A LOAD OF BALTICS

September 1st

My first morning in Estonia had myself and Courto - fellow Eesti-virgin and Dublin bowsie - braved the Tallinn streets all on our own. Butterfly wasn’t sure she could trust us, which was of course a ridiculous notion. So, after a few visits to some discount brothels, we met up with Butterfly in a trendy café called the ‘Kompressor’. I managed to ‘kompress’ most of my delicious pancakes and a divine Russian soup called Seljanka, and with a filled belly I made my way around medieval Tallinn. I visited the oldest pharmacy in Europe, but sadly, they were out of eye-of-newt. When I emitted a cheeky fart, they tried to apply some anal leeches, but I wasn’t having any of it. Surprisingly, however, the elixir of life was going for only a few Estonian Kroons, which was handy.
Butterfly brought us then to St. Nicholas’ Church, yet it was blatantly false advertising. There was no jolly red-suited man with a paedophilic grin and a sack full of goodies. I was expecting a grotto or something but there wasn’t a candy-cane or even an elf in sight. Nothing; not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The rest of the day we wandered around absorbing the sights, Butterfly revealing an expansive knowledge of her city that would put a tourist guide to shame. She invited us to wander into any shop we wished, as long as I didn’t talk to any Russian women (any other nationality was okay, I think). We followed the narrow cobbled streets to the Old Hanse restaurant, a real gem of a place decked out in medieval décor, serving medieval food in a medieval style. I was in my element – especially after a few honey beers and sweet wines. We met Kristi there, another good Estonian chum I met in Dublin. Afterwards she took us to a ‘chocolaterie’, and after a cupan tae, we went for a wee bit more booze in something called the “Wally-Bar” or something like that. When the name was mentioned, a sardonic smile spread across Kristi’s face, an expression not that dissimilar to a Dublin reaction to “Let’s go to Dr. Quirky’s!” (or should that be “Qworrrrrkeeeees!”). So, I wasn’t convinced. Still, a pint’s a pint, and a drinking-hole’s a hole, and soon that warm fuzzy feeling came over me, happy in the knowledge that my Eesti- hymen had been breached, with almost no pain at all. Butterfly wasn’t content with the lack of pain I had endured, so afterwards I had a quick, night-capping street-fight with her, where I quite literally kicked her arse. E. Honda eat your baltics off.


E.Honda: Even Butterfly could kick his arse