...purple latex-pandas got me through the half-marathon

This weekend I ran my second half-marathon. And survived. Obviously... Why did I decide to do it? Honestly, I don't even know. Temporary madness, I guess. Okay, so I'd done it before - more than a year ago - so I was pretty sure I'd be able to handle it but after registering for the distance I realized that I was probably overestimating myself. I wasn't in as good a shape as last year and even though I still went running 2-3 times a week, I wasn't as into it as a year before. See, the first time I decided to run the half marathon I had a lot of free time on my hands and I used that time to train. At least twice a week I would run 10-14 km and my regular running path was at least 8 km long. I was feeling pretty confident that I'd be able to handle 21 km.

This year was different however. I managed to injure myself sometime in March and couldn't run for weeks. Even after I started again it wasn't the same. I would get out of breath after 30 minutes, I would stop every time my legs started to feel sore and after getting a job I didn't really have that much time to go out and run. I was not the same person that I had been a year ago. I was slower, had less stamina and gave up way too easily. I knew for a fact that I was in a much worse shape because a month before the half marathon I decided do go on a 10 k run... and it was hell. It was excruciating and I felt like quitting every minute and after it was over I was ready to sleep for a week. So why in the world did I choose to run the half marathon again? I guess I just wanted to prove to myself that I still had it...

A few days before the run I started to get nervous. I hadn't run more than 10 km for over a year and now I was going to run twice that? It seemed insane... but I had no other choice. There was no backing out anymore - I needed to do this. Whether I managed to do it without stopping halfway through was another matter completely.

The day arrived, I gathered my stuff and headed to Tallinn. I was still pretty sure I wouldn't be able to run the whole thing - I would probably have to walk a little bit, maybe stop for water - but I would get over the finish line eventually. And hey, there were a few good things about the whole ordeal: the weather was nice and warm (maybe even too warm), I would get a medal for finishing (and I do love getting medals) and at least this got me out of the house. Otherwise I would have spent the entire Sunday on my couch, watching TV... which actually sounded wonderful...

In the starting corridor I felt like everybody around me looked so much more prepared for this. 'I can do this,' I mentally told myself, 'The weather is nice, I have enough energy and I'm totally... not ready for this... but I can do it!' Then came the loud bang that announced the start of the run and I... slowly shuffled forward. We all did. At least those of us that were somewhere in the middle. The guys in the front probably tore off running but me and the rest of us 'middle class runners' just slowly walked for the first few minutes of the run. Well, whatever. At least it gave me a few more moments to mentally prepare myself.

A few moments later the crowd started moving faster and the run started for real. And it was great! Just as I started running the perfect song came on in my playlist and I felt full of energy as I watched all the people around me cheering us on, waving and jumping around. There were so many colors around me, the city was full of life, the scenery was amazing and after the first kilometer or so the road went downhill, making the run so much easier than I had expected. I honestly felt like a million bucks and I was certain that I could do this now. We ran through the city, passed the old town and its medieval buildings, turned toward the sea and ran through a beautiful park. Everything seemed perfect! It wasn't too hot or too cold and looking at the sea made me feel calm and energized.

I took this time to observe my surroundings and people around me. On runs like this I usually try to find one person that is just a tiny bit faster than me and 'follow them' - not like a stalker or anything but I find that it's easier to keep going and push yourself if you act like you're trying to keep up with someone. I started looking for that person. There was a girl in front of me with a shirt saying 'Pain is temporary, glory is forever'. I liked that motto and thought it would give me enough motivation for the entire run. As it turned out, however, I was a bit too fast and before I knew it I'd already passed the girl. Oh well, time to find another victim.

And then I saw it: purple latex-pandas. There was some guy in front of me wearing a purple T-shirt with 'Purple Latex-Pandas' written on it and a picture of a pirate-y looking panda underneath the writing. Well... that was... something... I was confused, to say the least, and a bit curious. Was it some sort of sports team? A club? Some kind of... company? I had no idea. But it had caught my attention and I couldn't take my eyes off it. So Mr. 'Purple Latex-Pandas' became my new target. And it worked out pretty well, for most of the time. The guy was slightly faster than me and I had to push myself to keep up with him. I had some sort of motivation to keep going. Every time I thought about slowing down I kept repeating 'Hey, but Purple Latex-Pandas aren't slowing down' and just kept on trucking.

Now, the track was completely new for me - I hadn't run there before but looking at the map beforehand I had a rough idea where we were going and when we had to turn back. That being said, I discovered that I had slightly underestimated how long 21 km really was. At one point I felt like it was already time for the track to turn and start looping back but it just kept going and going and going and going... By that time my initial euphoria and optimism had started to fade and I began feeling the pain in my legs, the sweat on my skin and the burning sun on my back. Still, the first half of the run was relatively pain-free. It wasn't after I started running back that things got a lot harder. The sun was in my face now, there was no shade and I was getting hotter and thirstier every second. I tried to ignore everything and keep going but the longer I ran the more people started to annoy me.

See, it's nice and all that there were people cheering us on, coming to support their loved ones and all that jazz but honestly, after a while you start hating it. Why? Imagine running for over an hour and still having a long way ahead of you - you're dehydrated, tired, sweaty and in pain. And then there's a group of people standing on the sidelines going 'Come on! Faster! You can do it! Just push through it! Go, go, go!'

