Every 5 years starting in 1965 my father’s mother’s family has held a reunion on the old farmstead located in the west end of the Estonian province of Saaremaa. ‘Saaremaa’ translated means land of the island and that is what it is.

This was my second family reunion and my son Martin had decided on his own volition to come as well. He had recently moved to Geneva and was working for the International Red Cross. In order to get to Estonia he had to go through Amsterdam.

I had arrived in Tallinn late the night before from London, rented a small car. In the morning I had received a message from Martin that his plane would be few hours late. This didn’t overly concern me at the time because I estimated that we would still have lots of time to drive down to the terminal at Virtsu to catch a ferry that would take us to the island.

After getting lost a couple of times trying to get to the airport from the car rental agency downtown I had finally managed to arrive at the airport parking lot. The street signs in Tallinn are small and not where you expect them to be. It didn’t help that my map was so old that it referred to “Leningrad Road”. On one occasion I had stopped to ask for directions only to realize that the “babushka” in the kiosk spoke neither English nor Estonian. Fortunately Tallinn is such a small city that you can’t stay lost for long and traffic at that time of day was light.

I got bored sitting around the tiny airport so I decided to check on my son’s progress at the KLM flight desk. The polite young lady there said that my son would be coming through Stockholm on Estonian Air and that the flight would arrive about 21:30. This concerned me somewhat as the ferries stopped running at midnight and I couldn’t remember how long it took to drive from Tallinn to Virtsu. Some local people at the next table told me that I could easily make it to the ferry dock in about 2 hours barring any serious traffic tie-ups. It was a Thursday so this was unlikely to happen. I then bought some maps at the airport shop.

Fortunately, the woman on the KLM desk had been wrong and my son arrived at 18:30 from Frankfurt on Estonian Air somewhat wobbly. It turned out that they had bumped him up to business class and he had not turned down the various complimentary beverages offered. Still, he was a bit miffed that the gorgeous stewardess had been assigned to the plebeians at the back and the few high priced seats got a steward. He wondered though half seriously if it was customary in Estonia for women to be usually given the heavy end to carry. I thought that they probably took turns in the different class sections, but you never know.

I had been looking forward to having my son drive or at least act as my navigator. Driving was out of the question and I noticed that he was holding the map upside down, all the while talking rapidly about everything that had happened to him in the last month. Driving a very different car in a strange city and looking at signs in a language rusty from disuse while half listening to my son’s recital was somewhat nerve-wracking.

Fortunately, I was able to follow the road markers that indicated we were on the right road leading to Pärnu. Once we hit the open road it was clear sailing and the little Opel surprised me how well it held the road once it got up to speed. By the time we hit the turn off for Virtsu harbor my son’s head had cleared up considerablely and he was more or less able to navigate.

When we got to the ferry dock I was relieved to see that there was almost no lineup and the big ferry “Regula” was loading. “Great!” I thought as the car ahead of me was waved on. However, my elation didn’t last long as I realized that was it and we were left sitting there. An hour later we were almost the first car to get on the ferry. It was just as well to get the break and be able to concentrate fully on all the news my son had to tell me.

We got to Kuresaare just before midnight. I had packed the map of where the Mardi Guesthouse was located in my bag but it wasn’t easily accessible so we stopped at the town square which was crowed with people having a good time at the outdoor cafes. Two nice young women at the first table I came to drew me a map and it turned out we were only a couple of hundred meters away from our hotel.

Mardi Guesthouse is operated by “Ametikool” which is the local community college. The place is well worn but clean. It seems to be in the process of renovation. The administrators were friendly middle aged people that spoke very good English. The students, mainly very young women that I could see, were all very polite but extremely serious. The breakfasts were great with lots of selection and everything was fresh.

Our relatives called early in the morning and they had been somewhat concerned because we had not checked into the hotel early the night before as expected. We made arrangements to meet them for lunch.

Things in Estonia have changed to the point that people are now going out to eat. Our relatives took us to the newest hotel in town - the Georg Ots Spa Hotel - for a very nice lunch. This upscale place leaves nothing to be desired and my son joked as we went past the swimming pool, complete with its eye-catching attractions, that perhaps we should have stayed there. I reminded him that the price was at least four times higher and that he had gotten too used to traveling on his employer’s pocketbook and staying in five star hotels. My son agreed that Mardi Guesthouse was adequate and more interesting than the big hotel which was away from the night time local action in town hall square.

Saturday was the big day and our relatives showed up in a convoy of three cars to escort us to the Lümanda cemetery and then on to Nigu farm. I probably could have found it on my own but this way we were sure to be on time.

After an hour or so tidying up the gravesites we headed off to the old homestead. When we got there the parking lot was full of fairly new western cars including some quite new high end autos. Almost 140 people were in the yard as we hoisted the blue, black and white Estonian flag. Each of the 7 branches of the family nominated someone to stand beside the flagpole and I was honoured to be asked to represent ours.

After the opening speeches which included a moment of silence for those that had died in the last 5 years we sat down to a communal lunch. The weather had looked threatening so everything was set up inside. Lunch consisted of a very nice soup and everyone had brought something so it turned out to be a great “pot luck” meal. My son had brought a big bag of Swiss chocolates which disappeared fairly quickly.

After the meal it was time for all sorts of games that took up most of the afternoon. I didn’t participate because I was busy talking to the owner of the farm who had known my father quite well. One of the more interesting stories was how some men had left for Sweden in a small boat in late 1944 and left their automobile at the shore. He and his friend had a great time taking it apart and on a couple of occasions when they couldn’t agree on a particular division of spoils, had sawed the part in half.

After the events at Nigu farm had concluded my grandmother’s branch of the family drove out to her old farm which had been claimed by my one of my aunt’s daughters. As was customary during Soviet times, the house was demolished when she moved to the city and over the years the forest had started to reclaim the site.

Later that evening we had a meal at one of the more upscale restaurants in Kuresaare. Martin ordered boar which turned out to be tough and I had a great chicken dish. I went to bed early and my son wandered off in search of the “Punane Bar” which he remembered from his first trip. He must have found it because he got home after 2 in the morning. When I mentioned that to the administrator the next day she laughed and said her son got home after 3 which was considered normal in those parts. Any later than that and the kids are expected to phone their parents and let them know everything was ok.

Sunday afternoon was return to Tallinn day and we caught the ferry despite being in a lineup that must have been a kilometer long. We stopped at the small village of Lihula for a great meal and wandered around looking at the ruins of an Old Russian Orthodox church. Unfortunately it was too late to tour the old fortress ruins there.

The rest of the trip was uneventful and we arrived at our guesthouse around midnight.

Märkmed: