tallinn

Safe arrival after another bus journey of 5 hours. Snow everywhere but the city itself was pretty much clear. These Baltic people are very good at snow management. It continues to amaze me. The Irish would be beside themselves in panic!

It was dark when I arrived. Not wishing to be brave and find my way to the hostel, I took a taxi. My rib wasn't up to it either. Naturally I paid well over the odds for it! The hostel was top drawer rubbish with some patronising ginger bearded Yank in charge. I asked him the usual questions. He enquired whether I was a travel journalist. What a w*nker! He listed off a load of rules. My irritation was obvious. One rule covered the prohibition on taking 'special friends' back to the hostel. For f*ck sake, if I was wishing to indulge in the sex trade then I would book a hotel. If I was lucky and scored with some beautiful Estonian girl then I would never take her back to such a sh*t hole. Needless to say my fists remained clenched in my pockets but they really wanted to go to work.

Soon after this encounter with the ginga minga, I met a chap from England. Rather posh, refined and highly educated. Only 21. Apparently the grandson of a former Bishop of London. I kept my Catholic disgust under cover. That was a joke by the way. Anyway, he, I and my damaged rib went off for a beer to discuss the Barbarossa Yank. I was declining rapidly. The excess of the previous night was stalking me. Fortified by alcohol I returned and promptly informed the Yank that his service wasn't up to scratch and demanded the return of my dough. This was midnight. The English guy, James, had noticed another hostel nearby. We booked in. It was a wonderfully clean and well managed place. A pleasure to reside.

Tallinn is a pleasant city. I explored. Me and my damaged rib. But I have become rather bored at looking at touristic things. Someone mentioned the condition as ABC: 'another bloody church'. It's true. Moreover my rib was causing me great discomfort. Cobble roadways don't help when one has to constantly adjust one's deportment. But it was nice all the same. The city, not the rib.

One highlight was going to a bar called 'Stereo'. Completely furnished in white, walls and seats. Like something out of 2001 Space Odyssey. The waitresses were attired in nurses uniforms. Wonderful. The music was drum n bass. Wonderful. My rib still wasn't happy. B*stard. After we went to a jazz cafe. More vodka. More idle chat. We noted the arrival of a guy with his posse who clearly had the look of someone involved in organised crime. It was very interesting to observe the group dynamic. How people behave in front of someone they fear. Anyway, a Yank, loud mouthed and cocksure, felt it okay to make an enquiry in open forum. 'Is that the Russian Mafia?'

Oh dear!

The tension was palpable. The table of the mobsters went quite. They were calculating what to do. I hoped that they would take our their shooters and dispatch the Yank. I had enough of them for one day and it wouldn't be me on a murder rap. They decided to let it go. Soon after they left. The head mobster (attired in expensive suit, shoes and blinged to the standard of an east coast rapper) who had a face only a Mother could love, said goodbye to James and I. Politely and nicely. I returned to the bar but it had closed. Mobster man was there. During our brief conversation, I tried to figure out how many times he had been punched in the face. At least 50 times, I reckon. What I found most funny is that the bar lady prepared 6 take-away cocktails for him. All in polystyrene cups. I joked about this with him. Silly. He took it well and said he was waiting for his car to arrive.

Probably had a drive-by to take care of.....

riga

Second bus journey of my trip. 5 hours, €8, nice. I had made an email booking with a hostel before arrival. I walked into the wrong one! This was cool as it had luandry facilities (oh the joy), excellent dorms, a sauna! and a bar at reception. I was extraordinarily happy with my good luck. I met two guys there. Mike, a German who worked there and Eddie, an Aussie, who lives there! Riding the crest of the wave of my happiness (I had clean clothes again), I was soon over-indulging on the beers. Worse, drinking that spawn of the devil; jagermeister.

We went off to a cool var called 'Orange'. There I had a brief argument with some trollop over whether she'd allow me to buy her another beer. Have you ever heard something so ridiculous! Anyway, to get away from it, I went out into the courtyard and met some other girl. She invited me to another place. So grabbed my coat and off I went. At 4am I decided to leave but when I observed the coat stand had about 500 coats hanging off it, I made a decision to abandon my coat.

Now I need to say, that the two guys earlier mentioned, went to great pains to warn me of the potential for random acts of street violence. Perpetrated by guys in 'black leather jackets' for no particular reason. In fairness, one of the Lativan barmen at the hostel had got a kicking the night before I arrived by these sinister types. But there was a degree of provocation . He and his mate were called 'Lativans dogs' by three other guys. They responded 'f*ck off back to Russia'. The Lativans got a hiding for it.

So my decision to leave my coat was based on whether someone might think my hopeless search was in fact an act of thievery. I didn't want a kicking. I got a taxi and was charged the equivalent of €30 for a ten minute journey. Curiously, he was wearing a black leather jacket.

