MadCat seeks provocative and visionary films and videos directed or co-directed by women. Films can be of any length or genre and produced ANY year. MadCat is committed to showcasing work that challenges the use of sound and image and explores notions of visual story telling. All subjects/topics will be considered. Submission Fee: $10-30 sliding scale. Pay what you can afford. International entrants disregard the fee. For more details go to www.madcatfilmfestival.org or call 415 436-9523. Preview Formats: VHS or DVD. Exhibition Formats: 35mm, 16mm, Super8, Beta SP, Mini DV, VHS, DVD. All entries must include a self addressed stamped envelope for return of materials. Final Deadline: May 15, 2006. An entry form is attached to this email for your convenience!

Past filmmakers include: Nancy Andrews, Alice Guy Blaché, Germaine Dulac, Emily Hubley, Jennifer Reeves, Su Friedrich, Lynne Sachs, Jane Wong and so many more! MadCat 10 will take place this September around the San Francisco, Bay Area. Keep an eye out for details at www.madcatfilmfestival.org

MadCat is on tour now with 2 programs of short avant-garde films by women.

1) AMOK-IMATION - Wry, dark and painfully funny, these animated works from Sweden, Mexico, the Netherlands and the Philippines are not your typical Saturday morning cartoons. This program is available on Mini-dv.

2) MOOD ALTERATIONS - These alternately loving and disturbing 16mm portraits hail from Austria, France, Germany, Mexico and the US. Filmmakers use editing, optical printing and camera movement (or lack there of) to create an ethnographic study of Romania, a musical peek at a girl on the verge of puberty and a pulsating found footage bonanza among other stories. This program is available on 16mm.

To book the tour email us or go to our web site for more information www.madcatfilmfestival.org

Mad Mission

Founded in 1996 the MadCat Women’s International Film Festival (MadCat) is a highly acclaimed international festival that exhibits independent and experimental films and videos directed by women from around the globe. The Festival emphasizes work that is inventive and visionary. Our annual Festival takes place at select San Francisco and Berkeley venues throughout the month of September.

The Festival was founded to create a forum the highlights women artists. The Festival’s primary goal is to bring these works to a range of San Francisco, Bay Area venues and across the country to audiences who would not normally be exposed to this kind of work. MadCat exhibits films by women that challenge the use of sound and image and explore notions of visual storytelling.

A New Look at the Curatorial Process

MadCat has established a strong reputation for programming series of acute and insightful films audiences would be hard pressed to find anywhere else. MadCat sets itself apart from other women’s festivals by curating its programs thematically as opposed to looking for films solely about women’s issues. Thus, with each year comes a completely new set of films and topics. MadCat seeks to educate spectators about the art of cinema through programming that incorporates both experimental films and more accessible works. The Festival’s distinct curatorial approach allows audiences to make their own connections between films and aids them in developing a film vocabulary by the mere act of watching a program.

MadCat’s unique angle on programming often refreshes and surprises its audiences. MadCat allows viewers to look into the vast array of topics women film and videomakers are wrestling with and expand traditional notions of “women’s issues”. The audience will not sit back and wait for the images to wash over them nor for a simple narrative to tell its story. Whether the audience is watching a documentary, narrative, animation or experimental film they will be on the edge of their seats grappling and participating with the visual texts set before them. By providing a dedicated exhibition venue in the San Francisco, Bay Area, MadCat encourages women and girls to take creative control behind the camera, increasing visibility and opportunity for women in the arts.

“The MadCat Film Festival tests, expands, and evolves the traditional, politically motivated, 20th Century definition of ‘the women’s film festival.” Independent Film and Video Monthly
MadCat Women’s International Film Festival

639 Steiner Street
San Francisco, CA 94117 USA

Phone: 415 436-9523
Fax: 415 934-0642
info@madcatfilmfestival.org
www.madcatfilmfestival.org

My alarm goes off and for a moment I’m disoriented. Nothing looks familiar. Where am I? - Then, of course! The events of the previous day come flooding back. Every small thing becomes a discovery. How does the shower work? Is there hot water? My hair dryer - while it has an international setting - does not have an adapter. Turns out there is a “hotel” hair dryer that they keep at the front desk. Guests can borrow it. While not crucial today, tomorrow I want to look my best for our day long program of film screenings.