'Faster'?! 'Push through it'? YOU WANNA COME DOWN HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE?! I physically can't go faster!!! Do you even know what I've been through?! If you want me to go faster then come down here and carry me! I'm half dead here! You think I can do it? You know nothing, Jon Snow! Really, though, in the beginning it's pretty nice to have people cheering you on but after a while, when you're slowly dying from fatigue and you're whole body feels like a ton of bricks, you don't want people screaming at you to go faster. At least I don't. It was exceptionally bad at the finish line when people were yelling for me to go faster. 'Just one last push!', 'Go for it!', 'You're almost there - give it your all now!'. Yeah, thing is, I'd already given it my all. I had no energy to go faster. And the last few hundred meters was an uphill run so I felt that if I were to push myself even a tiny bit more I would probably just end up on the ground before even reaching the finish line. So I kept on trucking at my usual pace and survived the run... without having to walk or stop once. I was pretty happy with myself. Sure, my legs felt like I had concrete shoes on and I'd basically forgotten how to flex my knees (walking downstairs was almost impossible) but I had set a personal record and gotten a huge medal... for participation... but whatever, a medal is a medal, even when it's only for participation.

So, am I going to do it again? Probably. I will probably hate every second of it but I'll still do it. Just to show myself that I can. Besides, if I keep on training I might eventually realize my dream of running the half marathon in under two hours. Wouldn't that be neat...

...I became an adult... I think...

A few weeks ago I moved into my new apartment. My new home for the next year at least - possibly even longer. My first 'real' apartment, so to speak. See, when my sister finished high school and went to the university, our parents bought an apartment in Tartu. They figured that since both of their children would be studying there, it would be easier to just buy a place where we could live while we were studying. Dorm life didn't sound too appealing for either me or my sister and renting a place would, in the long run, cost more than buying an apartment. So, when I left my childhood home I didn't really feel like I'd grown up much because I was still living in a place that my parents were paying for. Fast forward several years: I'd just gotten my physiotherapy degree and moved away from Tartu, to a little town called Haapsalu. I needed a place to stay and a colleague of mine offered up her own place - she was moving out in August. I jumped at the offer and before I knew it, I had my first 'real' apartment.

Yes, I realize the place doesn't really belong to me but it's the first time I have to pay for it all on my own. Moving in was... great, in a way. I felt like I finally had a chance to personalize the whole place, make it suit my needs and make it look just the way I wanted. I was downright giddy at the idea. And on the other hand... it was pretty excruciating. My apartment is on the 4th floor... and I had a lot of stuff. Let me tell you: it is not much fun running up and down the stairs about eight times, carrying boxes and suitcases and everything else I'd decided to bring from Tartu. The last batch of stuff was the worst: I was already tired and then had to carry two dumbbells in one hand (total weight around 9 kg) and a gigantic squash in the other (thanks, grandma!). I must have looked ridiculous.

After getting all of my stuff to the apartment, I spent the better part of the evening just unpacking and making everything look neat. Took me a while but by the next day everything was set up the way I wanted. As I was drinking coffee on my balcony and looking down onto the playground, it hit me: 'Oh, shit! I think I might be an adult!'

I remember watching TV shows as a teenager where the main character was a strong independent single woman, living in a one bedroom apartment - she would drink wine while cooking, sing along to her favorite songs and had to handle everything on her own. I was that woman now. Dancing in my livingroom like an idiot just because I could, singing while cooking dinner and throwing my purse onto the couch as soon as I got home. Just because there was no one around to stop me. I didn't have to worry about anyone walking in and giving me a disapproving stare while I was trying (and failing) to do yoga in front of the TV. I could leave my stuff lying around without fearing it would get in the way of someone. I was free... and it was a bit terrifying.

I know a lot of people reading this are going to be like: 'Wait... aren't you like 26? It took you this long to become an adult?!' Yes. Yes it did. I took my sweet time because at one point in my adolescent life I realized that this is as good as it gets - once you become a real adult, life just gets way more complicated. There are bills and loans and rent and you can't run to your parents whenever something doesn't go as planned. I mean, you could but it would just be a childish thing to do. As an adult you kind of have to take care of yourself - otherwise you're just a pseudo-adult. Almost there but not quite.

After realizing that this was it - I was finally becoming an independent adult - I was kind of... confused. I mean, I knew that technically I was an adult. I met the requirements: I was old enough, had a steady job, an apartment, bills to pay... but I didn't really feel like an adult. I still felt like a kid, standing on the shoulders of another kid, wearing an adult-sized jacket and trying to pretend to be a grownup to get into the movies. I honestly don't have a clue how to be an adult. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Am I doing something wrong? How would I know? How do the other adults manage to make adulting seem so simple? Do they know something I don't? How are they so... confident and at ease with everything? I still feel like I have no idea what's going on. And then there are teenagers who look at me and think I've got my shit together. I don't! I honestly don't! My shit is scattered all over the place and I don't even know where most of it is. Are other adults as clueless as I am? Or did I just miss some sort of weird adulting-course that everybody but me is aware of? 

