Posts Tagged ‘Camping’

A Mongolian Life

Sunday, September 27th, 2009

I waved goodbye to Matt at Chinggis Khaan International Airport and made my way to the taxi stand downstairs. I was on my own in the middle of Asia in a large, dusty city where my camera had already been stolen and where my friend had been pelted by a chunk of sidewalk. It was a bit nerve-wracking to me. I wasn’t sure how I would do on my own! My confidence returned, however, after wrangling a 5,000 togrok trip back to the city from some taxi drivers who had claimed it was impossible to get me back to the city for anything less than 20,000… then about 5 minutes later, 10,000.

So, for 9 days from August 18-27 I was on my own in the central-Asian nation of Mongolia. I didn’t have a lot of money (I limited myself to $10 a day, $6 of which went for lodging each night I was in Ulaanbataar, leaving 4 for entertainment, travel, and food). I spent some of my timing working on this site cleaning things up and uploading photos. I spent some of it (the daylight hours at least) walking the streets of the city seeing what I could see, from large markets to street-side DVD stands. Ger Restaurants on the sidewalks to road works projects. The city was bustling and I was just another citizen. Unfortunately for me, I was a citizen who looked like a tourist and couldn’t speak the local language. So, that limited my interaction with the real citizens of Ulaanbataar to what we could communicate with sign-language, my extremely limited Russian, and their broken (but better than my Mongolian) English.

It was a relaxed time schedule-wise for me, but a bit stressful as I tried to learn the ropes of a new city by myself. Most evenings I would hole up in the hostel’s public area to avoid the less savory citizens of the city. This gave me the opportunity to meet the people who were staying in the hostel. Most people stayed just one or two nights at the hostel, but some were there for longer. An Irish fellow getting over a bad intestinal parasite infestation was there for three nights. He had bicycled by himself from Beijing to Ulaanbataar and was going to take a horse-ride to the Gobi and western Mongolia eventually getting back on his bike and heading for Russia. He had been delayed a week, however, by his unfortunate illness.

Two Israeli men and a British girl stayed for a night, they were on their way to the Gobi to explore it for two days. Three French men were planning a walking trip to Western Mongolia. Two girls waiting for their plane flights out, one from France and one from the US, were at the end of their Asia trip which had taken them to several cities in Eastern China, the Gobi, and eventually Ulaanbataar. One girl was at the end of a year-long term working at a school for underprivileged children from the ger district—an area with about the population of the city proper people with nomads who are in and out throughout the year and live in their gers—which surrounds Ulaanbataar. It was an interesting place to be and made the evenings less lonely. I was even invited to join two French students who were traveling by horse around the Gobi for two weeks and had an extra horse leaving me to only pay the daily expenses, unfortunately I was leaving well before they would have returned so I had to turn them down.

I spent three days and two nights in the wilderness camping by myself and finishing out the supplies in a little town called Gachuurt, to the northeast of Ulaanbataar. It cost me almost 20,000 togrok for the taxi out there, but I found it was worth it to save the $6 a night for the hostel. It was a calming time and not altogether bad to be by myself somewhere I felt completely comfortable. Making the half-hour trip to pump fresh water, scouring the parched hillsides for sticks to make a fire and clearing a rock-free tent-site for myself made for good exercise and a great way to pass the time. When a goat-herd passed my little camp with a flock of 75-100 as I was reading my Bible, a nod and a smile told me that I was welcome there.

When I got back to the city, I was a bit disappointed to be back in the dirtiness of the city. I had discovered over the trip that cities always feel dirtier than the countryside. I have yet to find a city where I would be comfortable eating a grape dropped on the sidewalk, even if I washed it off. But in the countryside, a grape dropped on the dirt would be brushed off and eaten without a second thought. I walked back to Gachuurt and caught the 500 togrok bus to Ulaanabataar.

