some trains are pulled up at Balti Jaam station
The markets were definitely downmarket, lots of stalls outside the two big halls, inside which there were separate rooms for meat, poultry, fish and vegetables. We stayed outside mostly, looking at the tables and tiny little shops displaying old wares and second hand goods. Again here, there were big collections of soviet era memorabilia and we had to take away at least 10 more little badges from three different stalls.
view inside the Balti Jaama market meat hall
We tried to make a foray further into the wooden house district, but were beaten back by the cold after a couple of blocks of aimless wandering, with the snow turning to sleet, as well as a spreading numbness in the toe region. Luckily I spied a pram outside a freshly painted-looking wooden building.
the wooden building just behind the cafe we found
A café I suspect, I said to P, look– where the pram is sitting outside that door – I bet it’s a café. We pushed open the two doors and inside it was packed. I looked around the corner to the next room, and all the seating was taken there. Another corridor gave onto some back rooms as well, and luckily we managed to find one table free in the whole place. Sat down pretty gratefully, getting warmer by the minute. Any food would have been welcome, and they even kindly supplied us with a menu in English. There wasn’t a large variety of dishes, but it didn’t matter, the cafe Boheem was like Jerusalem the Golden to us, and we ate and supped very happily there, along with all the others who were there that Saturday afternoon—some young boys about 20 years old, a couple of families with a baby and a toddler apiece—groups of young people mainly.
After that we made our way back through the city walls and to the warmth and free wireless of the hotel to catch up with some work before heading out again to the restaurant around the corner for dinner at 9pm. Good food, but strange atmosphere. P had already read out to me a passage from one of the magazines downstairs at the hotel, which explained how Estonians are not in favour of eating out, that they are more prone, traditionally, to eat at home and frown upon the career of waiting tables. So we wondered whether all the people in the pubs and restaurants out on the town were really Estonians, or whether they were tourists even in this non-touristic season. Certainly the group at the table next to us at the restaurant were Finnish.
The next day, Sunday, we were booked to return to Helsinki on the 2pm ferry—not the Superstar this time, but the Star. We left the hotel at about 11.30am for a walk up the hill to the Russian orthodox church in the Toompei area, leaving our baggage in the hotel for an hour or so. It was all very elegant and salubrious up there, and apart from the many consulates, there were also several upmarket souvenir shops, and a lookout over the whole town and beyond.
walking up to Toompei - street scene
On the way back we decided to get some coffee and so entered a very popular café. I went to the counter to order, waiting behind several people and taking my time to look over the many cakes on offer, but I was troubled by the clock on the wall. It said 13.20, while my watch said 12.20… and since my watch is old and needs winding every 12 hours or so, I wondered whether it had stopped yet again. I consulted the girl behind the counter. She said that it was the correct time due to the clocks being put back the night before. Ah, daylight saving. No one told us. So we had to leave the little cake and rush back to the hotel, where a taxi was quickly summoned.
We knew that this lateness would be unfortunate for our travelling pleasure, as the 2pm Tallinn to Helsinki ferry was the most expensively priced, and hence I reckoned the most popular. And I wasn’t wrong. But the time we got on board, every seat and table on its three floors of cafeterias and public bars was taken, and people were already standing about with their luggage having nowhere to sit. Eventually we found a table in the least favoured cafeteria, but a table and chairs nonetheless, and a window to boot. We were happy enough, and more so when P discovered that the ferry had free wireless service.
After we left port, the sea, however, became less and less visible as a dense fog set in, and the ferry sounded its foghorn every few minutes. Looking out the window and noticing that visibility had been reduced to about 10 metres, I wondered how effective such a foghorn could actually be—what about the Doppler effect, I said, and how about being able to stop in time anyway when you weren’t sure what direction any looming ferry was going to come from, or go in? There was only going to be one way that collision could be avoided in this type of scene and that was the possession and use of radar. P assured me that the ferry would be using radar. But we were then reminded of the Baltic Sea ferry disaster and we had to look it up on the internet just at that point.
The ferry involved, one similar to the one on which we were now travelling, had been called the MV Estonia, its name changed to this when it was purchased by Estline from its competitor. Viking Line company had originally owned and used the ferry on the same route after it was built and launched in 1981. That night in September 1994, it was on route from Tallinn to Stockholm, a regular daily service, when huge waves of 3-4 metres off the coast near Vaasa in the Gulf of Bothnia caused the visor covering the vehicle ramp at the front (bow) of the ship to dislodge, and for some reason due to bad maintenance or poor something, the ferry began to take on water through the vehicle entry.
The problem was that no one had acted on it, if anyone knew in time. It was 1.30 am when it went down, and many people were in their cabins asleep when the alarm had sounded. Those that managed to get on the deck were unable to get the lifeboats launched due to the steep list the ferry had already taken on. Some died in the freezing waters, other were sucked under when the ferry actually sank. In total more than 800 people died in that disaster, and only just over 100 survived—mostly young males. It seems ‘women and children first’ is still a sensible motto when you consider that no one under the age of 12 survived at all. However, on this occasion, it seems that very little could have been done once the water on the car deck had caused the list.
When we drew closer to Helsinki, the fog lifted, and ice floes began to drift by out the window. After docking, we stayed behind at our table waiting for the crowds to disperse, but even after 20 minutes, there was still a great press trying to leave the ship via the one gangway on the 7th floor. We were amazed at just how many people had been squeezed into Tallinn, a town whose population is said to be well under half a million people.
We also noticed that many of the disembarkees were toting large cartons, and stacks of them, of alcohol. We’d already heard that the mainstay of the ferries was the duty free shopping they provided, but seeing the booty firsthand made it plain that looking at the architecture in Tallinn was not always the motivation for going there for many of the Suomi. Partly this may be due to the fact that the only places to get wine and spirits in Finland are the government-run Alko stores, these a means of controlling and taxing the purchase of alcohol at the source.
The terminal at Helsinki was extremely busy when we eventually emerged, but, as usual, many buses and shuttle vans and taxis were on hand to ferry passengers away—a short trip to the main railways station, there to change buses to our local one home to the apartment.
