Final day in Tallin. Tourism is brief as we have a 2 PM plane. We rode a tram out to Katrania (sp?) park to see the palace Peter the Great built when he owned Estonia. It is close to the ocean and supposed to be quite beautiful later in the summer. Nothing was blooming yet so we didn' get the full effect but it was still a nice park if populated by bare trees. The old palace is now Estonia' foreign art museum. The kids observations were from Sophia "Baby Jesus"about a million times. Her 'baby'is pronounced babay which makes it hilarious. Jackson finally hit a tipping point and started to ask loudly and often "why everyone was naked in all the pictures and didn't they have clothes back then".
Pics from Days 4+5
Group 1
The first bunch are on a section of the old wall and towers you can climb around on
Group 2
The next bunch in and on the church are on top of St. Olaf's church. I think I mentioned last time that this is way the hell up there.
Group 3
Around Town stuff and signs we liked
Group 4
In the museum and on top of the tower housing the museum
Group 5
Around town and more signs we liked especially the sandwich board of the naked guy. I hardly think that is sanitary.
The cab driver on the way to the airport set a new record for stinkiness. He was a fat guy wearing last week's shirt under a leather vest. I think he cleans the vest once a year by letting a leporous elk piss on it. It was not possible to put the windows down far enough and I grabbed J first thing and told him not to say anything. Being 6, he still doesn't have a great concept of filtering his comments yet.
Checked in, through passport control and onto the terminal for another ride in the deathtrap to get back home. We ate French Hot Dogs from the bar. A French Hot Dog is a bun that has not been split, instead it has a hole bored through one end, the bun gets toasted, drops some mustard/ketchup/mayo etc. into the hole and finally in goes the dog/keilbasa/chorizo etc. The ergonomic design far exceeds its American counterpart and I like how it gets more mustard-y as you get toward the bottom.
Speaking of ffine French food, my buddy from college has just moved to France to go to cooking school and I am hereby calling him a lazy, drunk SOB (I think Tina already calls him that but still) if he doesn't start a post about his times there. The very concept seems to be full of humorous possibility.
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