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I’m Going, That’s All There Is To It

Estonia has made internet access a civil right. It's also one of the progenitors of a "paperless" government, which, as Malcolm Gladwell has pointed out, usually means that even more paper being accumulated somewhere. Still, of all the appeals of capital city Tallinn is the thriving night-life:

As for Tallinn's nightlife, it seemed genuinely fun and welcoming–if, that is, one could overlook the drunken Scottish men giving one another comradely punches in the face on their way to the next strip club. One night at a disco, a woman, for whom the phrase "out of my league" had been invented, waved me onto the dance floor to join her for an encore of "Welcome to Estonia," a popular local anthem sung to the tune of James Brown's "Living in America." Tallinn boasted what I can say were–without fear of hyperbole–the most jaw-droppingly beautiful women I have ever seen in my life. (One Estonia-boosting tract cheerfully explains: "The concentration of beautiful and interesting women in Estonia is apparently among the highest in the world.") Perhaps relatedly, the one time I was approached by a young Estonian looking to unload some drugs, the narcotic in question turned out to be Viagra.

My thin slice of heaven is Studio 54 in the Winter Palace, or some like interleaving of cultural references.

I was in Prague two summers ago and decided that, if ever faced with the prospect of emigrating to Europe where en vogue were bowler hats and bisexual Lena Olin-ish photographers who frolic naked in front of body-length mirrors, I'd make the city of spires my adopted home. Now I'm not so sure.

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