I think this might have been my most productive day of tourism so far.
In the morning, Watchnerd collected me from the appartment and took me to Balti Jaam Turg for breakfast and a fine morning of Soviet watch-fondling. He presented me with three watch rolls of gorgeous ticking things he’d chosen for me to see, like some sort of furtive but incredibly punctual dealer’s presentation of illicit goodies, which I pawed my way through over coffee.
I think the only thing that could’ve made our encounter look even more suspicious would’ve been if he’d had them hanging from the lining of an inconspicuous raincoat. He changed the crystal on one of my Zeroes — the first hit is always free — while I twitched exitedly and resigned myself to my fate as a junkie.
Crystal changed, squees stifled and coffee consumed, we headed upstairs and waded through hoards of Soviet tat — some sparkly, some not — and watches and cameras, before crashing down to reality and heading our separate ways just before lunch. I felt proud that I’d come out with my credit card balance unaltered, though there were a couple of close calls.
I ended up in Hetk again, of course, but decided there should probably be some kind of plan for my last full day of tourism. In a nod to the mutual matinal Petrodvoretsgasm, I decided to visit Peter the Great’s house in the Kadriorg Park. This also afforded me the opportunity to get on a number three tram and go somewhere, which was very exciting indeed as I’ve spent all week on foot and the best way to see a city is through its public transport network. Unless it’s underground.
The tram was a retro-tram with wooden benches, and I loved it. I stifled another squee.
The walk past the Kadriorg Palace down the promenade to the Russalka Memorial on the beach is very pretty. The memorial honours those who perished on the Russian navy vessel Russalka (mermaid) which sank on its way to Finland in 1893. It’s an imposing statue just a stone’s throw from the beach which, in a sign the Estonian seaside is upping its ante in response to my dissatisfaction at my last visit, was covered in snow.
I am not sure that I have ever been to a snowy beach before. It was something to behold.
Pyotr’s gaff is in the park behind the Kadriorg Palace and dates from before the latter was built, which is why it’s also called the ‘old palace’. Somewhat counter-intuitively, he acquired the house in 1714 and then built the Kadriorg Palace for his wife Catherine directly in front of it in 1718, immediately blighting the view from the only side of the building with large windows. The Palace itself is surrounded by a garden of fountains and flowerbeds and is modelled on Versailles, but on a much smaller scale.
It was quite the snowy trudge all things considered and afterwards I decided to follow signs to the Japanese Garden, thinking it would be quite relaxing and interesting. In fact after such an exciting morning I was really rather looking forward to my moment of zen as the web site boldly claims that “flow, contemplation and meditating on nature are activities that characterise a true Japanese garden.”
Zen I very much was not when I got there after more snowy-ice trudging to find it was shut. It was calm and peaceful but I wasn’t.
Had I had more time I’d have walked to the Victims of Communism Memorial but time was against me and my feet were cold. I took a number one tram and rode it to nearly the end of the line, then rode it back to somewhere I could get off and buy tourist tat.
The old town has many souvenir shops, all selling more or less the same fare. I was on the look-out for a postcard for my mother (easy) and a fridge magnet, because they don’t take up much space. The problem is everything is inside the shop, which means eventually committing to going in and looking around before backing out when you notice the alarming quantity of Putin-related memorabilia. The imploring cry of “I do special price” followed me over the threshold and into the next, where I was spoiled for choice in the fridge-magnet category — but ultimately decided on one of Porky Peg.
In the evening, Host and I feasted in an Indian restaurant with a waiter eager to bring more gin and tonic, and it was lovely. I noticed that The Freedom Square and its surroundings are much more pretty by twilight than they are by night.
And that’s it. Unless I am together enough in the morning to get up and do things, it’s likely that the KGB Museum in the Hotel Viru will have to wait until next time.
