Not quite. Contrary to appearances, the Caribbean or South Pacific it is not: I am minutes from landing at Ulemiste. Koipsi’s location in the Gulf of Finland’s arm of the Baltic Sea guarantees the opposite of sultry although with 7 degrees and clear skies the day is paradisiacal by Estonian standards.For several weeks I elaborated a series of travel plans articulated around a dual premise: my destination had to be in a country I had never visited and in a warm locale. The Alhambra still holds the same allure, but I have been to Spain three times. Granada, however, would have satisfied the temperature requirement. St. Petersburg most definitely would not, but blind obedience to rules - even self imposed - is not characteristic.
Amman and Petra looked great, too, as did Cairo and the pyramids. The problem was to find a way to be in back in Zurich in time for my transatlantic flight home. Then came the NPR program “Travel with Rick Steves” where the host and two guests extolled the attributes of Tallinn. Well below the radar of American consciousness the Estonian capital suited the desire to step off the beaten path. A perfect fit except for those meager seven degrees.
Tallinn, the largest city in a pocket of a country of 1.3 million inhabitants, radiates medieval charm. With neighbors Latvia and Lithuania, it is one of the three Baltic Republics to have declared independence from the Soviet Union in 1991. All are European Union member countries and entry into any of the former Soviet Republics is trouble-free, a departure from the days when Moscow controlled access as it does to St. Petersburg. Part of my decision not to go there (for now) stemmed from my inability to figure how whether I need a visa and how to obtain it.
While in France I saved time for an overnight at my sister Anic’s and a first medieval foray at the Tapisserie de Bayeux, an embroidered chronicle woven by monks after the conquest of England by William, Duke of Normandy, in 1061, which earned him the new moniker of William the Conqueror. We stepped inside the Norman Romanesque Gothic Cathedral, consecrated in 1077 (the construction lasted several centuries) with William in attendance. The Tapisserie was once housed there.
We plodded in the footsteps of more recent history on the wet sand of Utah Beach where the Allied Forces unleashed Operation Overlord on June 6, 1944. American troops had a comparatively easy time landing and did not suffer the staggering casualties of Omaha Beach. A few days before D-Day, the BBC had broadcast the obscure half of the first stanza of a poem by Verlaine. “Les sanglots longs des violons de l’automne” would be followed in the early hours of June 6 by “Blessent mon coeur d’une langueur monotone.”“The long sobs of the violins of autumn wound my heart with a monotonous languor.” It was a signal to the Resistance to attack German positions and sabotage the infrastructure.
The brisk winds at dusk forced me to zip up my coat and seek shelter from the violence that visited these shores 65 years ago. The evening brought an unexpected guest when a call came that my nephew Sylvain’s kid was being expelled from the boarding school where he had been a student. I last saw Quentin 12 years ago when he was five years old in Lisbon. Perfect timing, if I may say so myself.
In Paris I stayed at my mom’s new place in the 18th arrondissement where she moved in September after almost four decades in the 7th. My other sister Josiane picked me up at the Gare de Lyon where my train from Lausanne arrived in mid afternoon. Six hours later I started to feel sick, a repeat of the condition that plagued my last two visits to France.
My friend Nicolas moved in his new office at the Ecole Militaire opposite the Eiffel Tower. We ate at the officer school’s cafeteria that serves a full menu including beer, wine and spirits at unbeatable prices. It gave me a chance to revisit the old neighborhood and step inside the military graduate school for the first time. Nicolas expects to make it to the rank of general by 2368.
Seen on the streets of Paris, a trompe l’oeil billboard that declares enigmatically: Il faut se méfier des mots. One must distrust words.
Heard on the radio, a cheeky albeit untenable quote: Je voudrais me suicider mais je n'ai pas le temps. I would like to commit suicide but I don't have time.
I settled at the Baltic Hotel Imperial, a cozy property erected against the fortification. Only a few kilometers remain of the original ramparts that encircled the town and protected it from attacks, but most of the buildings date back to the Middle Ages.
I climbed Toompea Hill to check out remnants of the Castle built by the Germans in 1227 and to gaze at the bulbous towers of the Alexander Nevski Cathedral. With the Cathedral of Saint Mary the Virgin, the Russian orthodox and Lutheran churches anchor the Toompea skyline, a district that was a distinct city until 1877.Dozens of steps down steep staircases and I was back in the vicinity of my hotel. I wandered the cobbled streets towards St. John’s Church to attend a Christos Oratorio performed by young Estonian singers. The country has a strong choral singing tradition that articulates its national identity. Around 30,000 people sing in choirs. It played a central role in its march towards independence when hundreds of thousands would gather at Lauluväljak every five years to find inspirational comfort in songs banned by the Soviet government. The Singing Revolution succeeded in overcoming the occupiers. The next Song Festival is scheduled for early July.
