In honor of Valentine’s Day, an epic love story — I think. Either that, or an epic tale of misdirection involving 4,500 kilometers, five boats, three flat tires, a few naked men, some drunk Swedes, one very important question…and a surprising response.

Going the distance: 4,500 km to propose.

June 1999. I was a consultant living in San Francisco, Audrey a Peace Corps volunteer in Estonia.

I set off on a mission: meet Audrey in Stockholm, make our way to Estonia, celebrate the Summer Solstice, and ask her to marry me somewhere along the way. I carried a “fake” ring, a photograph of the real ring, a ticket from SFO to Stockholm and back home from Tallinn, and two overthought marriage proposal plans.

I had about ten days to get it done.

I also carried with me a truckload of bad karma, apparently.

Plan A: Parry on the Ferry

My first marriage proposal vision: on the boat from Stockholm to Tallinn, Estonia’s capital city.

In an episode of gross travel naiveté, I harbored visions of a romantic cruise across the Baltic Sea. You know, just me and Audrey taking a late night stroll on deck, the soft evening breeze lapping us on our love boat as I work up the nerve to propose under the gentle light of a Scandinavian white night.

The reality: it was a ferry, a multi-stage party boat complete with a disco mobbed by scantily clad Russian high school girls and a performance hall featuring a busker with an acoustic guitar singing “Alice, Alice. Who the f*ck is Alice?!”

Our Love Boat was a booze cruise chock full of raging Scandinavian, Finnish and Baltic partiers. Everyone drank like fish.

Oh yeah, the marriage proposal. My best chance was on patch of bright green AstroTurf-y carpet on the upper deck.

I should have laid a knee to that patch of putting green and called it a night. Instead, I frantically searched the boat, nook and cranny, for somewhere appropriate.

The whole scene was preposterous.

It’s one thing to have a plan and just miss your mark. It’s another to end up in the wrong solar system. I attempted to soar like an eagle, instead I gaggled with the geese. Bottom of the 9th, bases loaded. Tee up whatever metaphor of gross misjudgment and disappointment, and you’d have captured where I'd landed.

This was not to be the vessel from which we'd launch the rest of our lives together.

Out with Plan A.

This is why you have a backup plan.

I had a backup plan.

Plan B: The Boy, The Girl, The Blossoming Fern

I got burned by romance in Plan A. So I picked myself up, just like good young man might. My fallback was all about thoughtful symbolism, cultural and contextual. I couldn't join Peace Corps and go off to Estonia with Audrey, but I could certainly co-opt her host country’s folklore as a backdrop when I proposed to her.

We made our way from northern Estonia across to Saaremaa, Estonia’s island of windmills.

My plan was rooted in an old Estonian Midsummer’s folk tale that tells of a boy and girl who go off into the forest to look for a blossoming fern. The thing is, everyone knows there is no such thing as a blossoming fern so it's just an excuse to go off into the forest together…for a long, long time.

In the spirit of Estonian boys and girls past, I would find an excuse to lure Audrey into the forest, place my knee upon a suitable patch of moss, catch the light, and pop the magical question.

Instead, it rained, the bonfire almost went out and everyone piled into the sauna.

My goal: Propose to Audrey in the forest under the soft light of a midsummer’s night.

The reality: I found myself in a hot shack surrounded by drunk naked men.

After sauna, everyone consumed large amounts of alcohol, sausage, and potato salad while dancing to bad Euro trash tunes. I learned the hard way that this was Estonian midsummer.

Stymied once again, I put my hand into my pocket and fingered a packet of folded white paper into which the ring was tucked.

Time was running out, but I was undeterred. One of the naked men had raved about a road trip to the very north of Finland. This gave me an idea.

“Hey Aud,” I said. “How about we take a drive to the Arctic Circle?”

You must have determination.

I had determination.

I also had a flight back to San Francisco in four days.

Plan C: Above the Arctic Circle

The following morning, hangovers be damned, we hit the road. We caught the ferry in the wee hours to the Estonian mainland back to the port in Tallinn, and hopped another ferry to Helsinki. At that point, we were roughly 800 or so miles from some unnamed destination on the shores of the Arctic Sea.

Oulu, Finland. If Finland has the last bastion of civilization before Lapland, it’s Oulu. On this midsummer night, it was engulfed in drunk Finns celebrating at our hotel disco. The door would open, belch cigarette smoke and spit out a Finn or two who'd consumed too much vodka.

I didn’t get a chance to party. I picked up a flu, felt feverish, began hallucinating, and swooned like I was going to pass out.

Maybe this whole proposal thing wasn't a good idea after all.

The next morning, a miracle. The fog of death hanging over me cleared. I was ready to go. Unfortunately, our car wasn’t. As I opened the trunk, I noticed the right rear tire: flat as a pancake.

