I finally pulled out the remains of the vodka from the ragged, bulky, green backpack over yonder. I’ve taken one drink and feel it already. For now, it is pleasant.
For the past few days, I have been studying Estonian vocabulary. As all of my faithful readers know, I am on my way to Estonia at the end of June. I must admit that at first I was very daunted from the lack of similarity in vocabulary to any other language I know (or even have an inkling of). Anymemo has done its best to rid me of this preposterous fear. Just this morning, whilst waiting for my father in a uncomfortable, meshed chair outside the bank, I was testing myself. After just a few days, I can remember phrases with words which are unlike anything I have seen before. Just a simple phrase like I am trying to learn Estonian:
Ma uritan eesti keelt oppida.
I apologize for omitting the diacritics, but I’m having a bit of a tiff with my keyboard layout. Meaning that I’ve been to lazy to fuck with it. Yes sir ee. Now for another swig.
The numbers are exceedingly regular and fit comfortably in my mind. There are no irregularities in the pre-teens, for example.
The Mennonites in this town seem oddly removed from the regular country folk. On my walk yesterday, I encountered a blonde and very Swiss looking girl in old-fashioned dress and out-of-place earphone getup. She must be around seventeen (seitseteist). She was aloof, walking as if the park was her own and paying attention to no-one. Her steps occasionally led her into the grass as if the path in her mind simply pointed that direction. It was natural. Perhaps I should talk to her next time I see her. Yeah, I know what these ultra-religious types are all about, in a sense, but the thought is still intriguing.
Peasants?
Peasants?
Oh, yeah. Cashews. They are tasty.
