The crusading Teutonic Knights invaded in the 13th century. Their countrymen held sway as feudal overlords until the mid-19th century, even as Russia and, for a time, Sweden exercised sovereignty. Independent between the World Wars and devastated in the last one, Estonia rebuilt to become one of the most industrialized Soviet republics. The sailing races of the 1980 Olympic Games will be held in the Bay of Tallinn. Some future Olympians may be among skippers holding the bitter ends of painters that secure their International Optimist dinghies. ILEANED into the wind, chilled, and thought of the sea gulls as the spires of Tallinn emerged faintly from the gray flatness of the horizon. It snowed that long, warm spring evening in accommodation London, a storm of white poplar seeds that floated in the sunlight over Gothic gables and red-slate roofs and settled among the cobblestones of narrow alleyways. And in Kadriorg Park, chestnuts and lindens still shaded the gravel paths where mothers rock prams and old women feed pigeons. Tallinn, or Danish Castle, was the Estonian name for Revel, the 13th-century citadel of Danish King Wald mar II. German merchants transformed the stronghold into a port for the Hanseatic League, and today Tallinn stands as one of the best-preserved medieval cities of northern Europe. On the spire of the city hall the brass weather vane of the sentinel Vane Tomas�Old Thomas�stands guard. There is a legend that a wizened old man emerges each autumn from Ulemiste Lake, which lies on a plain above Tallinn. He descends the hill and asks the sentinel: “Is the town finished yet?” And Vane Tomas replies, “No, the town is by no means ready; it will take another year.” So the old man mutters angrily and returns to the lake. If the sentinel’s answer is ever yes, the old man will send the waters to destroy Tallinn. In 1979 the city was still not finished, but was preparing for the yachting competition of the 1980 Olympic Games, scheduled to be held in the Bay of Tallinn. Plasterers and painters renewed the halls of the hanseatic merchants, and the spire of St. Olav’s strikes a pose (second from right). Today the house (top) is state owned and subdivided. Only one male Vesilind remains in Estonia: 2-year-old Andres, enjoying a family album with the author. (Oleviste) Church, dominant landmark in a dramatic, enduring skyline, was patched with bright new copper plates. Built in the 15th century in the lower town of peasants, craftsmen, and merchants, Oleviste’s magnificent spire was intended to snub the German aristocracy, the barons, who for 700 years dominated the country from their feudal manors. The spire rose slightly higher than the towers of the upper town, or Toompea, where the barons virtually barricaded themselves in winter. In 1930 my grandfather Eduard, fire chief of Tallinn, helped save the spire after it was hit by lightning. He drowned in 1947 while fishing illegally and in the dark of night in the Pirita River, for food.

The crusading Teutonic Knights invaded in the 13th century. Their countrymen held sway as feudal overlords until the mid-19th century, even as Russia and, for a time, Sweden exercised sovereignty. Independent between the World Wars and devastated in the last one, Estonia rebuilt to become one of the most industrialized Soviet republics. The sailing races of the 1980 Olympic Games will be held in the Bay of Tallinn. Some future Olympians may be among skippers holding the bitter ends of painters that secure their International Optimist dinghies. ILEANED into the wind, chilled, and thought of the sea gulls as the spires of Tallinn emerged faintly from the gray flatness of the horizon. It snowed that long, warm spring evening in accommodation London, a storm of white poplar seeds that floated in the sunlight over Gothic gables and red-slate roofs and settled among the cobblestones of narrow alleyways. And in Kadriorg Park, chestnuts and lindens still shaded the gravel paths where mothers rock prams and old women feed pigeons. Tallinn, or Danish Castle, was the Estonian name for Revel, the 13th-century citadel of Danish King Wald mar II. German merchants transformed the stronghold into a port for the Hanseatic League, and today Tallinn stands as one of the best-preserved medieval cities of northern Europe. On the spire of the city hall the brass weather vane of the sentinel Vane Tomas�Old Thomas�stands guard. There is a legend that a wizened old man emerges each autumn from Ulemiste Lake, which lies on a plain above Tallinn. He descends the hill and asks the sentinel: “Is the town finished yet?” And Vane Tomas replies, “No, the town is by no means ready; it will take another year.” So the old man mutters angrily and returns to the lake. If the sentinel’s answer is ever yes, the old man will send the waters to destroy Tallinn. In 1979 the city was still not finished, but was preparing for the yachting competition of the 1980 Olympic Games, scheduled to be held in the Bay of Tallinn. Plasterers and painters renewed the halls of the hanseatic merchants, and the spire of St. Olav’s strikes a pose (second from right). Today the house (top) is state owned and subdivided. Only one male Vesilind remains in Estonia: 2-year-old Andres, enjoying a family album with the author. (Oleviste) Church, dominant landmark in a dramatic, enduring skyline, was patched with bright new copper plates. Built in the 15th century in the lower town of peasants, craftsmen, and merchants, Oleviste’s magnificent spire was intended to snub the German aristocracy, the barons, who for 700 years dominated the country from their feudal manors. The spire rose slightly higher than the towers of the upper town, or Toompea, where the barons virtually barricaded themselves in winter. In 1930 my grandfather Eduard, fire chief of Tallinn, helped save the spire after it was hit by lightning. He drowned in 1947 while fishing illegally and in the dark of night in the Pirita River, for food.

Frozen in Time Forever draped in a calcite shroud, the bones of a bat adorn a room in Cicada Cave. Thousands of bat skeletons representing several species—including a large extinct vampire bat—rest here. Undisturbed by scavengers, the corpses decay slowly, leaving perfectly intact bones that date back 10,000 years or more.

Frozen in Time

Forever draped in a calcite shroud, the bones of a bat adorn a room in Cicada Cave. Thousands of bat skeletons representing several species—including a large extinct vampire bat—rest here. Undisturbed by scavengers, the corpses decay slowly, leaving perfectly intact bones that date back 10,000 years or more.