Springtime in Tallinn. The sun was out, the trees were budding and the birds were back. But, it was still brisk as Viki, Villu and I toured through Old Town in late April of ‘99. To help take the chill off, we ducked into a quaint little restaurant on a side street near Town Hall Square. Starting with a bite to eat, it didn’t take long for the main course to morph into liquid form. You see, my friend Viki – half Russian, half Estonian – is 100% pro-vino.
We started with the mild stuff, peppermint schnapps. One, then two, then three. I was doing great. This was my first full day in a magical land on an adventure of a lifetime. Four, then five, then six, was it? I lost track. It didn’t matter since this was definitely one those “best day ever” kind of feelings. With the bill paid the next stop was Villu’s apartment. Right away I learned that whenever a drink was involved, transportation was always by taxi or designated driver. Interestingly, Tallinn’s taxi fleet seemed evenly split between ultra-modern Mercedes Benz and old Soviet Lada’s. What the heck, we went old-school.
I can’t recall where the apartment was located, but it didn’t seem far. Villu’s wife gave us a friendly greeting at the door followed by an introduction – Marju. The apartment was functional, one bed/one bath layout with a modest living area. Typical of a Soviet-era complex. On this night I learned certain social activities almost always occurred around a small table in the kitchen.
I got the impression Marju had seen this scenario unfold many times. Being the consummate host, she instantly organized coffee and pastries as we settled in. Soon small glasses made their way to the table along with a 2-liter plastic bottle. In the States, this might have held some form of carbonated beverage. Here, it was vodka. What followed was a grand time as many stories of our November tour were relived producing escalating layers of laughter. I’m almost certain my Estonian improved immensely as the night went on. Viki and Villu’s English certainly did.
One story Viki loves to tell, to this day, concerns my alleged membership in the Church of Latter-day Saints. This was a case of adding 1 + 1 + 1 and, inexplicably, coming up with Mormon. Let me explain.
Our November tour started in Salt Lake City which, evidently, everyone knows is the world headquarters for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Mormons for short. I met the team at the SLC airport and even though it was soon apparent I had travelled in from Alaska, for some reason the SLC connection stuck with Viki.
A second authenticating factor was my style of dress. Throughout my five tours – from 1996 to 2000 – I made it a habit to wear nice shoes, pants, shirt and tie to each game. Dressing for success was a daily habit in my banking career, so it was standard practice for the basketball tours as well. But, for Viki, it represented another important clue as everyone knows Mormons are very careful about their appearance.
The final piece of the puzzle, and possibly most telling, was the fact that I would politely yet firmly refuse all offers to participate in the enjoyment of alcoholic beverages. After each game, it was customary to organize a spread of food. Of course, this always involved a “little” drink as well, usually vodka. Refusal of such a normal offer, no matter how diplomatic, apparently cast me in a dubious light.
In my defense, I will explain.
As tour leader it was my responsibility to make sure everything went according to schedule. Often, we spent only a single night in a particular hotel before driving the next day, maybe hundreds of miles, to get to the next game site. So, it was my routine to study the route to the hotel and arena and organize a plan. Being late fall, it was common to be on the road after sundown. So, it was important to know the particulars. Of course, it’s much simpler now with navigation provided via iPhone and earbuds. Anyway, it was important to stay focused on the task at hand. Therefore, I usually completed my planning, watched a little TV, then turned out the lights early.
So, it was a combination of circumstantial evidence that led Viki to believe his lively group of Estonians was being guided by a straight-and-narrow member of the Mormon church, not that there would have been anything wrong with that. It’s just a lifestyle Viki would have found difficult to appreciate.
Towards the end of our tour we had a couple days to relax with no travel scheduled. So, instead of respectfully declining the gracious invitation as I always did, I surprised everyone by accepting. This is the night I was introduced to a unique liqueur known as “Vana Tallinn” – literally, Old Tallinn. Developed in 1960, it consists of Jamaican rum and a special mix of herbs, spices oranges and lemons – all providing a tasty kick after a three-count. So, on this evening, I was certainly not a Latter-day Saint.
Fast forward five months to that second night in Tallinn, Viki delighted in telling the story of how the Estonians went on tour with a Mormon. I enjoyed telling the story of how I came to know Vana Tallinn. And Marju was a saint for putting up with our raucous stories.
As the clock in her kitchen rolled past midnight, there came a point when I lost all track of time and events. However, I do vividly recall waking up with two paramedics hovering over me. Through blurred vision it appeared they were preparing a needle which I suddenly, now wide-eyed, realized was intended for me. I didn’t care how bad I felt, I wasn’t having any of it. Evidently, the fight I put up managed to convince the EMTs I was sufficiently conscious, if not completely sober.
So, on that second night in Tallinn I learned two important things: (1) My good friend Viki is a professional; (2) I am not. There have been one or two occasions since then when I wished I had not “enjoyed” the prior evening quite so much. But, nothing compared to that second night. While it was a hard lesson to learn, I’ve always kept it mind. Mormon or not, I’m an amateur when it comes to alcohol!
