Panguitch, Utah, USA.

Panguitch proved a gem of a destination.

“Panguitch” is a first people word meaning “big fish”. White pioneers first settled in the surrounding attractive and fertile valley in March 1864. However, the first winter was exceptionally cold and challenging, the latter not least because the crops planted earlier in the year had failed. Seven men braved the elements to bring flour from Parowan, about 40 miles away, along what is now roughly Highway 20. The snow was so deep that they had to abandon their oxen and wagon. They reached Parowan by placing a quilt on the deep drifts of snow, walking to the end of the quilt and then putting down a second quilt before retrieving the first one. This became known as the Panguitch Quilt Walk and is still celebrated in an annual festival in the town.

The village was abandoned during the Black Hawk War but resettled in 1871. As the settlement grew, a brick factory was built. The people who made the bricks were not paid with money; instead, they were given bricks in exchange for their labour. This enabled the factory workers and other townspeople to build the large and sometimes elegant brick homes that still stand today. In 2006, all of Panguitch was listed as a historic district in the National Register of Historic Places. Although close to the border with neighbouring Iron, Panguitch is the administrative centre for enormous Garfield County and, fittingly, the county’s elegant courthouse is made overwhelmingly with brick.

Panguitch is larger and more prosperous than Tropic, but, like Tropic, is enclosed by land which lends itself well to arable farming. For about five blocks along Main Street almost every building is old or attractive, but more old and attractive buildings exist elsewhere in the town. The motels are full of character. Most of them have tall metal signs beside the road designed to catch the eye with interesting names, sensuous curves and bright lights. Ghost signs and painted adverts cover many a wall, and among the businesses that seem to do quite well are three antique shops, a smokehouse, a diner, a drive-in, a supermarket, a state liquor store and a small cinema with a cafe in the front, which, among other things, serves very good ice cream. We found the local people, whether genuinely local or in-comers from more crowded parts of the US, very friendly and happy to share with two UK citizens insights about the town and the surrounding area.

If you have enjoyed “In Search of Unusual Destinations”, have a look at “The USA: Landscapes and Urban Spaces”, which has posts devoted to some of the things that have preoccupied this blog, but from the perspective of only one nation state. Have fun – and I also hope that what you have seen and read have proved informative.

Kalnciema, Riga, Latvia.

We caught a tram across the river and on the way went past the Latvian National Library (the library is a very unusual glass and steel structure which at first I did not like. However, its asymmetrical silhouette with gentle curves grew on me as it became more familiar) and what appears to be a railway museum before crossing a large park and entering the area of Kalnciema.

We had expected to find an area similar to Kalamaja in Tallinn, but, if Kalnciema is destined to be Riga’s Kalamaja, it has some way to go to compete with its rival in the Estonian capital. However, Kalnciema is full of interest. Some middle class and hip young things live in the area, but not in the number encountered in Kalamaja. Consequently, there are only a few facilities to meet the needs of upwardly mobile people and most housing is drab in appearance, no doubt just as housing had been in Kalamaja about five or ten years ago. While Kalamaja has about a dozen good places in which to eat and drink, Kalnciema has only two, Maja, which can be very expensive by local standards unless you opt for the excellent lunchtime menu, or Vinoga (more about Vinoga later). However, Kalnciema has a very good farmers’ market every Saturday where people sell excellent food a little different to that available at the Central Market, and craft items such as bells, glazed pottery, knitted clothing, wrought-iron candlesticks and carved wooden items for the home. But it was the food that interested us the most. We tried some home-made fruit wine before buying sausage filled with ostrich meat, a local interpretation of camembert cheese and, for the following day’s journey home, three different types of cake baked in someone’s home. Other people sold bread, smoked fish, smoked meat, pork sausage, freshly cooked pancakes, at least eight varieties of apple and many other tempting products.

Before making our purchases at the farmers’ market, we walked south-west along Kalnciema Iela until it turns into Lielirbes Iela and crosses the railway just south of Zasulauka station. We walked around the streets north-east of the flyover where there are a few properties older than the apartment blocks dating from the Soviet era. I had seen enough to know I would have to return later in the day, when Hilary was resting in the hotel.

We bought what we wanted from the market and walked south-west along the main road until arriving at Margrietas Iela, from where the number 2 tram took us to the Central Market along a route even more interesting than the one earlier that morning.

