiable couple, one that cooperates at all levels, and yet whose personal life is that of sister-brother, not man-and-woman. I had to look up höövel. It’s a carpenter’s plane. M. would prefer to slowly and easily work his wood into shape, but N. wants it all done, now. She wants a man with a hammer to take over and nail things into place, not some easygoing höövel. “I don’t even know what I want,” I tell this troubled duo. “Maybe just some kind of Inuit woman, in a warm igloo, with a lot of sled dogs,” say I. “And we just lay there in the furs and have a lot of sex and that’s pretty much it.” As if caught in a dream, I end my vision of the perfect relationship. “You know, you don’t need hammers or a höövel if you live in an igloo.” “You still have to provide,” says N. “Are you really willing to go out and tackle some seal, pull it out of the ice, and eat it?” “It doesn’t sound so complicated,” I say. She squints. My seal-catching talents are in doubt. “Ready to come home to an angry Inuit woman grunting to you, “Noh, kus su hüljes on?” (Where’s your seal?) This idea sours me out a bit, leaves me cold. I was there with the steamy igloo sex, but demanding iglunaised are all the same I guess.