The first thing, I snap a photo out the window. There are two paths of foot prints marking the pristine snow running in opposite directions down the hill from the hotel. Later I realize I can take either one to or from the museum. Heading downstairs to the dining room, a pleasant familiar smell of coffee hits my nose. There is a small buffet set out on a table in the corner. It’s help yourself. Stacks of bread, black pumpernickel and a rough textured white sit under a plastic dome next to a toaster, cheeses, hard boiled eggs, sliced salami, muesli, a tureen of hot cereal, pitchers of juice, milk and kefir. In the middle was a tiered platter of quartered tomatoes and small sliced cucumber. It reminds me of the type of breakfasts served in Austria when I lived on Friedrichshof. It was all vaguely familiar. A pot of coffee and hot water for tea sat on a warming plate. Three women were already eating together at one of the tables. They spoke Estonian which I now know is in the Finnish family of languages.

I helped myself to some muesli and coffee and sit by a window, enjoying my quiet surroundings. No cell phones ringing, no morning news blaring from the radio of traffic jams, no front page image from the Boston Globe or NYTimes of the latest carnage in Iraq to assault me. The sky is light grey. Huge black birds, like ravens, populate the surrounding trees. Dilapidated wood frame buildings with deep sloping roofs, edge the hotel property. As the women get up to leave my attention is brought back to the dining room. Two large, dark, slightly menacing paintings are the only wall decorations at either ends of the room. Some young, soviet style artist, trying to look modern. The work is crude but interesting nonetheless. A large white tiled fireplace goes unused as central heating was added when the hotel was renovated a few years after the Soviets finally left the Estonians to figure out how to make a better life for themselves.

After breakfast I have an hour or so to wander around before the film program starts. Today the focus is a workshop on the uses of animation in documentary film. Julia Berg, who I met at the airport, will lead the discussion and introduce the films. SUCKERFISH, a short by a young Canadian filmmaker, Lisa Jackson will be shown. It takes a very innovative approach to talking about Native identity and mother/daughter relationships. We distribute this title and I’ll be interested to see audience reaction in this setting.

Before leaving the hotel I ask the woman at the desk (there appear to be two, a day clerk and a night clerk) the best route to the museum. I generally have a bad sense of direction in the abstract, not good at reading maps and the only way I feel confident in a new place is to walk it. The museum is indeed only ten minutes by foot, near the bottom of the hill. Snow and ice cover the narrow sidewalks but the paved, asphalt streets are bare. A few nondescript late model cars pass. The architecture is a discomforting mishmash. A few renovated buildings stand out, others are falling apart from long years of neglect. Some look ancient, metal roofs, wood siding, once painted, now a uniform grey but of a design I’ve never seen before. I’m later told these structures demonstrate a scandinavian influence. I walk up and down the side streets, drinking in the atmosphere, eating every detail with my eyes. A stranger but not feeling strange.

We are contacting you today with some information on the upcoming EFA Master Class dedicated to documentary filmmakers.

It is taking place in Berlin and Brandenburg (Germany) from July 13 to 22, 2006, and is open for up to 20 directors and cinematographers with some documentary experience. You will find more detailed information in the attached documents.

It would be great if you could distribute the attached information sheet and application form through any mailing list or to any contacts you find appropriate, like young directors and cinematographers from the field of documentary filmmaking who might be interested in attending an EFA Master Class with the Swedish documentary filmmaker Stefan Jarl.

Thank you very much for your support. If you need any further information, please feel free to contact us.

All the best from Berlin,

Pascal Edelmann
EUROPEAN FILM ACADEMY
Head of Press & PR
Kurfürstendamm 225
10719 Berlin
Germany
tel +49 - 30 - 887 167 - 0
fax +49 - 30 - 887 167 - 77

p.edelmann@europeanfilmacademy.org
www.europeanfilmacademy.org

Mathew Durington, Assistant Professor of Anthropology at Towson State University just alerted us to this article about our 35th Anniversary tribute to DER and the work of our founder, John Marshall on the PEACEFULL SOCIETIES web site.

www.peacefulsocieties.org/NAR06/060406juho.html

Don’t Fence Me in, by filmmaker Ruth Gumnit won the Grand Jury Award for best Documentary at the 2006 Washington DC Independent Film Festival.