After buying two tickets for the trams, I set off for Kalnciema, the district we had visited that morning. I got off the tram where Maza Nometnu Iela merges with three other roads. A large brick-built market overlooks the busy intersection. I walked around the market hall, a smaller version of the Central Market in the city centre, and the stalls and shops in an outdoor section at the back. I also walked around the surrounding streets, which soon became residential with lots of wooden buildings. Among the wooden buildings is an enormous brick, stone and stucco structure with restrained art nouveau flourishes. It fulfils childcare and/or educational purposes.

I walked west along Maza Nomentu Iela, but turned to the south and north as interesting views opened up. I then went north along Margrietas Iela and under the flyover that marks the point at which Kalnciema Iela becomes Lielirbes Iela. I followed the tram lines to Zasulauka station where there are yet more interesting views, on this occasion dominated by the railway and distant industrial installations. Taken as a whole, the area is an endearing mixture of old wooden houses, some of which are built on a substantial scale, small parks, muddy open spaces, huts, sheds, garages, yards full of scrap metal and apartment blocks dating from the Soviet era. Shops, bars and cafes are few in number other than around the market on Maza Nomentu Iela, and there is only one restaurant, Vinoga, also on Maza Nomentu Iela. However, the restaurant and its menu looked very tempting. I recommended Vinoga to Hilary as the destination for our last big meal of the trip. The meal was not quite as foodie as some of the ones in Tallinn, but at least we ate and drank in a restaurant popular with local people.

The Maskavas Iela area, Riga, Latvia.

I went for a walk south-east of the Hanza Hotel into the area which had once been home to a large Jewish community. Maskavas Iela is the road along which I walked the most, but the area is so interesting that I took many detours to the south and north. Few obvious reminders of a Jewish presence exist other than the ruins of the Choral Synagogue and the Holocaust Memorial, but the old wooden houses and muddy courtyards behind the areas’ surviving buildings (there are many empty plots where buildings once stood) conjure up impressions of what daily life must have been like when the Jewish population was much larger than it now is.

I walked as far as the Dodo Hotel where a bar and a few shops meet the immediate needs of the local people. To the north of the hotel is an enormous brick-built church with two steeples over the west entrance (a second large church exists in another part of the area), but of greater interest are the houses, apartment blocks, cramped courtyards, derelict patches of land, rows of wooden huts and brick outhouses, muddy areas behind the apartment blocks where residents park their cars and trees with black trunks and branches but no leaves. A few modern or renovated houses belong to wealthy people, but most inhabitants of the area are not the beneficiaries of capitalist economics. I also suspect that most people who live and work in the area are ethnic Russians. Cobbles seal many of the roads, but puddles must be avoided once you leave the pavements. Most people walk alone and there are very few cars. Small groups of men loiter in quiet side streets where they consume cheap spirits mixed with cola in plastic bottles. Dogs bark as you approach, but they are usually behind wire or wooden fences. Trams provide a quick and inexpensive means of accessing the area or escaping from it.

A young Russian woman asked me for 3 euros when I walked near the Dodo, but when I encountered her a little later, she reduced her request for financial assistance to 1 euro. Everyone I passed looked at me to register the presence of a stranger, but no one muttered even “Good morning.” However, I knew this was an area I would have to visit again because it reveals its treasure only very slowly. At first you see only the shabby Soviet-era buildings, the neglected pre-Soviet houses and commercial premises, the poorly stocked shops, the drab bars and cafes, and the muddy open spaces. Then you notice that almost every building has at least one admirable quality (generally speaking, the buildings need nothing but some tender loving care to make them good places in which to live, work, eat, drink or shop) and the majority of people subsist with quiet dignity despite their difficult conditions and circumstances. These less fashionable areas of Eastern Europe’s largest cities have a lot to commend them. The only problem most outsiders will encounter is that they may photograph someone doing something they do not want recorded. But with a little care, anyone can have an enlightening experience in these destinations a little less ordinary.

