The hotel sits on top of a small, snow covered hill, just a short walk from the Estonian National Museum where the film program will be taking place. It is now after midnight. Someone helps to haul my luggage to the hotel door. There are lights inside but a huge chain is looped through the door handle from the inside. A moment of panic. I immediately thought of fire department regulations and how in the US this would be illegal. As if on cue, a heavy set, middle-aged woman appears, unlocks the chain (almost apologetically - as though she realized this does not make a good impression). She knows who I am, speaks halting English. A reservation was made for me by the festival people. I'm to pay with my credit card. I'll be reimbursed later.
The small lobby is clean and spare. I glance to my right and see a small dining room with six round tables covered with yellow cloths. The woman tells me breakfast is served till 9:30. There is no elevator. My room is on the 3rd floor. My one suitcase is very heavy as I had to pack for both winter in Estonia and early spring in Paris. The woman says to leave it, she will have a man bring it up to my room. She hands me a key. It is a real key, metal, no digital plastic here yet. A large wooden dowel hangs from the end. I wearily turn to face the stairs. They are very wide. A cheap, thin but clean carpet covers them. Framed photos of snowy landscapes march up the walls.
My room is a good size, double bed, bath is completely tiled with a drain in the middle of the floor, the entire room is a shower, a small sink attached to the wall, toilet in the corner. I'm surprised to see a TV and remote on a desk under the window. There's a chair, several lamps, and clean drapes. Much better than the last miserable hell hole of an hotel I stayed in in New York City. There's a knock, it's a friendly guy with my luggage. I fumble for my purse. I only have Euros - he shakes his head no, smiles and leaves.
It is suddenly dead quiet. I walk over to the large window - the sill is at least 18" wide, the walls are thick. The window has a latch. I open it wide and breathe deep. The crisp night air seems so fresh it's almost sweet. The full moon outlines webs of shadows cast on the snow by the trees below. I see some buildings a ways off, but I can't tell exactly their form or structure. Estonia, I like the way it sounds as I form the word in my mind. Again I think of Breugel, but I'm calm, relaxed. I am here. So is my luggage. The room is very warm. A far cry from the Soviet days, a little more than 10 years ago when there was no heat and everyone had to wear heavy clothes inside and out. It's warm enough to sleep naked under the sheet and blanket. My head hits the pillow and I'm already looking forward to tomorrow.
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On another note, I just read your comment regarding Beryl's book signing in Boston. I hope to be there, at the Harvard Coop too. Maybe we could time our visit and "do coffee" or something??