Hard times with an Estonian dog

When I arrive in Tallinn, the capital city of Estonia, I get off at the wrong bus stop. After dragging my suitcase across the town, I finally manage to track down my host, who – as a self-declared hippy – is sat in the street tapping out avant-garde melodies on a traditional Baltic instrument. Along with his friend, he takes me to the apartment, warns me that it’s ‘bohemian’ just before entering, then shows me in and skins up a spliff. The next 15 minutes are rather strange:

1st minute

I sit on a floor mattress/sofa kinda thing and a dog joins me. I don’t really hang out with dogs much, so I’m naturally suspicious of them. But in the spirit of travelling, I decide to open my mind to new experiences and stroke the dog. He seems to enjoy it.

6th minute

My host asks his friend for some acid, which he promptly buys from her.

10th minute

The dog gets up, turns around, looks longingly into my eyes and then grabs hold of my arm. I’m a bit confused. Then I notice its raging hard-on and realise that it’s trying to copulate with my wrist.

11th minute

My host lights up a joint.

13th minute

I experience minor trauma and push the dog away from me.

15th minute

My host finishes smoking, tells me he’s heading to another town, Tartu, and that he’ll see me in a few days.

What a welcome! Naturally, nothing that happens over the next few days in Estonia can quite match these giddy heights. I visit a massive abandoned prison, complete with antiquated medical equipment and pro-Trump graffiti. I wander through the old fishing district of Tallinn, Kalamaja, full of houses made from cute and colourful wooden panels that are prone to burning. I even venture to Tartu myself to experience that southern Estonian relaxed vibe and head to a party in an old museum, where I become friends with a lovely Estonian film-lover.

But no. There’s nothing quite like being sexually assualted by a dog while its owner buys LSD and smokes weed. And for that, I will never forget Estonia.