Tallinn’s medieval Old Town (described in my previous post, and the one before that) is lovely, but the teeming hordes of tourists started to get on my nerves pretty quickly. I suppose if I’d been able to afford to stay inside Diocletian’s Palace in Split, or in Prague’s Old Town or Castle Quarter — the only two cities I’ve visited that are more touristy than Tallinn — the throngs of confused tourists, pausing at unpredictable times to whip out a camera or unfold a map, snarling foot traffic as they did so, would have gotten under my skin too.
In Tallinn, however, I could afford, even on my meager $50/day lodging budget, an Airbnb apartment within the Lower Town. Here, every time I open the door that leads from my building’s courtyard out into the narrow, cobblestoned, medieval street outside, I risk startling some poor tourists crouched right there in the shade, consulting a map or trying to get the perfect angle for their photo of the church across the street. Every time I have to run an errand, to the grocery store or post office, say, I have to paddle through that sea of humanity. By the time yesterday (Monday, 6 August 2018), my fifth full day in Tallinn, rolled around, walking through the old town induced in me a state of extreme annoyance.
Now part of that is probably due to the fact that I’m staring the end of my amazing globe-straddling adventure in the face. Tomorrow (Wednesday, 8 August 2018) I fly home to the U.S. I’m feeling sorrow over the end of my voyage. And although I aggressively focused on the present during my travels, so as to enjoy them to the hilt, my anxiety related to the uncertainty surrounding the next phase of my life is now rising from its slumber. The emotion is not unlike what I felt toward the end of my grade school summer vacations.
And the tourist crowds of Tallinn are not improving my mood. Getting out of the Old Town does, though.
The modern city of Tallinn beckons just beyond the Viru Gate. That smile on my face: I took this photo on just my second full day in town, before the other tourists really started to me. In other words, when I was the one snarling foot traffic as I paused to scan my map or get just the right angle for my selfie (3 August 2018).
Back in the day, the Soviet authorities required all foreigners to stay here, at the Hotel Viru, just outside the Old Town. Naturally, this made the Soviet intelligence agencies’ jobs easier. The locals joke that the Hotel Viru is constructed from a unique material called “micrete.” It’s 60% concrete, 40% microphones (3 August 2018).
Well, well, well. Tallinn is more than just its cutesy Old Town. This gleaming, glassy mall wouldn’t look out of place in any modern city. And credit where credit is due: Tallinn is the tidiest city in the Baltics. There are some graffiti-covered, crumbling hulks in Tallinn (more on that very soon), but not on the main drag (3 August 2018).
As a child of the Cold War, I’m fascinated by any visible reminders of the communist period in the various “Iron Curtain” countries I visit. The industrial area along the harbor, north of Tallinn’s Old Town, is chock full of these.
These days, Patarei Prison — originally built in 1840 as a Russian coastal fortress — hosts tours and art installations. It was a notorious Soviet prison for over 50 years, where many brutal interrogations, sometimes followed by executions, occurred. And before that, the Nazis used it during World War II for the same purpose, murdering 250 French Jews here, among others. The beautiful view of the Baltic Sea from here is still partially obscured by barbed wire (6 August 2018).
Next door to Patarei, there is a maritime museum featuring, among other things, this decommissioned Soviet steam-powered icebreaker. It was built by a German shipyard in what is now Poland in 1914, sold to Russia, and, fortuitously for its buyer, was delivered here to Tallinn less than a month before World War I broke out. In addition to its ice-breaking duties, the Russians used it during both World Wars to ferry troops and supplies around. Miraculously, it survived both wars and remained in service until the 1980s (6 August 2018).
The ship is open to the public and you can tour almost every square inch of it. The German manufacturer’s plaque is on that column there (6 August 2018).
This vast concrete structure, now known as Linnahall, was built for the 1980 Olympics — Tallinn hosted the sailing events on Moscow’s behalf — as the “V. I. Lenin Palace of Culture and Sport” (6 August 2018).
These days, Linnahall is mostly abandoned. It attracts a handful of tourist gawkers like me, but mostly it’s a place where local kids come to hang out, drink, and skateboard. The structure itself is slowly going back to nature, as demonstrated by the weeds popping up everywhere (6 August 2018).
There are weeds, and then there are WEEDS. Looking around at this place, I thought to myself: “This is what the whole world would look like, 10 or 20 years after a nuclear holocaust or a zombie apocalypse or a killer pandemic like in Stephen King’s book The Stand” (6 August 2018).
It’s spooky. If I were a local teenager, I wouldn’t want to hang out here, even on a beautiful sunny day like this one. This place gives me the creeps (6 August 2018).
Incredibly, Linnahall is still partially functional. There’s one ferry company that operates out of here, rather than from the newer ferry terminal next door. And clearly that helipad is still in use (6 August 2018).
And if you like your history aged a bit more, Kadriorg Park, a ways east of the Old Town, dates to the Russian czarist period.
Shortly after he conquered Estonia in the early 1700s, Russian Czar Peter the Great had Kadriorg (“Catherine’s Valley”) Park built as a gift for his wife, Catherine I. These days, it’s filled mainly with parents pushing strollers (3 August 2018).
And Peter made sure Catherine had a frilly, baroque, French-style palace to stay in on the park grounds (3 August 2018).
Peter the Great, you’ll recall, wanted to recast Russia as a thoroughly European, rather than Oriental, power. And in the 18th century, France was the European cultural trend-setter. Hence this French-style garden behind Kadriorg Palace (3 August 2018).
I got a kick out of the fountains in Kadriorg Palace garden (3 August 2018).
Estonia’s presidential palace — note that Estonia’s “White House” is pink, just like its parliament — sits in Kadriorg Park. Built in 1938 for this very purpose, the Estonian president didn’t get to enjoy it very long — the Soviet Union took over in 1940 and ruled Estonia until 1991. Nearby there are a few beehives with a sign noting that these are “friendly bees” belonging to the Estonian president. I don’t know if it’s related or not, but there are more bees in Tallinn by far than in any of my other destinations. You can’t walk around outside with food or drink or sunblock on you without a bee or two hovering over the source of any sweet or savory scent. But I suppose they are friendly — I haven’t been stung so far (3 August 2018).
A very scenic coastal biking and walking path, Pirita tee, runs for a couple of miles northeast to Pirita Beach. It’s definitely a more local scene without the tourist hordes of the Old Town.
From Pirita tee, you get a sweeping view of the ferry and cruise ship terminals. Cruise ships (on the right) truly are gargantuan. Floating cities, really. No wonder Old Town is so saturated with tourists. The somewhat smaller ships to the left of them are ferries running to other Baltic destinations, chiefly Helsinki. I’ll be on board one of them tomorrow morning. And at the far left, you can see St. Olaf’s Church rising from the Lower Town (3 August 2018).
At Pirita Beach, I took a dip in the Baltic Sea. This I will say about it: Swimming in the Baltic Sea in August feels about the same as swimming in the Atlantic off Maine in October. It’s bracing, shall we say. Even the Mediterranean in May was warmer. But it did feel nice laying in the sun like a crocodile afterward, heating back up. And kiteboarding sure looks like fun (3 August 2018).