Tallinn, Estonia

I’m not a huge fan of stereotypes, but somehow I always imagined Eastern Europe would be different from the rest of the continent somehow – darker, greyer and surlier, with an undercurrent of quiet resentment hanging in the air, its communist past making its presence as strongly felt as the lingering smell of borscht and potatoes. Fortunately, as I realised today, I could not have been more wrong. If Tallinn, the quaint little capital of Estonia is anything to go by, Eastern Europe is a sparkling example of being so much more than the stereotype, even if Estonians do pride themselves on being home to a staggering one hundred varieties of potatoes.

I can’t help but look kindly upon Estonia after today. A tiny little nation hugging the coast of the Baltic Sea, Estonia has had the grave misfortune of being hit with a triple whammy of what I like to call CCGF (one of my many idiotic acronyms, forgive me) or Conditions Conducive to Getting F*cked. Pretty much all Estonians have ever wanted, if I’ve got it right, is the freedom to dedicate vast amounts of tax funds to potato research* and burst forth into celebrations of song and dance every five-odd years,** with a bit of gardening thrown in. Instead, their diminutive size coupled with their simple ways and proximity to power-hungry nations meant that they found themselves playing unwilling pawns in ego-driven political games for centuries, laying claim to a paltry 30-odd years of autonomy in the last five hundred. With Germany, Sweden, Denmark and Russia pawing at Estonia like so many cats sniping over a ball of yarn for time immemorial, it’s little wonder that Estonians today are fiercely proud of their hard-won independence and surprisingly intact culture.

*I kid you not – Tiina Kiibus, Tallinn’s director of tourism, told me that Estonia’s most celebrated national figure is a biologist who has dedicated her life to inventing various hybrids of potato to add to their hundred-odd list. She does this at the Potato Research Centre.
** Estonians have been breaking out into song and dance every five years since 1869, with thousands of participants competing for the grand prize. These people invented Eurovision.

The first thing you notice about Estonia is just how small it is. The population sizes up at only 1.3 million of which the capital, Tallinn, plays home to a mere 400,000. There are about 40 smaller cities, although this is a term used loosely in this context, scattered about the country with head counts of anywhere from 15 to 20,000. Even the palaces are diminutive by European standards, although Estonia was treated by its conquerors as an oversized holiday resort, with palaces serving mainly as temporary homes for brief summer recourse as opposed to permanent residences. Even by these standards, however, their sizes are astoundingly small. Walking about Tallinn, it’s difficult not to draw comparisons between the surrounding landscapes and a child's map of the countryside, with sunny green landscapes, small winding roads and the occasional babbling brook. Even the houses look like they were placed there by some giant hand, fashioned out of cardboard and clay. Visiting Estonia is like stepping into a land of fairytale.

Estonia currently finds itself at the happily ever after part of the tale, after all the monsters have been slain and the king has been returned to his rightful throne. Estonia has fought off Russian imperialism twice, once in 1918 (only to be repossessed during the First World War), and again for the final time in 1991. The president Toomas Hendrik Ilves is an American of Estonian origin whose family, respected Estonian gentility, fled the country during the First World War when Russians were shipping Estonians off to Siberian gulags by the truckload. His people must be pretty happy with him, because tourists can walk right up to his house if they want to, which is surrounded by quiet greenery and has no electronic gates and no security to speak of, save two solitary guards stationed at the door.

The men that guard the palace

The view from the President's Palace

Down the road from the President’s Palace is the Kadriorg Palace, which was built by Peter the Great as a summer residence in 1718.

The walk to the palace

Kadriorg Palace

It’s now home to the foreign art branch of the Estonian Art Museum which was thankfully open when we visited. There are a bunch of little-known Dutch and Flemish artists in there, along with a few remnants of life in the palace.

An artist’s depiction of Jesus’ last supper. Note how he painted in members of the aristocracy, not commoners, as was customary for the time.

Beautiful old Russian chairs from the palace.

A teacher in Estonian national dress with her children

Peter the Great died before the palace was completed, and the man who had it after him didn’t care too much for it, both inside and out. That’s why he hired a man who painted houses as opposed to an artist to decorate the ceiling in the main room, where all the parties were held. I don’t think the painter did too terribly.

He chose to depict the legend of Diana and Acteon, just before she turned him into a deer for being a peeping Tom while she was bathing with her friends. He’s just about transforming in the upper left corner.

This is how the rich stayed warm back in the day. An oven of this size could heat two or three rooms at once.