I am financially independent, working a full-time job, I try to take responsibility for my actions, I don't look to my parents to solve my problems - yeah, seems like it's all there. But why don't I feel like an adult? Is it something that comes in time? Or does being an adult mean that you're just a kid in disguise? The more I think about it, the more I lean toward option two. 

Still, for a moment there I was aware of the fact that I'd grown up. I wasn't a kid anymore. I am... a strong independent woman who don't need no man. And fueled by that thought I tidied up the apartment and took a shower. As I was stepping out I noticed that a small puddle of soapy water had formed on the floor in front of the washing machine. Ah, another problem for Adult-Grete to solve! Taking the shower head I pointed it toward the puddle to 'clean it up'... and successfully ended up flooding my entire bathroom... Nice going, Adult-Grete! Real sound thinking there! 

Adulting is hard よ. 

...surf wasn't up

Are my blog posts getting lamer as I go along? I feel like they are... Guess I'm getting old.

So, have I ever told you guys about the time I tried to surf? Of course I haven't! Because I failed at it. Hard... But what do you expect from an Estonian? I live on the coast of a 'sea' that is more of a really salty lake than anything. People only wind-surf here and I'm way too lame to do that. Also, I don't like to be out when it's windy.

While I was visiting my friend Mary in Hawaii last year, I got talked into trying out surfing. Now, I have previously stated that I don't like the ocean – it terrifies me. Especially waves. One of the first times I went swimming in Hawaii I got slammed by the waves so hard I thought I would drown in knee-deep water, just because I couldn't get up anymore. It was like being stuck in a washing machine. So going into the ocean to catch waves seemed insane. By the way, did you know that sharks have terribly poor eyesight and to them surfers look like sea turtles from below... sharks eat turtles... I'm just going to leave this little fact here. To be fair, sharks don't actually eat people – they are just curious and want to try out new things... with their teeth... After they have taken a bite out of a human they usually decided they're not interested and move along. But the blood draws other sharks who all want a little taste and there's only so much human to go around...

But I'm not here to talk about sharks – I wanted to talk about surfing (although those two topics can be pretty closely related). The first time I tried to surf in Kauai I failed... pretty hard. I was terrified of the waves, couldn't even get onto my knees on the board and I was not dressed for the occasion. The waves were so strong that every time I fell I would almost lose my bikini top. It's kind of hard to concentrate on surfing when you're constantly having to worry about pulling a Janet Jackson (my god, my references are outdated!). The waves were also pretty big, at least for me, so my first attempt at surfing failed pretty hard.

 The second time I tried was in Oahu. Me, Mary and her mom decided to take a little time off and jump to the next island for a bit. We took this opportunity to do some shopping and enjoy some Japanese food because there are only a few Japanese restaurants on Kauai and we were craving some Genki sushi. After our Japanese-food tour Mary suggested we go surfing. I... wasn't too keen on the idea but apparently the waves is Honolulu were much more surfable – whatever that meant. They were beginner-waves: not very big but went on for ages so you had plenty of time to try to stand. Well... I didn't think I had much of a choice so I went for it.

The beach in Honolulu was certainly... different. There were a lot of people and just a throng of surfers clustered around a certain spot in the water. And the water itself...? It was kind of gnarly. I was used to the clear blue waters of Kauai so this... this made me feel uncomfortable. The water was... milky looking. It was strangely warm and incredibly cloudy, looking more like a blue milkshake than anything... I was not sure I wanted to know why it was like that.

Mary had been right though: the waves were much more manageable, they didn't throw me around like a rag-doll and I managed to catch a few good ones and almost stand up. That doesn't mean I was successful, however. As soon as I tried to stand on my feet I would either fall off the side or the wave would die, leaving me crouching on the board, looking like an idiot. One time I almost got up but I guess I was too close to the edge of the board. I fell face first into the water, sliding along for a little bit until going under, my nose, eyes and mouth filled with gnarly milk-water. If they'd given out medals for 'longest face-surf' I'd have gotten the gold.

About an hour passed and I started to feel the burn on my skin but it was still too early to leave. I decided to try and catch another wave. I managed to catch one and even tried to get up. It seemed like a short one though and as soon as I felt it die away I got back down... except that I was wrong. It was still going on. 'This is it!' I thought, 'I'm finally going to stand up!' So I pushed myself upwards again... only to feel it die away again. Dissappointed, I started to get down again... only to feel another push propelling me forward. 'Really? Make up your mind, ocean!' I thought angrily and tried to get up. I managed to get my feet flat on the board, let go of the board and for a moment I felt like I could do this 'surfing' thing.

And then the wave died away. There I was: crouching on the board, just slowly floating forward, frozen in place. And then I fell to the side and hit the water with a hollow splash. Well, I almost surfed... almost. I was so close. Stupid wave! Honestly, if it hadn't died away I would have totally nailed it. But hey, at least it was a start. The rest of my time on the beach was spent in a bar where I sipped cocktails and had the best nachos I've ever had – with ahi tuna and sriracha mayo. Yup, that was way more 'me' than surfing. I'm not going to say I'm never going to do it again. I probably will. I will most likely fail again. But hey, at least I can check that off my bucket list. And when in Rome...

