WE USED TO BE, by some metric, people. Or individuals. Or whatever term we once used to refer back to ourselves. These days though, we are increasingly droids, profile images, blocks of text, focused on achievement and efficiency. We all partake, we all want to work. We need money. We do it. Yet at some point there is the great crossover, where you leave your body and soul behind. The internet of things shapes all things, rewires, reframes, recomputes. You are no longer you exactly. We once took photos to see how they might come out. Or to commemorate a family event. Now we even go places to take photos so that we have something new to share on social media. Things are crooked, ühesõnaga, in a word. Things are not as they should be, or at least there is that lingering feeling of 0s and 1s, of digital fuzz, detached, divorced from blood and biology. A weird dream last night, a big sea, and lots of people, circumstances. Nothing I can recall now, many hours after waking. No sex though this time. Hate to disappoint.

YNOFB, why no Facebook? It is rotting my brain, seriously, and I just can’t even stand to look at it anymore. I have become like that writer in Bag of Bones who gets physically ill each time he stares at a computer monitor. And so I yanked the plug and set my self free. Account deactivated. Gone! What is interesting is how married people are to it, and how they come out of the woodwork to try and drag you back in. It’s puzzling for them, that someone might not do what they do. I don’t know. I’m just not feeling it anymore. Will I be back? Probably. But not happily.

I MET JAAK JOHANSON few times, and several times during Viljandi Folk. I recorded some notes while I was working on a chapter for My Viljandi about the festival. These are from July 2019. // I was seated at a table when he just happened to appear across from me. “But Jaak. You’re so much older than me, but you look so young,” I said. “How do you do it?” “Simple,” he answered. “I breathe very slowly.” Jaak’s people are from Viljandi area. He has deep roots in the soil here, but they were actually gypsy traders. “They came here with the Swedish king in the 1700s,” he says. “And they liked it so much that they stayed behind!” One can see why they liked it. Behind his brushy bush of dark hair, one can see the light on the rooftops from that almost Islamic crescent of moon in a light blue night sky, crossed with the spire of St. John’s Church. Later, during a concert on Kaevumägi, Johanson comes out on stage with a bag over his head. It turns out that he is the guest of honor. // In memory of Jaak Johanson (1959-2021).

SITTING AROUND watching winter sport on TV the other day, I couldn’t help but be captivated by the skiers, and especially the women cross country skiers, and especially the youthful one from Sweden with the gems of eyes and tuffs of hair (and freckles and charisma). What a striking beauty. You know, when she reaches the finish line, pulls off the hat, sweat all over, glistens in the sun. It’s like the raw sugar juice off a maple. Then I thought, there are so many other women in this world. Not just the ones across the street, or the ones down the lane, or the ones up around the bend. There are so many of them, and they are all so different, and they are all so interesting. I redoubled my own efforts to ski cross country in the meantime, because I was never instructed as to how. At the ski shop, I learned my own were the wrong length. I had almost no idea what I was doing, but have done it anyhow. I had them waxed. It was time to become more real about it. I probably owe a small part of that edge over the edge to seeing others devote themselves. A lot of clarity comes from rote physical exertion. It burns off the worries, thoughts, trauma. There is peace in it. The peace of the winter. I am grateful to her now that I think of it. I’m grateful to that svensk athlete. She gave me a piece of my life back.

I’VE BEEN DOWN SO MANY of these streets before, though it’s easy to get lost back here in this new part of town. Light falling snow drifts down in thick wet white chunks at 1 in the morning on a Monday, officially, the start of the work week. A world or life of excommunication in a cold place that doesn’t even know the meaning of the word. Snow drifting, snow wind rustling the house lights, some Christmas lights still up, lanterns on the street corners, lanterns in the windows, all covered in wind, night, and snow. So quiet in the black of the winter, so silent, not even dogs barking. Just nothing, just deathly silence, the silence of the windows, the silence of the people you thought were your friends. When she moved here, she did something wrong, and when she did something wrong, her friends dropped her. They refuse to even speak to her, and everything she did to unwrong her wrong only made it wronger, trapped like an animal. There must be another way forward than this kind of village small-town hell-bound mindset. What you did. What you said. How you said it. How you did it. That thing you said, that thing you did, that way in which you did and said it. Village codes violated, a grotesque breaching of all normal customs, a disgrace. Nightmare lanes. Walking and walking. The harrowing voices ringing like swampland birds of prey. “It’s not normal. It’s just not normal.” The Christians killed pagans, burned witches, pressed men to death, severed heads, hands, alighted political enemies at the stake, and sent many thousands to die in pointless wars in the Holy Land. They were a violent rueful lot. The pagans did mostly the same. But if there is any base, põhi, grounding of empathy, altruism, charity, goodwill, humility, it can’t be found here. This is the land of E, E is for ego. That thing you said. That thing you did. That way you did it. A turn of the corner. All still silent and peaceful. The public is sleeping in its beds. The snow is still drifting. There shall be peace in town again, at least until daybreak.

