Talgud, "Jõudu!" and other Estonian cultural features

Not too long ago, I was slacklining in a nice big park - it may have been one of the several parks around Tartu that are a consequence of bombed residential areas during WWII. That's the second case in which there's a historical catch to something I enjoy in Tartu (see last post). An Estonian man approached me to ask about the slackline. When I asked him what he was doing, he sighed and said, “Well, right now, just enjoying watching him work” - and he pointed to a guy mowing the lawn.  I mentioned an Estonian idiom I had learned that directly translates as "eyes rest watching other people working." He nodded and told me that Estonians like 3 things: fire, water, and other people working. However, this list did not ring a bell to another Estonian, who explained that fire and water are sacred elements stemming from their mystical love of nature, which are admired with dreamy eyes, while watching other people working is both profane and lazy. Because it is well known that Estonians are hardworking, it was some kind of ironic joke created by the morally and categorically incongruent last feature of the sequence. Likewise, the idiom of the eyes resting is also meant in an ironic way, though it can also be used positively in other contexts - namely as commentary on a job well-done after a long day's work.

This shed light on a previous interaction with another friend. He invited me to go drink beer and watch his friends clean up their backyard during talgud. Talgud is one realization of the Estonian value of hard work - it describes an ad hoc event in which people, such as family, friends, or a larger community, gather to complete a big work project together. Afterward they have food and go to the sauna, and there is even a special soup called talgusupp (soup of talgud). Confused, I asked, "Shouldn't we help them?" He replied something like no - that would take away the pleasure of our eyes resting. Now I realize there was some sarcasm to this, but at the time I was puzzled by the apparent contradiction.

Finally, there is an idiomatic greeting which might be the one exception where an Estonian says something to a stranger on the street - "Jõudu!" It's untranslatable, but I'm told it means something like power or force for work (a helpful informant joked that it's like 'may the force be with you), so in effect it's a wish that they finish their work well. It is automatically said by passersby to those working outside, often in relation to weather and seasons such as shoveling snow, because they can all relate to this hard and often annoying work. It seems clear that hard work is an integral cultural feature connecting Estonians, especially when it occasions the only habitual verbal exchange between strangers on the street. 

Poplars: an annoying reminder of the soviet union

When Spring finally graced Tartu with its presence, there was a remarkable amount of cotton-like seeds floating about. I initially thought they were the seeds of dandelions and was astonished by their all-pervasive clouds. Fluffy piles accumulated on the windshields of dormant cars, lined street curbs, and obscured large areas of the ground from view. I would just lay in the grass listening to music for hours, dazed by the dance of the swirling seeds above me - a window into the curious ways in which air currents move. I found them alluring, unaware of their history, as well as their serious damage to those with allergies and asthma.

It turns out that they are poplar (or cottonwood) seeds, and Estonians, like those in other post-soviet countries who experienced this vegetative invasion, hate them. Stalin chose poplar trees as the most efficient way to add a little nature to the monotonous soviet living spaces, because they are cheap, resilient, and they grow and reproduce quickly. Typical (pun intended). Unfortunately mostly female poplars were planted, which spread their seeds like crazy when there aren't enough males around. Just like the stain of the dull soviet buildings that stand in contrast to the old Estonian wooden houses, poplar trees are everywhere as a loud reminder of the unpleasant past, spreading their suffocating snow throughout the month of June.

This is Moscow, not Tartu, but many areas in Tartu were covered just the same (I never had my camera during my naively dreamy expeditions through the summer "snow"). Picture from: http://www.theexpeditioner.com/2011/04/21/sexual-frustration-and-why-it-snows-in-june-in-moscow/

Where I live - typical 5 story soviet apartment building - complete with a poplar tree in front.

 Estonian wooden house.

 More wooden houses, which are abundant in Supilinn (soup-town), a lovely neighborhood of Tartu.

Speaking of Supilinn, its street names are ingredients of soup such as Herne (pea), Oa (bean), Kartuli (potato), and Meloni (melon..though that one doesn't really fit, unless some kind of melon soup exists). I also think it's interesting how, throughout town, the street names are listed on the sides of buildings instead of posts. It took me awhile to realize this as I first tried to get around.

Completely unrelated to everything above, this slug is screwed. The bird is probably screwed too if he tries to eat such a thing.

Blind rain

An Estonian friend recently (re)informed me of how much Estonians tend to complain. While I haven't personally noticed any complaining from Estonians, I've learned from various sources that to be Estonian is, in one half-joking kind of sense, to suffer. Perhaps it took shape during soviet and nazi occupations, themselves preceded by a long history of wars and occupations by other powers. An easy target for contemporary complaint is the climate, which is often what I am asked about in relation to how I like Estonia. Winter reaches minus thirty degrees celsius with darkness by 3 pm, the ground coated with a frozen, treacherous layer of snow for about 5 months. Autumn and Spring are muddy and rainy. Summer is usually rainy and temperamental, with the addition of hungry mosquitoes and infectious ticks. These somewhat demanding conditions include a remarkable phenomenon that I'm sure we've all appreciated, but happens here quite often from Spring through Autumn. Russians call it "blind rain" - when it rains while the sun is shining. I also like the Hawaiian version - "pineapple rain." It never fails to quiet my mind.