...I was zombified and trippin'

...road trippin'! That was lame, I know. I'm sorry. I'll try to never do that again...

Okay, onto business then! I used to work in a bar. A really shady, sleazy bar frequented by bohemians, lunatics, hipsters, bums and alcoholics. The bar itself was in the basement of a dilapitated building and the fornt door was actually in a dark alley. Sound good yet? Yeah, it was basically the kind of place where you might get stabbed or robbed but never roofied because most of the clientele wouldn't have enough money for drugs.

I started the job because I needed the money... and since I was studying physiotherapy at the time I needed a job that wouldn't get in the way of school. As a bartender my working hours were from 18.30 to around 4.00-5.00 in the morning, depending on the day. On weekends it was until 7 in the morning. The job was... less than perfect. Minimum wage, barely any tips (because Estonians aren't very good tippers), a horrible boss and insane customers. Sure, there were good nights where I would meet and chat with some interesting people, try out new cocktail recipes and get a decent tip by the end of the night. But not all nights were like that and there were times I just felt like walking out in the middle of my shift and just rage quitting right then and there.

I hated working on weekends. Mostly because there were way too many people, all waiting for their drinks and getting frustrated while doing so, and things always went out of hand. People wouldn't want to leave, glasses would go flying, fights would break out... it was just a mess. Sure, you'd get a bigger tip but was it really worth it? Also, you'd get home around 8 in the morning and then sleep the day away – something that I really didn't feel like doing. I had little to no free time anyway – I didn't want to spend my weekends in a half-comatose state between waking and dream. So, I mostly ended up working Sundays, Mondays and Tuesdays. Business was slow on those days and it was easier to fall asleep but I was never swamped with customers or trying to handle 10 orders at once while everybody was screaming at me to hurry up. Besides, you could actually hold conversations with customers on those nights because there wasn't much else to do.

Did I mention I was studying at the same time? Because I was. And it was horrible. On paper it seemed to work: I would go to work, earn some money and I didn't have to worry about missing class. In reality... I was a moron. See, I had a habit of working several nights in a row and that... was just a bad idea. I would start work on Sunday, get home around 5 am on Monday morning, have two-three hours of sleep, wake up at 8 am and then head to class... Sometimes classes lasted until 4 pm, meaning I had two hours to go home, get a bite to eat and head back to work... And I repeated that cycle again and again, spending the night working on Monday, getting home around 5 on Tuesday, heading back to school, then back to work and then back home... And suddenly it was Wednesday and I had no idea where the time went.

To be honest, I don't remember much about my studies during that period. I was operating on 3-4 hours of sleep every day and half the time I had no idea what was going on in school. I remember one week in particular. I'd spent Sunday, Monday and Tuesday working so on Wednesday I was pretty much just floating through life like a jellyfish: with no brain and nowhere to go, just at the mercy of the waves. Classes lasted until around 2 pm and I remember my friends Terje and Anu meeting me right after class to announce that we were going on a little road trip. It was winter and there was snow everywhere. Also it was cold. And I was barely registering what they were saying. But yeah, sure. Road trip it was... I was way too tired and loopy to oppose so the next thing I know I was sitting in the back of a car, going... god knows where...

I don't know who's car it was. I don't know where we went. I kind of remember one of them asking me if I was angry with them, to which I responded with: 'Nah, I'm fine. Just sleepy...' And that was the truth. I had no capacity for anger or any emotion, to be honest. I had found peace. A zen-state. I was on my way to Nirvana, floating away from my body, all peace and love and understanding. I was one with the universe...

And then we were at a church. In the middle of nowhere. It was a pretty church – on top of a snow covered hill, glistening in the light of the setting sun. We walked around it and then ran into the field. Whenever I see an undisturbed blanket of pristine snow I just feel the need to mess it up and at least I wasn't alone in that endeavor. We snapped some pictures, looked around for a bit and then headed off. Where? Don't remember. I just knew we had fun... Even I must've had fun, in my zen-jellyfish-state.

That night I slept like a baby – mostly because it was the first night of the week I actually could sleep. I headed off to class the next morning and as I was entering the classroom one of my fellow students asked me 'Hey, how did you do on the test yesterday.'

Test? Yesterday? I had no idea what she was on about. I hadn't taken a test. I couldn't remember anything about it. Then I saw the pile of papers on the professors desk. Everybody was going through it, looking for their tests and suddenly someone handed me a piece of paper. I stared at it blankly. Sure enough, it was my name on it. In my handwriting. I had definitely answered all the questions myself. Just... I had no recollection of taking this test. Even the questions didn't seem familiar. Or the answers. But apparently I had taken this test just one day prior... I got a B – which is remarkable when you consider that I couldn't remember anything about the class, the test, the topic or even my actions the day before! After that I kind of realized that I should stop working three consecutive days and I should probably focus on weekends from then on. To this day I have no memory of taking that test. It's like I was in a coma and my evil twin took it for me... Or maybe I slipped into a parallel universe where I wasn't zombified due to the lack of sleep. Either way, moral of the story is: sleep is good. I should really do it more often.

