Jõiste Beach, Saaremaa, Estonia

This was one of my favorite little spots back in February on Saaremaa island, not even a ten minute walk from the Cabin in the Woods.

The sea was only partly frozen; not frozen enough to drive on, as apparently is sometimes the case. Sometimes "ice roads" apparently open up between the islands of Saaremaa and Hiiuma. The thought freaks me out; I have a fear of drowning. But climate change is making the ice roads far less common. I don't think they were open at all this past winter.

There are many small beaches like this, dotted around the island. In the summer, people make the most of the beaches – tiny as they typically are – and you might come and wade out in the sea a bit and let kids splash around and play. But in winter, you can walk out onto the ice, when it's frozen enough. And then you just look out over the white-grey ice, with Hijumaa island hazy in the distance. Look, and think, or don't think. In winter, beaches like this are almost always completely deserted.

Jõiste Beach was a perfect lookout point to watch the sunset, and once Dan and I discovered this, it became a place we'd go once every few days, whenever the sky was clear enough – at times using the car for the 3-minute drive to catch it just in time. Some of the sunsets were so crazy vivid, contrasting with the white-grey of the sea.

Or, sometimes I'd come during the day, alone, just to sit for a while. There was a pile of wooden planks at the edge of the beach, which I'm sure are used for something in the summer – maybe to build a bit of a walkway or a dock? You can tell I grew up completely landlocked. Sea-related things confuse me.

One day, as I was sitting on my pile of wood, a man drove up in an SUV, got out and came down the the water's edge – or rather, the ice's edge. He observed the scene and looked up at me, and tried to say something in Estonian.

"Sorry, only English." I always hate saying that, especially in rural places, as it means the conversation usually just dies.

"The ice, it's not enough to drive," he said in English. Followed by a curious "Where are you from?" And "Where are you staying?"

He knew the owner of the Cabin in the Woods right away; everyone with houses in the same area of Saaremaa knows one another (actually, I'd imagine most of the island knows one another). He looked like he was from the city – his car, his dress, everything.

He pointed at a long crack in the ice, not too far off shore. "There, you see, it's not thick enough," he told me.

"The roads used to be open at this time, always. But not anymore."

And that was the extent of our conversation; with a very abrupt, very Estonian "okay, bye," he got back in his car, reversed away from the beach, gave a small wave, and drove off.

I longed for more conversation but in Estonia, between strangers, that was far more than usual.

And then it was completely silent again; back to just me, the pines, the grey-white sea, and the grey sky.