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How could concrete make me feel this way? In the early 2000's, I travelled to Tallinn, Estonia for a cultural exchange program. On a day off, I left the hotel and walked with no purpose other than to see where I ended up. Estonia is dark, strange and quite beautiful. It had been under Russian occupancy for most of its existence before winning independence in 1991. Membership to NATO and the EU followed in 2004. Modern glass towers were rising alongside colourful church spires. The country was buoyed by a sense of optimism and new money. As I was about to discover, the remnants of Soviet rule were never far away. I followed the road toward the sea. The landscape around me was unusually open, occasionally broken by a bizarrely painted block of flats or an empty car park. It was freezing cold. Tiny cars sputtered past in the fog. In front of me now was a huge, low building with vaulted glass doors. On either side were stone steps leading to a long roof that looked out to the harbour. It was constructed from huge blocks of concrete and resembled a futuristic Mayan temple. There were numerous staircases leading down to a vast hall or chamber. Toward the seaward end were jetties and a helicopter landing pad. I had no idea what I was looking at.
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