i've been to tallinn

8/14/2019 I've been to Tallinn

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I.

With fairly aggressive smiles on their faces, the flight

attendants were checking whether the passengers had

fastened their seat belts as instructed, and I looked out

the window at the landscape below, which is now

available through Google Earth. We were flying over a

wide, green area.

The slightly snobby looking Finnish woman sitting

next to me was fumbling through the airline magazine

full of pictures of men in suits and the latest models of

airliners. When she noticed my quick glance at the

page she was reading, she asked me in English if it

would be my first time in Tallinn. Although I was sure

that I by no means looked of Baltic origin, I was a bit

puzzled by this sudden recognition. This meant that I

would never have the chance to say I dont speak

Estonian to someone who would try to speak to me

in Estonian. You must experience the pleasure of a

sauna in Tallinn, she continued, and complained thatthere were no saunas left except the electric-powered

ones, and that they caused headaches. But of course

you are beautiful enough to meet a guy who has a

wooden sauna at home, she said, smiling. It was

obvious that having a wooden sauna at home was a

sign of wealth. I thanked her for her compliment and,

assuming that the conversation was over, I redirected

my attention to the view beneath us. However, she1

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II.

Small wooden boxes were neatly placed in the window

of the humidor store I passed by in the lemiste

Airport, a complex with only one passenger terminal.

A customer in the store pointed to a box that I

happened to be staring at, which looked like the most

expensive one in stock with its meticulously decorated

lid. I was sure that he would produce loads of Euros

from his wallet.

Dozens of gleaming mirrors in the hairdresser and

beauty parlour in the Arrival Hall multiplied the

images of the staff looking at the passers-by with

inviting smiles.

resumed. She said she had had booked a helicopter

service, which takes only 18 minutes, because it was

more comfortable than an airliner, but she had to put

up with the burden of this flight since she had missed

her helicopter. I fixed my eyes on her pink-polished

nails, wondering whether they glowed in dark, and

wished for the conversation to end soon. Upon

noticing, at last, that I had lost interest, she wished me

a good holiday and returned to her page.

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VI.

Every country surely has an independence day, the

names of which have more or less the same

connotation. And Estonias is Victory Day, which was

the day after my arrival, when Estonian forces foiled

an attempt to restore Baltic German control over the

region.

I considered myself twice as lucky to be able to catch

up with the Beer Summer Festival, held every four

years as a part of the Estonian Song Festival, although

I had missed the opening parades.

V.

When I stepped into the lobby I was met by a white,

stained glass piano, grand enough to make Ivana

Trump feel at home.

My room was not huge, though. Despite the piped

music playing in the corridor, I had a deep, dreamless

sleep.

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VIII.

I went for a short walk just after breakfast.

I didnt have any difficulty in finding a specific point

of reference to minimize my chances of getting lost.

The Town Hall Tower stood erect some distance

ahead, so dominant over the landscape that no other

building could block it out, and walking towards it

would suffice for a first-day sightseeing.

Ignoring whether I looked like a tourist or not I had

already been reminded of my unusual appearance on

the plane I took long pauses at places that attracted

my attention, and during one of them I was startled by

the shriek of a young American woman who had been

walking by me. What I barely gathered from what she

blabbered in between her cries was that she was

pick-pocketed. Like anybody would do in such a

situation I checked the things in my bag, and after

being assured that nothing had been stolen, I left thewoman with the crowd that had gathered around her.

VII.

The hotel I was staying at was at the end of Viru

Street, which had seen its best years in the 20s and

30s, and which was, as the most grandiose street in

any given country is, comparable to Oxford Street.

The L-shaped hotel building reluctantly encircled the

De La Gardie shopping centre. It was the supplier of

the citys needs for high-street fashion and cosmetics,

and was a depressingly un-medieval monument of

controversial steel, glass, wood and stone.

The window of my single room was overlooking

Mrivahe Street, which stretched along the city

walls. A little ways ahead, the twin towers of the 15th

century Viru gate were discernible at the end of the

Knitting Wall, which was named after the wool sellers

who had carried out their trade in the niches carved

into the wall (it was also possible that it might have

attracted the wool sellers because of its name). I was

looking towards the city centre from a point thatwould have been considered to be out of the city

limits in the 16th century.

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X.

The Japanese tourists were pointing at and trying to

take snapshots of something on the baroque spire on

top of the limestone-yellow coloured Town Hall,

which I had taken as the guiding reference point for

myself. I couldnt see clearly what it was but I was

sure that they had cameras capable of zooming into

infinity.

