Baltic delight

There are only old people in Tallinn. Sitting in Town Hall Square, supping beer, I realised that the arrival of Chitty's Childcatcher in a prisoncart-cum-ice-cream-van would not have been out of place: where are all the children? I have seen one baby and that was in the arms of a tourist. It was probably hurried into a toy maker's basement by Benny Hill as soon as I passed. Tallinn also has a disporportionate number of dog shit bins: there is only one dog, as far as I've seen. I wonder if the two features are related...

This morning started quite badly. I sat with the Australians and another couple (both from Dundee, but one originally from Germany with a very confused accent) and listened to them gripe about the price of petrol and how much they hate London. The couple from Dundee are at least living elsewhere and also looking to buy in Tartu, while the Australians sit and grumble, pushing up London rents for those who want to live there. They also bonded over travel snobbery, mocking those who work in supermarkets and similarly unrewarding jobs, though if everyone wanted to travel, who would drive the train to get there? This drove me from the table fairly quickly, but I could still hear their ignorance through my door so quickly caught the bendy bus into town.

I took advantage of my 'Tallinn Card' free guided tour of the city and got shown the highlights by coach before revisiting the Upper Old Town on foot. The city is crazily paved with architecture: the different areas are so varied it is almost like walking through an over-sized theme park, especially when you are confronted with the poor locals who are forced into traditional dress to serve you.

The tour guide was a microcosm of Estonian bitterness at the Soviets, bordering on, but managing to check, out and out racism towards all Russians. There was more social, than political, commentary, which made it more interesting, but we did occasionally pass building where other groups were being instructed while we were told about the levels of unemployment in Tallinn: only 6%, although 90% of those are Russians; this figure is blamed on them no longer being employed in car export industries, since Russia became bitter at Estonia's demands for independence, but it might also be that the Estonian's only employ their own and stick all the Russians in near-derelict ghettos.

The tour finished very near 'the only Estonian restaurant in Tallinn', so I pitched up there and tucked in. Unfortunately, when hunger and greed collide, the stomach can barely keep up, but we did our best. I picked an extremely salty, cold, jellied Baltic herring with a potato, which tasted like it might have been microwaved. It also came with half an egg and a jar of mayonnaise emptied over the top. The second dish was more successful; an absurdly portioned knuckle of pork (think whole hip) with oven-baked potatoes in cream with sauercraut, which was amazing. The pork knuckle stopped a small tourist in her tracks it was so big. It also did wonders for trade as passers-by starred at my meal and then went inside the restaurant themselves (sensibly opting for a table off the street). The best part of the meal by far was the musical accompaniment: a range of songs covered by an Estonian artist, among my favourites were Congratulations, Proud Mary and Fairy Tale of New York.

On the tour I decided I would like to revisit Peter the Great's summer retreat and try to get to the beach at Pirita. The tram ride to Kadriorg was Soviet in the extreme; the little vehicle creaked and groaned all the way and the passengers all wore out-dated leisurewear and various brown suits. Deodorant is not yet in fashion. The gardens around Kadriorg Palace were stunning, sculpted into the height of baroque fashion and leading into a more natural park that led towards the sea. Some houses go back before the 1930s and are made of wood or gingerbread, one of the two. The Palace itself is now used to house the Art Museum's foreign exhibits, though building itself is the most impressive.

Is it ghoulish to revel in a country's vanquished past?

The beach was fabulous and I can see why Peter the Great made Tallinn his summer retreat: the sand was soft and clean and the sea clear as glass. I paddled where the tsarist nobility paddled, although the water was Baltic...

I also paid a quick visit to the Estonian branch of the Art Museum, which didn't match the foreign one in any way. Estonians can't paint, although their sculptures are striking (the cubists weren't bad either). They also can't spell, as one painting of 'beach' showed a mass of trees.

Tonight I am checking out the port area (if I can get away from the PC). I've already spotted some groups of English lads to latch on to, should I be desperate for company. They stand out as they are young and have modern (e.g. non-functional) hairstyles. There are no young English women here; except me, if 28 still counts.