Rain sweeps through an autumn night in Tallinn as Pikker and Uku – the Estonian gods of thunder – rearrange the cosmos in preparation for the looming winter. I am grateful for the respite from summertime sun whose interminable grey glare is finally being replaced by familiar night-time darkness. But now I lay awake, my dreams interrupted by excitement at the havoc the Estonian gods with their howling winds might be wreaking on the usually placid sea.
The unassuming nation of Estonia lies beside Russia and below Finland, on the Baltic Sea.
It’s a land of seasons, where people speak Elvish and the girls are achingly beautiful. Where wild blueberries carpet the forest floor and glitzy clubs line the cobbled streets of Tallinn’s bewitching medieval old town. But unbeknown to most it is also a land of idyllic beaches delicately carved into the southern reaches of the Baltic.
Estonia is way less Barbie and Ken than Sweden and a far cry from the ‘I’m going to drink myself to oblivion in my Lego house’ Finland. It’s less austere than big, scary brother Russia (who only relinquished them to independence in 1994) and a warm, glossy cousin to drab Latvia.
Dawn pulls back the gentle grey cover and lets the sunshine pour in. Tallinn’s glass towers inhale the blue heavens and her old buildings warm their bones. I breathe deeply. Estonia has the cleanest air in the world.
There is a seriousness to the people of the Baltic states. Some say it’s the harsh climate and some say it’s genetic melancholy. Either way, when you get to know the locals and earn a smile it’s a small treasure. A few days ago I met a pair of Estonian surfer girls at the unlikely Surf House near the centre of Tallinn. Today one of them, looking decidedly ethereal, picks me up to hunt for surf. We know the conditions are right and drive the length of the country (takes two hours) in search of swell.
By chance, as we return home, her equally ethereal mother mentions she saw waves at Vääna-Jõesuu – a nearby city beach. One and a half foot wind swell makes me as happy as six foot Bali. That’s how it goes when you’re on the periphery of surfing possibility. . A small crowd gather as my silhouette glides through the shorebreak.
Vääna-Jõesuu unsurprisingly uncrowdedEstonian mythology boasts many characters relating to adverse weather, which is proudly part of the country’s identity.
“” I am told by my new surf buddy.
They have, however, developed a secret weapon against the bitter winter, which brings temperatures of below minus 20 degrees celcius on a regular basis. It’s called sauna.
Sauna here is unique. It involves getting naked, intoxicated and then steaming yourself to the brink of suffocation in a tiny room, all whilst throwing water upon rocks heated by a blazing fire. Or steaming to suffocation and then getting horrendously drunk, I never quite get the order. Either way, the drinking and suffocation are interspersed by running outside and jumping into the nearest pond, snow or a cold shower.
My first sauna experience involves myself and six Estonian women. It’s like Rivendell with nudity, steam and regular whippings administered with a birch branch, which apparently stimulates blood flow. As if that’s required.
Managed a cutback at Vääna-JõesuuFrom Vääna-Jõesuu to Ristna
Vääna-Jõesuu is the best bet for all forms of board-riding in Estonia and is home to a hardcore crew of kite and windsurfers. I’ve sampled it and now have my sights set on the furthest reaches of this marshy, green land. The island of Hiiumaa is situated way out west and dips her fingers into the grey Baltic at angles that receive any hint of swell. Most of the action is focused upon Ristna which is a sleepy golden beach flanked by pine forests and a phallic red lighthouse, erected in 1874. The air here is thick with nature’s hum and it’s easy to see why the locals proclaim it as a refuge for fairies and elves. The sleepy ocean laps at the island’s soft edges and rocky crevices.
When a storm strikes the Baltic your window for waves immediately opens, sometimes for just a few hours. Apparently Ristna can get up to head high on a good day.
The view from Ristna lighthouseI arrive to a solid half foot. The local surf instructor stumbles out from his caravan which houses home-made jewellery and a drum set. He tells me there are rocks to the right side of the bay and that he’s really busy right now, before disappearing back inside. I paddle through a swamp of seaweed and sit out in the line-up on my 5’11”. It’s late September and boardies and a rash vest still suffice. I can only imagine winter here, when snow would make the place inaccessible and the waves even lonelier.
A home remedy in Estonia involves soaking a pair of woollen socks in vodka and then donning them to bed. I’m not sure if this is before or after your sauna but the thought of minus 20 degrees and snow on the beach makes vodka socks seem almost pleasant. I paddle for a rogue one footer and slide towards the grassy dunes. The gods seem happy today – and so am I.