Fortunately, the spare was a real tire instead of a donut. I jacked up the car, removed the flat, replaced it with the spare, and said to myself, “We are headed nowhere and we have no spare. We are in deep shit.”

Did I mention that we were driving an old Ford Escort?

As we continued north, our path began to fill with reindeer (they are slow to move), and starving mosquitos (extraordinarily fast). The road seemed never-ending.

Sure enough, as we closed in on the top of the earth, we stopped for a break only to find out that the right front tire had also begun to go flat.

Is this a sign?

We’d rationalized that at the rate of tire deflation, we could make it to civilization somewhere in northern Norway. We’d have to. We were plunk in the middle of nowhere and of the few gas stations that existed, only clerks were on duty. Everyone else was recovering.

We crossed the Arctic Circle, passing Rovaniemi, the purported home of Santa Claus. (I was always under the impression that Santa lived AT the North Pole, not NEAR the North Pole, but that’s for another discussion.)

“Let’s keep driving until we reach the Arctic Sea,” I suggested. Just above the Arctic Circle would not be sufficiently dramatic. Audrey was game; she didn’t suspect a thing. So we pressed on.

Then, a third tire began to go flat. It was clearly time to stop. We found Skibotn, a small village with an auto repair shop. The mechanics were so amused by us — crazy Americans driving a puny car in the middle of northern Norway en route to the Arctic Sea — that they plugged all our tires for free.

Every cent we saved on the tire repair was paid to an extortionately expensive guesthouse and for the world’s most expensive fish sandwich.

But we were alive, and so were our tires.

We took a walk along a nearby fjord shoreline and marveled at the sunset. It was 2:00 A.M.

My luck was going to change. I could feel it. Sort of.

One Last Chance: Are You Serious?

The following morning, I surveyed our map and noticed the Arctic Sea was quite a bit further than I expected. This trip is going to kill me. I had to be back in Tallinn in two days for a flight. Maybe we could just return to the home of Santa Claus and wrap this thing up?

I imagined the scene of proposing to Audrey at the home of Santa Claus.

Nope. To the Arctic Sea, it is.

I just drove and drove. I didn’t really know where I was going. One of the tires had begun to go flat again. I used this as pretext to stop at every station and ask, “Can you tell me where I can find the Arctic Sea?”

Who says men don’t ask for directions?

Eventually, the sea, and a clear line of sight across the water. A cute fishing village named Grotfjord. Of all the beauty we’d consumed, this was the place. On the map, the body of water read Norwegian Sea, but honestly I didn’t care. I would always refer to this moment as having taken place on the Arctic Sea.

I might even throw in a few polar bears in the next telling of the story.

Stop stalling! It’s now or never.

Audrey and I walked out onto a rock jetty. I shook like a schoolboy. Thankfully, Audrey busied herself with a sea urchin shell as I fumbled with the ring in my pocket, a $5 silver stand-in that I’d purchased at a San Francisco street fair.

I bent down, pretending to find something amidst the rocks and unfolded the fingers of my right hand, “Look what I found.”

Then, the ring fell in the water.

OK, I'm just kidding about that last part.

“Oh,” Audrey said. “What is it?”

“It’s the ring I’m going to ask you to marry me with.”

Audrey: “Are you serious?”

Hmmm. I was the one who was supposed to be asking the questions. I mean, here we are at the ends of the earth.

“Um, yes, I’m serious.” (I was also as white as a sheet and still shaking, I’m sure.)

Amidst the rocks, I got down on one knee, ring in hand: “Do you think you can find it in your heart to spend the rest of your life with me?”

A woefully long silence, which in fact was only a second or two.

“Yes.”

A Few Lessons

After I began breathing again, I came to: “Wait! I can’t believe you asked me if I was serious!”

Audrey had a point. “It would have been a long ride back if you weren’t. You would have teased me the whole time.“

True, I was a joker and this was the payback. To pepper the story with some more credibility, I pulled out the photo of the real diamond ring.

We high-tailed it out of Grotfjord, back through Tromso, rewound our trip — the same reindeer, the same long roads, the same slowly deflating tires, the same light unbending. Mosquito carcasses piled up by the pound on the car windshield and grille.

Back in Tallinn, we inflated the tires (the spare, too!) one last time and returned the car to the rental car counter.

“How was everything?”

“Great!”

We were engaged. And that’s all that mattered.

—-

Happy Valentine’s Day!!

When have your “perfect plans” gone completely awry?

The post I Drove to the Ends of the Earth (A Marriage Proposal) appeared first on Uncornered Market.

The Baltics. Reminiscent of a bargain property on the original Monopoly board; not to be confused with the powder keg Balkans; a region whose history features intermittent eras of independence and occupation; and a place whose emotional pendulum swings between the almost white nights of its brief summers and the steel wool grayness of its long winters.

