Day 20: Back to the island, silence, cranberries

We decide to go back to the island, to Piirisaare, where we were in August with the small boat of Pjotr. The weather is still grey and it's often rainy, so we don't even call Pjotr to ask for another ride in his motorboat - it wouldn't be a ride just as pleasant and fun as in summer. Instead, we take the ferry that we've seen in summer, which goes from the mainland to the brand-new harbour of Piirisaare.

In this season, the ferry goes only once per week, there and back on the same day. What a feeling it must be to live in a place where only once per week, you get any real contact to the outside world... and supplies, probably, and a chance to go to the city perhaps, or to get back from it.

Piirisaare feels deserted. It's like a journey back in time, to a place where wooden houses stand, but you don't quite know where the people all are. It's this seasonal change all over again, just like on the mainland. But on Piirisaare, we think it weighs much heavier. The place is so isolated that the mood shift of the seasons must have even more extreme consequences. Though perhaps autumn is the worst season on the island, since in winter, it might be possible to just walk off the island and over to the mainland. We don't actually think people would do this often, as we've seen in summer, the population of the island is rather old in average.

We walk around the island, Maria whom we had met back in August is not around, but that's even a good thing we believe, since on our last visit we were mostly talking with her and, being lead around and driven around by her, didn't have much of a chance to talk with other people who'd maybe have a different view on particularly the nature reserve topic that was so dear and emotional to her.

As we walk around the islands, we permanently feel like the villages have become pastel coloured ghost towns. The silence is nearly absolute, and it's rare to spot any sign of life. Finally, we meet two ladies, who are both from Tartu but like to come to Piirisaare for the silence. The men we meet aren't that talkative. The population seems to be decreasing all the time, and indeed, we are told that again some inhabitants have died and others have moved away: The harsh living conditions and the lack of medical care take their toll. Either you move to a better equipped place closer to civilization before your health is too frail, or you decide to stay and probably die from something that could easily be cured were you living in a town on the mainland. It must be a difficult decision for those who leave. We've experienced people here to be very rooted, also and particularly on the island.

Then we figure out that the local store is, naturally, the meeting point: The lady who runs it just came back from the mainland with the same ferry (and her Citroen Berlingo), and brings new goods to her shop. Short after she arrives from the mainland, it seems the entire village gathers in her shop to buy the new groceries. We stop for a chat, but there's a lot of action in the shop, so we think we'll maybe get back in winter. We wonder how the shop survives with its limited number of clients, and what brings the shopkeeper to working here. Probably she is from the region, what else would lead her to such a remote place, but we'll have to ask her in winter, this time, the shop was too busy, and our ferry back to the mainland leaving (and since these go only once per week, we really didn't want to miss it...).

On our way back, we drive through a part of the national park territory south of Varnja, and meet a bunch of guys who just come out of the forest with baskets full of cranberries. We buy some berries from them, and start to chat a little bit, and we can't help phantasizing how it would be to reshoot Marc's favourite movie with these guys in the lead roles.

Day 19: Planning, autumn, fish factory

The weather is getting colder, even during the day we had close to 0 degrees Celsius, and the trees are now losing their leaves fast. We're spending the morning inside the cozy house and make plans for the rest of this trip: Whom do we meet when, where do we go on what day, whom did we not yet call, what topics require further exploration?

As it looks, the weather won't be good enough in the nearest days to go fishing. We hope that maybe at the end of the week, just before we leave, we might still manage. That's not too sure though. Instead, we visit Mrs. Filipova at the fish factory today, and we go to take some of the pictures that we will need for the navigation structure of our project website. Oh yes, regarding the project website: Programming has started, we're working on these photos that are needed, and we asked an old friend to draw a map of the region that looks better than regular maps do. Stay tuned - the site won't be ready anytime soon, but it's in development since a while now.

Toward the evening, we film some more impressions as we drive through, and also shoot some scenes in the little shop in Kolkja. It's a quiet day, just one real meeting and a lot of organization, but that's crucial as well. We can already feel that we have relatively little time left, and there's still so much we want to know and see.

Day 18: Fish soup, Varvara, night views of Russia

Matjuska Varvara, whom we had met earlier in August, invites us to film at the church service on Thursday. A nice surprise, since so far, we could only film inside a church in Raja, where Osip allowed us to do so. Filming inside churches, especially during the church services, is understandably a sensitive issue. Even more happy are we that Varvara now allows us. Coming here multiple times, taking the time to get to know people, socializing and meeting them again and again for interesting conversations, simply being here and being nice and human and genuinely interested, all that really seems to work.
We couldn't imagine any other way to do a project like this. It takes more time this way than just walking in with a camera and filming for a few days - but it's worth it, because you really enter a connection with people and place, and doors open that would never open if you just came briefly.

