I had planned my visit to Estonia to fit in with my first trip overseas, nonchalantly slipping it into my itinery between Sweden and Lithuania, to conceal the huge importance visiting my mother’s homeland had for me.  Most of my life I had said my mother was Russian to avoid the difficulty of explaining where Estonia is, why it was part of the Soviet Union, and how on earth to say my mother’s name (Tiiu). Stories had trickled down from my grandparents about the bits cut out or blacked out of letters from relatives, how many of them had died fighting Russians, and how the shops were empty and the people were bullied by vulgar Ruskie types. Boney M seemed to have it right when they groaned ‘Oh those Russians…’

The ferry from Stockholm was massive and could have been anywhere in the world except for the number of blondes aboard, and the announcements being made in Swedish, English and Estonian. We disembarked in a remote-feeling (or was that just me) wharf full of men standing around cabs in black leather jackets. Our chosen cab quickly had us at the borders of Tallinn’s old town, the driver explaining that cars cannot enter. Despite getting down to –30 degrees in winter, in October the weather was mild (mid 20s), a fresh breeze coming off the Baltic sea.

I had read Tallinn was the 'new Prague'. The Tallinn I found was a style-conscious city of medieval charm, determined to defy the post-soviet, or actually any, stereotypes. As tourists trample the globe in search of places un-trampled, Estonia is one place still relatively fresh, a blend of former soviet edginess and Scandinavian cool, naturally beautiful and intriguingly mysterious.

Tallinn is now famous as a party town. Brits and Europeans flock like Aussies flocking to Bali - chasing cheap beer, anonymous nightlife, and locals. Trendy spots abound, but one bar that deserves a special mention is the more off-beat Depeche Mode bar, an underground grotto devoted to the band. Popular with backpackers for years, it feels like an 80’s themed party, and the spot to meet people who are looking for something more than another trendy night-spot.

Centuries of occupation by Danes, Swedes, Germans and Russians have galvanised Estonians into fiercely independent, quietly ambitious people, wary of allegiances and highly political, if somewhat hard to read. Fortunately I knew not to take it personally if people didn’t jump down my throat with friendliness the way they sometimes do in Australia. There’s a saying in Finland that two old Estonian friends who haven’t seen each other for ten years bump into each in a pub. ‘How’ve you been?’ asks one. ‘Not bad’, the other replies. They sit and drink in silence for some time. Suddenly the first man exclaims, ‘well, did we come here to talk, or to drink…’

The heart of Tallinn is Toompea, a hill where its first fortress was built in 1050. The two churches on Toompea represent both sides of Estonia’s past, a very simple, 12th century cathedral with the stone faces of the saints mostly vandalised off, and another more dramatic church, Russian Orthodox with large glistening dome and tacky icons for sale.

The city is one of the best remaining examples of mediaeval architecture, its cobbled streets and alleyways nestled behind huge grey walls and turrets. Markets are still held in the walls (that’s how big they are), where you can buy incredibly long knitted socks, silver, amber jewellery, boots, carvings from Juniper wood and even white fox fur mittens. At the centre of the town is ‘freedom square’. Loud music, generally American, blasts out of the square's shops and the exuberance of freedom is palpable.

To say the internet is big in Estonia is an understatement. In a country so practised at secretly pursuing liberty, the internet is the ideal portal to the world. This year the country was the first in the world to conduct its presidential elections using an electronic voting system, and all government legislation can be viewed by the public online.

After three days in the old town I was ready to explore further. Braving a five or six lane unmarked intersection to catch a tram, I headed for the outskirts of the city, the small blue tram ticket cost me about three Aussie cents. Leaving old town Tallinn, I found a different world of sprawling concrete and older, timber housing. Here was the post-soviet grimness I had feared.