Tallinn’s preserved medieval center holds great appeal. The town grew prosperous in the Middle Ages when it belonged to the Hanseatic League, a mercantile and military alliance around the North Sea and Baltic Sea centered on the northern German city of Lübeck. Cities and their guilds established a trade monopoly and pledged mutual assistance. Tallinn flourished thanks to its strategic position, then as now, between northern and western Europe and Russia.New buildings compete for space with houses erected almost a thousand years ago. Often the medieval and the contemporary intermingle in a patchwork of polished stones and pastel colored walls. Narrow alleys and streets much wider than in other medieval cities radiate from Raekoja Plats, the Town Hall Square.
A light rain slickens the cobblestones and I hasten my pace with diligence. Darkness smothers the yellow lights that cast dangerous shadows. I imagine a nobleman hurrying about, the raised heels of his knee-high boots clicking wildly on the stones of the winding alley, his cape trailing in a coil of wind. The masons, furriers, blacksmiths, coopers and saddlers have closed shop. The jesters and troubadours shuttered their entertainment. Even the rat catchers called it a day.
Tallinn sleeps.
The watchers are not sleeping. At the corner of Pikk and Pagari an inconspicuous and elegant cut-stone building played a central role in controlling the activities of the population. The KGB headquarter is noticed for the boarded up windows on the ground floor. Its location near St.Olaf’s Church is not accidental: the KGB made good use of the 124-meter steeple for its antennas during the Cold War, fueling a hysteria that permeated the United States but largely bypassed Europe.
At the time of construction in 1549, St. Olaf was the tallest building in Europe. I climbed the narrow and steep stairs to the top of the stone portion of the tower to be greeted by a sea of red, green and burnt orange tin roofs and the actual Baltic Sea. On a clear day you can see freedom.
Tallinn sleeps.
The watchers are not sleeping. At the corner of Pikk and Pagari an inconspicuous and elegant cut-stone building played a central role in controlling the activities of the population. The KGB headquarter is noticed for the boarded up windows on the ground floor. Its location near St.Olaf’s Church is not accidental: the KGB made good use of the 124-meter steeple for its antennas during the Cold War, fueling a hysteria that permeated the United States but largely bypassed Europe.At the time of construction in 1549, St. Olaf was the tallest building in Europe. I climbed the narrow and steep stairs to the top of the stone portion of the tower to be greeted by a sea of red, green and burnt orange tin roofs and the actual Baltic Sea. On a clear day you can see freedom.
Independence has not ushered a complete, radical change of the political landscape. Some politicians who ruled under Soviet oversight escaped blame and retain power. “They say they did it to destroy the system,” said an executive with the Museum of Occupations, his voice rich with skepticism. The institution traces German and Russian rule over the country from the beginning of World War II to Independence. Once proudly exhibited around the city, busts of Lenin and other communist leaders gather dust in the basement. 
The old town section of Tallinn is blessedly free of examples of Stalinist architecture. The unadorned, drab slabs of concrete have been relegated to outlying areas. At the Balti Jaam train station I boarded Tram 1 and headed to Kadriorg for a taste of tsarist housing practices. Like in Paris it seems that it is no longer necessary to show transit passes to conductors. I kept the Tallinn Card in my pocket. Beyond tram and bus lines, the card gives admission to museums and sights, guides tours and discounts at restaurants, shops and activities. A 24-hour card costs 375 eesti krooni, or Estonian crowns. The euro changeover date has been pushed back because Estonia is not yet able to meet financial and economic criteria. The exchange rate is fixed, however, and it is a matter of time before the € replaces the EEK, the current worldwide debacle notwithstanding.
A guided tour of Kadriorg Park, Palace and the Kumu Art Museum sounded promising but the English version was later in the day. At 300 EEK it would have been a bargain with the Tallinn Card. Instead I sidestepped the ducks walking on the pond’s (frozen) water for a self-guided tour of the palace built by Tsar Peter the Great for his wife Catherine in the early 18th century. As a summer residence, of course, as one would not want to be caught in the same house year-round. The splendid northern baroque estate houses a museum of modest pretensions. On this early spring day the landscape gardens were barely thawing and more muddy than manicured.