IX.

As I walked on towards the Town Hall in a street

crowded with pastel-coloured medieval merchant

houses and day-trippers just out of their cruise ships, I

was distracted by smart casuals in the window of a

shop called Bastion. But I held myself from stepping

inside; I had already learned from my previous travels

that the joy of shopping must be delayed till the last

days.

Then I came to a crossroads. Medieval tunes were

spreading out from a restaurant named Olde Hansa in

the oldest marketplace of the city, Vana Turg, and I

suddenly found myself feeling happy that the former

foreign minister had failed in his quest to turn Estonia

into another boring Nordic country. Here, time was

unintelligibly obscure.

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XII.

I was well aware that I was going to have probably the

most expensive meal in the city as I was approaching a

restaurant where one could casually observe the large

square that had once witnessed festivals and

executions, and now hosted the crowds at tables

spread outside the restaurants and cafs. There was

supposed to be a historical stone that was marked on

the maps around here, but I couldnt find it. Perhaps it

was concealed by one of the tables.

XI.

I arrived at the Town Hall where 15th and 20th century

buildings mingled side by side, as the sun revealed

fascinating plays of colour on the facades.

The Raeapteek, one of the oldest pharmacies in the

world, was now an ordinary drugstore. It would really

be quite strange to step through its highly ornate

wooden doors to buy a bottle of cough syrup, or birth

control pills.

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XIV.

There was a web of streets leading into the square and

each had a different name for the Russians, Estonians

and Germans, which was standardised later. I random-

ly chose one of them and started walking on.

The Viewing Platform at the end of the street was

packed with tourists and young couples watching the

sunset.

XIII.

Ignoring the waiter who kept insisting that I sit on

their terrace, I sat at a table on the pavement. When I

finished the beef stroganoff I had ordered and asked

for the bill, they were preparing the Russian-Empire

style restaurant for live music. I wondered about the

repertoire of the band, but, since I was too full to have

more, I went out.

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XVI.

As soon as I got out of the shop I entered a bar named

Depeche Mode, just out of curiosity aroused by the

name. The interior walls were covered with artefacts,

writings and posters dedicated to Depeche Mode.

While I was looking around at the bar, the waiter

approached me and asked me if I was a Depeche Mode

fan. Since I didnt want to disappoint him and cut our

conversation short, I said yes. So, whats your

favourite song of them? he asked. Obviously he was

testing on me. At that very moment, Dont let me

down again started to play, and I replied, This is.He winked at me, making clear that he liked my

choice. He then turned to the other customers sitting

at the bar and they started talking in Estonian. A little

while later, he must have remembered my presence

there, and he turned to me and pointed to the walls at

the entrance. All the photographs were carefully

framed. In many of them were two of the men sitting

at the bar. But, without question, the bartender him-self, with his ear-to-ear smile, was the one who looked

best in all the photographs.

XV.

A little way ahead, I saw a music shop and I stopped

in. Although I knew that it was too predictable to buy

an Arvo Prt CD in Estonia, I grabbed one and made

for the cashier.

I was wondering what it would feel like to stroll

through the streets while listening to his medieval

minimalism, to his statically repetitive and constantly

moving sound. This musician, who refrains from

talking about his works, had once stated that a single

note, even if it is silent, would be sufficient if it isplayed beautifully enough. It was not surprising that

such a culture abundant in silence-praising proverbs

had produced a musician like Arvo Prt, a master of

silence and minimalist repetitions.

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XVIII.

The best way to discover the night life in a city is to

ask young people who are dressed like, or similar to,

you. When I did this, I was scanned from head to toe

and then directed to a night club not far from the

hotel I was staying at. It was a building transformed

from an old Fire Station. Although it wasnt quite what

I felt like, I grabbed a beer and started to observe the

dance floor, leaning against a wall. A song that I took

to be in Russian was playing and the floor was jam

packed with young people in their twenties.

A boy who looked so young that he couldnt be old

enough to be there, and whose intention was obvious-

ly to take a chance with the lonely girl at the bar

approached me and said, Tere. Thus, the first word

I learned in Estonian was Hello, which I also

remembered seeing on a billboard earlier that day.

XVII.