“Well, I think Presley, he got a whole thing going. I’m not very interested in Elvis Presley. He made some very good records early on, when he was still interested in his profession. But he lost interest in his career a long time ago. It’s a very impersonal sort of thing. Presley’s records are very impersonal and he has no feeling behind them. I wouldn’t bother to listen to Elvis Presley these days. I just wouldn’t bother. As far as I’m concerned, he’s of no importance in the pop music world whatsoever.”

— Rolling Stones’ guitarist Brian Jones on Swedish National Radio, 1 April 1965

ARGUING WITH SOME STRANGERS about when exactly Russia slipped into illiberalism, when was it, was it with the tanks sent against parliament (’93), or when Yeltsin danced on stage and defeated what’s his name, that revanchist Communist (’96), or that strange day when some unassuming weasel named Putin was appointed president while everyone was waiting for Y2K to melt reality as we knew it? Lurking in the corners, the cartoon villain, ready to spring forth. Maybe it never was free to begin with? Stanley Tucci was there too, visiting other actors at Ugala Theatre in Viljandi. He wished them all a successful hooaeg or season. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” Later, he enjoyed some apple-marzipan truffles at the Green House Café, my treat. Quite tasty, he agreed.

ODDBALL GOOFBALL REVERIES of her, the Azteca of Tenochtitlan, the seductress of the Mission District. Dark hair, soft eyes, pretty fingers. This time she is dressed up in her vibrant striped cartoon dress, and after a concert we roam the twilight of the castle ruins hand in hand until we fall and make love, full love, in the thin grass of Käevumägi, the Well Hill. A sweet, sticky kind of love, with clothing half on and off, and there are tourists taking photos, but we don’t care, because it’s too much fun. Then she sits up abruptly and recalls her boyfriend in Tallinn, whom she seemed to have forgotten, but then dive backs into the warmth, into the reverie because, well, what else can you do when the connection is so lively and good? So warm, so hot, so small she was in this dream. Whatever it means, whatever gateway it opened, into whatever mystery it leads, I shall so happily follow her. She by now is my archangel, my peaingel. My põhjatäht, my north star.

Many associate Viljandi with the Folk Music Festival and the Green House Café. What is your Viljandi?

Viljandi is like an old pair of pants. It’s very comfortable. I can leave my home in the morning and get a cup of coffee without worrying about how I look. Viljandi is like a big family. We are all relatives and close friends, so I don’t need to worry about what people think about me. Certainly, there are other places that influence me deeply, but even where I grew up, I didn’t have that kind of feeling. New York isn’t the kind of place where you can walk around and feel that it belongs to you.

What makes Viljandi different from other Estonian towns?

I always feel relieved when I come into Viljandi. Tartu and Tallinn are known for their urban anonymity. People enjoy and look for that anonymity, because they are tired of village life, where everyone knows everything about you. They would prefer that nobody knows anything about them. People are more closed. Viljandi is the kind of place that accepts all the refugees from Tallinn. People who are tired of urban life and are looking for a comfortable oasis in South Estonia.

Doesn’t this Viljandi oasis ever get boring though?

It depends on where you are in life. I am 41 and I live with my 13-year-old daughter. Actually, there is even too much to do in Viljandi. There is always some concert or exhibition, your friends invite you out. This can be tiring, and I don’t have the time for it.

What led you to move back to Viljandi four years ago?

I had hit bottom. Viljandi seemed like a safe place to start over again. I thought about moving to Tallinn, but this seemed too expensive. It seemed like a huge headache. I moved to a place where rent was cheap, and there is a café with free wifi and good coffee. I needed to be in a safe place surrounded by supportive people.

Are you now a happier person?

Definitely. More stable as well. For Estonians, it seems that relationships and having children are a natural phenomenon. People meet, they like each other, and somehow children show up. Like apples or pears tumble from tree branches. Then, at some moment, the love is lost and they separate. People take this so peacefully in this society. I am influenced by a stricter Southern Italian culture, where a person’s personal happiness doesn’t count so much. It is more important to be loyal to your family. There is a stricter family system.

How did life change for you after your divorce?

When everything fell apart, it created for me a serious existential crisis. I lost my sense of purpose and direction. I was programmed to be a family man, and suddenly I had to live in this Nordic chaos, where everyone basically does what they want to? I had seen how others had lived this way, but I didn’t know how to do it myself. I really struggled with the local culture, and I didn’t understand how people here think or see the world. So I learn each day and things have gotten better. I can’t say that I see the world the same way that Estonians do, but I have adapted, and made some changes in my identity.

In the book, different muses played important roles: the Designer, Miss Cloud, and the Tigress. Do you still believe that you really loved them?