The last 4 days in the city were uneventful for the most part. I talked to the hostellers, watched a movie about a Mongolian nomad during Soviet days. Apparently the Soviet government had attempted to control all meat production which up to that point had been the purview of individual nomadic families. In order to do this, they offered buyouts to the farmers and gave them palotes (small apartments in large concrete buildings). At about the same time (coincidentally?) the government also released news of a plague which would ravage the flocks of the nomadic farmers and required that the animals be burned to prevent the spread of the disease.

It was a sad movie, but interesting in its (delectably accurate) depiction of the history of Mongolia during Soviet control. The movie was shown at a small coffee shop called Café Amsterdam and was attended by about 20 Dutch people and a group of about 30 mixed French, Yankees, Mongolians, and other peoples.

By the time it came to leave Ulaanbataar, I was ready to leave. It’s not that Mongolia struck me as an unpleasant place, or that I didn’t enjoy my time there, I was just done with the city and ready to be traveling again.

At 10 AM the Mongolian segment of my trip ended with the departure of my no-frills trip on Air China from Chinggis Khaan International Airport to Beijing International. Since 5:30 that morning, I had been getting ready, walking toward the airport, and, when the time was right, getting a 10,000 togrok taxi ride to the airport, and waiting after customs. My trip in Asia was coming to a close, but I still had almost a week before the true end of my trip.

At the End of the Trail

Monday, August 24th, 2009

We were wet. We were miserable. Matt was feeling better than he had, but still not completely cured. I was freezing cold despite my coat and Deutschland hat. We were facing the a Siberian summer storm.

We plodded on in our coats, fished the last bits of Wild Bill’s Beef Jerky from the bottom of the bag with our soaking wet hands, and resigned ourselves to being cold and wet. The view was spoiled by the clouds, mist, fog, and rain. The lake was calm again, but still frigid. The warmth of the fire that morning, the hot tea and cocoa, and the rather odd pancakes I had made without butter seemed distant memories as we focused on completing those 10 kilometers remaining and reaching our goal: the town of Bolschoye Goloustnoe.

The town of Bolschoye Goloustnoe was about 4-6 hours of hiking away, according to a French-speaking Russian I had met on the trail while Matt had fetched the water that morning before the storm began in earnest. We had begun hiking at around noon, so we expected to reach the town well before dark and hopefully in time to sit down in a little café and warm ourselves with some coffee or tea before locating the bus station that would take us into Irkutsk the next morning (at 9, the Russian man informed me). Then we planned to find a camping spot outside of town, settle in for a cold, wet night, and get to the bus station in time to leave the next morning.

Little of those plans worked out. As we walked into town we found a sprawling, muddy camping area stretching out for several kilometers from the southern end of the town. It was mainly full of drunken Russians. One old lady was in a bush by the side of the road relieving herself and shouting at two guys who were drunkenly trying to set up a tent. Two middle-aged ladies who had obviously been drinking pulled up beside us, spraying us with mud accidentally and invited us to ride in their brand-new car which was very clean on the inside. We declined and trudged on, despite their insistence. They slid all over the road as they made their way toward the town and we were glad to not be in the car.

In the town we found everything closed down. There were two little cafes, both of which were closed. We couldn’t find the bus station either. I found myself in a downright foul mood, made little better by the fact that the only semi-dry camping spot we found was in the middle of a cow pasture and we didn’t even consider making a fire in the downpour that continued.

That was when the francophonic Russian, Sasha, and his hiking partner Bruno arrived. We had passed them a few hours earlier and apparently made it to the town at the same time. They had stopped at the home of someone Sasha knew and gotten the real times for the bus (6, 7, and 8) and learned that a minibus would be leaving sometime that evening. They intended to have some supper then catch the minibus to Irkutsk. Sasha invited us to join them at their campfire. To tell you the truth, I was a bit dubious. The ground was wet, the woods were wet, the trees were wet, we were wet, and it was still raining.

