Long live Steven, the king of Estonia! The First Seagull of Tallinn and the ruler of Estonian skies.
How to become a vassal of the Estonian king
There is a thorough procedure to become an Estonian citizen. It includes history learning, blood tests, eating herrings, and learning the lingo. Yes, it’s all great, but if you needed half of the year to distinguish “või” from “sai,” I believe your chances of obtaining Estonian citizenship are low. Especially with words like “raudteeülesõidukoht” — a railway crossing. Or the fact that you don’t like fish.
But, there is another way. By the power of royal decree, the king itself can grant you an ID. Do you think Estonia is a democratic republic? Think again. Estonia is a kingdom under one king that rules with an iron claw. Steven the Seagull. And he resides in Tallinn.
Where to find the king of Estonia?
I found Steven in his usual place. No, not on Kohtuotsa.
Steven the Seagull doesn’t take pictures with tourists. The ichor of the first birds runs through this bird’s veins. How could he, the straight descendent from the mighty pterodactyl, work something as low as taking photos with tourists for money? That’s a job for his doppelganger Stefano. Stefano is a Mediterranian seagull, much more used to posing for Instagram and taking money from tourists.
Steven was at the counter of one of the pubs, drunk again.
- Hile Steven, king of Estonia! — I thought it’s better to start with a more elegant approach. Plus, the bow that made my lumbal part creak as Tram no 3.
- Bleep you and leave me alone — murmured the king — can’t you see I am in the middle of royal business.
He really wasn’t. Steven spent most of his days the usual way. Getting drunk in one of the bars at the Old Town and telling the young birds a story of how he shagged an ostrich in Amsterdam in the 80s. It was a story as old as Estonia, but the birds bought it.
- By the laws of the kingdom of Estonia, I demand you speak to me.
- For crying out loud — Steven raised his head — OK, you loud Russian piece of…
- Not Russian — I interrupted him — I am Croatian.
- Yeah, sure, whatever gets you through the day… How do you even understand me? I am a bird.
- Well, I used to be a bartender for quite a long time. I got used to communicating with drunk animals.
- Makes sense. So what do you want from me?
- I wanna become an Estonian.
As he heard those words, Steven changed. His posture improved, and his feathers became dazzling white. Not just white, but EKRE shade of white. A royal he was, indeed. And ready to take 20% on my income tax. Oh, so ready.
How to become Estonian
- Let’s start, my son.
Steven the Seagull said, with a much calmer and much more sober voice. His royal eye was checking me while his sharp beak glared on the neverending summer sun.
- Yes, yes, you might be a good fit. You have it all: the beard, the superiority complex, and the love for dairy products, as I can see by looking at your belly. No tattoos? Shame. But you managed to find an apartment in Tallinn? I am impressed. Are you ready for the trial?
- I was born ready.
- You were born in Bosnia — Steven laughed — But it doesn’t matter. I won’t tell anyone. Hold tight.
As he said that, Steven the Seagull snapped with his claws, and boom…we were transferred to the highest mountain in Estonia. The mighty Rock of Tondi.
- Behold my empire, oh non-Estonian one — screamed the Steven from the heights of the Rock of Tondi.
We were way above the level of clouds, and at that height, the amount of oxygen was too low for me. I feared I would just fade away, and my carcass will join the many others that tried to conquer the mighty mountain. The Rock of Tondi doesn’t take hostages. It kills.
Luckily, Steven guided me to the foothills of the Rock of Tondi. As I was carefully walking down the mighty mountain, painfully aware that every wrong step might end up in my imminent death, I heard a clamor of conversation. We were expected.
Battle for the Estonian ID
As I approached the battlefield, I heard some really old and really wannabe pimped BMWs ravaging through the wide streets, their mighty tires screeching. To mingle with the ladies hungry for Adidas sportswear, gentle sounds of trap music, and teenagers spitting on the curb every 16 seconds? No, they were testing their brakes because the roads are really lousy here. Like, really, really lousy. How can you have a digitalized government paired with medieval roads?
But that’s another story.
As soon as I stepped onto the fighting circle, dimly lit with MacBooks, the first challenger rose. Pretty slowly, I might add.
The first challenge — The Tallinn Barista
The Tallinn Barista. The Pierced One. The one with the dead eyes that stare into the abyss of his iPhone 96% of his working hours. Dangerously slow, armed with all kinds of non-dairy milk. His slowpoke moves hypnotized me as he poured mediocre coffee while shaking the tip jar simultaneously. I knew, if he manages to give me the bill for that coffee, I’ll be dead. Bankrupt. The ulcers I will develop from that coffee were less dangerous than the damage one coffee could do to my budget.