Finally, here’s Peter the Great, who wasn’t a very nice man. Maybe it’s because he was made king at 10 and all that power went to his head. Or maybe his sister messed him up, I’m not sure. Either way, his sister was older than him and a bit of a bully. She acted like she was the ruler when she really wasn’t and had him married to a girl he didn’t like. So as soon as Peter was old enough he had her shipped off to a nunnery where she could spend the rest of her days atoning for her sins. Then one day he was riding through the forest and he spotted this woman:

and promptly fell in love with her. The only problem was the very real presence of his current wife. So he dealt with her the only way he knew how – shipped her off to a nunnery. With the lovely peasant girl (we must assume she was lovely at the time) by his side, the world was his and all he needed was an heir. His new queen gave him many, but unfortunately only two survived, both girls, and Peter had nobody to leave his great kingdom to. And that was the story of that.

We made our way to the Old Town after the museum, which is still guarded by bits of the old wall, with two of the original towers intact.

The Russian presence is still very apparent in the city, nowhere more than with the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral. The Russians built it in the early 1900s as a symbol of their power and intended for it to shut the Estonians up just when they were starting to voice their opinions about independence. As far as imperialist symbolism goes, this isn’t bad.

Estonia may have gained independence in 1991, but it still has an established Russian population and this is where they go to worship. I couldn’t take pictures once inside, but it was pretty impressive – both grand and stern at the same time. There are no pews, so churchgoers stand through the ceremony, which can often last for two hours. I caught glimpses of a Russian Orthodox monk weaving his way through the crowd, checking to see that everything was in order and that no one was out of line. He had a wild, unkempt beard and was dressed in swathes of black from head to toe. He looked extremely ominous. I was delighted.

The Cathedral of St Mary the Virgin is the main Lutheran church where most Estonians go to worship, and is quite different from Alexander Nevsky.

It was once the church of the German nobility and is rather plain in comparison to the Nevsky – until you go inside, that is. The German aristocracy buried their families here, right under the massive roughly hewn stones that make up the church floor. Each family is represented by their coats of arms which are mounted on the walls of the church. I couldn’t take pictures, but you’ll just have to imagine it – an ancient, white, cavernous church whose walls are mounted by coat upon coat of arms, a dazzling explosion of history and colour adorning the otherwise Spartan interior. It’s incredible. And a little eerie, considering that you are in theory walking upon hundreds and hundreds of graves – the church’s foundations run deep and the Germans buried their dead in layers under the floor until the Russians deemed this highly uncool, dug the bones up and reburied them in a mass graveyard.

The pews are ancient too, with unnaturally high sides. Back in the day the men sat on the right and the women on the left, and the pews were built with high sides so that churchgoers would be able to look straight ahead without being distracted by the opposite sex. Little enclosed balconies, like those at the theatre, are perched above the pews and were meant for richer families who wanted privacy, or the freedom to observe the ceremonies without being seen.

Tallinn’s Old City is adorable, with its narrow cobbled streets and old houses, which people still live in.

The House of Parliament, perched high above the Old Town.

After lunch, I spotted an exhibition on ancient instruments of torture and so of course I had to see it. It was housed in a dark, dingy room, which added to the feel of the exhibit , instruments from medieval times which were sometimes accompanied by images that explained how the contraptions were used. The whole thing was an S&M fetishist’s dream come true, and I learnt two things that day. One is that you’re either into S&M or you’re not – there’s no grey area – and the second is that I most certainly do not fall into the former category.

I also thought it was very strange that most of the images, copies of the originals which were illustrated in the Middle Ages, featured naked women as the subjects of torture. I’ve said it before, but the whole thing was literally dripping with sadomasochism.
Strap victim onto board. Rake spikes over body until desired effect.
This chair, according to the accompanying plaque, was meant to cause the victim’s every movement indescribable pain, and he or she would be strapped into it long enough to confess. I ran my hands over it lightly and it left little marks on them. I’ll take their word for it.
This used a deceptively simple form of torture – the sense of shame. Victims would have this strapped on to their face for predetermined periods of time and would have to lead their lives as normal with it on. The exact nature of the crime was left to the public’s imagination, with punishable crimes covering everything from stealing to revealing an inch too much skin. Guess who wore masks the most? That’s right, the women. Having said that, can you imagine what it would be like if they used these today? Paris Hilton would never be seen without it.

This stuff’s making me feel a bit ill, so on to something more giggle-worthy. Instructions for how to build a chastity belt!
And an image of the kind they used in harems. Enough said.

Here's one just to clear the palate.