But, Sasha came through! Matt and I finished setting up our tent and then rushed around helping Bruno find any dry wood we could. In my despair I had forgotten that in most storms the majority of rain comes from one direction, leaving dead wood on the lee side of trees still dry. With that memory, we quickly gathered a pile of dry wood, and a pile of semi-damp wood that we could dry once the fire got going. And it did get going! With a roaring blaze, our spirits were instantly lifted and we had soon dried out. The rain stopped falling quite as strongly as well, lifting our spirits even more. A good pot of well-cooked rice and topping and a taste of some of Bruno and Sasha’s porridge left us feeling pretty good. We finished off the evening by sharing some of our adventures and hearing about some of Sasha and Brunos’.

Bruno was a retired fellow from Paris, France who went hiking every so often and was in Russia to visit some friends. Apparently he had, a few summers ago, been hiking in Finland, north of the Arctic circle! Sasha was a photojournalist with a large, nation-wide newspaper and had been working and living in Irkutsk for a long time, during which he had hiked the shores of Lake Baikal relatively often. He was on call for a friend of his who was a tour guide and gave hiking tours whenever his friend was too busy. That’s what he was doing with Bruno, although two members of their team (who had set out from Listvyanka just like us, just a day later) had left after being scared out of the hike by the terrain. This made Matt especially feel better since he had done the entire thing with a cold like a real man.

We fell asleep that night warmer and drier, though still a bit damp and chilly. The next morning dawned cloudy at 6 AM when we got up to make breakfast and pack the tents up in time for the 8 AM bus. We did, eating the last of our porridge. Matt was feeling almost entirely cured with just a hint of a runny nose. We hopped on the bus and made it back to Irkutsk where we lounged the day away and ate some delicious food. It was a good day and we had such a sense of accomplishment after muscling through the hiking trip.

Even now the memories of the less pleasant bits of the hiking are fading away leaving crystal clear, shimmering lake water, verdant mountains and valleys, pleasant camping spots, good friends, and the sense of a job well done.

A Good Day Hiking

Monday, August 24th, 2009

I was feeling a lot better at the beginning of the third day of our hike, but Matthew was not. He had been staying hydrated and getting plenty of rest, but the hiking was beginning to wear on him. I got up a bit before Matt and went and fetched water from the lake, a short walk through a marsh away. It was still quite windy and the breakers got me soaked in freezing cold water, but I managed to fill all three Nalgenes and my Platypus (which holds 4 Nalgenes worth). We were ready for the day and when I got back to camp, Matt had stirred the fire from its slumber, and went to lie down again, still not feeling very well.

Just as I was about to put the porridge on the fire, a man in a motorcycle with a sidecar pulled up, got out, took off his leather, aviator-cap style hat and came running over to me and began telling me in a broken mixture of Russian and German (neither of which I understand very well) that I had to put the fire out! Well, I informed him that we would and that we always make sure fires are completely out before leaving our campsites, but he didn’t understand English. I figured he would figure it out when he stopped by later after we were on our way and found a soaking wet fire pit.

He went on his way with his ear-flaps flopping in the wind. I thought I had finally convinced him I was trustworthy. Fifteen minutes later, just as Matt and I were tucking into our hot porridge, he came back, ear-flaps flying, with a TV antenna in his sidecar. He stopped again and made his way to our campsite where he once again informed us of something that we couldn’t understand. He seemed adamant about it, whatever it was so we doused the fire (with the help of 10 gallons of water he brought to us), packed up and we were off.

I was feeling good, the kilometers were flying past, we were surrounded by flowers in fields, birds in trees, and spectacular rock formations, and then everything went wrong. We followed what looked like the most major path (nothing was marked really) and ended up spending an hour hiking up an almost vertical cliff face and getting stuck in a cauldron at the top of a scree slope with no outlet. A rather disappointing day, but we broke out some more Wild Bill’s Beef Jerky and trudged on.