The significance of Eurovision at the periphery of

Europe is not understandable to someone who is not

familiar with this area. Eurovision is a symbol of

competing with Western standards in Western

conditions. Therefore, I remember I wasnt surprised

in the least when I saw on TV the diplomats dancing

on the tables, or the Estonian prime minister jumping

up and down with joy when Tanel Padar and Dave

Benton, the founders of the citys most well-known

band King of Spades, won the 2001 Eurovision Song

Contest. It is especially unsurprising if the country weare talking about is a country like Estonia where

singing is a sign of political resistance, and which

went through a process of independence also known

as the Singing Revolution, during which millions of

people marched in the streets singing the banned

songs.

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XX.

Standing on Uus Street a little ways ahead of the

turquoise, pink and orange decorated Cinema House,

the Lithuanian Consulate was noteworthy for its

Baroque style. Just before I arrived at the consulate

building I entered a shop that sold old books and

maps.

I had been looking aimlessly at the books on the

shelves for about 5 minutes when the shopkeeper

approached me and asked me in Estonian if there was

something special I was looking for. When I told himthat I was actually curious about Estonian literature,

he thought for a while and then wrote down on a

piece of paper the names of Jaan Kross and Jaan

Kaplinski. They were nominated for the Nobel Prize,

he continued. Jaan Krosss The Conspiracy and Other

Stories is excellent. It is a book about Estonia under

the Nazi and Soviet invasions. But I am not sure you

could find them in English.

When I got out, I noticed a plaque just next to the

shop and went closer to read what was on it. I was

standing in front of the house where Dostoyevsky had

stayed in 1840.

When I found out that Dostoyevsky used to visit

Tallinn to gamble, and that he had taken von Hun, the

XIX.

I went to the Town Prison Museum of Photography,

which stands opposite the Town Hall, and which once

served as the city dungeon, just to see the first spy

camera invented by the Estonians. The 1938 model

camera looked as if it could have appeared in the early

Bond films and was small enough to fit in my palm.

The most interesting photograph in the collection of

the museum was one that showed the French balloon-

ist Charles Leroux tangled in the ropes of his hot-air

balloon. I wondered if it was the last recorded momentof his life. There was no information regarding this

matter on the label.

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XXI.

I realized that I had missed the street leading to the

Church and decided to take the next one. This

extended route made me discover the Mine Museum.

When I went inside and found that the mines brought

here from the Estonian Islands of the Bay of Tallinn

were in numbers high enough to start such a museum,

where they were displayed like relics from an ancient

civilization, I asked the museum attendant if there

were any mines still left in the sea. He smiled and

replied, At least 20 of them are taken out every year.

pastor of Oleviste Church at that time, as his model

while writing The Brothers Karamazov, I put a mark on

Oleviste Church on my map.

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XXIII.

On my way back, I searched the restaurants to have

something to eat. Among them was Le Bonaparte,

famed as a restaurant where Chirac had dined, and Iskipped it just because of that reason, and more

importantly, because I thought it would be extremely

expensive. Eventually, I had calamari, thinking that it

was an Estonian speciality, at a restaurant I came

across on the way to my hotel.

XXII.

Oleviste Church, which once boasted the tallest spire

in the entire world, bore a delicately carved cenotaph

outside, which depicts a skeleton with a toad on itschest and a serpent around its skull.

When I climbed up the spire, which was once used to

send out radio signals by the KGB, the breathtaking

view of the Old Town, Toompea and the city walls

stretched out in front of me. Since I had arrived just

before the closing time, I was the only visitor looking

at the view from up there. I took my time, trying tospot the streets I had taken, until the guard came and

pointed me to the exit door.

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XXV.

There are very few countries in Europe that do not

have a holocaust monument. Those that do not are

most probably the ones that denied the holocaust.

I took a taxi because the holocaust monument in

Tallinn was not in walking distance.

The monument was made up of a simple chunk of

grey stone and it was in the pinewoods. The inscrip-

tion on the stone read that 2000 Jews transported

from Russia were slain by the German troops on 19September 1944.

When I returned to the taxi, the driver was smoking

outside the car and wiping the side mirror with the

sleeve of his jumper.

XXIV.

I called up my mother. We talked a while and she

asked me what time it was here. When I told her that

we were in the same time zone she was quitesurprised. But you are almost at the North Pole, she

said. It was obvious that she had confused the meridi-

ans with the latitudes.

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XXVII.

The square was encircled by the following buildings

respectively: a building refined by a flat glass square

protruding from its faade, and now hosting theAssociation of Artists; a department store; a business

centre with wavy-glass panels; an apricot-coloured

church; a government building with an expressionist,

clinker-clad style; The Russian Drama Theatre sculpt-

ed with grape, lion and wreath figures; and a grimy

hotel famed as the unofficial meeting place for foreign

diplomats in the pre-1990 period. The faades of the

buildings helplessly faced the ugly-looking car parkright in the middle of the square.

