Letter from Tallinn.

Tallinn, capital of Estonia, miraculously preserved its medieval heart through all the Baltic political changes of the twentieth century. Now, as Leonhard Lapin writes, things are changing.

The life and culture of the small Republic of Estonia, a country sandwiched between Russia and western Europe, has always been influenced by currents flowing east-west. The Baltic, which separates Estonia from the west, works as a kind of northern reflection of the Mediterranean, using its waterways to integrate Baltic, Russian, Finnish, Swedish, Danish and German cultures. Effects of this artery can be traced far into distant history -- the days of the Hanseatic League, for example, as feeding ideas from the south and east to the far north; for this reason Estonia's capital, Tallinn, with its medieval core, has quite an exotic and historically stratified coloration. Like that of many smaller cities in Estonia, Tallinn's architecture, too, is significantly more 'old-fashioned' than that found to the north in Helsinki and St Petersburg. So, history through Modernism of the twentieth century has been a backdrop of great importance in Estonian architecture and an influence in even the most radical of trends. Est onia's mediaeval architecture was greatly shaped by Swedish and German buildings -- their origin the same as that of the country's conquerors. In the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries, Russian influences were powerful in Estonia, because the Tsarist realm introduced Baroque and Classical styles, imported from Italy, as the mandatory official styles of this country too.

Consequently, Tallinn's mediaeval facades were largely rebuilt in the new style. Paradoxical as it may seem, Estonian architecture came into itself on discovering international Functionalism, picked up mainly from German universities; yet in practice it became one with thc local -- a multi-layered and eclectic architectural environment -- maintaining some discernible features. Indeed, the best examples of Estonian Functionalism are found in the buildings constructed of local materials (natural limestone and wood) romanticizing machine aesthetics. Yet, locally-produced cheap cement led to proficiency in constructing concrete buildings as well as in utilizing the technology involved. Estonian-schooled August Kommendant, the builder of Louis Kahn's many concrete buildings, later represented this technology in the US.

Having conquered Estonia in the Second World War, Soviet Russia and its cultural ideology did not accept this Western historical background and called for the mass building of industrially produced, architecture-less grey boxes for sleeping quarters (not 'homes'), created by an imported labour force beside the hearts of the rejected historical cities. The Estonians' only sign of protest to the occupation and Russification was the worship of private homes, a passion originally dating back to the 1930s, in which the standard, gabled-roofed cubicles were decorated with detailing of various local materials and attractive landscaping. But in the 1970s the Estonians, experiencing an ever-intensifying identity crisis, turned increasingly to their own architects. The 1970s and '80s did see a kind of boom in villa-style architecture, which at first followed the neo-Functionalist line inherited from the independence era (1918-1940) and, later, the showy trend carried over from international Modernism. This extraordina ry movement, unique in Eastern Europe, can be characterized as follows: whereas the Poles mounted barricades to oppose the Russian supreme power, the reserved Estonians headed home to their building scaffolding -- both clutching the flag of Freedom and Solidarity.

It was this villa boom of the '70s that gave birth to the Tallinn school of architects -- the school of Estonian architecture most recognized internationally -- which approached design from the experience of international Functionalism, the style which offered the best creative potential considering the primitive building technology and very limited building materials available in the Soviet Union. Leaders of the Tallinn school -- Toomas Rein, Veljo Kaasik, Vilen Kunnapu, Ain Padrik, Avo-Him Looveer, Leonhard Lapin and Tiit Kaljundi -- continue to have a significant impact on architecture and city planning, architectural training and the ideology of architecture today, acting as the conscience of the artificial environment found in this young and unripe Republic of Estonia.

The road of Estonian national architecture through 50 years of occupation was also a battle for preserving old city centres and approximately 1000 country manors. The best of Estonia's architectural scholars were mobilized -- science being the only argument against the simplified ideology of the occupying powers. When Estonia regained independence in 1991 it had managed to keep its historical architecture and dignified environment. But it was the Tallinn school that brought home Europe's newest architectural experiences that included clearly discernible regional architecture. It seems the golden age for Estonia's own achievements in architecture has finally arrived, fostered by ideological freedom and a free market economy, and complemented by an open market for building materials and new, previously unobtainable technologies.

Yet, 1991 also brought chaos, a type of architectural anarchy, to both architecture and city planning, at first in the form of temporary wooden kiosks which quickly rose in huge quantities, which -- with increased investments -- were soon rapidly and often thoughtlessly replaced with large department stores, banks, office buildings and hotels. Now we are seeing the rise of new skyscrapers -- symbols of the new religion, capitalism -- close to medieval city towers.

Add to that the complete over-abundance of cars that has brought on hopeless traffic and parking problems to city life; together, these prove a threat to historic cities, and a particular threat to the preservation of the neighbourhoods of wooden houses surrounding the city centre.

New architecture is brutally destroying the old. New investors are often uninterested in the traditions of Estonian architecture, and instead of looking to Finland -- as has traditionally been the case -- example is now being found in building types of the US and Hong Kong. One possible escape from such banal big-city, packaged architecture is a route utilized since the occupation era: a turn to the countryside, to infilling small settlements and villages with buildings characterized by the local charm. In fact, rural architecture gave way to the 1970s architectural movement seeking regionalism. After experiencing a temporary slowdown due to the uneven economic development, the ideas of rural architecture are again gaining popularity.

Because Estonia has a number of natural resources with which to build -- with the exception of metal -- more recent rural architecture has strong ecological undertones stemming from the use of raw materials such as wood, natural stone and clay. Local and environment-friendly energy resources are also utilized. This said, the best of rural architects have given up century-old archaisms and now use the wood and clay technologies of modern day, uniting the traditional with the contemporary.

After all, throughout the past century Estonians have been actively interested in new technologies and modern lifestyles, as is evidenced in the fact that Estonia is one of the leading Internet-using countries in Europe. The President personally oversees the computerization of the country's schools, a strategy that is seen as Estonia's opportunity to become one of the most educated countries in the world. Estonian life, ideology and even architecture are like a difficult-to-balance boat jostled by the currents -- rocked by the information technology-loving consumer society from one side and the flower children, Sun, Water, Wind and Forest worshippers on the other. Estonians can spend the entire day busily clicking away behind computer terminals in the glass offices of downtown, just to spend the evening partying with friends at a country sauna somewhere, where there isn't even any electricity, basking in the moonlight and dancing their shaman dances around bonfires until dawn.