See festival web site for more info.

www.dciff.org/program2006/2006_winners.cfm

The hotel sits on top of a small, snow covered hill, just a short walk from the Estonian National Museum where the film program will be taking place. It is now after midnight. Someone helps to haul my luggage to the hotel door. There are lights inside but a huge chain is looped through the door handle from the inside. A moment of panic. I immediately thought of fire department regulations and how in the US this would be illegal. As if on cue, a heavy set, middle-aged woman appears, unlocks the chain (almost apologetically - as though she realized this does not make a good impression). She knows who I am, speaks halting English. A reservation was made for me by the festival people. I’m to pay with my credit card. I’ll be reimbursed later.

The small lobby is clean and spare. I glance to my right and see a small dining room with six round tables covered with yellow cloths. The woman tells me breakfast is served till 9:30. There is no elevator. My room is on the 3rd floor. My one suitcase is very heavy as I had to pack for both winter in Estonia and early spring in Paris. The woman says to leave it, she will have a man bring it up to my room. She hands me a key. It is a real key, metal, no digital plastic here yet. A large wooden dowel hangs from the end. I wearily turn to face the stairs. They are very wide. A cheap, thin but clean carpet covers them. Framed photos of snowy landscapes march up the walls.

My room is a good size, double bed, bath is completely tiled with a drain in the middle of the floor, the entire room is a shower, a small sink attached to the wall, toilet in the corner. I’m surprised to see a TV and remote on a desk under the window. There’s a chair, several lamps, and clean drapes. Much better than the last miserable hell hole of an hotel I stayed in in New York City. There’s a knock, it’s a friendly guy with my luggage. I fumble for my purse. I only have Euros - he shakes his head no, smiles and leaves.

It is suddenly dead quiet. I walk over to the large window - the sill is at least 18″ wide, the walls are thick. The window has a latch. I open it wide and breathe deep. The crisp night air seems so fresh it’s almost sweet. The full moon outlines webs of shadows cast on the snow by the trees below. I see some buildings a ways off, but I can’t tell exactly their form or structure. Estonia, I like the way it sounds as I form the word in my mind. Again I think of Breugel, but I’m calm, relaxed. I am here. So is my luggage. The room is very warm. A far cry from the Soviet days, a little more than 10 years ago when there was no heat and everyone had to wear heavy clothes inside and out. It’s warm enough to sleep naked under the sheet and blanket. My head hits the pillow and I’m already looking forward to tomorrow.

\By LORNE MANLY
Published: April 18, 2006 New York Times

As the recent coupling between the Smithsonian Institution and Showtime Networks continues to roil the documentary film world, more than 215 filmmakers, television executives and academics have signed a letter demanding that the Smithsonian, a publicly financed museum, not only reveal financial details of the joint venture but also abandon it.

The signers of the letter, delivered yesterday to a Smithsonian official, include the filmmakers Michael Moore (”Fahrenheit 9/11″), R. J. Cutler (”The War Room”) and Alex Gibney (”Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room”); the actress and writer Anna Deavere Smith (”Twilight: Los Angeles”); the law professor Lawrence Lessig; and Jacoba Atlas, a senior PBS executive.

The uproar was set off last month when Showtime and the Smithsonian announced the creation of Smithsonian Networks, a joint venture for original television programming on scientific, cultural and historical subjects whose first service would be an on-demand cable channel beginning this December. As part of the deal, Smithsonian Networks was to get the right of first refusal on commercial documentaries that relied significantly on the museum’s archives, curators or scientists.

The underfinanced Smithsonian has argued that while the agreement might restrict some commercial filmmakers from selling their handiwork elsewhere, it would affect only a limited number of projects. A Smithsonian official has said that incidental use - a lone interview with a staff member or a few minutes displaying the riches of the Smithsonian collections - would not mandate offering that particular project to Showtime.

But the idea of a public institution’s granting preferential treatment to a commercial entity has alarmed many in the documentary and academic worlds, who worry that the venture will discourage independent filmmakers from taking their projects to other outlets or from putting their work on the Internet on a noncommercial basis.

The letter states that it is a troubling prospect to require independent filmmakers, video bloggers, historians or educators who make nonincidental use of the Smithsonian’s collections or staff to offer their projects commercially to “this new business venture.”

Such a requirement, the letter says, is “an anticompetitive practice that is extremely troubling.” Put together by the Center for American Progress, a liberal research organization, the letter was sent to Lawrence M. Small, secretary of the Smithsonian..

“Closing off one of the most important collections of source materials and limiting access to staff,” the letter adds, “will have a chilling effect on creativity, will create disincentives for digitization of the collections for access by all Americans, and violates the mission and purpose of the Smithsonian Institution.”