An old lady sat by the side of the road on an upturned box. She wore only a cotton dress and headscarf and she was hunched over the wares she was selling; a few bits of old-looking apple and cabbage. It was an image I was to see repeated throughout the Eastern Block.  Further out; abandoned houses, rubbish, stray dogs and bored looking youths edgily regarded the passing tram. Rusty flag holsters on the houses were a grim reminder of soviet occupation. This place was a pin up for anti-communist sentiment, everywhere signs of desperation, repression and poverty.

The smell of poverty was inescapable and the landscape dotted with another thing I would see all through Eastern Europe – pale blue kiosks selling cigarettes, chewing gum, sweets, and dozens and dozens of varieties of vodka.

Estonia gained independence from the Soviet Union in 1991, culminating in what is known as the ‘singing revolution’. This began in 1987, with a cycle of demonstrations where people sang national songs and hymns that were banned by soviet rule. They began broadcasting the songs on TV and the radio, and at its peak 300,000 people participated. In 1991 the soviets sent tanks to quell the resistance, and the Estonians formed a human chain around the TV and radio stations. At the same time, parliament passed legislation proclaiming the restoration of independence. Estonia had its revolution without any bloodshed, a fact of which they are justifiably proud.

A government statement quipped in 2004, Estonia sang it’s way out of the Soviet Union in 1991, and then into the EU in 2004 as Estonia came to the world’s attention winning Eurovision. Since then it has exploded with life with an economic boom and a taste for European sophistication, creating a strange contrast against the old Estonia.

Many of the Russians in Estonia still refuse to speak Estonian to this day, but having been born in Estonia refuse to return to Russia. In a weird twist they’ve a significant number have become like gypsies, not eligible for citizenship or passports from any country, staying on like ghosts, waiting for a return to Russian Imperialism that might not recognise them anymore anyway.

Four days is enough to take in the old town and outskirts, so on day five I took the train to Tartu, Estonia’s second largest city. Here was a different Estonia. The countryside, if not spectacular, was gently beautiful, all autumnal golden grasslands and dark fir tree woods.

People seemed to relax as we moved away from Tallinn; passengers chatted to each other and to the driver. There were no tourists, but there might have been more had they known how cheap the train was, less than one dollar Aussie.

Its hard to talk about former soviet occupied countries without it turning into a rant about Russian imperialism. One method the Russians used to keep people under control was demoralising them by letting infrastructure run down, and this was evident in the Estonian trains. Although clean, the huge steel car doors didn’t shut properly, and spent the whole trip swinging back and forward, smashing with a tremendous clang whenever we rounded a corner. The train seemed to pull up anywhere, once or twice in the woods with not even a platform, the passenger leaping a few feet down into the grass with a wave to the driver.

Tartu is Tallinn’s smaller, friendlier, if less sexy, sister. Home to Estonia’s oldest University, it is very much a cosy student town. A running joke in the town is immortalised in a statue of one of Estonia’s most famous poets, Wilde (pronounced Vil-de). He lived about the same time as Oscar Wilde, and the similarity was evidently amusing enough for the Estonians to have a themed Irish pub named after the two men, with accompanying bookshop. This was one of the best pubs I visited, pumping with students, good food, more cheap beer and lovely wooden interior.

Traditional Estonian food is all about black bread, sauerkraut (pickled cabbage), fish and potato. Being a vegetarian, I had put up with family jokes for years about how a good Estonian blood sausage would sort me out (exorcise silly vegetarian notions), so I was nervous about local food. How wrong I was! Anyone who likes garlic would love Estonian black bread as served at Wilde; toasted, buttered and rubbed with garlic, and Estonian ice cream rivals any anywhere- all real cream and fresh local fruit.

After independence we asked my grandfather if he would consider going back. He shook his head. ‘Too cold’. Estonia, like my grandfather, is looking forward, focussed on a future that sees the country becoming ever stronger and more secure in Europe. If you want to see any remains of the ‘old Estonia’ you had better move fast. Because after waiting decades for freedom and self definition, this country aint waiting around for no-one.