Tag Archives: estonia

Astana

August 2017

When your girlfriend works long hours and you rarely find strong, reliable Wi-Fi, then having those important conversations becomes a real challenge. But after a week, we finally found a time.

With the distance and uncertainty on how long this trip would take, we decided to go on a break. I knew we would agree on this, and I think I had already grieved for it, because all I felt now was freedom, excited for what lay ahead.

The only worry now was money, but Merce, the lovely lady who lent me $3000 to book the refundable flights to try for the Chinese visa, agreed to let me hold onto it until I got back to the UK and had a job. I could do anything I wanted to now. I got my world map out and lost the day pouring over it. I could go for another year, or another 5, it was up to me!

The future seemed bright, but my mind quickly fell back to the present visa problem – I needed to get through either Russia or China first. I wanted to do it as soon as I could, before winter came in, lest I get homesick and go home early as I did on my first solo trip.

It seemed to feel stress more than it usually would have because this journey was the only thing I was focusing on.

I began reading Walking the Amazon by Ed Stafford, and I found many similarities in his journey and mine. He had experienced the same mental challenges as I was now, and he talked about how he overcame them.

I began to realize that I was perhaps putting too much pressure on myself to get to my destination as quickly as possible. Now I didn’t have to. This was causing me a lot of stress, and I was not enjoying the trip.

His partner told him in a similar situation “I think that you are being too impatient. I think that this will take time and that you need to relax, and when a path turns into brambles and thorns for 2 hours you need to take a deep breath, smile and accept it as part of the adventure.”

The biggest one for me, which I would need a few weeks to truly understand, was reading that I have control over how I react to challenges.

The city of Astana itself was an interesting spectacle – built in the late 90s by the President to better link the country with Russia and Europe – was all show but no soul. The old capital, Almaty, was my next destination.

Ready for a 20km walk out of Astana, someone called me over and bought me coffee. I assumed the man was the owner, but no, he was a normal man who just wanted to buy me a coffee. We talked for a bit and he went on to say he could take me outside the city. While I was waiting, the barista bought me food over.

This journey, like coping with anxiety, is about recognizing small victories. He told me that if I needed help to find a job or a place to stay, then he could help me. I did need help, I really did. If he could help me to get residency, I could stay in Kazakhstan over winter and get the visa to Russia. It didn’t work out, unfortunately because the residence permit application was far too complicated.

He took me 20km out of the city where I set my tarp up for the night.

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Estonia: Dropping Plans, Picking Possibilities – Hitchhiking Around the World Days 64-66

‘Estonia’ – before going for the first time, that melodic name painted pictures in my mind of scenes from children’s books read to me by my parents. We often create an over-romanticized idea of a new place, but the moment I crossed the border, my imagination materialized.

It is one of those magic places I thought didn’t really exist, and for the three days I spent with Marko and his little brother, we did the kinds of things you would expect in a work of fiction.

We walked for hours in the dense woodland behind his house, built a raft with trees we cut down, and made a huge campfire. Navigating through the forest, it was as if he was speaking to the trees the same way that I would speak to strangers when finding my way through a city.

He told me there was a risk of encountering wild boars and bears, and he even felt the need to tell me what to do in the event of encountering one of them. I’ve never had to climb a tree before, and I didn’t want to have to try.

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As we walked, we foraged berries to keep our energy, and picked mushrooms to cook that evening. I felt truly disconnected from the rest of the world; my phone didn’t even have any signal in some parts of the forest.

Marko pointed out a number of abandoned wooden houses to me – much of Estonia’s population left the country after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, leaving villages such as Marko’s either partially or completely empty. According to him, I could occupy one of them for free, given I contacted the owner and kept the place from falling apart because they still want to sell it.

Many Estonians have a sauna in their house – much is the same in Latvia and some part of Russia. In Marko’s house, it is what they use instead of a shower.

He invited me to use it, but before we went in he asked me if I was comfortable with what we were about to do. “Most foreigners aren’t,” he told me.

It turned out that they use it naked. I figured that if Marko and his brother were fine with it, then there was no need for me to feel awkward.

So, with a 27-year-old man and 11-year-old child, I stood naked in the hot, steamy room. I had a look, of course.

Marko and his brother left and I stayed behind to finish washing. When I walked out into the garden, I saw, what I think, was the gayest thing I’ve ever encountered. They were lying naked in the front garden as if they were in a religious painting.

“If you cannot walk around naked in your own front garden, then it is not a real garden,” Marko told me, as he urged me to join them.

Alas, I popped some underwear on.

My worries had been absent for most of the day, but in the evening they returned. Would I try to cover Russia in one month, or take it slow and find another way to get the visa for China? Deep down, I knew which choice I should pick but I couldn’t let myself think clearly and honestly, lest I leave myself vulnerable to failure.

That evening, Marko and I made a huge campfire behind his house. With the glittery indigo sky watching over us and mysterious mist snaking in-between the thick and tall pine trees, we left the world of introductory conversation behind and went beneath the surface to discuss some very personal subjects. Marko allowed me to truly let go of the seriousness of my situation, letting me listen to myself.