Also angering the letter writers is the secrecy about the contract details, which the Smithsonian has declined to publicize for competitive reasons. “It just doesn’t seem to be the way a public trust should operate,” said Carl Malamud, a senior fellow and chief technology officer for the Center for American Progress, who has spearheaded the letter-writing campaign and a Freedom of Information Act request for contract details. The letter writers also demand that the Smithsonian hold public hearings before it undertakes any similar efforts in the future.

Similar letters were also delivered yesterday to about 50 senators and members of the House of Representatives who have a say in the Smithsonian’s operations.

The Smithsonian said it would honor the Showtime contract. “We understand the filmmakers’ concerns, because they feel they will be cut out of the national collections, but that’s just not true,” said Linda St. Thomas, a Smithsonian spokeswoman.

Of the thousands of requests the Smithsonian receives each year, the vast majority will still be approved. The agreement affects just filming for broadcast - not for research or educational materials - and then only if Smithsonian elements make up a large part of the program. If a curator got 30 minutes of screen time in a hourlong program, for example, that would qualify the project for the Showtime deal, but if the time were only 5 minutes, the filmmaker would not be bound by the agreement, Ms. St. Thomas said.

Mr. Malamud said he and the other signers understood the Smithsonian’s financial problems, but said other ways could be found to balance the public interest with the need to bring in revenue.

“I believe there are other ways to raise money,” Mr. Malamud said. That is why, when he handed over the letter to a Smithsonian official yesterday, he signed up for a partner-level membership. The cost: $225.

I’m standing with my luggage in what I hope is a conspicuous place. A few minutes later an attractive young (nearly everyone these days is looking “young” to me) woman comes charging through the main entrance, hand extended, “sooo sorry I’m late, you must be Cynthia!” At that very moment, another dark haired “young” woman appears on my left “I’m Julia” and two “youngish” men from various obscure parts of the world had all come in on earlier flights and were waiting for the same ride to the festival town of Tartu.

Out into the cold bitter air we plunge, English is the lingua franca. All have a fair command of the language but accents are strong so I must really concentrate to understand what they are saying. While they are not all filmmakers, they are all professors in one area of the visual arts or other, in their respective countries. Some, like me have come to present programs. Julia will be conducting the opening session with a seminar on animation in documentary film.

Our luggage just fits in the back of this small, squarish, vehicle of undetermined origin. I squeeze in the back seat, Julia and one of the guys next to me. Taidi is a gregarious, exuberant woman who tells us all to “buckle-up” as she has only had her drivers license for 2 months and we are about to embark on a 3 hour drive, south, across central Estonia, down to Tartu, a university town where the World Film Festival of Visual Culture is to be held.

My body groans as I contemplate another stint of sitting in a cramped place after being up for 30 hours straight, most of it crammed into an economy class seat on a Boeing 747. It’s hard to get an impression of Estonia as we pull out onto the main road, in the direction of Tartu, as the sunsets to our backs and a full moon sits low in the sky ahead of us. Taidi is one of the festival assistants. She was born in Estonia and gives us a brief history of the country, it’s recent independence and relief when the last of the Soviet occupiers pulled up stakes in 1994 and went home. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Russians were slow to leave Estonia.

It’s clear Taidi is acting as a cheerleader for her country - she is quite convincing and has me feeling pleased to be here in spite of my desire to lie prone, in bed somewhere, anywhere. The car whips along on a two lane highway, one lane to Tallinn, one lane away from Tallinn. we are all chatting amiably about various film projects, why we find ourselves here and each time the conversation dips to a lull, Kaidi chirps up with a new Estonian factoid.

I peer out onto fields of snow and darkness, no neon glow, barely any lights at all, mile after mile. As we approach Tartu I’m looking forward to getting dropped off at my hotel but this is not to be. Kaidi informs us there is a big part going on, a kickoff party for the festival, at some crumbling, half renovated villa, another 40-50 minutes further south, we have to go - the other guest are there and she promises a memorable experience. I button my lip. My energy is at rock bottom, but I tell myself it’s a once in a lifetime experience. Kaidi starts laughing nervously after about 45 minutes into this last leg. It’s now after 9 pm, I’ve had nothing to eat or drink for I can’t remember how long, Kaidi fears she may be lost - not that there was a choice of roads - it’s just that the turn off to the villa is not well marked. Suddenly she squeals with delight. The little car swerves right, sliding and skidding up an ice covered, unpaved drive towards a looming structure, tall arched windows, flickering candle light illuminates moving figures in an otherworldly atmosphere. The car pulls up to a portico. We all pile out. The air is damp and sharply cold. I’m awake. I push open a huge, creaky, carved wooden door, wide stone steps, candles barely show the way up to a corridor. Through an entry way I see musicians, dancing, clapping, people drinking beer, a “world dog” is sniffing about the edges, it is a scene from the middle ages - I feel I’ve just stepped in to a Brueghel painting.