We camped that evening just 10 kilometers from where we had started, but Matt was not feeling good at all and the wind blowing in our faces wasn’t doing anything to help. We did have a good camping spot, however, with a little path down the cliff to the water, a nice flat, mossy area for the tent, an existing firepit, and plenty of firewood. All of this with a view of the entire lake. I went to pump water and Matt made a nice little firepit and we burnt the parts of our Russia guidebook we didn’t need as tinder. It was a nice evening, medicinal tea from home, hot chocolate, rice (Full-cooked rice! Hooray! I finally succeeded!) with a topping made of different odds and ends and lots of fresh garlic.

Matt went to sleep early again, but I stayed up reading for another hour or two and what I saw during that hour or two began to concern me. Clouds started rolling over the lake from the South-West and the cold wind strengthened. Lightening showed up in the distance and mist began rolling over the lake. A storm was coming.

I packed everything up, put the fly on the tent and went to bed, hoping everything would be dry the next morning.

Another Day Hiking

Sunday, August 23rd, 2009

The light of our second Siberian dawn trickled through the trees and woke me before it did Matt. I got up, packed my sleeping bag and the cooking supplies, made sure the fire was completely out (we had spread the ashes the night before, but I wanted to make sure it was cool. It was) and finished the last swig of water in my trusty Nalgene. It was looking to be a warm day and I knew we needed to find some water, but the lake was at the bottom of a 50 foot cliff, so we’d have to walk on until we found a stream or a beach.

Matt woke up after I had been reading for 15 minutes or so (I was in the middle of Dostoevsky’s The Idiot) and we set off down the hill. It was a bit of a rough trail, but after 15 minutes we came to a beach and sat down to enjoy our fill of crystal clear, filtered (thank you Mommie and Papa for letting me borrow the water pump), and frigid cold water. And we made breakfast, porridge again.

Matt was not feeling any better, his whole body was aching and he had a low-grade fever that had started the evening before. We took our vitamins and I encouraged him to drink a Nalgene of water right there. I also filled up my Platypus bladder which I had forgotten I had with me. We were much better off and as the morning progressed, we hiked on with hourly rest breaks and some delicious Wild Bill’s beef jerky from my parents that I had been saving for a special occasion.

Lunch that afternoon was a can of tuna steak (delicious) and a two hour nap on the pebbly beach of what was turning into one of the worlds most beautiful spots. Matt was feeling better after our break, and plodded on stolidly. We camped early that night after hiking just 15 kilometers, but arriving where we had hoped to make it. We set up camp under a spreading evergreen, lit a small fire and Matt went to sleep early. I stayed up for a while longer tending the fire and being bitten by mosquitoes while reading The Idiot (half of which we had used to start the fire that evening.)

That night was cloudless, but a strong wind started from the North East and smashed the coastline with oceanic breakers all night long. I slept well, waking just once in the middle of the night to check on the fire and our bags (we were just past the town of Bolshaya Kadilnaya and a bit close to civilization for my comfort).

A Hiking Trip

Saturday, August 22nd, 2009

The sun rose lazily over Lake Baikal, chasing away the demons of uncertainty from the night before. Matthew and I had arrived in the city of Irkutsk, now over 40 kilometers away, late morning the day before (09/08) and spent hours trying desperately to get some information via the internet on the Great Biakal Trail that supposedly stretched for over 500 kilometers of the lake’s shoreline. We checked out some hotels for that night, but, finding everything either full or expensive, we had opted to take a taxi from the dirty, soviet Irkutsk to the confusing tourist villa of Listvyanka.

Listvyanka sits at the mouth of the Angara river which drains Lake Baikal north into the Arctic ocean. It was dark by the time we arrived, and we had no idea where the trail actually began. We walked the roads and paths around the northern end of town, eventually settling on a path that followed the shore for about 100 meters, before climbing into the hills overlooking the lake. An hour or so of wandering in the dark woods and we admitted we’d have to wait ’til morning to clear our minds and show us the way out. We camped late that night on a grassy ledge that sloped precariously toward the 20-foot high lakeside cliff.