Home to over seven million people and three distinct languages and cultures, the Baltic region comprises the countries of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania.

Now, a virtual show of hands: who knows where the Baltics are?

A Place of Dreams
Not so long ago, the Baltic republics were the stuff of dreams for citizens of the former Soviet Union. A quote from Zhanar, a woman who grew up in the former Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic, tells it best:

For the Soviet people living behind the Iron curtain the Baltic republics were a piece of the West  – the prohibited fruit. They seemed to the rest of Soviet Republics as very Western, perhaps, because they became part of the USSR as last, right before World War II. That is why every Soviet citizen strived to visit those three republics at least once in their lives in order to taste Western culture. To go abroad was a dream, not everyone was allowed to see the real West. People there were different, they talked with a very strong Western accent and that added to the feeling that you are abroad.  Culture was different.  People were more polite and the service in the restaurants was much better.  Architecture was very Western: Catholic churches, tiled roofs, narrow cobblestones streets, traditional rooster-shaped weather vanes: all those were amazing for us that time!  It was completely different from other parts of the Soviet Union.

Today, the Baltics are open to everyone.

Our Recent Return to the Baltics

Our visit to the region this autumn offered us another fresh look while unleashing memories from the deep store of ten years hence. In those salad days, Audrey lived and worked in Estonia on a 27-month stint in the Peace Corps. Dan planted his first European footstep on the airport tarmac in Tallinn, Estonia's capital, and quickly acquainted himself with tales of the Singing Revolution while traveling along the Via Baltica aboard wheezing Soviet relics.

With all this in mind, we offer our visual slice – a little bit then, a little more now – of the Baltics.

Enjoy our photo collections from Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania.

Estonia

Tallinn

Before we backpacked around Europe in 2000, I got my hands on a used copy of Rick Steves' “Europe Through the Back Door.” (If you are inclined to do so, don't hold it against me. I was young and impressionable; it was the only English language travel book available.)

Estonia's capital city, Tallinn, was described as having “a frosted cake feel.” Sure, the old town is small, cute, medieval and full of cobblestones, but Tallinn is more than just a pretty dessert.

But maybe I'm biased.

The winding, cobblestone streets of Tallinn hearken back to the medieval days of the Teutonic Knights and the Hanseatic League. Tallinn's well-preserved city wall and towers hint at the city's persistent need to protect itself from invaders over the centuries.

On a personal note for me, Tallinn was the place I retreated to on weekends during my Peace Corps service in Estonia (1998-2000). Back then, in comparison to my site-cum-hometown of 3,000 people, Tallinn felt like the big city. It was the sort of place where I could buy something other than iceberg lettuce. On my Peace Corps salary, I could even occasionally afford a meal of vegetarian Indian cuisine or ketchup-less pizza.

Typical of the post-Soviet hangover, restaurant service was surly, too. One of the games we Peace Corps volunteers always played: “Get the waitstaff to smile.”

If our charm failed, we had a secret weapon in my friend Amy. She made origami swans and sculpted various other creatures out of napkins. Even the surliest of matrons couldn't help but break a smile when their table was swamped in paper animals.

Old Town Tallinn has seen its share of changes: an endless stream of brightly-hued paint and countless renovation projects since the country's independence in the early 1990s — some more heavy-handed than others — have spruced things up from Soviet gray. Each time we've returned (in 2004 and 2008), the physical changes have been striking. So has the mood, ever more Scandinavian than anything else. Cafes and good coffee are no longer an anomaly, ketchup rarely seeps onto the pizza, and you'll likely get a smile and some English spoken at restaurants.

Women dressed in period costumes outside old town restaurants like Olde Hansa take this medieval charm to the edge, but draw one step back. Tallinn teeters on the edge of the frosted cake, but somehow maintains its spirit. Like any city that makes good on peddling its history, the trick is to get lost and create your own story from the cobblestones and ramparts. So next time you find yourself there, surprise someone with “Tere! Kuidas laheb?” (Hello! How are you?) and a smile. This will help you peel away the veneer and experience some of the real Estonian spirit yourself.

Along the way, you'll discover a café or gallery worth a taste; perhaps you'll sense that Tallinn is Scandinavian in its trajectory and uniquely Baltic in its charm.

Outside the old town, you'll find tiny wooden churches and turn-of-the century buildings competing for space with shiny glass skyscrapers. This is modern Tallinn, the birthplace of Skype and home to free wifi internet.

Explore the Estonian Countryside

Estonia is small, making it easy to sample bits of its culture across the country, even during a short visit.

Take in the laid-back, yet spirited, university town of Tartu or experience island life on Saaremaa. Luxuriate in spa treatments and mud baths in Haapsalu or take a dip in the Baltic Sea at Pärnu. For something more green, consider a hike in Lahemaa (and a dip in the Gulf of Finland) or take a taste of typical Estonian small-town life in a village like Märjamaa (where Audrey lived for two years).

