The Beach

Posted by Kaire Kalam (That Estonian Girl) on February 4, 2012 in Stories | 2 Comments

“C’mon, move it, we can still make it to the beach for the 12:30 ferry.” My sister’s enthusiasm matches the warm, bright and sunny morning. Only minutes after dropping off my luggage, my sister, two of her friends, my seven-year-old niece and I are arriving at the beach. I have flown to Estonia to visit my family and to escape summer in Dubai with its dreadful desert heat. An Estonian summer is something all together different. People get really excited about the few warm, short precious months and the opportunity to soak up the sun and recharge their batteries for the long, dark cold winter to come.

Pulling into the parking lot I realize how popular this spot is. There are clearly not enough parking spots, but for these enthusiastic beach goers its worth risking a parking fine or a tow. Without a care they park illegally on the nearby grassy areas. At first glance this beach does not appear to be a place that would be anyone’s first choice. It’s located in a high crime industrial area, near an active port, with ferry traffic passing close to shore.There are many other beaches in Tallinn, but so many locals are eager to come here for a very specific reason. It is here that they get to experience a rare phenomenon in Estonia – waves. Only a serious storm can get the normally calm Baltic Sea to produce a wave. However, the ferries running in and out of the nearby harbor, to and from Helsinki, Finland, for a few precious minutes, leave a wake of easy, predictable waves. We consider ourselves lucky, spotting an open space on the parking lot with still 10 minutes to spare until the scheduled ferry departure.

Walking over to the beach area passing by an ice cream truck, I notice some random pushing and pulling going on between a few drunk middle-aged guys. It is followed by a man wearing nothing but a speedo falling flat onto the ground, and just like that, the scuffle is over. A few older men wearing socks, Adidas sandals and matching branded speedos, carry alcohol bottles in plastic bags while they wonder about looking for a decent landing spot to start their daily socializing and drinking. A short line has formed for some old school gym workout equipment mounted on the sand that the younger guys are using to puff themselves up while keeping a watchful eye for any waves. A group of four or five teenagers arrive out of nowhere carrying coolers and they start shouting in Russian, “gorjatsije tsebureki,” announcing the sale of traditional Russian meat-filled dough balls. Another teen shouts, “Morozennoje,” Russian for ice cream. They seem to coordinate their sales assault, screaming in turn like a pack of seagulls competing for scraps, not allowing for a minute of silence. The moment one leaves, the next’s voice disturbs the peaceful sounds of the beach and sea.

At last, the ferry passes on schedule and the crowd watches anxiously. Upon spotting the first wave, everybody stops what they are doing and storms towards the sea. Parents grab their kids’ hands urging them to run faster. Old men pull and hold on tightly to their ” tidy whitey ” underwear as they run to the sea. Young guys in their “banana hammocks” compete to see who can get into the water first. In an instant, the crowded beach is empty and the empty sea is crowded. With great enthusiasm everyone jumps and plays in the waves, trying to ride them to shore or simply let the waves splash and wash over them. After about five minutes of happy chaos, its all over. The waves disappear and the people emerge from the sea checking their watches to see how long they have until the next passing ferry. The crowd quickly returns to their regular routine of their pull ups, pushing, drinking and sunbathing.

I find all this incredible, entertaining and odd. I tell my sister and her friends that I can’t wait to let people know about this crazy beach. They all turn to look at me a bit confused, and it’s then that I realize – I have become a foreigner in my own country.