Matthew had woken a bit earlier than I and had pumped some water from the crystal clear lake. He had also talked to a few British tourists down the beach a ways who also had no idea where they were going, the only difference was that they had a guide. I woke groggily and helped him prepare breakfast. Over bowls of hot oatmeal we went over what we knew about the lake and the trail. The lake itself is considered the oldest lake in the world (between 25 million and 6 thousand years old, depending on your views) and contains 20% of the world’s freshwater—more than all 5 great lakes combined. Along the banana-shaped lake, a dozen or so little towns nestle between the frigid waters and the majestic peaks of the surrounding mountain ranges. We would be hiking from Listvyanka, near the southern tip of the lake, along the inside curve past two little lake-side towns—Bolshiye Koty and Bolshaya Kadilnaya—ending up at Bolschoye Goloustnoe, a slightly larger town where we could get a bus back to Irkutsk. If we timed it right, the trip would take four days getting us back to Irkutsk on Friday with our train leaving later that day.

As we sat eating and basking in the morning sun, alone until the pack of British tourists we had seen earlier traipsed past us with their guide. The one Matt had talked to earlier told us we were on the right path and we rejoiced. We packed up and were soon on our way, loaded down with food and camping gear, enough, we hoped, to last us those 4 days. It was an easy hike for the most part, but neither of us were in good shape after several weeks of immobilizing train rides. We each had 50 pound packs on our backs, no hiking boots, not enough water, and Matthew was starting to show signs of a cold or flu as we left. Not a good start for a journey of 55 kilometers over rough, mountainous terrain in the heart of Siberia, but we were not faint of heart and we plunged on.

The trail wound its way beside the deep blue lake, but Matthew and I could only enjoy it when we stopped from time to time to catch our breath. An hour or so in, we passed the British group, but other than that we felt we were going extremely slowly. Our lack of water along with Matt’s disease did not make for easy going and the constant up and down of the cliffside trail didn’t help either. We made it to Bolshiye Koty late that evening, found it to be significantly smaller than we had expected and found only a closed shack with “Museum” written on it, a few houses, a ferry terminal, and overpriced soda on the shelves of the only magazin (shop) in town. We moved on, made it out of town just as the sun was setting, and, after a grueling hike up a little hill, eventually found a place flat enough to sleep that night.

Unfortunately, it was also a place apparently frequented by horses, as their droppings surrounding the site attested. We were feeling a bit ambivalent about the day. I had a dull, dehydration-induced headache and Matt was not looking extremely healthy. We lit a fire to encourage ourselves and I tried my hand at my first campfire-cooked meal. The rice was underdone, which I intensely dislike, so that did nothing to lighten my mood. Later that night, when I woke to the frightening sound of horses pawing and neighing right by my head in the pine-darkened forest, I wasn’t so sure about the whole hiking idea.

The Eternal City: Empires Old and New

Thursday, July 23rd, 2009

We arrived at Rome in the middle of the afternoon on July 2. Roman history is one of my favorite areas of study so I anticipated Rome with more excitement than I any other city we visited. We parked at the train station in EUR, a less than eternal suburb of Rome, and took the train into the city for an introductory exploration. It was the oddest thing to walk out of the dirty metro station and see the Colosseum, one of the greatest relics of the ancient world, right in front of me.

This magnificent stadium was our introduction to a feeling that would soon become familiar during our stay at Rome: a sense stupefied wonder that something so old could still be standing. Because it was only two hours before the Colosseum closed we decided to postpone our tour until we could be sure of enough time to truly experience it. We began making our way to the Pantheon, hoping for an opportunity to watch the rain that loomed in the Eastern sky fall through the hole in the center of the dome. The weather did not oblige, however, because suddenly the sky opened in a truly torrential downpour. We were caught in the open with no accessible buildings within sprinting distance but finally found adequate shelter under the bowl of an nonoperational fountain. We watched with amusement as mobs of shrieking tourists ran by, umbrellas rendered useless by the driving wind, in desperate search for shelter.