...the night was cold and full of terrors

Yes, I know that's not how the quote goes but just bear with me. This happened several years ago when I was still a part of the 'Night Journey' team. The 'Night Journey' (that's the best translation I could come up with) is a hiking event that takes place twice a year – in the Fall and in Spring – during the night. Basically, you assemble a group, register on a trail (the shortest is around 20 km, the longest around 40, depending on the year and area it's being held), get some flashlights and gear and head to the starting point. There are three trail and certain checkpoints you must pass during the night – in many of there checkpoints you have different challenges where you can earn points (like paintball, trivia, an obstacle course and so on) and also rest and refresh yourself with coffee or tea or anything you brought along on the trail. Usually the whole event starts around 4 pm and lasts until 10 am the next morning. The teams that choose the longest trail are usually the last ones back – I've heard that some of them even take little power naps in certain checkpoints.

I've never actually been on a trail myself but for a few years I was a part of the team that was organizing the event. My part wasn't all that big and usually consisted of me sitting in a checkpoint with some of my friends, welcoming the groups and giving them assignments. The first time I did this me, Terje and Anu had to give out trivia questions while spending the entire night in a little hut in the middle of a swamp. It was actually pretty cool: we got to build a fire and roasted sausages and marshmallows. Every once in a while a group would come along, answer some questions and move on, leaving us to tend the fire, play cards and just hang out. For most of the night we just had to chill in this ancient looking hut while eating snacks and doing whatever came to mind. As soon as the last group had reached our checkpoint and left we could head home. We really liked hanging out in that swamp for the night, so that when the management team asked us if we wanted to be volunteers for the Fall event we were all up for it. Little did we know...

The first time we volunteered was during the Spring event – it was sometime in May, I believe – so the weather was nice, warm enough, everything was green and the forest was so alive during the night. It was beautiful, peaceful... and I felt like I was getting in touch with my primal roots... if that makes sense. Probably doesn't. The next event took place in October. I think it was around the 10^th or 11^th of October. Not very late in the Fall anyway. So we did not expect it to be too cold... Oh, how naive we were!

It started snowing. On the very day of the event. That's... not unheard of but not very common either. 'It's going to be okay' me and my friends thought, 'At least we won't be the ones going on the hike. We can just sit in one spot, light a fire and spend the night huddled around it. Just like last time!' So we headed off, got our assignment from the organizers and headed off to our checkpoint. When we arrived... we were less than impressed.

It was a swing... on top of a hill... in an open field... That was it. No house, no fireplace – nothing. Just a swing... sitting in the middle of a snowy field. Was this really the place we had to spend the entire night? We called the organizers and asked if they were insane.

'Oh, don't worry about it. Some guys will be over in a moment to set up a tent for you guys.'

Okay, a tent... well, that wasn't perfect but at least it was something. At least it would... shield us from the wind? Because it was getting pretty windy outside. And did I mention we were on a hill? Where it was even windier? Because we were... We unpacked some of our snacks, wandered around a bit and waited until a van showed up and some guys from the management team brought us... chairs?

'We thought you guys could use these.'

'For what? Building a fort? I mean, thanks but... this wasn't what we asked for. Where's our tent?'

'Oh, it's coming. Don't worry, just sit tight.'

And we did. We sat in our freezing chairs in the freezing cold and watched the sun go down. The first groups reached us, we gave them... something... Honestly, I don't even remember what our assignment was. I know it wasn't trivia. Something with maps? Maybe. I guess I had a really hard time concentrating while I was slowly dying of hypothermia. I almost feel like I might have hallucinated seeing northern lights in the sky... and all of my food was half frozen... and the coffee I brought in my thermos? Yup, cold as ice. Just like my fingers and toes and most of my body, really. That's just how cold it was... Also, I have to mention that sitting in the middle of an abandoned field in the dark is just... a tiny bit creepy. I mean, this was Estonia: we have bears and wolves and angry beavers! There was also an ostrich farm closeby and those beasts are just horrible! A few times I thought I heard rustling in the trees on the edge of the clearing but that was just snow falling off trees. Which was pretty sad, to be honest. It was still October, for crying out loud!

A few hours after the sun had set we were getting sick and tired of waiting so we called again. 'Yeah, yeah, the guys are coming. Just wait for a bit longer' was the answer we got. Okay then... we were half frozen but sure, we could wait for 'a bit longer'. Except that an hour later there was still no tent and we were still slowly dying. By that point we had pretty much given up on the tent. It obviously wasn't going to happen so we resigned ourselves to our fate and just did the job we were supposed to, hoping that the groups would hurry up and pass our checkpoint as soon as possible.

I think it took about another hour and a half, during which we tried to make another phone call to the organizers and got the same answer. We were about to rage quit and just head back to our car when we got a phone call. 'The last group is heading your way. As soon as they're gone you can head back.' Great! It wasn't the tent we'd been promised but it was even better: we could finally escape this hellish cold and head to civilization. We basically threw our stuff at the last group and ran off as soon as we could, heading toward the little farmhouse where the rest of the organizing team was staying at. We were cold, tired and just wanted to get a little rest before heading back home.

We didn't really want to drive in the middle of the night – not in this weather – so we decided to stay the night because there was plenty of beds. Or so they told us. After reaching the house, getting some warm tea and coffee and a little bit to eat, we headed to the bedroom... only to discover that there was only one king-sized bed... that was already occupied by two people. 'Oh, don't worry about them! There's still room!' one of the organizers said and gave us some pillows. Well... it wasn't perfect but it was still a bed, so... good enough, I guess?

