Validation needed...

When I told Rick that I'd started a blog, he said, "blogs are for insecure people who need validation from other people... you know, people who rely on others for their happiness." Now, I'm not really sure where his logic is -- I mean, if you write out all your thoughts in an online forum for anyone and everyone to see, does it really mean you're insecure and hope some equally insecure person halfway around the world will "validate" you? I doubt it. However, I will admit that description pretty much fits me. So... please validate me. Justify my existence. Acknowledge my presence. Just, you know, basically allow me to feel as if my habitation here on this planet is not going to waste...

Okay, now that THAT'S out of the way... :) Writing about people "halfway around the world" has got me thinking about a trip I took several years ago -- a cruise in the Baltic Sea. A lot of the time, if you're on a cruise, and your itinerary takes you to a foreign country, you end up on a nicely-organized (or sometimes not-so-nicely organized) tour of your port of call, complete with air-conditioned bus and English-speaking guide. But at one of our stops -- Tallinn, Estonia -- we decided to wing it and simply walk around the city on our own. Rick and my dad and I wandered over to a church, where we met a man who will forever be known to us as Crazy Estonian Tour Guide Guy.

He was dressed in plain black slacks, a button-down shirt covered with a modest tweed jacket, and scuffed black loafers. He had a thin briefcase, which he clutched at his side with both arms, holding it against him as if it contained something precious. When we stopped to take pictures of the church, he asked us -- in heavily accented but very clear English -- if we'd like a tour of his city. There was some hesitation on our part. Was it wise, we wondered, to deviate from the travel-industry-approved recommendation of sticking with hired guides from reputable companies? Should we have hidden our cameras and wallets and worn something other than baseball caps and Gap t-shirts -- something nondescript that didn't scream "tourist"? Too late now... and besides, there was something about this man with the briefcase that was too interesting to ignore. He was charming, friendly and energetic. Perhaps it was his enthusiasm that convinced us to take him up on his offer. He was eager to show us his city – and since none of us had any idea where we were or what we were doing, who better to show us than a local?

He took off down a grassy dirt path past the church, walking quickly and glancing back every few seconds to make sure we were still following. We lined up behind him like a little band of ducklings – some kind of bizarre ducklings with backpacks and Canon Rebel EOS cameras. He led us over cobblestoned streets completely devoid of tourists, through quiet alleyways lined with apartments, over narrow and cracked concrete sidewalks – pretty much all the places we never would’ve seen had we been on our own or with a paid tour guide. At one point we came across a postcard vendor on a street corner who struck up a heated conversation with our new-found Estonian friend. Apparently she accused him of stealing all the tourists away from her business. Looking back now, I suppose I should’ve bought a postcard… although she did seem rather angry, and did I really want to buy a postcard from such an angry vendor? Then again, I WAS wandering aimlessly through Estonia with a man I'd only known for ten minutes. Buying a postcard shouldn't have seemed all that risky...

Eventually, we found ourselves at the top of a hill overlooking the city. A group of construction workers were lolling about on a break, hanging out underneath the shade of a tree. The views of the city were beautiful, and our cameras were out and at the ready. Suddenly, our guide jumped out over a stone wall onto a rickety old scaffolding, and climbed up onto the platform. He told us the views were better from that vantage point. “It’s okay,” he said, “come up!” We watched as the scaffolding swayed back and forth, seemingly on the verge of collapse. We all politely declined, and I was still able to get some great shots of the red roofs of Tallinn without leaving the safety of solid ground. I believe this was the point our friend went from just plain “tour guide” to Crazy Estonian Tour Guide Guy.

When we finished our tour and returned to the church where we started, we gave Tour Guide Guy a ten dollar bill. He thanked us profusely, and then reached into that briefcase he’d been holding onto so tightly and handed us a three-page typed memoir entitled “An Ordinary Soviet Custom.” We read it after we’d said our good-byes, and discovered our guide had been an unemployed civil engineer. His story told of living in the Soviet Union in the 80s, when he secretly listened to American radio and the BBC. He was taken from his home one night, and driven in the trunk of a car to a mental hospital, where he was held against his will for several days. Eventually he was able to escape from the hospital and ran to a friend's house, but after his ordeal he lost his job, divorced his wife, and suffered from poor health. Whether he'd been out of work for decades when we met him by the church, or simply fallen on hard times once again, I don't know. But the story was intriguing, to say the least.

Which brings me back to validation -- our guide's name, according to the memoir he'd been holding onto so closely, was Juri. And perhaps Juri simply wanted the freedom to say what he felt he needed to say. And he wanted someone to listen. He wanted what anyone wants -- validation, justification, acknowledgement. Maybe Crazy Estonian Tour Guide Guy wasn't so crazy after all.

Except for the rickety old scaffolding... that really WAS crazy. :)