When the skies finally cleared we made our way towards the Pantheon once more. It proved magnificent both inside and out. Unlike most relics of ancient Rome, the Pantheon has not crumbled under the weight of dozens of centuries and still appears (except for the replacement inside of Catholic saints for Roman gods) as it did when it was first constructed. Its huge dome is still a mystery to modern architects. From the Pantheon we walked to Vatican City and St.Peter’s Cathedral before turning back towards the Colosseum metro station. On our way back we got what was to become a staple of our stay in Rome: Gelato ice cream. It was nearly as magnificent as the city itself and we had it every day of our visit.

The next morning we toured the Colosseum and Capital hill where Nero and the Flavain emperors (Vespasian and sons) built their stupendous palaces. It was spectacular to be walking in and around structures that were in use almost 2,000 years ago (The Colosseum was built 80 AD). Many aspects of the Colosseum were on par with modern stadiums (e.g., Retractable roof and efficient exit system that evacuated 50,000 spectators in minutes), though perhaps the fact that it can still accommodate visitors after thousands of years on earthquake-prone gound is most impressive. Capital Hill was also amazing in this regard. Structures towered over us, arches and half domes and tunnels millennium old, but made of brick that could have been laid a few days ago. That evening we dined on genuine Italian pizza, with beverage and appetizer, for only eight euros. It was probably the best money I have ever spent.

We spent our last full day in Rome in Vatican city. We began with a tour of St. Peter’s, which was free unless you didn’t have sleeves. Its size alone is awe inspiring, but before you have fully absorbed the height of the vaulted ceiling or the length of the sanctuary, you become aware of its astonishing sculptures, paintings, mosaics, and decorations. No where else in the world could the Superbowl be played inside while Michelangelo’s Pieta looks on. The other highlight of Vatican City was the Sistine Chapel. It was as spectacular as I have always believed, trumping even Raphael’s incredible paintings which we saw en rout. Though taking pictures and conversation were prohibited, everyone in the chapel did both with unrestrained enthusiasm in spite of the attendant’s feeble (And very disruptive) attempts to stop us.

On the Sunday of July 5 we attended mass in St.Peter’s. It was fascinating to see how many of those present were just tourists like ourselves and how many were genuine Catholics, going to church at the epicenter of their faith. To take mass in the capital of Catholicism, with your church’s most magnificent expression of devotion to God souring above your head and with the bones of Peter and beneath your feet, would have to be a truly religious experience for a Catholic. I was left a bit bemused, however. Should the Pope’s words or Christ’s be the guide of our religion? Are buildings like St.Peter’s the way God wants the Church to make its mark, or should the funds used to build it have been utilized instead to feed the poor? Should we place more importance on where Peter is buried or on the gospel he died for? Whether or not the Church is meant to be so physically rooted in this world, Rome’s power is still very real and its impact on millions of people is undeniable. Though its jurisdiction is spiritual instead physical, Rome remains the center of a mighty empire whose influence spreads across the globe. It truly is the Eternal City.

Daniel Shenk

Fun Facts about Estonia

Monday, June 8th, 2009

May 29th, we disembarked, drove around Tallinn, Estonia, and found a place to park the Passat near the old city. [Fun fact #1: Tallinn was made the capital of independent Estonia in 1919 and again in 1991.] Ziegler stayed with the car, both to catch up on sleep (see the previous post) and to prevent parking tickets (apparently you can pay for parking by mobile phone but why?). David and I set out toward the old city, high atop an outcrop in the center of the city. On the way, we passed fields hosting several intense soccer games played by high-school-aged youth and encouraged by peers with obnoxiously loud horns. Go team. [Fun fact #2: The town of Tallinn was first mentioned in 1154 A.D.] We picked our way up the cliff above the fields and found several impressive cathedrals, one Baroque styled and the other Soviet styled. The contrast was profound, especially when the crosses above the latter seemed to include communism’s hammer and sickle. Maybe they used the first church as their model. Both churches were open to the public and we stuck our heads in to appreciate the ornate decor. [Fun fact #3: Tallinn became a member of Hanseatic League in 1285.]