XXVI.

I walked into the Freedom Square via Harju Street,

where you could still see the ruins of buildings

damaged during the Soviet air raids in 1944.I presumed that this transition would ironically please

the lovers of the sacrifices are made on the path to

freedom clich.

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XXIX.

A street that I took at random from the square led me

to the Museum of Occupation.

The boats and piles of suitcases on display inside

evoked the flight and deportation of Estonians during

the war, but the display cases containing boots, shoes,

and army uniform paraphernalia were a little old

fashioned.

The chief draw was the black and white WWII film

footage. However, the English commentary made themwryly entertaining.

XXVIII.

I checked my pocket to make sure that the piece from

the bronze statue of Peter the Great was there. The

statue, which had been erected by the Russians in thisvery square in 1910, was torn down and melted to be

used in the first coins of the republic following the

independence of Estonia from the Soviets. This was

the only statue whose destiny I knew anything about

among those that were removed after the change in

regimes.

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XXXI.

As soon as I got out of the bus in Kakume, a resort

packed with charming summer houses and luxury vil-

las surrounded by high iron fences, I asked a passer-bywhere the boats to Naissaar Island were. The man told

me that there was no boat scheduled to the island on

that day. I must have puckered my face in disappoint-

ment because he said he was sorry as if it had been his

fault.

XXX.

Killing time at a newsstand while waiting for the bus

21b to Kakume Beach, I browsed the racks, without

any hope of finding anything interesting, when anEnglish literary magazine caught my attention. On the

Contents page, I came across the name of the writer

whom the man in the bookshop had mentioned, and I

bought the magazine.

His short story in the magazine, The Wound, opened

with a farewell dinner scene at a Restaurant in Pirita.

I checked the whereabouts of Pirita on my map. It was

in the opposite direction from where I was headed.

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XXXIII.

Darya was the only person in Tallinn with whom I

could communicate in any real sense. I met her in a

stuffy pub I just dropped into for a beer, where theRussian songs were accompanied by Russian regulars.

Darya was a girl of Russian origin, about my age, with

indigo blue eyes. She approached me, smiling, and

asked me in her almost flawless English where I was

from and what I was doing there. She invited me to

her table that was crowded with her college friends

who met here once a week after work.

I sat on a chair between Darya and quite a portly boy

whose name I forgot just as soon as I was told. They

were surprised to see me in that pub. We had a

lengthy talk about Istanbul and Tallinn. I found out

during this conversation that forty percent of people

in Tallinn spoke Russian.

I was just about to leave when Darya asked me if I

would like to meet her on the weekend. Of course, I

replied. She insisted on picking me up at my hotel,

although I tried to convince her that I knew the place

well enough and we could meet somewhere else. It

was quite late but nobody in the pub showed signs of

weariness. You could tell this from the laughter over-

flowing into the street.

XXXII.

I spent the rest of the day sitting on a bench in the

shade at the back of the beach, looking around and

trying to distinguish the sounds of waves from thoseof people.

It was so obvious that the presupposition of blonde,

long-legged, slender Estonian women and ugly men

was totally groundless.

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XXXV.

There were three different trails to go around on the

18-km2, car-free island. Each alternative was 10 km

long and they were labelled as military, historical andnature, depending on the interest of the visitors. After

a slight hesitation between the red-marked military

and the blue-marked historical trails, I decided to take

the military one.

A sign so big that you couldnt miss it read that most

of the land mines on the island were removed in the

late 1990s, but also warned not to walk beyond themarked areas.

It was unthinkable for me to ignore this warning after

visiting the Mine Museum.

XXXIV.

I arrived at Naissaar Island the next day after a one-

hour boat trip. You could rent a bicycle on the boat to

ride around the island. You can walk to the maintouristic spots following the marked paths, but you

will see the real beauty of the island on a bike-ride,

said the renter, noticing my slight hesitation. This

explanation struck me as right on target for I was

purposefully avoiding such touristic spots. I chose a

blue mountain bike.

As the boat was clearing the wharf, a sharp femalevoice announced that the last trip would be at six

oclock.

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XXXVII.

The tour took less time than I estimated; so, when I

came to the crossroads for the second time I took the

blue-marked historical trail that went in the oppositedirection.