A view of Tallin's Old Town

Tallinn’s been awesome and I might find myself back in this part of the world again with more time to spare. Cruises are great, but I’m starting to think they’re more for people who are looking to get away from it all with a spot of sightseeing thrown in as opposed to actually getting under the skin of a place. Still, I think of this as a taster session for all things Baltic. I like what I see so far and I have a feeling I’m going to love what I see next – St Petersburg, Russia.

Copenhagen

May 24, 2009

Today was the first day off sea since we embarked on the cruise, which was two days ago. It’s been alright so far – I got upgraded to a suite upon check in and they put me right next to my parents’ suite, which was at the back of the ship. This section has the best views since you can see both sunrise and sunset, so that was nice. The ship is huge – 923 feet long with a passenger capacity of a staggering 2,300 and staff of over 1,200 spread out in hundreds of rooms over three acres of space.

You can’t really feel the motion of the ship at most times, except for a slight swaying every now and again. For some reason though things at the back of the ship jiggle around a teeny bit more, which was a little more than I was willing to put up with for 12 days, so I switched to a suite on the side of the ship. The views are lovely and the sea is calmer here, since the engines that churn the water leaving frothy streams of foam in their wake are stationed at the back, not the sides.

We sailed into Copenhagen at about 8 o’clock this morning. Priority disembarkation (it’s fun being treated special) meant that we could leave the ship well before the rush of passengers disembarking, and we were on our way at about 9. Copenhagen is a pretty city, but it certainly isn’t among Europe’s loveliest. It’s got all the requisites – stately old buildings, sprawling town squares and lots of greenery, but it seems to lack a certain spirit, even on a Sunday like today. Maybe it was the weather – first it was cold and grey, then it began to rain, which was followed by bouts of sunshine and drizzle through the day. It didn’t stop a marathon from going full swing ahead however and parts of the town were blocked to make way for the runners. It was about 12 degrees and people were jogging about in the tiniest of shorts. I don’t know how they do it!

One of Copenhagen’s most famous attractions is a statue of The Little Mermaid from the fairytale by Hans Christian Andersen (one of Denmark’s most famous exports, along with the ubiquitous café snack, the Danish roll). It was a present from Carlsberg (another famous Danish export) to the city of Copenhagen and was installed on the rocks of the port in 1913. I didn’t look at pictures of it before I left, and I probably should have, because it was a bit of a letdown. People go on about it so much that I expected a real work of art, but instead I saw a forlorn woman with serious posture problems perched on a rock looking all pensive. Fabulous.

Copenhagen has all sorts of sculptures around the city, as they were apparently quite the rage at the turn of the century. One of my favourites greets you as you’re walking down the port into the city. An angel with one arm holding a harp and the other reaching to the heavens, it’s been mounted to face East to greet the sun as it rises, a sight almost lost on a grey wintry morning like today. But just as we walked past it, the sun broke through the clouds and shone right down on it. It was the perfect image; an angel bathed in divine light. The sculptor knew what he was doing. I wish my picture did it justice, but the lighting coupled with my poor photography skills (amateurish at best) served only to produce this:

Denmark seems to have had a lot of copper handy at one point, because it features in all its public monuments.

Oxidised, it’s turned green, which lends it a sort of nicely aged look and adds a certain air of authenticity to its many sea-themed installations.

Denmark still has a royal family and their palace is spread out around the town square, although it’s smaller than most European royal homes. There’s a solitary guard that’s stationed outside one of the gates, although today’s guard looked a bit too young too do much besides march about with much pomp – that is, until a wayward tourist tried to take a picture with him and he snapped to pitbull mode and told him to stay at least three metres away from him at all times or else. I did manage to chat to him for a bit however – from a distance, of course, so we were sort of yelling at each other, but it was all very nice and polite regardless. He pointed out the Queen’s home to me, which was opposite the massive building he was guarding, which belongs to Prince Frederick. “He’ll be King soon,” he yelled, with a hint of pride. It was the only time during our conversation that he smiled. He must like his boss.

Tivoli is one of the world’s oldest amusement parks, and that’s where we were heading. There’s not much to see in Copenhagen besides that, the National Design Museum and the despondent mermaid, so we decided to walk to Tivoli to take in as much of Copenhagen as we could. It’s about half an hour away from the dock, but it took us about twice as long because of my mother’s predilection for whipping out her video camera for everything and anything. “That is the most interesting bird!” “Did you look at the carving on that building!” “Is that how they spell lawyer here?” and so on. It all began with her first video camera on our trip to Kenya in the early 90s. Video cameras were the hottest thing back then so we thought her enthusiasm would die down soon, but that was not to be. Interestingly enough though, in spite of the fact that my parents have been taking one or two long holidays every year for the last fifteen years, there’s little footage to prove it. We have no idea what my mum’s done with the countless hours of incessant filming through the years and we’re not sure we want to find out.