I make my way to a table where I’m told there is food. Piles of very dark pumpernickel bread, next to bowls of some sort of relish stuff - there was soup but it’s gone and plenty of beer. I opt for the bread and beer. I’m approached by a number of people. Some festival organizers greet me who I’ve only known by their email. One of them could be a standin for Sarah Caldwell, (albeit a smaller version), the famous Boston Opera conductor.

I smile, try to mix, but I confess exhaustion is having it’s way with me. The beer has eased the stress in my back from lugging suitcases around airports - but all I can think about is another hour ride, back to Tartu, driven by someone who has undoubtedly had something of an alcoholic nature to drink, over an icy, pitch dark, road. My kind hosts promise to put me in the first vehicle to leave. I plop down in one of the wooden adirondack chairs that ring the main room. A man sits on the edge of a low platform playing an accordion. I try to smile but feel detached from my surroundings. Vague, halting attempts at conversation go nowhere. One of the festival assistants informs me a van is about to take some guests back to Tartu. I’m more than ready to leave. Taidi comes to help me move my luggage from her car to the van. The night air seems even colder than before. I climb in. A man and a woman sit behind me speaking English with a Spanish accent. Turns out they are from Argentina, live now in California, but made a film about “Roma” - gypsies in India. They are also guests of the festival. They are very gregarious and the ride back to Tartu passes without incident.

Apparently I am the only guest booked at the hotel. Being the presenter and speaker for the featured, day long retrospective of the work of John Marshall has earned me a position of respect within this community of like-minded filmmakers and academics. I start to feel a tremendous responsibility not to disappoint all these people who have invited me.

The seven hour layover in Frankfurt - spent meandering around the airport - was the only unpleasant (so far) aspect of my entire trip. The hassle of making your way in and out of the security check points is too much to bear, so people tend to be confined in these cocoons of forced waiting, no matter how long till your connecting flight.

Now, sitting comfortably in the second floor cafe in Tallinn’s (the capital of Estonia) tiny airport, feeling enriched, as one can feel after feeding on a smorgasbord of new life experience, I have the time to reflect on where I’ve been. For the second time in six months I have been lucky to find myself thrust into a new culture, a place whose air I’d never breathed before, surrounded by people speaking and walking in another rhythm.

A light snow filters down through a dull gray sky on to the tarmac below. I’ve checked my one piece of luggage. The pretty, young, blond at the Estonia Air (this seems to be the only airline that operates out of Tallinn) counter tells me my bag will be checked through to Paris - even though I must change to Lufthansa in Frankfurt. That’s a relief.

The two and a half hour express bus ride from Tartu seemed to zoom by. It was my first chance since arriving in Estonia a few days ago to actually get a feel for the country. Unfortunately I’m leaving, I would prefer to stay, rather then move on to Paris, but these things are impossible to predict. When I was packing my bags, yet again, last Sunday, while RG hoovered around, reminding me to call from the airport, reminding me to buckle my seat belt at all times, reminding me how much he and Cassidy would miss me, I felt heavy. Do I really want to do this?

A few months ago when I realized I’d made a commitment to participate in a film festival in both Estonia, Tartu and in Paris, in the same week in March I thought I’d perhaps taken on too much. Would I have had these thoughts 10, 15 years ago? Staying alive, vibrant, a person in and of the world requires a constant struggle against inertia. By the time my bags are packed and we are standing in the garage, waiting for the cab to pull up, I’d won the battle. Now just an offbeat anxiety that always accompanies a flight to anywhere, nothing big, nothing approaching fear, just enough anxiety to stay alert.

