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November 15, 2004
Estonian Monsoon
The ferry arrived a few minutes before 4pm; still running late, but not as late as one might have guessed considering the terrible weather. We left the ferry and wandered the terminal briefly to find an ATM machine. Estonia was now in the EU but the Euro hadn't reached here yet, so we'd have to get cash in Estonian kroons (EEK), which was running around 12 EEK per US dollar. A large group of show dogs crowded the terminal waiting area as we got our cash: several greyhounds, a borzoi, a Pomeranian and a Rhodesian ridgeback, amongst others I couldn't recognize.
We stepped outside, shivering under the overhang waiting for a taxi to arrive. It was now raining in sheets, with a significant amount of water rushing into the drainage gutters. My small umbrella was no match for these conditions; I could feel the front of my legs getting wet as rain blew in from the street. Despite the fact that a large ferry had just arrived, there were very few taxis around -- who'd want to drive in this weather? -- so we finally had to grab an unlicensed, unmetered taxi that charged us 100 EEK ($8) to get to the hotel. It was probably twice of what we should have paid in a metered taxi, but with this weather we had little choice.
"First time in Eh-STO-nyah?," the cabbie asked us in halting English.
"For my wife, yes," I said, "but it's my second time."
"Second for you? When you last here?"
"About three years ago," I said.
"Much different now," he continued. "More tourists, many tourists, though not now in winter. Things good now; more things, more three. In seventies, in eighties, very bad, Soviet times. Nowthings free, very good."
The cabbie continued extolling the wonders of freedom for the rest of our short drive into town. It was very interesting hearing this speech, given the fact that Estonia's been free for about 12 years now. Clearly this taxi driver wasn't taking it for granted.
In a few more minutes we reached the southwest side of Vana Tallinn, or Old Tallinn. Our hotel, the Domina City Hotel, was just inside the old city, across the street from an enormous Stalinist-era cinema, now housing a casino. The hotel doors opened automatically, filling us with a rush of warm, dry air. I felt like we were leaving a trail of water as we walked up the steps to the check-in desk; fortunately, no one tripped in my drippy wake.
After getting our room keys, we went upstairs to the third floor and over to our room, passing a series of pastels with a unicorn theme. Our room was pleasantly large, especially compared to the room we had in Helsinki, with its on flat-panel computer and a shiny new bathroom. We also had a view of the casino outside; hopefully the street noise would be bearable at night.
By the time we left the hotel just after 4:30pm, it was pitch black outside, and the rain continued to soak the streets. Bundled up and hiding under our umbrellas, we walked a block north to Kullassepa Tee, a cobblestone street leading to the town square. To our left, we passed the marvelous Niguliste Kirik, or St. Nicholas Church, which dated to the 11th century.
In just another block, we reached Raekoja Plats, the town square, one of my favorite places in all of Europe. Susanne marveled at the medieval facades of the buildings on the east side of the square until I told her to look behind her. She turned around and saw Tallinn's town hall, a marvelous gothic building that happened to be celebrating its 600th anniversary this year. From the wonderful expression on her face, I could already tell that Susanne was going to like this city.
As much as I would have loved to stare at the town hall, the rain was picking up again, so I suggested we take a short walk east on Pikk Street, where I remembered there was a dark little bar that I'd visited in 2002. We walked carefully up the street, on guard for large puddles and the inevitable splashes launched by passing cars. To our right, we passed the Guild of the Blackheads, a gothic German guild house that served as a fraternity for unmarried merchantmen. The guild house was generally closed to the public, though in 2002 I'd managed to see a live performance of Estonian classical music hosted by BBC Radio.
We walked a little further up the street in the bone-drenching rain as I began to wonder if my memory was serving me well. There didn't seem to be much going on along this strip of Pikk Street, and several storefronts were clearly under renovation. Perhaps this phantom bar of mine had closed?
"Let's give it one more block," I suggested. "We can always retreat to one of the cafes on the square."
Our perseverance paid off; half-way down the next block we found the entrance to Hell Hunt (The Hellhound), the bar I'd visited in 2002. Though the name was still the same, the interior had changed -- at least from what I'd remembered of it. Rather than being dark and mysterious, the bar now seemed almost swank: strategic lighting creating dramatic effects on colorful walls, medieval wood panels suspended like tables overhead, barbed wire chandeliers and the Sun Ra Orchestra on the stereo system. I ordered us a couple of glasses of hoogwein -- mulled red wine served with a shot of brandy -- to warm us from the inside out. The hoogwein was served in tall glass mugs, with a spoonful of raisins, toasted hazelnuts and a lemon twist. Susanne and I lurched back as we breathed in a noseful of evaporating brandy; after a couple of minutes, though, the hoogvein had cooled off enough for us to sip without passing out from the fumes.
We spent a couple of hours hanging out at Hell Hunt, sipping our warm hoogvein and watching groups of Estonians, young and old alike, enjoying themselves along the bar or near the fireplace. Approaching 7pm, the rain began to thin out, so we suited up in our layers of coats, scarves and hats to brave the three-block walk back to town hall square. At some point I was hoping Susanne would want to try traditional Estonian food -- if we could only find some that didn't contain pork or other unsavory meat -- but for now we wanted our own comfort food. So on the north side of the square we found Café Fellini, a posh second-floor Italian restaurant that I recalled had good lasagna. The restaurant was deserted when we arrived -- Estonians were smart enough not to go out in such terrible weather -- but as time went by, several more couples arrived as well. I ordered the lasagna, which was a good as I'd remembered, while Susanne had a small, but delicious pizza.
After dinner, we strolled back to the hotel, taking our time now that the rain had mellowed to a light drizzle. We had the streets to ourselves as we left the square and passed Niguliste Kirik, which seemed to have an eerie halo around it, caused by the misty rain passing through floodlights aimed at the church's tower.
We got back to the hotel around 10pm; hopefully I'd get a good night sleep because I had a long day of meetings ahead of me tomorrow.... -ac
Posted by acarvin at November 15, 2004 8:56 AM
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