More photos from Estonia

Latvia

My first visit to Riga, Latvia was in 1997; it was my initial stop in the Baltics en route to my Peace Corps stint in Estonia. The city was still very much in the early stages of transition from its Soviet past.  My memories:  dark buildings, a gray pall.

No longer. Riga has undergone a face lift in the last decades. Today's Riga stands in stark contrast to those early days as it shows off the range of its reconstructed and eclectic architectural stock – lanes lined with refurbished churches, restored medieval buildings and hip restaurants and cafes. During our last visit in 2008, we were struck not only by the polished and colorful buildings in Riga's downtown, but more importantly by the city's architectural diversity.

Riga's architecture serves up hints of its former glory as an important commercial center and influential Baltic seaport. If you look closely enough, you'll find a sea of architectural styles from medieval Gothic to Art Nouveau. The city is a bit of a Northern European architectural smorgasbord: a little bit Modern, a little bit Gothic, a bit of Copenhagen here, a bit of Stockholm there.

The dominant, colorful building above — The House of the Blackheads – was destroyed in World War II and rebuilt in the mid-1990s. Perhaps appropriately, the blocky cement building — a throwback to the Soviet era — is now the Museum of Occupation.

So many layers, so much history.

And while it's easy to get stuck in Riga's old town center, venture out to discover the architectural melange in the surrounding neighborhoods.

More photos from Riga, Latvia.

Lithuania

During his first visit in January 1999, Dan fell in love with Vilnius, Lithuania's capital. Even in the dead of winter, the charming dilapidation of its old town evinced a certain warmth – at the time, a perfect match for black and white photography. It was full of nooks and crannies, workshops and galleries, people painting and carving — and probably wondering where, as we always do, where life would take them.

These days, Vilnius' perfectly painted churches and colorful streets are suited just as well for color photography.

Regardless of what you shoot, be sure to peek into the city's numerous courtyards, for you may just discover Vilnius' real character in the form of an unrenovated medieval horse stable or a bust of Tony Soprano.

Here's just another reason to love autumn in Vilnius. Sitting at an outdoor café to enjoy the remainder of a warm, sunny autumn day, this little one appeared, done up à la Anne Geddes.

Explore Lithuania

Make your own postcard at the picture-perfect castle in the village of Trakai near Vilnius. Grab a bike and pedal down the Curonian Spit, checking out the sand dunes and friendly wild boars. On the shore, soak up summer beach and jazz festivals in Klaipeda, before heading back inland to get to know the mafia and the Holocaust history of Ninth Fort in Kaunas.

See more photos from Vilnius and the rest of Lithuania.

The post Back to Baltics: Images of a Former Soviet Dream appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Upon our second visit to Estonia since Audrey concluded her Peace Corps stint in 2000, we wondered what we would find.

On our first day in Tallinn, Estonia's capital, we enjoyed views such as the one above. Though reconstruction and the emergence of hip cafes, restaurants and boutiques continues, Tallinn's medieval Hanseatic-style old town still feels surprisingly relaxed and does not yet appear to be over-renovated.

Later that day, we hopped on a train to Tapa, a former Soviet military airfield and training base. Guided by persistent impressions of the town as a barren military outpost, our Estonian friends wondered why we would subject ourselves to a visit there.

It just so happens that one of Audrey’s fellow Peace Corps friends, Kevin Hogan, returned to Tapa two years ago to teach English at the Tapa Gumnaasium (the local school which serves about 700 kids from 1st to 12th grades).

During our visit yesterday, we spoke to students (in 6th, 10th, 11th, and 12th grades) about our experiences traveling through Asia; we shared stories, photos and videos.

Our discussions yielded some interesting perspectives on poverty and stereotypes. “They are poor, but they look happy,” one student revealed after we played a video of people in the Cambodian countryside. This sentiment was echoed in several classes.

The 12th graders, our final class of the day, actually stayed past the bell to ask questions.

Like many of its small-town counterparts, Tapa doesn’t deserve the bad reputation that lingers in the minds of most Estonians. You can still hear gunfire at the military base these days, but it comes from the guns of Estonian NATO troops rather than Soviet ones.

Aside from this, Tapa is a typical small Estonian town whose 7000 inhabitants live in single family homes and Soviet-era block apartment buildings scattered amongst fruit trees, gardens, a Lutheran church, a Russian Orthodox church and a pizzeria named Vesuvio.

And with one-bedroom apartments renting for around $60 per month including high-speed internet and cable, we might just return one day to write our book.

Not to mention that we could enjoy fresh baked goods from this woman every day.

The post Estonia: Two Days, Two Perspectives appeared first on Uncornered Market.