I undertook a walk of two hours through the area south-east of the hotel (I walked along and around Maskavas and Jersikas ielas, which had once been home to a large Jewish community). Rundown though a lot of the area is, I liked it even more than during my earlier visit, not least because I found yet more landmark buildings and interesting views in the back streets. East of the Dodo Hotel is a small square with a playground surrounded by a few attractive buildings. In a more prosperous part of Riga, the square would have a restaurant and a bar or cafe, but this being a relatively deprived area, there are no such facilities to encourage you to linger. When I visited, even the playground was deserted.

Art Nouveau in Riga, Latvia.

We ascended the small hill called Bastejkalns, which is immediately to the east of the Old Town. The hill is just high enough to provide good views of the Old Town and, in the other direction, over an attractive park through which a canal meanders toward the railway station. The canal is almost completely frozen in February, so ducks and swans spend most of the time on the canal banks. We then walked to the area around Strelnieku and Alberta ielas to examine the many art nouveau buildings, most of which are large apartment blocks. We also visited the Art Nouveau Museum, which we enjoyed so much that I will quote at length from its website:

“Riga Art Nouveau Museum was opened on 23rd April 2009. It is located in the apartment where the outstanding Latvian architect Konstantīns Pēkšēns (1859-1928) lived until 1907.

“The building was constructed in 1903 as Pēkšēns’ private house. It is the work of Pēkšēns himself and Eižens Laube, then a student of architecture. The building is notable for its extremely powerful dimensions and expressive silhouette. The ornamental reliefs, craftily incorporated in the architectonic shape, feature stylised motifs from the local flora and fauna: fir needles, pine cones and squirrels. The building has a spiral staircase with ornamental ceiling paintings, quite possibly sketched by the prominent Latvian artist Janis Rozentāls. The art nouveau staircase is among the most impressive not only in Riga but also the whole of Europe.

“The authentic interior of 1903 has been renovated within the museum. Investigation of the premises started in 2007 when the original interior decoration was revealed and registered. Renovation work was carried out from 2008 to 2009 under the guidance of master renovator Gunita Čakare.

“The current display of the museum shows the characteristic furnishings of an apartment of a Riga inhabitant at the beginning of the 20th century. The author of the interior project is the architect Liesma Markova.”

We returned to the hotel by walking along Elizabetes and Dzirnavu ielas almost as far as the Holocaust Memorial beside the ruins of the Choral Synagogue on Gogola Iela. Along the way we encountered more art nouveau buildings, but few are as eye-catching as the ones around the Art Nouveau Museum.

Around the Academy of Science, Riga, Latvia.

We got off the bus among the large-scale but ugly glass and steel boxes that now enclose the main railway station to detrimental effect, then skirted the edge of the massive Central Market and the warehouses of up and coming Spikeri before arriving at the Hanza Hotel close to the Latvian Academy of Science (the academy is housed in a Stalinist wedding-cake structure similar to other buildings imposed on East European nation states absorbed into the Soviet Union or the Soviet bloc following world war two).

The Hanza appears to occupy what was once an apartment block pre-dating the second world war and the conversion has been highly successful. We were given a room overlooking a monumental Lutheran church. Parts of the area immediately enclosing the hotel are rundown (there are some empty plots where buildings once stood and fenced off muddy courtyards full of debris awaiting disposal), but most of the streets are attractive and on the way up. Some old wood and brick buildings look as if they may soon be demolished, but, if demolished, I for one will regret their loss. The five magnificent halls of the Central Market are less than ten minutes away on foot, as are the main railway station, the long distance bus station and tram stops with routes radiating across the city. Sources of food and drink are nearby, as is a very attractive Russian Orthodox church constructed overwhelmingly with wood. The next two days and our return to Riga at the end of the trip confirmed that the Hanza stands at the edge of an area more Russian than Latvian, although, in the era running up to the second world war and the holocaust, it had been home to a large Jewish community.

For my first walk, I looked closely at the brick warehouses of Spikeri where there are bars, cafes, restaurants, art galleries, a small holocaust museum and some up-market shops, one of which sells very good wine. Once all the premises are occupied, the area will be very popular with local people and tourists. I next went to the largely unrestored warehouses of similar design to the south-east of the Central Market, then walked through two of the five large halls that make up the covered part of the market. Around the halls are many outdoor stalls selling fruit, vegetables, flowers, clothes, shoes and small household items. On display were some of the largest pomegranates I have ever seen. Not all the outdoor stalls were occupied, no doubt because in late February there are fewer customers than in summer and fewer local food products to sell. However, because prices in the market are so competitive, lots of people were shopping, probably because it was Thursday evening and the weekend lay ahead. Riga’s Central Market is one of the most remarkable markets I have ever seen, partly for its size and partly for the vast range of goods that it sells. There are hundreds of places to buy interesting ready-to-consume food and drink (fish, meat, pancakes, cheese, bread, cakes, pastries, coffee, tea, beer, spirits, etc.) at prices ridiculously low by UK standards, so much so that, when I return to Riga, I will spend the whole day at the market grazing as I do so.

