Thoughts about Estonia from an Englishman’s perspective

David Foreman, an Englishman who splits his time between London and Pärnu, shares his thoughts about Estonia and Estonians.

At the forefront of the English person’s outlook on life is a concern with what others think about what they do. I wouldn’t say this is absent from a typical Estonian viewpoint, but it certainly doesn’t seem to carry the same weight. To me, this suggests a lack of insecurity – something the average English male, in particular, possesses in ample measure.

The English need reassurance that what they do is “normal”. From my experience, the average Estonian is not particularly interested in comparisons with others and simply gets on with his or her own business, with very little concern as to whether it is of interest to their neighbours.

So does this mean that Estonians are confident people? I suspect the answer is not necessarily, but the mere absence of this type of self-conscious “baggage” in their thinking probably makes their lives more straightforward.

An interesting example of these differences is the attitude towards the sauna. Put an Englishman in a room full of native Estonians and the mere mention of the word is enough to make the hapless visitor break out in a sweat. The English simply do not do “naked” with others, and the thought that they might be coerced into participation against their will – while at the same time not wanting to offend their hosts – creates a paradox that generates a great deal of embarrassment all round. And here, once again, you can see this lack of confidence coming to the surface.

Estonians simply do not give a fig what others think. They want to have a few drinks, get naked, and enjoy themselves. What do other people’s thoughts have to do with what they themselves are doing?

And then there is the business of massage. This alone deserves a book in its own right. My own experience is probably typical, and is borne out by the experiences of other expatriates.

You see, to an Englishman, massage carries certain connotations. If one accepts the initial premise that the English lack self-confidence, it follows that they are also inhibited. This has produced a rather peculiar national characteristic when it comes to sex: it is regarded as something illicit and secret, not to be openly discussed. The massage parlour in London was – and to a certain extent still is – a place associated with naughtiness rather than health, and certainly not somewhere you would tell your mother you were going.

So the staid visitor arrives in Estonia and is innocently asked by his companion whether he would like to go to the sauna, followed by a massage. Hmmmm. “Maybe” is the initial response, swiftly followed by a cascade of questions: will there be others there? Will the massage be given by a woman? Will I have to be naked? Lie on my back? Where, exactly, on the anatomy does the massage begin and end? How long will I be subjected to this?

And all of this takes place against a backdrop of losing control, being too embarrassed to say no, and simultaneously assuming the worst – or hoping for the best – possible outcome.

As a visitor, one of the things you soon notice, of course, is that Estonians instinctively understand their guests’ shyness and derive considerable pleasure from the awkwardness it creates. Yet my Estonian partner insists that Estonians are reserved – more of a British characteristic, which at first seems contradictory. But perhaps it is not. Keeping one’s thoughts to oneself is something we have in common, as is the quiet delight taken in observing the embarrassment of others.

The country run by women

I have visited Estonia on several occasions, but it was only recently that something very obvious struck me. Virtually every shop and business you encounter is staffed by women. I bought a small property – admittedly, the developer was a man – but the notary was a woman. I paid my electricity bill to a woman. I set up my bank account with a woman. I went to the insurance company, and a woman arranged my cover.

Having adopted Estonia as my second home, I decided to obtain an ID card. I went to the local parish offices, where a very kind woman registered me. I then went into town, to the government office, to collect the card, where a whole team of women fussed over me and informed me that the lady in the neighbouring parish had made a mistake with my application and that I would have to start all over again. In the meantime, I was hungry, and this same team then fussed once more – only this time they were concerned solely with where I might find something to eat.

I think one of the few places where I encountered a man was at the water board, where it was clear that the individual assisting me spent most of his working life digging up the mains – something that, for the time being at least, men in Estonia still seem better suited to..

Get on with it

In Latvia the drivers are dangerous. In France, I believe, a Frenchman considers it his national duty to try to run down pedestrians guilty of crossing the road. In Italy, a roundabout is a racing track with no concept of stopping. The Germans drive as fast as they can in straight lines, and in Spain nobody does anything in the afternoons.

But what of the Estonian driver? They simply go about their own business (recognise the recurring theme?) and ignore everyone else. They do not care what lane they are in. They do not mind other drivers cutting them up. They do not use their horns, lean out of windows, or hurl abuse at one another. They do not speed. They just get on with it.

But where else in Europe can you not even cross the road where you please? In Estonia, you can be fined on the spot for crossing at an inappropriate place. This is a completely alien concept to visitors from Britain, and something to be wary of.

Of course, in Estonia it is possible to do things that you simply cannot do in Britain. To a certain extent, we have lost a sense of personal responsibility for self-preservation, preferring – and often encouraging – the populace to blame others for any misfortunes visited upon them by the vicissitudes of daily life. In Estonia, for instance, you can enjoy a walk by the sea without the benefit of numerous signs declaring DANGER: DEATH BY DROWNING should you be unlucky enough to enter the water having forgotten that you cannot, in fact, swim.

Another thing that surprised – and delighted – me was the opportunity to explore the Estonian countryside. While out driving on my first visit, we came across a large and remarkably tall wooden tower. To my surprise, it had been built for visitors; more than that, it had been left unguarded and open to any suicidal individual to climb unassisted to the top. Moreover, once there, it became abundantly clear that, had I chosen to do so, I could have attempted a base jump or simply thrown myself into the void, entirely without the aid of wings. There was not even a sign reminding me DEATH BY GRAVITY should I have been remiss enough to attempt bungee jumping without the rope.

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