All three of us crawled into bed, trying not to trample anybody else, and fell asleep as soon as the lights went out. I woke up about three hours later, after the sun had already risen. There were seven people in the bed now. Someone was sleeping on my legs and I had a face full of hair that wasn't mine. But at least I was finally warm, so I had that going for me. Me, Terje and Anu got up before most of the other people in the bed and even though we felt like death, we decided to slowly start heading back to town. As we were leaving the house one of the organizers walked past with a happy smile and asked: 'So, you guys have fun out there? Coming back next year?' Yeah... sure... Dying of hypothermia was a blast... Can't wait to do it again...

The snow was gone  a day later. Thanks, Estonian weather! Love you too!

...we met Dave Olaf

Summer in Japan is like going to a sauna in the Amazon: it's hot inside, hot outside and you're going to be sweating buckets, trying your hardest to stay alive and not lose your mind due to dehydration in the process. I could tell stories about how I was sprawled out on my hardwood floor, not moving, and how beads of sweat were still trickling down my back... and I probably will write a story about it... but later. Right now I'm going to talk about the fun part of Summer: festivals!

Summer is festival season in Japan and no one does festivals quite like the Japanese. Street food, entertainers, parades and fireworks that go on for hours (and I'm being quite literal here) - Japan has it all. One of the biggest Summer festivals in Nagoya is the Minato (or port) Festival held in July around Marine Day. Yes, Japan has a national holiday called Marine Day. I don't really know the story behind it but do we always need to have a reason to celebrate? Anyway, on Marine Day the people of Nagoya gathered to the port for a huge festival and since we had nothing better to do, a bunch of us foreign exchange students decided to head to the port as well.

As soon as we got to there we realized what a huge event it was. It took us five minutes to even get out of the subway due to the huge mass of people slowly shuffling along. When we got to the street it was sheer madness: food and souvenir booths stood on both sides of the street, surrounded by throngs of people moving in every direction. Nagoya is by no means a small place, there's about 2 million people living there (which is more than in Estonia...) but I'd never seen this many people in one place before. Was the entire population of Nagoya there? For a moment it seemed like it.

We'd made the mistake of not getting drinks beforehand - I guess we were worried they wouldn't be cool anymore once we got to the port - so we had to make a little combini run to get supplies. Bad idea. The store was packed with people, so much I could barely move. But once I'd gotten in there I couldn't leave: I had to see it through... and I really wanted a drink... It took us - as a group - almost twenty minutes to get what we wanted. It almost looked like people were preparing for a nuclear apocalypse - the way the shelves were almost half empty was insane. This is Japan, we're talking about! Everything works like a well-oiled machine there and most of the time they restock so quickly and inconspicuously that it looks like magic... But I'm not here to talk about how I had to stand in line.

After getting our drinks and watching the parade - people carrying huge shrines that seemed strangely familiar to me - we headed toward the ocean for the fireworks. The best spots were already taken so we had to settle for sitting on the stone pavement. But at least we had a nice view of the spot where they were going to shoot the fireworks. Somehow we found out that it was supposed to last for an hour. Not uncommon for Japan. If there's one thing they know it's fireworks. As we settled down, opened our drinks and snack bags, we noticed another foreigner sitting just a few steps away from us.

Now, living in Japan you learn to notice 'foreigners'. I mean, you yourself are a foreigner but somehow other foreigners just tend to pop out much more than anywhere else. You just see them and think 'What are they doing here? Are they tourists? What do they want?' A part of you feels a sense of belonging and camaraderie with them since they too know what it's like to be a foreigner in a country like Japan. And the other part of you mistrusts them. Why? Because when in Rome... I just feel like distrusting foreigners is contagious when you're among distrustful people... However, this particular foreigner looked strangely at ease and a part of the whole scene, even though he kind of looked like a hippie. He was middle-aged, with shoulder length curly gray hair and pink shirt... and before we knew it we'd started a conversation with him.

Apparently he was a pastor. Yup, the guy who looked like an aging hippie and talked with the voice of a chain-smoking rock star was a pastor. Okay, to be honest he wasn't like a pastor-pastor. He just worked as one: marrying people who wanted a western wedding. Apparently he held ceremonies in Japanese and when he didn't even know what he was saying most of the time. Like he was just reading a script. He compared it to being an actor: he just read his lines, looked presentable and acted in a way people expected him to. He was loving it and hey, he got payed for it! What not to love! He'd been living in Japan for a while, his wife being Japanese and for a while he hung out with us, sharing tips on living in Japan. He and his wife had been together for 20 years or so and they were adorable together.(*This information is brought to you by Tytti, who remembered more than me and helped me out with reconstructing some of the events that took place. Obviously she had a few Strong Zeroes less than me). Of all the random foreigners we'd met during our stay in Japan, he was by far the coolest. He was fun, easygoing and looking at him I started to believe that it is possible for a foreigner to live in Japan and love it. Granted, you'd probably need a Japanese spouse to fully enjoy your life there. 