I walked to Turgeneva and Pushkina ielas, the beautiful wooden Russian Orthodox church on the corner of Turgeneva and Gogola ielas (inside the church, dozens of people venerated the icons, lit candles or bought religious items at the shop immediately inside the east door) and the wooden buildings in the area closest to the river. I crossed Krasta Ielato to walk beside the river, which was frozen all the way to Zacusala, the long but slim island. Hundreds of gulls stood on the ice. It was not long before darkness would fall and a very cold wind blew off the river.

To the north, the curved steel sections of a bridge carry the railway across the river in a westerly direction. In its length and shape, the bridge resembles the wonderful girder bridges encountered where the railroads cross wide rivers in the US. At night, Riga’s bridge is picked out in blue lights.

The tram to Kopli, Tallinn, Estonia.

In my estimation, an urban destination is significantly enhanced if it has trams, and Tallinn is lucky because it has four lengthy tram routes that carry passengers to some very interesting parts of the city. For my last post about Tallinn, I want to reveal what you can see if you take the tram from Telliskivi in Kalamaja to the terminus in Kopli. But first, some notes that provide context for the photos.

We returned to the tram stop at the north end of Telliskivi and took the number 2 to the end of the line in Kopli. The tram went through areas where housing mixed with industry, harbour facilities and a ship repair yard. Most housing was in Soviet-era apartment blocks about four storeys high. Although houses dominated the streets of Kalamaja and some old wooden houses existed in Kopli, the further we got from Kalamaja, the poorer most people seemed to be. When we arrived at the point where the trams turned through a half circle to return to the city centre, a massive stone building called the Estonian Maritime Academy blocked the view to the west. The academy was a vocational university.

We got off the tram in Kopli and walked to a small Russian Orthodox church built overwhelmingly with wood. Nearby, just across the railway leading into a harbour with restricted access, was a terrace of wooden houses overlooking the sea.

Kopli stood at the end of a peninsula overlooking the Gulf of Kopli to the south. To the north was a desolate sandy beach, which, the day of our visit in late February, disappeared from view under frozen sea water.

We walked along the main road to the tram stop before the Kopli terminus, noting that a kiosk and a small shop met the basic needs of the local people, a majority of whom now lived in Soviet-era apartment blocks half hidden among trees to the south of the main road. A few old wooden houses lurked among the trees and looked interesting enough to justify a return visit. But I knew I would have to be careful with my camera because some of the local young and middle-aged males seemed to be unemployed and were not always engaged in lawful activities.

Hilary rested in the hotel. I caught a tram to Kopli, but got off at Sitsi where there were excellent views over the ship repair yard mentioned earlier. The area around Sitsi had an interesting mixture of Soviet-era apartment blocks, wooden houses built at different times, breeze block and render houses of recent pedigree built for families that had benefitted from capitalist economics, patches of mud and grass overlooked by the apartment blocks, fenced-off yards full of wood and metal, rows of wooden huts and brick outhouses, and a few drab shops, bars and cafes. Damp had discoloured the brightly painted stucco walls and large wheelie-bins cluttered the open spaces behind the apartment blocks. Many inhabitants of the area were poor and some felt compelled to look for recyclable items in the wheelie-bins. Small groups of men loitered near the tram stops hoping to sell drugs to passersby. In the distance was a vast industrial complex, most of which was built with brick. The industrial complex looked abandoned, but some parts were used for storage purposes. Lots of muddy paths led among the trees and buildings, thereby providing people with the most direct routes from one place to the next, and many people used the paths to exercise their dogs (sadly, not all the owners picked up their dogs’ excrement).

I got onto the tram and broke the journey twice to briefly examine the immediate areas (I found environments similar to the one around the Sitsi tram stop, so the camera remained quite busy).