My bicycle shook and rattled when I crossed every

now and then over the old narrow-gauge rails. Apart

from this, there was no mechanical noise as such.

I rode past a ramshackle, wooden church that looked

just about to fall apart and the fortifications left fromthe era of Peter the Great, and then I arrived at the

huge land mine factory that was once capable enough

to provide all the land mine needs of the Soviet Union.

This factory explained well enough why there was no

human settlement on the island. Nobody would like

to have a house next to a land mine factory, after all.

XXXVI.

The red trail took me to an octagonal lighthouse on

the northern point of the island in 15 minutes.

I picked some wild blueberries that looked begging to

be picked, before I climbed on a spooky bunker and a

gun emplacement left from the Russian Empire times.

On my way back, as I was eating the sandwich that I

had brought with me, an acid-yellow butterfly perched

upon a mushroom as large as a plate. A cricket

hopped in the tall grass. The island was so inspiringthat you could write haikus.

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XXXIX.

Darya and I met in the lobby, just like in the movies.

When we got out, she asked me which places I had

been to. She looked surprised when I told her I hadntseen Pirita yet, and she suggested going there. Well

have dinner afterwards. I know a very good restau-

rant, she said.

As we were chatting on the bus I found out that she

was working at a place called Kawe Plaza, the most

modern building in Freedom Square. When she hastily

changed the subject, I figured that she wasnt toohappy with her job there.

XXXVIII.

I was tired when I got back from Naissaar, but I

nonetheless stopped for a beer at a pub frequented by

students and intellectuals, which was within the 200meter, now-very-well-known-by-me radius of my

hotel.

Noises of live music were coming from the pub over a

music shop on the corner just opposite the hotel.

Until then, I hadnt noticed the pub upstairs although

I had walked past it maybe hundreds of times before.

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XLI.

We found ourselves a quiet spot among the crowd of

beach volleyball players, roller skaters and bicycle

riders on the Pirita beach, a place, which previouslyhad been made a forbidden zone to stop people from

fleeing to the West during the Soviet invasion. I

scanned the beach to spot a kiosk for a beer. Darya

must have read my mind because she asked, Isnt it a

pity that they banned alcohol here? I let out a

disappointed sigh because it would be really good to

have a beer on my last night in Tallinn while watching

the cruise ships and the spiky sky.

XL.

Pirita was an area packed with luxury villas built on

the most beautiful vantage points by celebrities like

the model, Carmen Kass.

The Olympic Center, complete with an inelegant spa-

hotel and an equally inelegant building complex,

stood monumentally at the outset of the beach. St.

Birgitta Convent, another ramshackle building a little

way ahead, was much more aesthetic than this com-

plex.

The 1980 Olympic Games were held here, said

Darya. I dont remember those days but they talk

about it. A Finn won the gold medal and they played

the Finnish national anthem. Then the Estonians

began to sing their own national anthem, which was

then forbidden by the Soviets. The petrified KGB

agents did nothing but watch the ceremony, unable to

do anything else, in front of the TV cameras.

We began to walk towards the beach.

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XLIII.

I had a look at the menu and decided that I was not

the one to decide, so I left the ordering to Darya. The

waiter, who was smiling sweetly and unable to take hiseyes off of Darya, recommended Herring with sour

cream and Sauerkraut as a must, upon which Darya

raised her eyebrows in contemplation and finally

agreed.

XLII.

The restaurant Darya took me to was on the top floor

of a television tower that reminded me of a

low-budget sci-fi movie. We watched the view fromabout 200 metres above the city, as our waiter went to

fix us a table. Darya pointed at the shimmering

coastline across the sea and said, Helsinki. Feeling a

little uneasy to have such a vast span of images in

hand just like a surveillance camera, I suggested that

we sit at a table less overlooking the view.

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XLV.

While we were waiting for the lift out of the restau-

rant, I asked her if she was an Estonian citizen. She

nodded, But the new law for citizenship covers onlythose who were given citizenship right before the war.

Therefore, our family had to apply for citizenship col-

lectively. We are happy with our situation, seeing all

those grey passport holders whose situations are still

undecided.

When I said, Even that grey passport may open more

doors than a Turkish one, she said, Dont be toosure.

XLIV.

Near the end of our meal the choice was

unquestionably good I asked her whether the

Estonian and Russian communities in town avoidedinteraction. Only the old-fashioned, narrow-minded

Estonians try not to get involved with us because they

are still unable to shake off the fear of the Soviets. But

it is different in my generation. For instance, only one

of the friends of mine you met the other night at the

pub was Russian.