The 747 Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt to Tallinn was packed. When it landed late in the afternoon on Monday it seemed to fill the entire tarmac, it dwarfed the one and only plane marked Estonia Air that stood forlornly, by itself, at the other end of the runway. I assumed Taadi, a young woman holding a sign “WORLD FILM”, would be clearly visible as I emerged from the passport control and baggage claim area, just as the festival committee had informed me in their last email before I left the office Saturday. My bag was one of the first off the belt. There were a few people gathered about the exit area, some held flowers to greet whoever it was they expected to see emerge from the exit doors, but no young woman holding a sign for me.

A sudden moment of panic. What do I do now? I remember having a cell phone number along with that last email. I’d printed it out and stuck it in the file that is now sticking out of my carry-on bag. There is an information and hotel reservation booth at the other end of the now near empty terminal. I tell the woman behind the desk my plight and ask if she can call this number for me (I really regret not getting one of those rental cell phones you can now find at the airport so you can make international calls when traveling). Of course anyone whose job it is to give information or make hotel reservations would have to speak English, and she does. She makes the call, has a brief conversation, turns to me and says “traffic”, your ride got stuck in traffic and will be here in about 10 minutes. Utter relief!

Now the real journey is about to begin.

That was a question in an email I received last October from a fellow (I presumed it was a fellow) named Taavi. He represented “World Film” an organization that supports an annual film festival, part of The Tartu Festival of Visual Culture to be held this year in March at the Estonian National Museum.

They wanted to honor the work and life of John Marshall, one of the pillars of the cinema verite movement that took root in America and Europe in the 1950’s and evolved through the 1960’s and 70’s. This style of filming had a profound influence that is still felt by young filmmakers today. John was my boss and we worked closely for more than 13 years until he died at the age of 72 a year ago last April.

Actually, when the folks in Estonia first contacted me, they were looking to invite John as their guest for this program. They were unaware of his recent death. Upon being informed, they felt a festival to honor him now was even more important, so they asked if I would consider coming instead. I always say “yes” when travel opportunities come my way, it was so far in advance after saying I’d come, I put it on the back burner. Not long after this, I received another invitation for a similar film program to honor John’s work, this time in Paris. In this case I’m familiar with the Festival; The Bilan Du Film Ethnographique, held at the Musée de L’Homme in Paris. Naturally I say “yes” to this too as both organizations have agreed to pay my expenses. It doesn’t dawn on me till some weeks later that both these events overlap and take place THE SAME WEEK. I don’t want to disappoint anybody and I know how much work goes into putting on one of these events. After some discussion with both groups a program is agreed upon that schedules my participation in Estonia for March 15th, a day long event of Marshall film screenings followed by discussion and Q&A. The full day program on John’s films at the Bilan will be held on the 18th. At this point I get out the atlas to see just where the heck Estonia is and how far away Tartu is from Paris. This is going to be a whirlwind event with little time to absorb the culture or even catch my breath.

After some fiddling around on Orbitz.com I figure out a reasonable flight schedule for the whole trip. There are no direct flights from Boston to Tallinn, Estonia’s capital, so I’m going via Frankfurt (that’s good for me as I speak German, and if my luggage doesn’t show up, I’ll be able to get help). A few days later I’ll be passing through Frankfurt again, on my way back to Paris.

Well, here it is March, and my flight is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I spent some time in Harvard Square, picking up some Euros at the bank (the exchange rate for dollars is discouraging) and doing a little shopping. At one of my favorite kids clothing stores I pick up a few cute items for my granddaughters. The manager of the shop strikes up a conversation and it comes out that I’m leaving for Estonia. ESTONIA! she shrieks, I LOVE ESTONIA! This is the first American I’ve spoken to who even had an inkling it was a country. Turns out she had spent 2 years in the Peace Corps in Latvia teaching business courses to the locals after the collapse of the Soviet Union. She’d made frequent trips north to Estonia and the medieval capital city Tallinn and fell in love with the country. It was as though I’d opened a spigot. I learned more in my 10 minutes with her as she checked out my purchases, than in the time I’d spent reading a guide book I’d bought at the Harvard coop a few hours before. Her unbridled enthusiasm stirred my sense of adventure and anticipation for the first time. (It was so beautiful today in Boston, over 60 degrees, and it’s been brutally cold in France and the Balkans all winter, spring has not yet shown it’s face, so I was reluctant to leave.) As she described the beauties of this walled city, the fabulous restaurants, the wonderful people, I found myself looking forward to the coming trip. I’ll have plenty of time to write, in the airports and in flight. So, if anyone asks if you want to go to Estonia, just say “yes”.