The next day was pretty awful. I was ill all day. That f*cking jagermeister sh*te. What was worse was I couldn't remember the name of the club I went to with the two nice girls. I could only remember that I turned right when I left the Orange bar and that the name of the club had a 'c' in it. So how on earth was I to recover the jacket. Sherlock Holmes, where are you? I got out of bed at 7pm and returned at 10pm.

I recovered my health on the following day and wandered around to see the sights. Some are pretty nice but mostly resembled all the other cities I have been recently. I bought a new jacket and hat. The highlight of the afternoon was finding a kosher restaurant and ordering all the things I used to cook back in the old days of Rabins Nosh Bar. Accompanied by vodka! En route back to the hostel I stopped off at a bar and Jesus Christ, you could cut the tension with a knife when I walked in and spoke. I looked for black leather jackets on the coat stands; none. Some bloke kept bumping into me, with no good reason, there were hardly any people there. I left after one gulp of beer, for fear!

On returning to the hostel, I joined the two boys for a beer at a nearby place and we attempted to locate the abandoned jacket. On visiting the third place, I couldn't believe what I saw. There it hung, lonely, singular on the coat stand with the hat clinging in the pocket. For two nights, it waited for me, in a place called the 'Jazz Club'! See, it had a 'c'! I fell over on the way home and busted my rib. Not broken, but very sore.

The lord giveth it, the Lord taketh away...

vilnuis

The ten hour journey wasn't bad apart from worrying whether I'd miss the stop where I had to change. The stations over here aren't great with signage. I was put out a little as I travelled through a time zone change so I was worried which time to use; Polish or Lithuanian. Logic prevailed in the end. My passport was scanned, yes scanned, by 2 officials en route and my ticket was checked 8 times. Red tape stills rules. I suspect that there'll be a few counterfeits knocking around soon.

Hostel is 200m from the station. Lonely Planet made the place out to be the very embodiment of hedonism and general mayhem. It's dull. It's run down. It's not up to scratch. The washing machine doesn't work. I had to go commando on my first night. Not much fun in minus 5. The other folk who are resident are dullard's too. Each trying to outdo each other in being boring f*cks. I washed some clothes by hand and ventured out into the Old Town.

And lo, there are no Irish bars in Vilnuis.

Some of my readers will be pleased to hear I spent my first evening drinking in an English bar. Yes, you read right! It escapes me completely as to what distinguishes it as an English bar, apart from an Union Jack draped outside. Anyway, had an entertaining evening talking to some old bloke who claims to be an Aristocratic Lithuanian. An Earl, no less. The Russians booted them off their land in 1940 and those, who could, fled to Chicago. Appartently that's the capital of Eastern Europe in exile. When the lithuanians achieved independence in 1991, he returned to claim the ancestral estate of some 140 hectares, which had been nationalised by the Russians. He was lucky (if he is to be believed, of course) as if he had surrendered his passport and took up citizenship in the US, then they would have told him to stick it. There was the small matter of evicting the Russian General who had lived there for some years. He let him a stay for a further two years. Well, Earl Val is now the editor of the Lithunanian National Radio Station, a branch similar to the BBC world service. Typically enough, when you meet an Aristocrat, forget about them standing you a pint. Bourgeoise c*nt!

And lo, an Irish bar is opening in the next month, and lo, it is to be called 'Dubliner'.

The next evening was much better. I met a French Phd student at the hostel and we went clubbing. His Doctoral thesis covered an area of much interest to me. Polish-German post-war relations! I am being serious. Anyway, I was unable to learn all a lot as both of us spent all evening staring in awe at all the pretty women. Not for the faint hearted. Later, after much beer and vodka, I partaked in some dancing......

All said Vilnuis is a nice place, if a little low key. It has all the usual East European things; an Old Town, nice buildings and a certain communist attitude to service. I'd recommend it though. In 1998, an area of 140 acres and a similar number of residents declared themselves independent. It was an artistic thing! Anyway, I sought out the Frank Zappa statue and it's constitution which is etched in metal. No joy, got to it but too dark to see anything. It is now getting dark at 3pm so if I choose to get boll*cks the night before then it will affect the number of things I can see! Oh, the place calls itself 'the Republic of Uzupis, or the Republic of Angels'.

post script five

1. I have learnt that some people just don't want to understand. I keep my English simple. Few words, well pronounced and accompained with visual aids (tickets, words in their lingo), contorted facial expressions. All to lend meaning and show polite intent. It ain't good enough for them. Ignorant c*nts!

2. Never use money exhange kiosks - all b*stards.

3. I have noted with disappointment that there are common demoninators in the course of travelling through central and eastern Europe - casino's, kebab shops and sun tanning joints. A sad reflection on our brave new world.