Easter, Spring, and the Sound of Music

Easter has come and gone once again, anticipated for the forty days of Lent by those for whom the church calendar still structures the rhythms of their year along with more secular reckonings of time. For Russian Orthodox Estonians, the arrival of Easter is marked by baking (or at least eating) the special kulich (or kulits) bread, full of egg yolks, butter, and dried fruits--richer foods than believers would once have allowed themselves in the Lenten season; unbought loafs waited hopefully at the market this afternoon for buyers. Ethnic Estonians have cracked their Easter eggs, some as cultural tradition (still, as they say themselves, with traces of old pagan ways). And, of course, for those who are more observant, Good Friday (here a national holiday, though not necessarily a religious one for most) and Easter have meant special church services, perhaps family gatherings, and music. And, for everyone, the last snows have long since fallen, and what remains in shadowed lanes is melting quickly.

Days are quickly getting longer as well. Lately I've been stirring in bed between five and six, as the light outside seems to be saying "seven!" And it's still twilight around 9:30, such as in the photo at right of the monument to independence and freedom to the right. The light seems especially clear, and the air cools nicely, and I've found myself a few times "needing" to go out for an evening walk to the Old Town even though it's long past supper. A month ago the cold and dark and ice would have kept me in our cozy apartment with Barbara, often working away on her laptop curled up on the small couch facing our television with either the BBC news in the background or some obscure situation comedy or movie that never really found popularity in the U.S. (our English language fare is a little sparse--though our need for something familiar sometimes leads us to ancient "Little House on the Prairie" or "Northern Exposure" episodes with Estonian subtitles--sometimes fun to parse out (the connections between the English and the Estonian).

Spring here has been a time of continuing music. Barbara's sometimes working hard on classes when I slip out the door and down our many flights of stairs to the street to go to something large and fancy at the twin Opera House and Estonian National Concert Hall (Barbara may have to prepare for the next day, but once my duties as house-spouse are complete, who knows where my feet may take me?). (A photo of these very nice sites is at the left). The trams I find myself drawn to ride ("Barbara, they're just like little trains!") often carry advertisements for cultural opportunities like the opera, as in the photo below.

I've spent some time in the Russian Orthodox Cathedral here during Lent, sometimes at the short evening service evidently held only in the days leading up to Easter, and in which people's bodily involvement in worship reminded me of our time in mosques, including bowing and for many kneeling and sometimes almost prostrating, which I haven't seen in "regular" services. I understand that Lent can be a time of intense spiritual preparation, repentance, and prayer for some, and I think some attenders express this not only with their lips but their whole bodies as well. We also attended the Palm

Sunday service at the Cathedral, two hours long, and, as usual, many individual worshippers lit candles to place before an icon of particular significance, touching and kissing it, as well as participating in the service going on at the same time. Veneration of an icon may be a way to express special devotion or to petition the Virgin or a saint for help, or perhaps serves as a focus for one's worship; I'm not sure--but I've found myself interested in a religious practice so different from my own.

The icon to the left is centuries old, of the Last Supper, especially appropriate to Holy Week. This is not my own photo (it's off the Web); I've restrained my photo-impulses, especially either when people are worshipping or there's a sign in a church requesting visitors to not take photos (I do take photos when there's no sign or when a service is not being held--many of the churches here are lovely and historic, and so temptation occurs). Sometimes I find myself in a kind of "grey" area because, in one sense, these are part of my own tradition (in a way that's not true when we've been visiting mosques or Buddhist temples, for example). In some cases I've been at a church not as an observer (as I've largely been at the Orthodox cathedral, partly because of language and partly because it does seem like a significantly different tradition which I do not yet understand) but as a participant, a worshipper, though I'm not sure what that role means or would forgive in terms of photography--I still want to be respectful.

Part of the tradition for this Easter time, it seems, is for Russian folks here to visit the family gravesites and clean them up. Barbara and I walked around a largely-Russian cemetery recently, and liked seeing quite a few family groups (some including small children) picking up the winter's brush and twigs, raking the ground or sand around the gravesites and tombstones, planting flowers, fixing the small wooden benches on which visitors may sit while visiting their departed relatives, and so forth. Perhaps, like other Easter traditions, this has simply been a long-time rural custom at the end of a long winter, an affirmation of respect and love for family long past but not to be forgotten--but now, perhaps, also connected with themes of death and resurrection central to the religious season as well.

On Good Friday there was an excellent concert at the national concert hall, with a full orchestra and a large choir with soloists. I zipped up to the ticket window at the last minute and got a "pensioner's" (somewhat discounted) ticket for a single seat near the front. On such occasions, I like both the music (usually) and the people-watching: some older couples, some folks who seem to be on fancy dates, some families, occasional visitors (though I rarely hear anything but Estonian and Russian in such settings--I don't think short-term tourists are likely to discover such opportunities). At this concert there was a full half hour for the "interval" or intermission, a good opportunity for the larger strings to rest a bit (see photo to the left) as well as for attenders to get a coffee or a glass of wine and a cake (what in English we would call "a piece of cake").

I've discovered that there are a number of other spring music events in Tallinn, many unrelated to Easter. The Theater and Music Academy turns out to just be three blocks from our apartment, and happily for me there are often visiting musicians, professors, or advanced graduate students giving a recital for free. I enjoyed the annual spring recital by the voice professors (including bass notes sung by a senior prof so low I could hardly hear them), but also a bit of the spring orchestral concert by the students themselves, seen in the photo to the right doing some last-minute rehearsing at the Methodist Church where they performed. (Interestingly, this church is the only church I've seen in Tallinn less than a century old--most churches are historic structures, many closed during the Soviet period, with few if any built since then.)

And spring unfolds. More and more tourists seem to be arriving, though most are to be seen in the Old Town (which locals who don't work there may increasingly avoid!). And Barbara and I continue to explore Tallinn and see what we can discover, what music and culture we can share, and (of course) what we can eat. The photo to the left is a recent addition to our "short list" of cafe favorites, located in an old piano factory (with 30 foot ceilings and high windows), lots of tasty informal plates with help-yourself piles of homemade bread to go with your meal, and (of course!) free wi-fi.

Have I mentioned that, in spite of the apparent seriousness of many Estonians, there also seems to be a playfulness here, a whimsey, that I enjoy?Sometimes this appears in the many pastel and solid colors people paint their houses; sometimes it comes in the pretty darn cute outfits small children wear (while adults so often wear black, at least in winter). Sometimes it's something like the Nukupood (doll store) in the photo to the right; there are a number of places that feature home-made toys and dolls or animals made of wood, wool, cloth, and creativity. I'm still trying to figure this place out, still sometimes puzzled, often mistaken by local people for an Estonian yet having little idea how to actually be one (or speak like one). But we have another six weeks to go. Perhaps a miracle will yet happen.

Bruce