Estonia

There is a sort of joke in Estonia. That they weren’t happy with the 2 meter rule that was enforced during Covid. There was great relief when it was revoked. So they could go back to their usual 5 meter rule. Tallinn is on the north coast. On a clear day you can see Helsinki. If you look to the east you can probably see St Petersburg. it is the northern country of the Baltic States. It’s language is related to Finland but not to it’s sister Baltic countries, nor to Russia.

The population is small. And the population is quiet. These are not noisy people except for once a year when they get together and sing. In costume. Tunes of olden days. They dance. They pic-nic . And they cry.

But as you walk around they don’t engage. They don’t look at you. They don’t say hallo. They certainly don’t smile. A young student at the University was asked whether he could differentiate between the students coming into the library by nationality. He had a perfect score. “ How did you know who were the Estonians?” He was asked. “ Because each one walked in on their own and looked grumpy” was his answer. It is hard to judge. I am here in August. The days are still long. The sun shows it’s face most days. But this is a country that spends 8 months under woolly wraps. I don’t think cold climates lend themselves to friendliness. But the story in Estonia is different. It seems that the more recent of their occupations… this dance between the Nazi’s and the Soviets. Where the two forces threw these Baltic countries between them like a weighted balloon. There is a hotel in Tallinn. Outside of the quaint old town. A white solid structure. Not particularly interesting. But it sits there high and squat as you stand at the Russian war memorial and look back into the city. It clearly has 23 floors. You can count the windows. But the Soviets, at the time, insisted that there were only 22. It seems that the 23rd floor was inhabited by all these KGB agents who used to spy on all the people staying in the hotel. Every room had listening devices wired in, Every table in the bars and restaurants came with an ashtray. If you moved them because you didn’t smoke, they were politely returned, because the all important bug was stuck underneath. The talk is that the building is composed of 50% cement, 20% glass and 30% wires.

So the Estonians don’t bother with small talk. They don’t chat in the street with you or to any of their fellow countrymen. Because they have grown up with overheard conversations having the possibility of dire consequences. So they turned their hand to things that could be done with little communication. They have cemented their place in the world with their skills in the world of tech. Skype was invented here. And “BOLT”, the first of the electric scooters came out of Estonia. Apparently at some political conference the prime minister was handed a laptop and asked if she could fix it. It was meant as a joke. But that is the reputation of these taciturn Estonians.

Outside of town following the edge of the water you come to two memorials. The first is blocks of cement. A sharp tower. A metal structure linking an arch which turns out to be falling birds. There are barriers to keep you away from the bits that are deemed dangerous. There are weeds coming up through the cracks. There is no one there. Apart from a few Bicyclists who use it as a short cut back to town. It is the Soviet War Memorial. Just past that there is the Estonian memorial.

To the lost, killed and missing under Communism. Two high smooth black walls that you walk between. You turn into an open space, there on the wall are four lines of a poem from an Estonian Poet called Juan Liiv.

It’s a poor translation but here goes: And thousands fall on the path And thousands will come home Leading them with effort and care They will fly to the beehive. And on this wall are 22,000 silver bees.

One for each person who didn’t come home. Flying towards the bee hive. And when you turn around there are gentle slopes planted with fruit trees. In memory. And a home for the bees.