Then she asked, smiling, Do you think I amfrightening? If I were frightened, would I come all

the way up to this height with you? I asked back,

smiling too.

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XLVII.

We took the bus that ran on a longer route, because it

was empty. Seeing that I was looking around

interestedly as we were passing through a suburbpacked with grey, hulking apartment blocks, Darya

explained that this was the least safe neighbourhood

in town and that therefore the rents were the cheapest.

They had shot a movie, the name of which she

couldnt remember, in this place a couple of years

back.

Given the tough atmosphere of the place, it wasimpossible not to have an idea about the mood of the

film even for a person who hadnt seen the film yet.

XLVI.

I saw some spotlights a little ways ahead of the

Olympic Centre as we were walking towards the beach

to catch our bus. I pricked up my ears and could hearthe sound of music. I asked her what was over there.

She squinted, gave a hard look at the place and said,

The Soviet War Memorial. Upon my puzzled look,

she said, They sometimes organize punk concerts

there. That gargantuan monument is a really good

background for a punk concert. Care to have a look?

I told her I wasnt that willing.

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XLIX.

When I woke up at almost noon the next day, I

packed my things to which I hadnt added since my

arrival to the city. However, I zipped my suitcase closewith difficulty.

XLVIII.

While we were walking towards my hotel, she told me

excitedly, as if she had just remembered, that there

would be a concert of a Russian Jazz Band named NaZhdali and I should not miss it. I would have landed

in Istanbul by the time the concert started. Some

other time, I said, in a tone of voice unconvincing

even to myself.

You always have to leave the cities you are a stranger

to just when you begin to enjoy them.

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LI.

A ten-minute walk took me to a square bordered on

one side by a large park. Viru Inn Hotel, the first

skyscraper in town that boldly demonstrated theconcept of luxury for Soviet architecture, was standing

erect just next to the park.

When I lowered my eyes from the top floors of the

hotel down to the eye-level, I saw Daryas friend that I

met at the pub and had sat next to, and whose name I

still dont know. I became happy that I had made

acquaintances in this city. As he was approaching mein a quick pace, I noticed he was a bit angry. He

recognized me when he saw me and smiled. I asked

him how he was. Well, he said, I think I am the

only person whos managed to get a parking ticket 8

times in a month. Then his cell phone in his pocket

sounded a message. Reading the message, Anyway, I

paid this one, too, he said. I asked him how he paid

his parking ticket on the cell phone and he smiled andsaid, Havent you heard that the other name for

Estonia was e-stonia? I wouldnt have understood the

pun he made if he hadnt prolonged the e a little too

much.

He offered me a lift if I needed to go somewhere. I told

him I wouldnt like to cost him another parking ticket.

I wanted to have a walk.

L.

As I was sipping my coffee after breakfast,

I contemplated taking a walk from Raekoja Plast to

Liivalia in the South, or from the pier to the north toKalamaja. Everywhere I might choose to go was

within a 20-minute distance. It may have been a must

for the countries that wanted to be part of EU, but the

underground metro system was quite rightfully

deemed unnecessary for this city.

My day was long enough not to be urged to make a

choice.

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LIII.

I started to walk back trying to avoid the streets I had

already taken. The city seemed to mock and surprise

me with whole new things just when I had began tothink I had gotten to know it like the palm of my

hand. As I was tired now, I put a mark on a caf to

take refuge in. It was on the city walls opposite the

Museum and Concert Hall in front of which stood the

statue of an Estonian writer, and overlooked the whole

Old Town. In between sips of my espresso, I couldnt

help but hear the conversation of an English-speaking

couple sitting at the table across me. The woman wastrying to talk to the reluctant-looking man into going

to Naissaar the following day. OK honey, well go

there tomorrow, said the man in the end.

LII.

I walked on without referring to a map until I came to

an esplanade circled by limestone and brick buildings

that gave the impression of an old industrialneighbourhood. Now, a luxury hotel stood

overlooking the ramshackle industrial buildings that

Tarkovsky had used in his film, Stalker.

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LV.

This time, I caught the bus I had missed upon my

arrival, when I had to take a taxi.

LIV.

I always want to ask the receptionist, Is there a

message for me? whenever I enter a hotel where I am

staying. But I always hold myself back. So I did thistime, too.

I had one last drink in the lobby before I left; studying

the stained glass piano so attentively that one could

take me for a virtuoso.

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59

i've been to tallinn

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