Descending into the old city, quite popular with the tourists, we intentionally walked quickly down the narrow streets on a quest for bread. I asked a friendly-looking local for help and she smiled when I emphasized our intentions to find cheap bread. [Fun fact #4: Tallinn's size is 158 square kilometers.] We followed her directions to a mall and its grocery store where we bought three small loaves for around $1.50 and six, grapefruit-sized apples. [Fun fact #5: Tallinn's currency is the Kroon.] After returning to the car, Ziegler did some exploring of his own while we wrote journal entries and organized photos. David then turned us southeast to the coast of Peipsi Jarv (a.k.a. Lake Pepsi), which separates Estonia and Russia. Unlike Sarah Palin, we couldn’t see Russia. Along the coast, we stopped for a break at a playground and Ziegler and I tried out an Estonian swing-set. We discovered David’s camera does not have a “jumping-out-of-a-swing” mode (although it has one for almost everything else). We moved along after some young teens arrived; apparently, playgrounds are hang-out spots for Estonian youth. [Fun fact #6: Estonia's national Independence Day is February 24.] We continued another half hour alongside the lake, accompanied by John Piper and humble wooden homes. Also, the Estonian church is an independent orthodox church that has three unique crossbars on its cross. [Fun fact #7: We have no idea why the crosses look like that.]

Looking for a stop, we stumbled upon camping trail that lead directly to Lake Pepsi’s edge, complete with a fire pit and several large logs, the ideal camping spot. We had parked and just started to set up the cook stove when a pickup drove up, the park rangers. Two rangers got out, a pleasant older gentleman and a beaming younger man, and they just stood there.

“Do you speak English?” Ziegler asked.
The younger man beamed, “Yes, a little.”
“May we camp here?”
“Oh yes!”
“May we build a fire?”
“Yes, yes!” he beamed.
“May we swim?”
He beamed, “Sure. You planning to fish?”
“No. Can we?”
“Sure. You can fish with a net but you need a license.”
“Can we fish with a pole?” David joined in.
“Oh yes, you can fish. You just need a license to fish with a net.”

They both continued standing and looking at us, the older man looking pleasant and the younger man still beaming. We briefly exchanged small talk, and realized they were more curious than protective and that we were pretty much free to do anything we wanted but fish with nets. Good to know. They soon hopped back in their truck and left with a wave. They had just wanted to make sure we looked like guys who wouldn’t throw a crazied, drugged-out beach party, or worse, fish with nets. Maybe another time. Instead, we cooked a delicious meal of pasta and fried canned pork over a fire. It was quite manly. Fire-cooked food on the lakeshore in the Estonian wild. The next morning we completed the experience by getting naked in the lake. I woke early and read for over an hour on a sun-drenched rock overlooking the lake until the guys awoke. We proceeded to scrub ourselves in some breathtakingly cold water. [Fun fact #8: All very manly things to do.] Cleaner, we toweled off and cooked some Scot’s Porridge with apples and raisins. The guys even strung a clothesline to let their clothing (still a little wet from the ferry) dry while I washed the dishes. We left the campsite, satisfied with our Lake Pepsi experience.

Still feeling manly, I began the day refusing to ask Estonians or their maps for directions. I relented when we tried to find the country’s highest point. I have related that endeavor earlier but it also led to us to hike at two sites sponsored by the European Union. [Fun fact #9: The EU has money.] One maintained some natural springs and the other maintained the supposed (though disputed) highest point in Estonia. Having seen these, we continued south, leaving Estonia and all its fun facts. [Fun fact #10: Estonia's national paid holiday is June 24th, Midsummer Day and that truly is fun.]

Matt