People talk about love all the time. For me, they were more like spirits than muses. They got inside of me and reached me deeply. Usually, people are more distant or neutral, but they went straight to my subconscious and stayed there. It was actually pretty terrifying. A person who is conscious makes decisions for himself. He thinks that his life is under control. But the subconscious has its own mind, its own wishes, and leads you in other directions. So I cannot say if they were loves, but certainly great influences in my subconscious. I put them in the book, because each one reflects different aspects of my life.

More along those lines, the Designer …

In the book, there was the metaphor of the dog and the squirrel. The dog knows that there is a glass window between him and the squirrel, but still he runs and hits his head against the glass. He tries to catch the squirrel, even when he understands that it isn’t possible. This is his instinct. I wanted to show what goes on in the heads of men when they start to chase after women. All the stupid and clumsy things they do. And then they are disappointed, when the woman doesn’t reciprocate interest. My own experience is that the heart is like real estate. When one person leaves, another arrives to take her place. The room is never empty. Sometimes even several people want to move in at the same time.

The Tigress was very young, just 20 years old.

I had always criticized men who take up with younger women. It seemed disgusting. Then I saw how it happens. You go to a café, you meet a woman, you start to talk. You don’t know at first how old she is. That happens later. What do you do? Do you take her to be a child or speak to her as an adult? Pure comedy! And I wound up in the same situation as other divorced men, who wind up talking to women half their age. What a cliché!

What do these interests have in common?

I have typically chosen unstable women. Women who don’t know what they want in life, or where they will sleep tomorrow.

What has helped you find peace at heart and self-love?

Routine and writing help me a lot. I have projects, objectives, and deadlines. At the start, I didn’t. I don’t know what self-love is, but these give structure to my life and keep me grounded. What does self-love even mean? I know who I am and this helps me.

Do you have someone new in your life?

I am not looking for love. Women blow through my life like hurricane winds and it can be tough. If I tried to hold onto them, they would be like pretty birds trapped in a cage. I don’t want that. A person isn’t attractive anymore when their life is stagnant. Relationships turn into prisons. People start to belong to each other and this can be destructive. That set up seems risky to me at the moment. I was married for about 14 years. It was a long, interesting, and intense experience. It’s as if I just got off a rollercoaster. Usually you don’t want to get back on. Some want to, but not me. My head is still spinning. I’m still a bit nauseous. Better to sit a while and sip some water.

You spend a lot of your life in cafes. Can you share a good café story?

Every café has its own story. The Green House is my home café. I go to Ormisson when I am tired of the Green House. The Aida café is very discrete, for example, you can go and drink tea in the corner there. Harmoonia and Fellin are good for dates and meeting people. They are more elegant places. I was surprised that I had passed the Tähe Pub many times and never gone in. Then once I went to a healer across the street. She didn’t have a toilet in her office, so she sent me to the pub across the street. I walked in and it was full of people I had never seen before. A completely different Viljandi! Unbelievable that even in Viljandi you find these kinds of hiding places.

Folk also reveals another side of Viljandi.

Folk is like spring, the whole town blooms. But Viljandi’s branches can support the weight well. There is no othering of visitors to the festival. We are them and they are us. We take them in and embrace them. It is strange to meet famous people from the capital though. I always wonder how they got here and if they are lost.

The Joala Monument has also gotten stranded in Viljandi. How do you feel about it?

I think it’s funny. He is highly respected and I have nothing against him, but this monument is a bit like a voodoo doll. We have built an energy column to Jaak Joala which is now leading a life of its own and is influencing others. I hear the songs from the monument from the moment I step out the door until I go to bed at night. A lot of the songs they selected are covers*, and I feel as if the Estonians are toying with me. “Look, we took your favorite English-language songs and made them our own!” It’s hard to imagine that Americans would take a beloved Estonian song like, “Eestlane Olen Ja Eestlaseks Jään“* and make their own version about chicks in bikinis, hamburgers, and cars. But that is what it feels like. This is cultural cannibalism!

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This interview was conducted by Laura-Marleene Jefimov for the Estonian newspaper Eesti Päevaleht. An Estonian-language version was published on 27 January 2021. The interview was conducted in Estonian.

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• The Joala Monument plays Jaak Joala’s covers of The Archies’ “Sugar, Sugar,” The Monkees’ “Last Train to Clarksville,” and The Beatles’ “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da”
• “An Estonian I Am and an Estonian I Will Stay,” a song popularized by Ivo Linna at the time of the Singing Revolution in the 1980s

“A LOT OF PEOPLE is wondering, what is the blues? I hear a lot of people saying, ‘the blues, the blues.’ But I am going to tell you what the blues is. When you ain’t got no money, you’ve got the blues. When you ain’t got no money to pay your house rent, you’ve got the blues. A lot of people holler about, ‘I don’t like no blues,’ but when you ain’t got no money, and can’t pay your house rent, and can’t buy you no food, you damn sure got the blues. If you ain’t got no money, you’ve got the blues, because you’re thinking evil. That’s right. Any time you’re thinking evil, you’ve got the blues.”