Some 100 years ago, what is now the national park would have been home to around 1,000 people. They would have made their living by keeping cattle, by growing hay and from fishing from their dugout wooden boats. To cross the many waterways that crossed their homeland they would have used suspension bridges like this.
When the USSR annexed Estonia in 1944, it introduced a system of collective farms that brought a rapid end to the traditions of the people of Soomaa. But the collectives, with their production quotas and barrack-like buildings, were not to last long – and their crumbling remains can still be seen by the side of the road that runs back 150 kilometres towards the capital, Tallinn. In many places what were once fields are slowly filling with trees, some 40 per cent of Estonia is covered by forest – 100 years ago it was 10 per cent. As people have gravitated towards the cities, so much of the interior of the country has once again become the domain of wildlife and frequent road signs warn of elk crossing.
The products of all that forestry can be found on sale on the market stalls and in the shops of Tallinn’s old town, where utensils and handicrafts carved from a wide selection of wood are ubiquitous and compete for shelf space with knitted woollen hats and jumpers, hand-made toys and amber jewellery.
Estonians remain psychologically linked to the land. There is an idea that everyone still has a grandmother living in the countryside or the forest, and activities such as mushroom picking are almost a national sport.
Despite the number of historic churches in Tallinn’s old town, religion does not have very deep roots here. Until the 13th century paganism still flourished in these parts and was only forced out by a force of Danish and German crusaders, whose architectural legacy is still clearly visible in the turrets and ramparts that define the skyline of old Tallinn.
The architecture may be storybook medieval, but many attitudes of mind have deeper roots. Traditional remedies, for example, remain a feature of life for many people.
At the ancient Raeapteek pharmacy in the Old Town I meet Johann Burcher. He grew up in Kansas in the US, but this shop has been in his family since the 15th century – one of his ancestors is even believed to have been sent for to treat a dying Peter the Great in 1725, though, unluckily for the tsar, Burcher senior was unable to get to his bedside in time to be of any assistance.
Herbs hang from the ceiling and the walls are lined with glass jars containing replicas of medieval potions.
‘Today the shop is mostly stocked with what the average tourist might need, but generally if you go to a pharmacy in Estonia you’ll see plenty of herbal and homeopathic remedies,’ says Burcher. ‘People are still close to the land here and, as they say, you can’t take the farm out of the boy.
‘Even today some people will cure colds with something called vodka socks. You soak a pair of thin socks in vodka, put warm socks over them and then go to bed with a hot drink.’
Vodka-soaked feet shrouded in thick socks under a warm blanket? With something warm to drink? Now that might just be the perfect antidote for an afternoon of bog-walking.
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