Generally, the concept of a medieval restaurant is enough to make my stomach turn. This isn’t because I’m afraid that attempts at historical verisimilitude will result in my being served a plate of barely spiced and nearly rotten meat with only a large piece of very old bread constituting my entire place setting—but rather the assumption that such places are merely an historical type of theme restaurant. Despite recommendations from several friends who had visited Tallinn, the gratuitous "e" in this establishment’s name seemed to confirm this suspicion.
Nevertheless, my sister and I gamely (since wild meat is a specialty of such places) entered and were seated downstairs with a promise that we’d soon be moved upstairs for the live medieval music. The wait, however, made us feel a bit more like the court fools than "honourable guests", although the homemade berry schnapps made the experience rather more bearable. At length, our costumed server returned and informed us that a table upstairs had indeed opened up—but that we could only have it for half an hour, and therefore could only order a single course.
Once seated upstairs, I could understand the restaurant’s popularity a bit better. The Great Hall was sumptuously decorated, and a fairly credible covey of medieval minstrels entertained the audience, which appeared to primarily consist of Finnish tour groups. In the interest of time, we both chose the rather good, thick meat soup, served with homemade spelt bread and cream cheese, which was hearty, though hardly filling, and didn’t really justify its 92 EEK (about €7.50) price tag. The music, however, was the highest point of the evening and consequently, even though our server subsequently told us we could remain longer (after the music was over), we chose to depart rather than sample other, obviously overpriced, dishes.
Judging by the menus that their costumed touts hand out around Raekoja plats, Olde Hansa’s prices appear typical for the medieval restaurants that infest Vanalinn. On the basis of others that we poked our heads into, its atmosphere (though not its service) is incomparable. Consequently, should you choose to indulge in a "medieval" meal while in Tallinn, I’d recommend you do so here, but you’ll find much better food and service at a more reasonable price in almost any of the authentically Estonian restaurants on Vanalinn’s intriguing sidestreets. Unlike its Baltic neighbors, Estonia regained its independence from the Soviet Union without a single casualty—in 1990, half a million people (over a third of Estonia’s population) gathered for the traditional national Song Festival to demand sovereignty. The festivals have been held roughly quinquennially (the next is 2009) since 1869, playing an important role in the country’s first independence movement and holding an ineffable place in the nation’s heart. While less important, the Eurovision victory by the duo of Tanel Padar and Dave Benton provided Estonia with international exposure and allowed Tallinn to hold the showcase competition in 2002.
The 19th-century church at Vene 16 is of little interest itself, but hiding behind a door in the corner of its courtyard are the remains of a Dominican Monastery, destroyed by both fire and the Reformation. Although it contains the immense (and closed) St. Catherine’s Church, the reason to make a pilgrimage here is for its exquisite collection of medieval and Renaissance stone church carvings, rescued from the ravages of the reformers. The interpreters, in period dress, are extremely helpful, and the pieces are well-described in the English signs that accompany them. Although Tallinn’s (or rather Reval’s) Teutonic heritage is visible throughout Vanalinn, many visitors, myself included, are rather puzzled to hear that it contains a building called Kiek-in-de-Kök. Translating the name from the Low German, which reveals its name as "Peep into the Kitchen," only increases this mystery. In reality, the name derives from the fact that the 38-meter-high tower allegedly allowed the nobles on Toompea to glance into the kitchens of the intransigent townspeople who had walled, and indeed, it still offers the finest views of any of the buildings on Toompea. Its main purpose, however, was defensive—coupled with its position, its four-meter-thick walls made it the sturdiest defensive tower in the Baltics, as the fragments of cannonballs, launched by the forces of Ivan IV ("The Terrible") of Russia during the Livonian War, illustrate. The excellent exhibition inside explains that while Russian artillery seriously damaged the tower, it did not fall.