As we're filming in Kasepaa, we're invited for fish/potato soup by Vassily, who's currently building himself a summer house at the lake, and who's also a relative of Mrs. Filipova. Tasty soup and, of course, a bit of vodka. How could we say no to that, after all, we're not unpolite people, and the conversation is interesting as they always are. There's that Russian-Estonian-German-EU friendship, cheers to that. And in addition, we even get a free show of Vassily's dog performing tricks.

Late that night, after another sauna, we stand outside our home and look over the lake. It's interesting, magic and beautiful that during the day, it's usually not possible to see the other side of the lake, to see Russia. But at night, you can see the soft yellow light hovering over the ground, where the villages on the Russian side are. So you look into the dark, and in the far distance, there are a number of brighter spots. It's a pity that there is no way to film this soft light.

Day 17: Fishing, history, and dinner in the castle

We meet Mrs. Filipova for another interview. We already visited her house in August, but we have more questions, and we also want to ask whether her sons could take us fishing someday. As we arrive at her impressive home, it turns out she's very happy to see us again, and is very ready to talk about this and that. We talk about her family business, the fish factory, which her husband and other people bought right after the collapse of the Soviet Union, and which by now is their family business, and an important employer in the region. She talks about the fishing quotas, and that the amount of fish they are allowed to take out of the lake is being reduced year by year. Apparently there's the ironic (but not entirely unexpected) side story that the Russian Federation and Estonia respectively the European Union agree on fishing quotas for the lake, and then these quotas are observed only on the Estonian side, while Russian fisherman are continuing to do whatever they please. We can't know, but certainly this is what Mrs. Filipova tells us: That they can observe the Russians fishing in the times of the year when no fishing is allowed, and that they suspect that they exceed their quotas significantly, be it because there's a lack of control, or by simply bribing the officials. On the Estonian side, the quotas are apparently respected indeed, even though the local fishing industry as well as the individual fisherman are certainly not happy about them. It seems the quotas are barely enough for them to survive, many have become unemployed, some have moved abroad, and also Mrs. Filipova's family business seems to face uncertain times.

But we didn't only talk about fishing. The family history was a very interesting subject, her stories of the war times, how German forces had this region under control and were waiting for a Russian attack from the lake, but then the Red Army came from the swamplands. However, as Mrs. Filipova tells us, there was little to no fighting, and people were treated relatively well by the German forces. After the war, Mrs. Filipova's father was deported, since he was suspected to be a member of Omakaitse. He served his sentence, and only years later was allowed back home, only to be killed in what looks like it was an assassination. It's often difficult to imagine what these times were like in places like here, that were located (or caught) between conflicting empires in a devastating war. It's always a remarkable experience to have the opportunity to speak with people who were here, who remember, who have first-hand stories to tell.

After a long and very nice conversation, Mrs. Filipova gives us some fish (of course!), and invites us to visit her at the factory soon, and also to go fishing with her sons if the weather gets better in the nearest days. Offers we're certainly more than eager to take.

In the evening, we decide to try a new place for dinner - one we hadn't actually realized it existed. In the Alatskivi castle, there's a restaurant, and since we're a little late as always, it also seems to be about the only place that is still open. The fact that many places close at 18:00 is quite tricky for us, because we need to film until around this time, as the daylight is just perfect in these late afternoon hours. Well, the Alatskivi Castle restaurant is still open. We're the only guests, there's one waiter who, as we suspect, also cooks himself (at least this would explain the long time it takes), and the atmosphere is somewhere quite close to a Dracula movie. We're sitting in a room with a very high decorated ceiling, there's a giant tile stove right next to us, some 8 tables of which ours is the only one occupied, dimmed light, candles on the table, and when the waiter comes, we can hear his footsteps long before we actually see him. Obscure, but nice.

Later this evening, with Bettina and Katya going to sleep after enjoying a sauna, Marc and Rene are still sitting in the lobby room and meet a bunch of youngsters from the region who decided to film a commercial about Aarde Villa. They're a very nice and enthusiastic bunch of people, who are apparently beautifully rooted in this region, come back regularly, and spend their time renovating houses and apparently doing various art and similar projects. We use the opportunity for a very nice conversation about this and that, and the history of Aarde Villa; and also to start talking about installing a webcam somewhere here which would allow a live view over the lake for our future project website.