Keen to re-connect with Tallinn’s more gritty and edgy side, I caught a tram to Sitsi for another lengthy walk around the streets. By turning a corner not previously noted, new but interesting views opened up.

Areas of this nature with their wooden housing; ill-kept communal areas; washing hung on lines between rusting metal poles; garages, huts and outhouses constructed with wood and brick; and large but abandoned factories (the factory near Sitsi gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine. Shadow emphasised the brick patterns on the external walls) were fascinating places to visit. True, outsiders had to be careful where they pointed their cameras and everyone ran the risk of encounters with dogs’ excrement, barking dogs behind wire or wooden fences and men suffering from drug or alcohol addiction. But how else could people connect with a city’s more marginal delights?

I walked Hilary back to the hotel but was out almost immediately, one last visit to Kopli my intention. I tried to get into the harbour behind the Estonian Maritime Academy, but only people with passes or goods for transportation could proceed beyond a barrier across the road. Instead, I looked at trams parked in a shed beside the academy, then walked in a south-easterly direction through some trees and over very damp ground ineffectively drained by ditches and shallow pools of stagnant water. Some very large wooden houses stood among the trees, as did a few Soviet-era apartment blocks a little further away.

As I took a few photos of the wooden houses, a woman approached me with a wary expression on her face. She was walking four of her dogs with her daughter aged about 15. Once the woman had been reassured that I was not up to mischief, we had a chat about Kopli in the past. She said that Kopli had once been a small village detached from Tallinn a few kilometres to the east. Between the two world wars, the building which was now the Estonian Maritime Academy was constructed as Tallinn University’s science faculty and, following its inauguration as a teaching and learning facility, academic staff built themselves wooden houses among the surrounding trees so they could live close to where they worked (my informant insisted that some of Kopli’s surviving wooden houses once belonged to the academics. She said they had been in much better condition in the past). She also said that Kopli remained a village until “Krushchev built his houses in those blocks over there”. She pointed through the trees toward some of the apartment blocks with their discoloured stucco peeling from the brick below.

“Krushchev’s houses. His houses ruined the village and brought in many Russians from far away to work in the harbour and local factories. The growth in the number of people and the changing nature of the population led to a lot of heavy drinking, domestic violence and other crime. But, for the last two years in July, people in Kopli have organised events, a sort of festival to celebrate the history of the area and to encourage people to take greater pride in their community. With a little effort, Kopli can be beautiful and peaceful again.”

I agreed with the woman about Kopli’s future prospects. In fact, Kopli was fascinating, which was why I had come back. I continued walking around for another half hour, on this occasion concentrating on the south side of Kopli overlooking the gulf with the same name.

Kalamaja, Tallinn, Estonia.

Kalamaja is a trendy and increasingly desirable area of Tallinn. It lies north and west of the Old Town, roughly from Linnahall in the east to Volta in the west, but also stretches as far south as the south end of Telliskivi. The notes below convey something of its seductive appeal.

We walked along Soo because Soo led into the up and coming area of Kalamaja. We had in mind a bar for a drink, but the bar no longer seemed to exist. Moreover, because Soo led into an overwhelmingly residential part of Kalamaja, for a while we thought we would draw a complete blank. However, we saw a bar called Tops at a crossroads. It had attracted a lot of customers, most of whom were either young professionals or older middle class couples. We ordered two beers and found somewhere to sit. Being very much a bar for middle class people, prices were a little higher than we were used to in Riga, but they were on a par with many similar but less interesting places in the UK. The bar had the atmosphere of a cafe rather than that of a pub, and the decoration evoked that of a house rather than somewhere for public use. With its light and airy appearance, Tops was essentially Scandinavian in character. Most of the furniture derived from the 1970s and 1980s, which, as we found during the days ahead, was all the rage among the hip young things of Tallinn (unless the hip young things preferred furniture dating from the 1950s and 1960s). The bar was female-friendly, so much so that as many women as men were drinking and eating (tea was almost as popular as beer). Our introduction to Tallinn in general, and Kalamaja more specifically, was very encouraging.