I fortified myself with a potent Estonian coffee made with Vana Tallinn liqueur at Reval Café. I got buzzed quickly and the hints of vanilla, citrus, anise and spice were lost on me. A second pastry mitigated the effect of the alcohol. I could have spent the better part of the day in the cozy coffee house named after Tallinn’s official German name until the country’s first independence in 1918. Cappuccinos may not be the drink of choice of knights but one would not have been out of place at the Reval Café, stone walls and all.
Intrigued by the “new Estonian cuisine” descriptive in a Finnair’s in-flight magazine piece on gourmet dining I made a reservation for dinner at Restoran Ő. The atmosphere was most subdued and reminded me of the sophisticated ultra lounges of Las Vegas. Rail-thin waitresses wear white gloves to deliver impeccable dishes but I could not get over the sensation that it was too formulaic, that the restaurant’s personality did not develop as much as it was marketed. My request for tap water delivered a tiny bottle of Evian without explanation but with a charge on the bill.
After a stop at the Rimi supermarket very busy with a crowd hoping to beat the 22h00 deadline to buy booze I peeked inside the DM Baar, curious at the musical selection that spilled onto the street and that I recognized from walking by earlier in the day. True to their model, Depeche Mode tunes –to the exclusion of all others - make up the perpetual rotation of the playlist at the DM.
In the fortification towers above the ramparts I looked for a meurtrière from which to respond to a potential attack. From the narrow opening I scanned the flatlands beyond the moat for ambushes and prepare to counter the enemy. Hot oil poured from a cauldron or a shot from an arquebus? Ideally I'd prefer to abstain from hand-to-hand combat even if I imagine I would look hot wielding a sword.
I climbed stairs angled like ladders into turrets of the Epping Tower Museum, ducked under wooden support beams that almost decapitated me and wondered if I could get fitted for a coat of chainmail. How heavy are those outfits? About 20 kilos, a perfect fit with the baggage allowance on airlines. The plate armor is subject to excess-weight fees.
Estonia flirts with a pseudo reversal of Russification, the policies that encouraged Russian settlement to dilute Estonian culture during the years of domination by the Soviet Union. Finnish or English language signage informs visitors but Russian is absent from the landscape even while two thirds of Tallinn’s resident claim Russian ancestry. Aleksadr, a young desk clerk at my hotel, was born and grew up in Tallinn of parents who moved to Estonia from Moscow when the region was part of the U.S.S.R. No longer a Russian citizen, he is also not considered Estonian in spite of his birthplace and fluency in Estonian. He holds an "alien passport," he said. From his upbringing he feels Estonian but for the moment, his ancestry labels him a man without a country. He is therefore not eligible for posts where Estonian citizenship is required, and spoke of cultural friction between residents of Estonian stock versus Russian stock.
Behind the heavy wooden doors of the Bonaparte Cafe I dug provocatively in an apricot tart with cheese curd while Charles Trenet's evocative “La Mer” lifted me out of 13th century Tallinn into contemporary melancholy. I reached for A. Le Coq, the most popular local beer with a French name that reflects a Huguenot ancestry largely disconnected from Estonia.
Time was running out and I rushed to inspect the tombstones of the former sanctuary on St. Catherine’s Passage. By accident I followed a cobblestoned path to a courtyard and Pizza Grande, Aleksandr's pick for a last supper should he ever leave Tallinn - and he wants to move to Florida.
The youthful restaurant inhabits a maze of several rooms with low ceilings linked by arched doorways. Of the 33 pizzas, I picked the vegetaarne (vegetarian) Zanettorro for its asparagus, mushrooms, sundried tomatoes, capers and pesto. I steered clear from the vanilla cream and cinnamon, two of the magus (sweet) toppings. The price of soft drinks hiked up from 15 to 18 EEK, close enough to tempt a dip into a glass of Finlandia, Saaremaa or Viru Valge vodka for a mere 25 EEK.
One last spin through Tallinn. The high seas are calling. A taxi overcharges me before delivering me to the Tallink dock. I’m not saying anything but it’s the third time I catch someone trying to cheat me out of a few EEKs…
On a clear day you can see freedom. I'll be there in two hours.