The Tallinn Barista suddenly made an ancient forbidden move. It was called The shower of POS terminals. He threw every single mobile POS terminal he had at me, hoping that one of them will manage to rob me contactless. But I managed to evade every single one of them, barely. And I was ready for the attack.
- Can you get me an espresso? No foam, no oat milk, no cinnamon, no splash of Monin or Vana Tallinn. Just espresso and a glass of tap water. I don’t need lemon or mint in the water.
I heard something broke in him. And I was ready to continue, choosing the omnificent magical words. Words that no Estonian barista ever heard before.
- Also, I only have cash. Can you change me €200?
He fell to his knees. I heard a crowd of front-end developers screaming: Finish him! Finish him! while sipping specialty coffee, PETA approved. It was time for the final blow.
- No, I don’t need a wifi password. THANK YOU!
The Tallinn barista was dead. Soy milk was everywhere. I grabbed all his tips. Spoils of war.
The second challenge — The Scooter polluter
I didn’t get too much basking in glory. Something swooshed right next to me. At first, it looked like a creepy middle-aged guy in a convertible blasting rap music, drooling over schoolgirls who were dressed like…schoolgirls. But no, that kind of person couldn’t exist here, in this bastion of culture. That was just the mirage, created by one of the most powerful wizards of Estonia, the Scooter Polluter.
Yes, the one with the mighty army of e-scooter zombies. They were tricked by the omnipotent wizard. And brainwashed into using the most annoying and the most dangerous means of transport through the city. Why? No one knows.
The beeping from the scooters was dangerously loud and played with my overwhelmed nerves. E-scooter zombies were everywhere around me. Alamo situation, indeed. I started retreating, stumbled on a scooter that someone left in the middle of the street, and fell. I could hear the crowd gasping. Is this the end? Do I die as a non-Estonian?
The Scooter Polluter was coming close at a dangerous pace of 20 km/h. Then I heard tires screeching again, topped with some ancient curses.
As Scooter Polluter was hurrying to get me, he wasn’t paying attention to the traffic lights. Or proper safety equipment. So, a food delivery guy hit him with his Hyundai and totaled the car, which made the damage estimate of 65 €. The Scooter Polluter fell and cut his jugular vein on the bunch of broken glass left from the last night. The drunks were cheering while sipping cheap beer from plastic bottles. The police saw nothing.
I managed to survive the second challenge.
The last challenge — the Estonia FAQ
Steven flapped his mighty wings, and the crowd went silent.
- Well played, oh non-Estonian one. I am impressed. Now, the test of knowledge. We shall see if you are worthy of an Estonian ID. Are you ready?
- I was born…
- Shut it. Let’s start. What is the favorite breakfast of Estonians?
- Another Estonian.
- What do Estonians think of the Estonian-Finnic confederation?
- Wet dream.
- What is the Estonian national dessert?
- Kohuke.
- Why?
- No one knows.
- Did the Estonians invent Skype?
- Nope.
- What is your employment option in Tallinn, besides IT and food delivery?
- Suicide.
- How much does one kebab cost around here?
- Too much.
- I am slightly impressed. And now, the last challenge.
Steven snapped his claws again. One of the smaller birds landed near me with a plate. I almost died when I felt the smell. Really?
- For the last challenge, you need to eat this delicious Estonian sushi and say it was great.
- But that’s not even a…
- It is non-negotiable. The rules are rules. You need to eat this marvelous piece of sushi and say you never tasted any better sushi. Not even in Japan.
- But…
- NOT EVEN IN JAPAN!!!
I closed my eyes and ate the smelly substance. God, it was horrible. But I really wanted an Estonian ID card.
- So, how was it?
- I can honestly say that I never tried anything like this in my life. Not even in Japan.
- Stretchy, but I’ll allow it. Congratulations, oh Estonian one.
Steven gave me a golden Estonian ID. And then, everything changed. The toxic taste of sushi from my mouth disappeared. My skin started to itch slightly. And before my very eyes, a tattoo appeared on my forearm. A stylized SOS. Son of Steven. A lifetime of supplies of verivorst, salted herring, and blueberries appeared near me. I opened my fancy new backpack and found my OÜ company documents and a map of Tallinn pubs where you can get draft beer under 5 euros.
Damn, it’s good to be an Estonian citizen. Let’s drink to that.
The moral of the story
News from the Tallinn info:
The Tallinn police office apprehended a quite fat and quite drunk guy near Telliskivi. He was so obnoxious that even the other, usual Balti Jaam drunks avoided him. The suspect reeked of alcohol and, as it seems, was engaged in a heated debate with a seagull. As soon as he saw the police, he started screaming: I am one of yours! I am Estonian, too! Tere, my brothers, tere! while waving his ID card the whole time. The subject was thrown to the drunk tank. He spent the whole time murmuring:
- Hile Steven, the king of Estonia! Hile, my king!
