Early evening.  I persuade a friendly Estonian officer who owns a kebab house to make me a fishburger.  This being Estonia, there will always be a hunk of salmon lying around somewhere. This man has served in Afghanistan and in Africa, and will again.  He takes me through his numbers: he has risked everything on this Kebab place, over a hundred km from his home.

The economy of Estonia is not great.  So risking his life to earn some money, then risking that money on a remote venture, is the only way he sees of escape.  His restaurant is on the corner of this street.  I like him, and would not want to live in his shoes.

I pass an old cemetery marked by crumbling stone crosses covered in lichen.  But there are also many rusting metal crosses carrying no names.  I guess something bad happened here once.  And if you read the history of Estonia, and the long oppression of its people, there is no shortage of candidates.

Before bed I drop in and ask the landlady about my planned next stop: Vohma.  I say I will walk there tomorrow.  She looks at me and talks slowly and carefully:

“Vohma small place, only have cows… & pigs.

…You understand?”

She has come to the conclusion that I am not very bright.

Next morning a transparent half-moon in a cold blue sky.  Pine trees.  Old women walking bicycles, sweeping steps.  Early morning is a time for old women.

And a cool time for walking.

(events 2 May 2013)

The town square of Paide (pronounced  bp-aii-de) has a church on one side, a town hall on the other and a small park in the middle. People are out for spring; there is a fire truck, local boys eyeing local girls and little kids in funny costumes.

But the only restaurant is closed, so I keep walking. Moss grows on the roofs of wood houses:

There is the smell of pine trees and wood-smoke. This is roughly the centre of Estonia.  Life is old but cosy:

Today I want to reach Turi (dt-oo-ri), 13km. I pass the cemetery of Reopalu, sitting quietly amid tall trees. Its stone walls are covered in moss.  There is a small stone chapel with a bell. The first grave here is dated 1774:

An old woman in a big coat walks amid her memories.  My heart walks with her a moment.  A worker trims bushes. Pink, red, purple, blue flowers grow on many plots:

I walk under a blue sky, in a carpet of blue flowers. I try not to walk on them, but it is spring and they gather about my feet:

I pass signs telling me that there will be Mooses Crossing Next 5 km. I hope these half-tonne hormone-barrels don’t find me attractive. An idiot in a bright blue jacket passes me on a bicycle. I relax. He looks much more like the kind of guy a spring-struck moose might eye.

The walk here is long and flat. Husband Storks stuck in their domestic eyries look down on me, no doubt thinking: “Now there’s a good idea.”

Finally a small river, marking just 5km left today.

I arrive in Turi late afternoon and head to the place I am staying, sitting beside the river. The landlady eyes me, and asks for the money upfront.

She tells me she will make me an English Breakfast.  I request:

“But no bacon or sausage.”

She gives me one those looks:

“So what’s left?”

Later we chat and she becomes friendly. She tells me the reason she asked for the money upfront is:

“You look like a man with no money”.

Have I really so cast off my earthly shackles?

(events 1 May 2013)