Not the Balkans

The Baltics are one of those spots that confounds Americans. If we ever make it past the realization that they are, in fact, distinct and different from the Balkans, a slightly more well-known word amongst our kind. They are shrouded in mystery: three small countries with passably recognizable names: Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia… always said in that order in my brain. Why, I don’t know. Their existence breaks the typical American mind because we can’t associate them with any movie, landmark, or war we were involved in.

And although I self-identify as a history nerd, I can say that I, too, traveled here with a knowledge gap wider than I’m proud to admit. These three pieces of land, seemingly stuck between a rock and a hard place… How have they survived? Maybe my American upbringing can’t compute that if a larger and more powerful neighbor looms nearby, that does not automatically spell your demise.

Between Empires

And indeed, throughout history their existence has been challenged. For one, they found themselves unwilling members of the USSR following the Second World War. And in a uniquely Estonian way, resistance eventually came in the form of banned music, leafleting, and a human chain that stretched 400 miles from Tallinn to Vilnius. Not a shot was fired in an uprising against one of the most violent police states in human history. That’s Estonia.

Throughout Tallinn, we saw remnants of its Soviet past: cement apartment blocks whose only color came from graffiti or the laundry lines fluttering between balconies. Massive warehouses along the quay, once home to the war material needed for a possible showdown with NATO.

But apart from Brutalist architecture aficionados and Cold War nostalgists, most come to Estonia not for the mark left by the Soviets, but for its remarkably preserved medieval past, evidenced by its entire city center being designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Without knowing any better, one may walk through its Old Town and think it a movie set. It’s so well preserved it almost looks fake.

The Hill

The only way out is through.  Robert Frost

“Why are we going up there?” Jacob whined, looking up in contempt at Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, perched high on Toompea Hill in the historic center of town where Tallinn was born, in an era when the high ground mattered much more. It’s beautiful, this building. As beautiful as a building can be.  A 19th-century Russian Orthodox cathedral built during the era of Imperial rule. 

My patience worn thin, I rolled my eyes at the question, adjusting my scarf and cap as we began the climb up the stairs.

We’d been laboring around Tallinn for hours, and the boys had decided some time ago that they were done… and no amount of snacks, bribes, or threats would change their minds.

My wife and I have learned our lesson on more than one occasion: trips like these are not for “us.” We will sink or swim as a family. And today… it seemed we were sinking.

What we’d come to see: the UNESCO city, the world-renowned Christmas market, the distinctly Baltic vibe of an Estonia that resisted Soviet Russia with music of all things, all of it became clouded by the incessant questions and complaints about this stairway being too long or that snack shop we didn’t have time to duck inside or heaven help us! a water bottle that had run dry.

Why were we going up there? I actually wondered it myself in that moment. After the day we’d had, part of me even felt guilty. Were we selfish to drag our kids along on this journey for which they did not sign up and had no enthusiasm for? Should we have just saved that plane ticket?

These moments. They teach you about yourself. Your kids. Your spouse.

The View Was Very Nice

So… why were we going up there?

I wanted to say:

Because you don’t get to choose which hills life gives you. Only whether you climb them, son

Because someday something will try to push you down, and I want you to remember that the Estonian people were smaller than their enemies and survived worse, son

Because I need you to know that being tired isn’t the same thing as being done, son

But that’s not what I said. I cupped my hands to my mouth, warming them with my breath in the December air. And through gritted teeth, I said:

Because I said so.

And it’s a nice view

… Some moments are just not teaching moments

Tallinn lived up to all expectations. I could see immediately why it is so special. It’s one of the best places we’ve been. But we won’t remember it for its inexplicably preserved medieval architecture or the hot glühwein cupped between our cold hands in the Christmas market that night. We’ll remember the tested patience, the screams and the tears, each footstep on the cobblestone streets fought for through attrition. But spoken or unspoken, those footsteps were teaching a few young minds about resilience and a few old ones about patience.

It’s a pity that life picked this day to teach us those lessons, when there were so many cool statues to see, tiny romantic alleyways to explore, and steaming hot Estonian Christmas pastries to try. But we did learn. What, I’m not entirely sure. We showed up. The four of us as a family. We got through it – tried not to forget how lucky we were to be here in the first place.

And when we got to the top of that hill, the view was very nice.