A guided tour of Kadriorg Park, Palace and the Kumu Art Museum sounded promising but the English version was later in the day. At 300 EEK it would have been a bargain with the Tallinn Card. Instead I sidestepped the ducks walking on the pond’s (frozen) water for a self-guided tour of the palace built by Tsar Peter the Great for his wife Catherine in the early 18th century. As a summer residence, of course, as one would not want to be caught in the same house year-round. The splendid northern baroque estate houses a museum of modest pretensions. On this early spring day the landscape gardens were barely thawing and more muddy than manicured.
I fortified myself with a potent Estonian coffee made with Vana Tallinn liqueur at Reval Café. I got buzzed quickly and the hints of vanilla, citrus, anise and spice were lost on me. A second pastry mitigated the effect of the alcohol. I could have spent the better part of the day in the cozy coffee house named after Tallinn’s official German name until the country’s first independence in 1918. Cappuccinos may not be the drink of choice of knights but one would not have been out of place at the Reval Café, stone walls and all.Intrigued by the “new Estonian cuisine” descriptive in a Finnair’s in-flight magazine piece on gourmet dining I made a reservation for dinner at Restoran Ő. The atmosphere was most subdued and reminded me of the sophisticated ultra lounges of Las Vegas. Rail-thin waitresses wear white gloves to deliver impeccable dishes but I could not get over the sensation that it was too formulaic, that the restaurant’s personality did not develop as much as it was marketed. My request for tap water delivered a tiny bottle of Evian without explanation but with a charge on the bill.
After a stop at the Rimi supermarket very busy with a crowd hoping to beat the 22h00 deadline to buy booze I peeked inside the DM Baar, curious at the musical selection that spilled onto the street and that I recognized from walking by earlier in the day. True to their model, Depeche Mode tunes –to the exclusion of all others - make up the perpetual rotation of the playlist at the DM.In the fortification towers above the ramparts I looked for a meurtrière from which to respond to a potential attack. From the narrow opening I scanned the flatlands beyond the moat for ambushes and prepare to counter the enemy. Hot oil poured from a cauldron or a shot from an arquebus? Ideally I'd prefer to abstain from hand-to-hand combat even if I imagine I would look hot wielding a sword.
I climbed stairs angled like ladders into turrets of the Epping Tower Museum, ducked under wooden support beams that almost decapitated me and wondered if I could get fitted for a coat of chainmail. How heavy are those outfits? About 20 kilos, a perfect fit with the baggage allowance on airlines. The plate armor is subject to excess-weight fees.
Estonia flirts with a pseudo reversal of Russification, the policies that encouraged Russian settlement to dilute Estonian culture during the years of domination by the Soviet Union. Finnish or English language signage informs visitors but Russian is absent from the landscape even while two thirds of Tallinn’s resident claim Russian ancestry. Aleksadr, a young desk clerk at my hotel, was born and grew up in Tallinn of parents who moved to Estonia from Moscow when the region was part of the U.S.S.R. No longer a Russian citizen, he is also not considered Estonian in spite of his birthplace and fluency in Estonian. He holds an "alien passport," he said. From his upbringing he feels Estonian but for the moment, his ancestry labels him a man without a country. He is therefore not eligible for posts where Estonian citizenship is required, and spoke of cultural friction between residents of Estonian stock versus Russian stock.Behind the heavy wooden doors of the Bonaparte Cafe I dug provocatively in an apricot tart with cheese curd while Charles Trenet's evocative “La Mer” lifted me out of 13th century Tallinn into contemporary melancholy. I reached for A. Le Coq, the most popular local beer with a French name that reflects a Huguenot ancestry largely disconnected from Estonia.
Time was running out and I rushed to inspect the tombstones of the former sanctuary on St. Catherine’s Passage. By accident I followed a cobblestoned path to a courtyard and Pizza Grande, Aleksandr's pick for a last supper should he ever leave Tallinn - and he wants to move to Florida.The youthful restaurant inhabits a maze of several rooms with low ceilings linked by arched doorways. Of the 33 pizzas, I picked the vegetaarne (vegetarian) Zanettorro for its asparagus, mushrooms, sundried tomatoes, capers and pesto. I steered clear from the vanilla cream and cinnamon, two of the magus (sweet) toppings. The price of soft drinks hiked up from 15 to 18 EEK, close enough to tempt a dip into a glass of Finlandia, Saaremaa or Viru Valge vodka for a mere 25 EEK.
One last spin through Tallinn. The high seas are calling. A taxi overcharges me before delivering me to the Tallink dock. I’m not saying anything but it’s the third time I catch someone trying to cheat me out of a few EEKs…
On a clear day you can see freedom. I'll be there in two hours.
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