We walked the short distance to Balti Jaam (Tallinn’s main railway station), then continued south-west to Telliskivi, a street on the edge of Kalamaja which had some restaurants we were keen to try before returning to Riga. We found an interesting mixture of residential, commercial and industrial buildings with railway tracks leading to and from a large marshalling yard. We were reminded of small cities in the US where landmark buildings often existed in areas with a little bit of edge. Some of the local shops occupied one-time industrial buildings and stocked unusual clothes, furniture and items for the kitchen. Telliskivi seemed to be a magnet for some of Tallinn’s most hip and artistic young professionals. Moreover, the restaurants looked very good.

We caught a tram as far as Volta, which seemed to mark the western edge of Kalamaja. We walked along Volta and began a meandering stroll to the hotel via streets which became less industrial and more residential the closer we got to our destination. Between the Volta tram stop and the seaplane harbour to the north, Kalamaja had very few shops, bars, cafes or restaurants, but there was a fascinating mixture of housing. Some Soviet-era apartment blocks were along or near Volta, as were a few shabby or abandoned factories, but old and new houses and enviably designed modern apartment blocks dominated the streets both sides of Soo. We were warming to Kalamaja with every encounter, no matter how brief the encounter was. Once an area in which a considerable number of poor or troubled people used to live, the latter with drug, alcohol or mental health problems, such people were now being edged out as land values increased. People in other parts of Tallinn recognised the appeal of living so close to Toompea and the Old Town, but in an area very different in character and socio-economic structure (Kalamaja was the hip place to be in Tallinn), and the beneficiaries of capitalist economics were attracted by the restoration of old properties and the construction of new ones, the latter blending successfully with the old because of their similar scale and appearance. It was always sad when long-standing local people were edged out of neighbourhoods as cities slowly developed and transformed, but such dislocation had been a harsh fact of life since people started to live together in large numbers. It would not surprise me if some of Kalamaja’s poorest people found their way into the less attractive housing further west along the tram route to Kopli.

My thanks to Külli in Tallinn who not only told me about the delights of Kalamaja, but also revealed that some of the city’s best restaurants were in the same area. Külli: we followed your advice and had very good meals at F-hoone and Kolm Sibulat, but also enjoyed Klaus (which is near Moon) and Bistroo Kukeke. We also went to Diip, which you could not tell me about eight months ago because it has existed for only a few weeks (correct in March 2014). Diip is very special. Moreover, we ate there on the eve of Independence Day. We had a wonderful time, not least because Estonian fruit wines are irresistible.

Linnahall, Tallinn, Estonia.

I walked north and then east from the hotel (Ilmarine Residence) as if bound for the harbour used by the cruise ships and the ferries to and from Stockholm and Helsinki. Access to the area was easiest by following a street called Kalasadama. I went past two restaurants; a few businesses associated with the sea; some old brick buildings, two of which had octagonal ground plans; a tall chimney; and a small but partly frozen harbour with swans, ducks and two fishing boats. It was about 7.30am and only a dull grey light pierced the overcast sky. But ahead lay my true destination, Linnahall, a vast concrete, stone and brick slab which initially looked ugly, derelict and deserted.

When I undertook my first look around Linnahall, a rotting and graffiti-smeared monster that would have thrilled Jonathan Meades had he seen it before recording his excellent two-part BBC4 series entitled “Bunkers, Brutalism and Bloodymindedness”, I felt confronted with a place of utter urban desolation, which, if it appealed to anyone, it had to be the most marginalised, troubled and criminally-inclined of Tallinn’s citizens. That morning, I thought I had been correct about its appeal to such people because my only “companions” were a few young males in hoodies who walked around alone or in pairs. At least two of the males were under the influence of drugs or alcohol. But, on a return visit early one evening, many people, family groups included, strolled around the ruin and enjoyed the views from its different but easily accessible levels. For people in the know with an affection for wildly eccentric architecture, Linnahall is an absolute must.

Linnahall was built for the 1980 Summer Olympics as a multi-purpose cultural and recreational centre. Since its construction, it has had a concert hall with 4,200 seats, an ice rink and cafes. Parts of it were converted into a small ferry terminal and heliport. It had a sort of ziggurat ground plan and a few different levels, all the latter accessible by flights of crumbling stone or concrete steps. However, I was left with an impression of a vast but nearly flat structure hugging the ground as if worried it might be blown away by the strong winds that arrive so frequently from Russia or the Baltic Sea. Oriented almost exactly north to south, the elongated north arm of the ziggurat extended into the sea. The south arm pointed toward the Old Town and had a wide flight of stone steps leading to what was obviously intended as an elevated space on which to promenade. But once the 1980 Summer Olympics had concluded and initial curiosity about the structure began to wane, perhaps because it had been built to order by Estonia’s Russian colonial masters in Moscow, it proved difficult to utilise the facilities in the way originally intended. Moreover, shoddy construction work had a detrimental effect on Linnahall less than a decade after its completion.

