Many remarkable things have happened to me in forty years of traveling, but one unforgettable Christmas Eve especially stands out.
On December 24, 1987, I found myself in Tallinn, the capital of Estonia. I was with a Middlebury group of grad and undergrad students. We had broken off our studies at the Pushkin Institute in Moscow to take a Christmas trip to Estonia. It was a wonderful place to be at Christmas time! We attended a beautiful Lutheran Christmas service, and then we had a festive meal at a restaurant on Tallinn's main square, Raekoia plats. We ate, drank and made merry with round after round of toasts à la russe, and then we exchanged "Secret Santa" gifts. I had lucked out and pulled Betsy Martin's name out of the hat. Betsy happened to be my closest friend in the group.
Half way through the evening, I was beginning to feel ill. Too much vodka and caviar, I assumed. I decided to leave the dinner party early, spend a few minutes watching the Christmas festivities on Raekoia plats, and then walk back to the hotel. The square teamed with life and was all aglow with the Christmas spirit. A beautiful Christmas tree in front of The Raekoda, Tallinn's City Hall, was the focal point for much of the activity. Children skated around it on a circular ice rink. Clowns juggled, carolers sang, vendors sold mulled wine, and everyone, young and old, was making merry. I don't think it was much above zero that night, and I wanted to be in my warm bed under a down comforter, but I realized that I should stay and savor such a magical moment. I thought of my favorite quotation from Goethe's Faust, "Linger! Thou art so beautiful!" ("Verweile doch! Du bist so schön!")
Soon, the event took a turn that made it even more memorable.
I still smoked at that time, and while I was fumbling around in coat pockets to find a match, a young man offered me a light. I thanked him in Russian. He asked me where I was from, and when I answered, "The United States," he took off talking a mile a minute in bad Russian, even though he had been studying the language since kindergarden. His friends quickly gathered around. They peppered me with questions, observations and requests: "Please tell President Reagan that we hate the Russians! This place would look just like the Finland, if it weren't for those damn Russians! That's a Christmas tree up there, not a New Year's tree!" They went on and on. I was reeling at my good fortune. An illness had brought me to yet another wonderful travel moment.
Suddenly, the guy who had offered me the light, Aivar, invited me to come home with him to meet his family. It was after 11:00 on Christmas Eve. I thought of how my parents would have reacted, if I had picked up some foreigner and brought him home toward midnight on Christmas Eve. I politely declined, but Mihkel would not take no for an answer. He became almost plaintiff. " Don't worry! I want you to meet my fiance. My fiance's father loves Americans! He will be thrilled. Please, please come! Please say yes!" I think he even said, "I beg you!" Realizing what a memorable experience this could become, I finally acquiesced.
Before I knew it, I was in a cab heading out to the apartment building where his finance, Anita, future father and sister-in-law lived. Just as we were approaching his apartment, I noticed a man with a "I Love New York!" sweatshirt walking toward us. "That's my fiance's father!" my new friend cried out. Andres was returning from a Christmas party, and the fact that on such a bitter cold night his coat was opened to reveal his new Christmas present should give the reader a clue as to just how festive his mood was!
When Aivar introduced me as an American, Andres embraced me as if I were a long lost brother. He immediately invited me up to his apartment. No sooner had we entered the kitchen than my host put a bottle of vodka on the table. The girls started getting food out of the refrigerator, and before I knew it, all sorts of stuff were sizzling on the stove, and there were cakes, cookies and candies on the table. Suddenly, there was almost as much excitement and hustle and bustle in that tiny apartment as there had been on all of Raikoia plats. I got a cook's tour of the tiny apartment and was given the honor of lighting the tree! We went back into the kitchen where the food was ready, and the eating, drinking and conversing took off with a vengeance.
My hosts could not hear enough about America. They wanted to know every detail about our lives. Was it really like "Dynasty," where everyone lived in luxury? They got Finnish TV and could understand it. We talked about anything and everything until the wee small hours of the morning. They kept saying how they hated the Russians, and I found out why Aivar's Russian was so bad, even though he had been exposed to it since he was in kindergarten. Parents in the Baltic Republics didn't care if their kids got C's and D's in Russian! One of the few ways of protesting the Soviet occupation of their countries was to resist learning the Russian language! During all the merriment, I completely forgot about how sick I was. Finally, it came time to go. I think that the first bus headed into the center of the city at 5:00 AM. My hosts insisted on accompanying me to the bus stop and waiting with me in the bone chilling zero degree temperature until the bus came. It finally did. Of course, it had no heat.
The next day, I woke up feeling even sicker. But the feeling was tempered by the realization of the remarkable experience I had enjoyed that Christmas Eve. Through a series of coincidences, I was led to a family to celebrate Christmas with! My American family was far, far away. My Middlebury family was great, but we celebrated the holiday in a restaurant and a hotel, not in a home all decorated for Christmas with a lovely Christmas tree. All those miles away from home, I was given a great gift that night, the gift of family, hearth and home. I will never forget my good fortune on Christmas Eve of 1987.
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