The hospitality we received in Estonia was outstanding. Our search for Napps in grandfather’s hometown confirmed this in a single, stunning day of surprises.
We had learned from a 1993 letter dad had written to Greg while visiting Estonia that Kaldatee 1, Otepää, once belonged to our grandfather Johannes Napp. We arrived in the hill town 30 years later, thinking to find and view the house and outbuildings, more out of curiosity (I like to think), than of any serious claim to ownership. But we didn’t do that.
Instead, we cycled to the cemetery and looked for headstones. We got distracted after an hour by a silver birch that lighting had splintered into multiple pale shafts. That could have been us and our tent in last night’s storm, I was thinking, when a man approached and asked our business. I explained our search for Napps, and he said look online. Obvious, of course. Digitally connected Estonia led in seconds to Heino and Linda Napp, and Anastassia Napp. We remembered dad had met Heino 30 years earlier in Otepää but not knowing the connection.
Idly strolling about, we met an older woman and explained our mission. Did she know Heino and Linda Napp? Yes, Linda was my history teacher and a very nice lady, she said, in English and Estonian. She led us to two headstones, one freshly carved of Heino and Linda who had died in 2020 and 2016, respectively, and another in limestone, badly faded, of Anastassia, of a generation earlier.
Our guide excused herself; we took photos, and wheeled our bikes to the exit when another woman came up to us, asking if we were the New Zealanders looking for Napps. A small town. She then explained she knew Heino and Linda’s granddaughter, Kätlin Ilves, who lived just around the corner. Would we like to see the house? Yes, and so we did, whereupon our guide said Kätlin would be at work at the sports centre – Otepää, a centre of winter sports in Estonia – a short cycle ride.
By the time we arrived at the Spordikeskus the receptionist already knew of us, saying Kätlin was at home and expecting us. We spent an afternoon with her and her highly accomplished 18-year-old daughter, Meriliis, drinking coffee and eating pastries, and worked out online that Kätlin is fourth cousin to our children.
So, we are third cousins to Kätlin’s mother Ülle, and that made dad and Heino second cousins, and Johannes and Anastassia first cousins by marriage. More searching, and our families join at two brothers, Karl (1864 – 1919) and our great-grandfather, Anton, dates of birth and death unknown.
Meriliis, she told us, knew the daughter of her maths teacher, Kaide Palmiste, the owner today of Kaldatee 1. Aha. Meriliis made a quick enquiry and informed us the buildings date from 1969, built by Kaide’s grandfather.
Kätlin’s husband Meelis arrived home from work, and explained much of Otepää was destroyed during WWII, and Johannes’ house probably burned to the ground like almost everything else, timber the chief building material, then and now.
Meelis invited us to stay for dinner, and turned out to be a raconteur. Heino had been director of the Culture House in Otepää for some 40 years, and was a household name to everyone in town, evidenced in a write up of him in a coffee table book on Otepää. Heino was an actor, and an artist. He would often borrow tools off Meelis to build sculptures and other things, even late in life. “Heino was a good man,” Meelis concluded.
Dinner was excellent, boiled potatoes and a tomato-and-cucumber salad from the garden, and pickled gherkins, a two-hour home recipe, accompanied by stewed meat in a sauce, and apple juice to drink.
Meelis told stories of earlier times truck driving throughout the Baltic and in Finland. Why is Latvia the lucky country? Because they have nice neighbours. The northern Finns respected Estonians. Less so in the south where if anything went wrong, it was probably an Estonian’s fault.
Kätlin came back in from outside, and said in a tone of concern the neighbour had apparently lit a smoke sauna. Meelis got up, went outside and immediately called the fire brigade. We trooped outside to view a house across a creek and a road already well aflame.
“Holy moly,” Meelis said, and shook his head. “Bad, bad, bad.” He had known the occupant since a boy, and as he grew up, had told him to leave off the drink, but to no avail. Drunken parties had become the norm. Now one too many. The first fire engine arrived, and half of Otepää turned up to watch. But no water out of the hose. Meelis went to look and made a video. “Bloody Estonians,” he said on return. He showed us footage of water pouring out the bottom of the truck. By the time the next engine arrived, the fire had reached the roof timbers; tiles of a synthetic material had started to explode and pop.
After the police and an ambulance arrived and the householder rescued, we returned inside, ending a day of surprises with a sauna, interspersed with two rounds of beer, sitting in the sauna house in towels, listening to more of Meelis’ entertaining stories, and then to deep sleep.
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