On the internet, I found the following information about Linnahall in more recent times:

“A few years ago, Linnahall was given to American investors who formed a company called Tallinn Entertainment LLC. In return, Tallinn Entertainment LLC was expected to invest money in Linnahall to reconstruct it as a modern venue centre.

“In April 2009, Linnahall had its last public events and, since then, it has been closed to the public.

“Tallinn Entertainment LLC promised that Linnahall would be restored by 2011. So far, nothing has happened. Investors have not even produced development plans and for a long time they have refused to meet with city officials. In Hungary and the US, several people involved in the project have been arrested and accused of corruption, bribery and tax evasion.”

Although all internal spaces at Linnahall were closed to the public, people could walk where the flights of steps led to. The complex was fascinating to explore, so much so that many people, old and young, took photos of it and the views it provided (inevitably, some of the best views were toward the Old Town). There were arches; fenced-off tunnels; walls reminiscent of naval fortifications; sunken spaces enclosed by moss-covered stone walls and rusty metal panels, the latter splattered with brightly painted graffiti; and a raised promenade with large slabs of concrete arranged with geometric precision down the centre. In other words, there was always something bleak, brutal or compelling to examine. Of course, Linnahall was not pretty; such structures rarely were. But because so few similar structures survived in the UK (some for good reason, I admit), I am pleased to report that this monster has been listed by Muinsuskaitseamet, Estonia’s national heritage board, as an important example of 1980s’ architecture. However, legitimate concerns have been expressed about its condition almost since its completion. I hope its listing as an important example of architecture will ensure that it is retained and not demolished. But should it be restored? I am not convinced that restoration should be undertaken because in many respects Linnahall looks superb as it is. A pristine Linnahall is unlikely to compel attention in the way it currently does. Why not just let it slowly rot away with the passage of time?

Toompea and the Old Town, Tallinn, Estonia.

Taken together, Toompea and the Old Town in Estonia’s remarkable capital city of Tallinn comprise one of the most beautiful urban environments I have ever encountered. Yes, they comprise one of the most beautiful urban environments I have ever encountered. Inevitably, therefore, Toompea and the Old Town are NOT particularly unusual destinations because people from all over the world undertake visits. This said, I justify the post for two reasons. First, it establishes a context for future posts about destinations in Tallinn that ARE unusual. Second, most of the photos below derive from or near Lai, Aida, Kooli and Laboratooriumi, streets in the Old Town which tourists rarely visit.

The Headland, Hartlepool, North-East England.

Hartlepool’s Headland is located on a peninsula to the north-east of the town centre and has a number of attractions and interesting features to keep people occupied whether they visit for an hour or half a day.

There are many landmark buildings. At the centre of the Headland is St. Hilda’s Church with its formidable buttresses. The church was built in the 12th century and stands on the site of a 7th century monastery. St. Hilda’s has a visitors’ centre providing insights into the history of the church and the development of the Headland.

During the first world war, the Headland suffered heavy bombardment by three German battle cruisers. The Heugh Gun Battery defended the area. Visitors can learn about the history of the battery by engaging with the exhibits in the Heugh Gun Battery Museum.

A recent development is the new Town Square. This feature opposite the Borough Hall and Buildings is a peaceful space and garden that comes to life when used as a backdrop for events such as the annual Headland Heritage Festival.

The best way to explore and understand the Headland is by following the Headland Story Trail. The trail is marked by 18 information boards that collectively provide an insight into the area’s history. The trail can be picked up at any point and followed clockwise or anti-clockwise. The trail takes you past some of the many elegant houses that survive on the peninsula.

On the trail, look out for recently installed examples of public art. You will come across sculptures such as The Big Catch, Force Ten and Andy Capp, the latter a cartoon character loved by many UK males of an advanced age.