Gazing into the roaring fire as we spoke, the conversations we were having became independent of each other; I was interpreting what he saying differently to how he meant it, and vice versa.

Rushing over one month just to say I had traversed Eurasia, but missing everything in-between, seemed wrong now.

He told me that I should stay in Estonia for winter, gain residency and apply for the Chinese and/or Russian visa that way. My EU citizenship would make this very straight-forward, and I felt the lure of Estonia draw me to the idea. It felt right.

As the possibility materialized, I envisioned myself in a small cabin in the woods, keeping the fire going with the wood cut down in summer, snowed-in with just books and food.

I learned something from this – making big plans stresses me out, but making possibilities is exciting.

As the sun came up, Marko went to bed, but I went for a walk down the road near his house. It was as straight as a ruler and on either side of me were fields topped with pockets of mist which look like clouds. It was like I was in heaven.

The horizon at each end was shrouded by the similar clouds. As I started to walk, I realized I was inside a metaphor for my life – I am on an infinite road and completely free to walk it for as long as I want to. I moved forwards and the clouds continued to hide the horizon from me; there are always more things to see than I have time to.

I slept until midday and woke to the sun shining its golden rays into my room. My eyes opened willingly. The idea of spending winter in Estonia seemed too good to be true and I didn’t want to bring up conversations we had the night before, in case the fragile idea shattered while being carried into reality.  But as the day went on, things seemed to be just as relaxed as last night.

Marko told me, with enthusiasm, that he thought it was a great idea. He then told me that he doesn’t live in his house between November and March and that if I was to live in it, I would be doing him a favor.

It was the happiest I’d ever felt.

The next day, I left for Tallinn where I would pick up my passport which had been sent to me by the visa company without a Chinese visa. I had imagined receiving this passport following the failed application would upset me, but not getting a the visa turned out to be one of the best things to happen to me.

 

Estonia. Hope is the Opposite of Fear – Hitchhiking Around the World Day 60 – 62

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“Hope is the opposite of fear.”

The crisp, morning air from the half-opened window welcomed me into the new day and breathed hope into my problem.

Despite what had burdened me over the last few days, I was relaxed.  I made a big breakfast for Tambet and me, which we enjoyed on his balcony while further discussing my options for reaching the end of the continent without having to fly home first. Just having him there to talk to helped a lot.

He left for work and I threw myself back on the couch. I opened my email box to check if the visa agency had been successful in their enquiry at the Chinese consulate into whether they could conduct the visa interview over Skype, or over telephone, or any logical solution for somebody who is travelling away from their own country.

The subject line gave nothing away.

This is not a piece of fiction, therefore I cannot write whatever I want. So, of course, it was unsuccessful. I either had to fly home, staining the hitchhiking element of my trip, or the visa application would be refused.

I learned a valuable lesson on how to stay positive from this trip-threatening fiasco – Hope is the opposite of fear.

We get fearful when our mind focuses on negative possibilities, and hope is the result of thinking about the equally likely positive outcomes. The happy ones among us are those who focus on the latter. In most situations, things seem to play out not terribly, nor extremely well, but somewhere half-way.

Remaining hopeful before this news had kept me much calmer than I would have been without it. I think we worry because we feel like we can change things by doing so, but the reality is that we have very little to no control over what happens to us. Once we accept this, we are free be happy.

I needed to vent, badly, so I picked up the pillow which I had slept on so peacefully the night before, folded it in half and forced all of my frustration into it. I felt the veins on my eyes pop up, as well as the ones on the side of my head. Unsatisfied, I let out another scream. Almost finished, I let out a final one, which I felt shake the walls of the old, wooden apartment.

That night, Tambet and I went to a party at his friend’s country house. It was one of the final parties of the short Estonian summer. Few of them work during this season, because most of the year it is too cold to host such events.

They were very welcoming. Some of them spoke English very well, some of the not so much; they all learn it in school, but few of them get the chance to practice speaking.

My new friends sensed there was something troubling me and were empathetic. One of them suggested a new idea – going through Afghanistan and Pakistan. I considered it, seeing as my journey is all about questioning the dangers of the world presented by mainstream news, but after quite a lot of research I deemed it to dangerous.

We sat outside together around the campfire next to the woods and the mist-shrouded fields. Tambet explained what the design of the Estonian flag was based on; the three equally-sized horizontal bars – blue on top, black in the middle, followed by white – were right in front of me as I looked into the landscape. The dark blue sky was above the silhouette of the trees, which was based on the white mist.

The night ended as the sun came up, and we all wasted the next day. As the sun clung to the final hours of the day, Tambet and some friends took me to the main road to Tallinn, the capital city, but I didn’t need or want to make any progress today so I set up my tent.

Jack called me that evening to discuss my current situation. He presented a new idea: I still had a Russian visa in my passport which hasn’t been used yet, why not just go around China? I did some quick calculations to find that if I averaged an achievable 400 kilometers per day, I could make it within my 30-day visa. Could I really traverse the largest country in the world in that tight time-frame? Could I really go for a month without resting? Where would I sleep?

I spent the rest of the evening with my map, before falling into a half-excited slumber.

 

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