The fireworks display was absolutely amazing! It lasted for an hour and the finale was mindblowing: it was colorful and bright and just gorgeous. It was totally worth sitting on the hard stony ground for an hour. By the time it was over it was already dark outside. We got up and decided to start heading back toward the train station with the rest of the mass. Within a few minutes we'd lost most of our group in the sea of people and it was just me, Mary and Tytti left. 

Now, heading back was actually a lot of fun. Most of the food booths were closing and therefore trying desperately to get rid of their excess food. They were offering all their food items for ridiculously cheap and we, being just tipsy enough, decided to take advantage of the opportunity. By the time we reached the closest subway station I was munching on a stick of grilled chicken and I think both Mary and Tytti had found some snacks as well. The station was so packed that we decided to keep moving. Usually the distance between two subway station isn't that far and we really didn't feel like being shoved into a cramped subway car with hundreds of other people. Besides, there were more snacks to be had and the night was still young. 

We passed a few more blocks, got some more street food and just enjoyed the warm Summer evening and the bustling city. I remember one moment I was looking around, trying to decide if I wanted to buy a toffee apple or not and then turning around to see Tytti's hand in Mary's cleavage. My first thought was 'What did I miss?' and the second one 'Should I turn around again and give them a moment?' Apparently a bug had flown straight into Mary's cleavage and Tytti was trying to help get it out. You really don't make the most logical decisions when you're drunk... The bug was not found, however, and for several hours Mary was trying to figure out if she'd imagined it altogether. Spoilers: she didn't. She found the bug hours later when she was changing into her pajamas. By then it was already deceased. RIP pervy bug.  

On our way to a less crowded station we needed to make another stop in a teeny-tiny alley that was barely wide enough for one person to get through. We needed to use the bathroom but most of the shops, cafes and restaurants were closed by that time. The only one that still looked open was in that tiny alley. It was a real hole-in-the-wall place owned by an elderly couple who were just closing up. They were nice enough to still let us in and let us use their bathroom, even though we weren't paying customers and they had already packed up most of their stuff, ready to call it a night. We made small talk, they asked us where we were from and what we were doing in Japan and so on. It was very sweet of them to let us in like that - three drunk foreigners just looking for a bathroom while smelling of alcohol and fried food - and we must've thanked them a dozen times as we were leaving. 

I think we must have passed at least two or three more subway station on our way back, trying to find one less crowded. In the end the streets started to get less crowded, the booths disappeared and finally we managed to get on a train that... well, it was crowded but we could still breathe in it... just barely though. I think that must've been one of the most excruciating subway rides of my life: it was hot as hell, there was little to no air and everything smelled of booze. Well, at least we fit right in. And in the end we managed to get back home in one piece, although sweaty and tired as all hell. Still, we were richer by the experience and even though I don't remember much of that night I do know I enjoyed the long walk back home and the amazing fireworks. It was also one of the last festivals I went to in Japan, making the memory just a tad bittersweet. Thankfully Mary caught a lot of it on video so I'll always have that. 

...New York was a frozen hell

'So, how cold was it?' Cold. Really damn cold.

'But you're from Estonia! You should be used to-' No! This is not how it works! Cold is cold, no matter where you're from. Besides, there's a difference between Estonian cold and New York cold. See, in Estonia you expect the cold. Sure, it's harsh and everlasting but it's the devil you know and you kind of know how to handle it. Oh yes, it might get worse every year but by now I'm already on to its tricks. Estonian winter is kind of like like... dying of cancer... It's a slow and painful process that gets gradually worse until you think you can't bear it anymore... then it get's better for a moment, just to trick you into believing the worst is over. And then it comes back full force and sucks the life out of you until there's nothing left except depression and misery... The snow is pretty, though!

New York cold, however, is like getting stabbed by the Kool Aid Man. It bursts through your wall, wrecks your shit and shoves a knife into your face, kidneys and private parts so that all that's left of you is a bloody pulp on the floor. Then it comes back with a bucket of salt to pour on your wounds and after that it lights you on fire. Except the fire is freezing cold. Is it worse than the cancer-cold of Estonia? Yes. Yes, it is. You can kind of learn how to deal with cancer. You cannot learn how to deal with a salt covered flaming knife in your face.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The year: 2015. The place: New York. Time of the year: winter, February to be more precise. Honestly, the whole trip came out of the blue. One evening I was sitting at home, relaxing, when my mom calls and goes: 'Hey, we're going to New York!'

'Uh... what?'

'Your sister and I have been looking at tickets. Is February ok for you?'

'I... have school but... sure, I guess I'll make it work?'

And a moment later we already had the tickets. Now, we didn't do much planning for the trip. We were going to be there for about ten days - to me it seemed like such a short time but I did have school so it was for the better. I already had to skip two very important classes and had to work my ass off to make up for it... but that's another story. The tickets were not too expensive and we got a place to stay for relatively cheap - I guess people don't really go to New York in February (spoilers: there's a reason for that). 