Day 16: Fog, frozen pizza, and German exercises

We get up early, and we think we've arrived. Yesterday's autumn impressions by daylight were colorful and nice, despite the low temperatures and the somewhat empty feeling many places leave now. Yet the colors and the magic of early morning ground fog are even better. We go around following the fog, collecting visuals, and admiring the scenery. Still the autumn weather, the temperatures that are only slightly above zero, and the gloomy mood leave us wondering: What will it be like in winter? It will be even colder, and at times probably so cold that filming could be difficult, not only for us, but also for the equipment. And we might not be able to spend so much time outdoors looking out for interesting people and places. So far, we're coping with autumn. Let's see how we'll get by in winter...

After some more shooting of autumn impressions, by the time we're ready for dinner, all the restaurants are closed. Yes, tourism and summer season is over: The opening hours are reduced during the cold period of the year, and most places now close already at 18:00. We can't get any food in any of the restaurants anymore, so we head for the gas station shop in Alatskivi, which is open longer. The food we can get there isn't exactly a culinary experience - we're talking about frozen pizza that's warmed up in the gas station's microwave oven - but it serves its purpose. As we talk, it turns out the cashier at the gas station speaks German, and we get yet another of these "Small World" experiences: She was working as an AuPair in Germany some 13 years ago, in a little known city called Neumünster. A city which just happens to be the place where Marc's parents were born, and where they live.

Day 15: Autumn impressions, heading north

As we're settling in, loading batteries, preparing equipment, discussing what we have filmed and photographed and found so far, we decide to start off with getting a glimpse at how autumn feels here, and to drive north, a direction we have so far not explored much. We're curious how the lake looks like when you leave the main Old Believer's area.

And we want to first of all collect some film and photo impressions of the autumn season. These will also help us to feel the season. After all, it's quite a change: In summer, the villages are quite lively, lots of families use the opportunity to visit their (often elderly) relatives, holidaymakers come from the cities, people make weekend trips. If you walk around the villages and small towns in summer, there are children and there's action, people sit at the beach, there are queues in the shops, and everything feels very active.

We're pretty sure the mood in autumn will not be as optimistic and nice. With all the weekend visitors and families gone back to their homes, we even expect some places to feel quite empty. Add the autumn light to the emptiness, plus maybe some fog and gentle rain, and you're likely to get a certain melancholy. We drive north to slowly get accustomed to the new mood. We explore some forests, endless beautiful beaches that are now deserted, we're observing the one or other harvest, and of course we also find quite a number of dead fish on the sandy beaches, probably victims of the exceptionally long and hot summer.

Day 14: Lab's end, sea vs. lake, arrival

We're back in Estonia! Along with all the other teams who are working on projects as part of the First Motion program (more information here), we are in Viinitsu. Looking over the sea from this wonderful place feels just like looking over "our" lake that's a bit further to the South-East. We mentioned earlier how Lake Peipus feels like the sea - here, at the actual sea, we get the proof.

The First Motion lab in Viinitsu is very interesting and exciting, and among other events and lots of action, we also pitch our project and its status to the group - successfully, as we think. The lab takes place in the Viinitsu Conference and Culture Centre, which interestingly is owned by the former manager of ABBA.

We film some original smuggling tools on Super8 in the local history museum; canisters that were used to smuggle things across the water to Finland. In the late afternoon on October 7, we leave Viinitsu by car to drive back to the lake, where we have booked ourselves into the beautiful Aarde Villa. So we have a new place to stay! It's not that we didn't like the previous one, the Nina Houses were fantastic, but it's autumn now, and already rather cold. We're afraid that a lifestyle that features open-air showers could get us all down with a cold pretty quick, and endanger the project's development. So we opted for a more classic accommodation option in an actual hotel. As it's not tourism season anymore, though, we're apparently the only guests in the house that's right at the lake.

It's a quiet evening as we're settling in. There's a kitchen; there's a lobby room with sofas and tables and bookshelves and plants, and of course a big window to the lakeside; there's a fireplace; and there are our cozy rooms. The lake is maybe 20 metres away, and when it's windy, you can hear it even through the window. Except for the lake and the sound of the wind in the trees, it's silent out here. And we know we're back.