kiek in der kok

//peek in the kitchen ‑ the name of a tower in tallinn

Often one's impression of a town is highly dependent on the hostel you stay in. In Tallin, I've felt very much at home. Having a kitchen, regular dropins, a large lounge, a dvd library, even a free SAUNA in the bathroom has made it a really lovely way to dive back into the sometimes intimidating world of solo travel. Each night has been a raucous evening of discovery. One the first night, at my request we visited a nearby underground tavern and were rewarded by meeting several locals; unfortunately they turned out to be white supremacists. The phrase 'white power' always strikes me as ironic when it's emblazoned across the neck of a skinny, jumpy little guy with questionable taste in facial hair and a tendency to threaten anyone who says the wrong thing ‑ but only if they're smaller than him.

It's been a period of contrasts here. The scars of the Soviet era are evident in the strangeness of the people. Even the weather is having an identity crisis. Lured from sunny streets into a church by surprisingly cool organ music, I sat through a five minute thunderstorm without even realising (thanks God, well timed). Turning the corner from the church, I came across the former KGB headquarters and noted the sealed basement windows; bricked up to block the sounds of interrogations. One marvels at the fact that it sits opposite the church. What did the KGB agents think about when they stood at their office window staring at the church steeple?

Tallin is very tourist oriented. Every street is lined with handicraft stores selling knitted clothing, blown glass and ceramics. The old town dances just a little too far across the line between authenticity and touristy but is rescued by the saviour of Tallinn's soul ‑ the cafe culture.

Even in Soviet times, Tallinn was known for its cafes. There are lots of cosy loungey underground bars and coffee shops and it's there that Tallinn's culture retreats and regroups when the British accents abound on the streets.

I've wandered a lot in this town. I've ignored the museums and the handicraft shops and wandered the flower seller's street, stalked through the ruins of buildings bombed in 1944 and traipsed up through the town square, down through the town square, around the edge of the town square; it's one of those towns where you try to get lost and end up inexplicably back in the centre. Each time I've found myself on a certain street corner I've been accosted by locals dressed in old style clothing selling sugared almonds (wonderful but eventually sickening) whose hot sugar scent remind me of christmas in Germany.

The longer I spend in a town, the more I feel there is to do. It's too easy to drop in for a day, wander around, smugly announce that you've 'done' that town and then leave frantically for the next spot. I've tried to avoid doing that and have found that once you've ticked all the boxes, the real discovery begins. Today was my last day in Tallin, two days extra than anybody else has recommended I stay here, but it was by far the most interesting. I decided to head out along the coastline, past the phallic yet dreary Soviet monument that the locals have dubbed "the impotent's dream" and through a stunning park bejewled in Autumn leaves. I spent some time in a huge art gallery and fell in love with the modernist works of Estonians Konrad Magi and Nikolai Kormasov. I drank a coffee that had been lovingly and painstakingly decorated by the waitress, took some random photos of strange buildings and stood indecisively in the doorway of a ruined chapel for a while before turning away, having chosen not to visit yet another ruined building.

I've found Tallinn's soul in the spaces between her cobbled streets; it oozes stubbornly from the cracks.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for Tartu with sugar scented, wine coloured memories of Tallinn.