The flight to New York was... awful. But that's to be expected from a 12-hour flight. Or was it 11? Doesn't even matter: it lasted forever. The first thing that happened after we arrived in the airport was that we got jumped by a taxi driver who basically grabbed our bags and threw them in his trunk before we even had time to react. Being sleep-deprived, dehydrated and semi-comatose, we didn't have the energy to start an argument so before we knew we sat in an unmarked taxi heading... god knows where. I honestly thought we were going to get stabbed or shot and dropped into a ditch on the way. Welcome to the US! During the whole drive my mind was racing as I was trying to figure out if I had anything in my purse that could be used as a weapon if bad came to worse. Of course I didn't. My Swiss army knife was in my suitcase in the trunk of the taxi and the most threatening item in my carry-on bag was a pair of earplugs. I guess I could use them for strangling...? I've obviously seen too many horror films and crime shows. Against all odds the driver actually brought us to the right place and the fare wasn't all that bad. We learned later that it was 10 dollar more than the usual fare but we didn't even care at that point. 

Our 'hotel' was the weirdest place I've ever stayed at. It was basically just an apartment building... There was an 'office' for the 'hotel' right after the mailboxes but it was closed. 'Back at 11:00 am' the sign read. It was 2 pm... Also, the office was unlocked and littered with boxes. We walked around the lobby for a moment, utterly confused and getting a bit irritated, until some random guy with an envelope showed up, handed us a key and told us to go to the second floor. 

To be fair, our room was pretty nice. There was enough space for our suitcases, a kitchen equipped with a water heater, stove and microwave, a TV, a pretty big bathroom and we had wifi. Not for the first night though. There was a problem with the router so we couldn't connect to it - drove my sister half mad as she was desperately trying to go online. I've never seen anyone so panicked about not having wifi. But the best part of the apartment? It was right on top of a wine store. Yup, just down the stairs to the right was a small shop with a surprisingly vast selection of wines. 

After a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast in a local diner just down the street, we got a map out and decided to look around... only to realize that New York was a frozen wasteland where nothing could survive. Yes, I'm being dramatic but even for me - someone who knows what to wear and what to do to battle the cold - it was excruciating. I had three layers of pants on, two sweaters and my warmest winter coat and I was still freezing. Every minute outside was torture. And as we were walking along 5th avenue I felt like my fingers and toes were about to fall off. And my mom wanted to take pictures.
 To be honest, I understand her completely... now. A new city, a new country and New York is quite interesting, really... Of course she'd want to take in as much as she could and I have to admit she took some pretty amazing pictures. But I couldn't really appreciate it when my legs were going numb from the cold and my eyelashes were getting stuck together. I had on nuclear winter clothes and I was still slowly dying. And thus I was acting like a kid again. 'Moooooom, let's go inside!', 'Moooooom, it's cold!'. 'Mooooooom, stop taking pictures!' Really though, it was so cold that the fountains looked like giant ice sculptures and everybody on the street was just running from one store/restaurant to another, trying to get a moment's respite. In hindsight I was kind of a brat... but it was really cold!
The city was still beautiful though. Even with the snow and the ice and the cold and everything else... there was always something to see. The first day was all about exploring our surroundings. Our apartment was actually quite close to the Empire State Building - it took us about 5 minutes to get there on foot - and a bunch of other landmarks were just a short walk away. Had it been just a tiny bit warmer it would have been way more awesome. It was so cold that I had a hard time taking pictures: removing my glove was as good as putting my hand into a fire. Oh, and of course I'd forgotten my hat. To be honest I didn't think I'd need one since it was New  York, not Estonia, and my coat had a pretty nice hood... I was wrong.
Thankfully a chance encounter on the first (?) day brought a hat to me. We just happened to pass some sort of set where a bunch of people were filming something. The guy who stopped us from wandering into it struck up a conversation, asked us where we were from and after a short exchange decided to give me and my sister matching NYC hats. They weren't glamorous or good-looking but we had fun with them in our apartment later as we were drinking our 'Three Blind Moose' wine (we bought it solely based on the label... it just looked awesome).
Now, I'm not going to go on and on about what we did during those ten days but suffice to say that even though it was cold as hell, the trip was still amazing. We walked through most of Manhattan, took a ferry to Staten Island, visited Chinatown, Little Italy, Brooklyn, Central Park and so, so many other places. But most importantly, I realized a dream I'd had since I was little: I saw 'Phantom of the Opera' on Broadway. And it was SPECTACULAR! It is still one of the most vivid memories I have about the trip and I still slip into a happy daydream whenever I remember it. At least that's one thing crossed off the bucket list... Also, I think that was the first (and hopefully last) selfie I've ever taken on my own accord. I was out of my mind with joy apparently.
So, my trip to New York was like... riding a roller coaster. You really want to go and you know it's going to be awesome and after it's over you feel alive, excited, bursting with energy and you'll probably want to go again. But while you're on the coaster you feel terrified and just want it to stop. In a way my trip was like that. I didn't want it to stop but I do feel like I couldn't appreciate the awesomeness while I was there. Had it been Spring it would have been great. But nuclear winter New York is like a glacier: beautiful and majestic but so damn cold. Maybe one day I'll be back and will be able to make the most of it. Until then I'm left with memories of spending almost an hour slowly dying of hypothermia in a sightseeing bus. You know those things don't have any kind of heating and an open roof? We didn't... until we got on... But hey, here's a pretty picture of the view from the Empire State Building (it's way colder up there than on the ground, by the way... learned that the hard way).