We managed to get to Tivoli at some point and it was a riot. Visitors who make a trip there expecting Disneyworld are sure to be sorely disappointed – Tivoli’s charm doesn’t lie in its groundbreaking rides, it lies in the fact that this is the granddaddy of amusement parks, the one that all modern amusement parks have modeled themselves on. Established in the 1800s, most of its rides are still wooden and slightly rickety, although I don’t know of any unfortunate incidents to have resulted from the fact. It’s uncomplicated without being simplistic and quaint without ever being twee and I loved it. There was a fairytale ride based on Hans Christian Andersen’s stories that had seats shaped like flying trunks (I almost spelt that drunks – imagine that! The Amazing Flying Drunks) and each turn had a new tale, replete with fabulous décor and wooden dolls, some singing. It’s a Small World, anyone? The similarities were striking.

I had so much fun at Tivoli. I don’t holiday with my parents much anymore and each time I do there are moments when I wonder if it was a good idea to tag along, since we like to do things at completely different paces – still, it’s turning out to be a pretty good trip. I may not get on fabulously with my parents all the time, but we seem to work quite well when we’re on holiday, which is nice.

On our way back, I came across a green and very dilapidated version of Michelangelo’s David.

This is one of my favourite pieces of art. The copy, as it turns out, once belonged to the king of Denmark and is now part of a museum that houses his vast collection of famous copies, all done in plaster of Paris. We went in to have a look. The museum was once a warehouse for an old Danish tea company and it was quite large, but I don’t think they made very good use of the space. The pieces, ranging from early Antiquity to late Renaissance, were scattered about the place haphazardly and until I came across the museum’s leaflet I thought they were for sale, because the place looked like an old shop. Still, there were some lovely pieces in there. They may not have been presented in the best way but they definitely served to whet my appetite for my proposed trip to Florence later this year. Here are some of my favourites:

Wouldn’t you want this guy guarding your house?

This is a lovely statue that’s missing a head, but I was drawn to it because of the sheer size of its wings. I love angels and anything that reminds me of them. I asked the man at the reception who this was meant to be, and he said it was the Greek goddess of sport. He said her name out loud and it sounded a bit like nee-kuh. I asked him to spell it, and guess what? It’s n-i-k-e. Just as this dawned on me, a Greek tourist who was listening in on our conversation told me that Nike, the Greek goddess of sport, is so named because the word means victory. I wonder why the guys at Nike didn’t tell me this when I visited them at their campus in Portland last year. If I worked for a company that had a cool name like that I’d want to tell everyone, especially the media.

Look how they defiled the poor Venus de Milo. Once the goddess of love, she was then relegated to some guy’s garden, spouting water from her boobs.

Here’s another David. I first saw the original at the Victoria & Albert in London. It was in a quieter room and I stopped to look at it because it’s quite an arresting piece. I thought it was by Michelangelo at first but then realized that it was by another Renaissance master, Donatello. When I went home and looked him up, I learnt that he was a huge fan of Michelangelo and was greatly influenced by his work. Look at the difference between this piece and Michelangelo’s version, the difference not just in size but stature, pose, physique, sheer magnetism, and it’s no surprise that when people think of David and Goliath in art, it’s Michelangelo’s version that comes to mind.

This is Lorenzo de Medici as depicted by Michelangelo, rather kindly I think. If portraiture and people’s accounts are anything to go by, Lorenzo de Medici represented a certain dichotomy in form and spirit – while he was said to possess a fine, gentle spirit and was a patron of the arts in the truest, purest sense of the word – we probably wouldn’t know who Michelangelo, among other artists, was if not for de Medici – his physical appearance left much to be desired. There’s a coin I remember seeing a picture of that depicted de Medici’s profile – hook nose, bulging eyes – and he was said to be very sickly. Here he looks young, robust, handsome, positively bursting with vitality. My guess is that when Michelangelo portrayed de Medici he aimed to depict his soul.

The Pieta – once again by Michelangelo. I’m a huge fan, can you tell? If there’s one word that stands out again and again with the Pieta, it is tenderness. It’s brilliant. I'd love to see the real thing in person.

We got back and had a light dinner - Copenhagen was an interesting city, but I don't feel that odd pull that certain places exert over you, when you visit once and you know that someday, somehow, you'll be back to continue what you know deep down can only be a budding love affair. Next stop - Tallinn, Estonia. It will be my first foray into Eastern Europe and who knows what that will be like? Will it be another love affair to rival that which I have with Florence, and Tuscany? Watch this space for more.