Kihnu: Not a Travel Guide

Parnu to Kihnu. Photo by author.

I got everything wrong about my visit to Kihnu.

It was the wrong time. Early September, beyond the strict parameters of what is accepted as “season” in the Baltic countries. I had already been made quite aware of this rigidity, strolling along an empty beach in Jūrmala, Latvia on September 1st. The sun was bright, perfect weather for sunbathing, indicative, maybe, of an Indian summer but, no, “season” was over and the beach was stark and the town’s tourist face had retired for the year. Shuttered beach bars and locked up candy striped beach huts a glimpse of what had been just one day before; when it was still “season.”

Jurmala, closed for business. Photo by author.

I arrived in Parnu, Estonia via bus a few days later. Signs pointed to the beach but the sky was dark and the rain relentless. It was understood, anyway, that the time for beaches was over. My hostel was empty, out of season, so the desk clerk, who non-patronisingly returned my Estonian greeting, gave me a private room. I spent the day walking aimlessly through the drenched and empty streets.

I was excited about my trip to Kihnu the next day. I had a guidebook that told me I could take a boat across for the day. There I could experience the tiny island’s rich cultural traditions, their handicrafts and brightly colored, decorative traditional clothing. A cultural heritage that was fiercely protected by the women of the island in the long stretches of time that the men were out to sea and the run of the island was left to them. I would visit the Kihnu Museeum and learn about Kihnu Jõnn, “a symbol of lost freedom for Estonians during the Soviet period when they were virtually banned from the sea.” I would see the British-built lighthouse, stroll the coastline and maybe even have a drink at the lone bar. All I had to do was to rent a bicycle from a shop just “150m from the port.”

The boat that took me across the Gulf of Riga was called Liisi and was big and empty. In two days I had barely seen anyone. The boat was also decorated with maps of Ruhnu, a different Estonian island, and the Norwegian Fjords, neither of which were our destination. I got to know the landscape of Ruhnu and the Norwegian Fjords quite well on the three hour boat journey because I had forgotten my book. There was an abandoned Sunday supplement from an Estonian newspaper lying on one of the tables. I tried to find words that I knew, words I could guess and words that I might even be able to say. The childrens’ colouring book lying next to it might have been more appropriate.

On arrival in Kihnu I watched as the few passengers from the boat were swallowed up by relatives, vehicles and finally the distance. I stood on the jetty alone again. I spotted the woman who had sold me my ticket working on turning the boat around for the return journey. I thought to ask her something, but I didn’t know what my question was.

I set out toward the bicycle shop. My book said 150m, so it must be easy to find, I thought. But what was the name? I reached into my bag for my forgotten book. I hadn’t thought to even write a name down. I wandered around, only a few buildings looked like they could be any kind of business but none were open. I strayed into people’s gardens, taking a parked bicycle as a sign that I had found the right place, and far, far outside a 150m radius. And still found nothing but silence.

Kihnu. Photo by author.

And still I didn’t see a soul. I decided I would walk instead. I had five hours and the island was only 7km long, I could at least try to see something. I wandered up the coastline towards the main village. On the way I was stopped by an old man driving a tractor, at first he said something I didn’t understand then he asked in English if I needed help. His face was red, weather beaten, and he was in overalls, too old, I thought for this work; he was one of just around 600 people that live there.

We chatted for a while and I went back into the direction he gave me for the bicycle shop, “a few hundred metres from the port,” he said.

Kihnu. Photo by author.

I wandered and wandered and I never found the bicycle shop or another person to ask. The wind was getting stronger and I was becoming freezing I walked quicker, up the other side of the coastline, though forest, and back in plenty of time for the boat back to Pärnu where I sat staring out at the sea and down at the incomprehensible newspaper supplement.

If you go:

Don’t be like me. Plan your trip properly

Travel information from Kihnu Veeted

Accommodations. I wish I had planned to stay the night.

Information about Kihnu: Here and here

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