A cold drink warmer than tea

It was a cold morning. As the residual heat from the warm hotel foyer left my body I was beginning to regret my decision to walk to the ferry terminal. The desire to walk the snow covered cobbled streets of the Tallinn’s old town one last time was too great to resist, no matter the temperature.

Walking up Toompea Hill my body begins to stabilize from the frenetic shivering. The modest climb demanded a tolerable amount of exercise, ridding my insides of the icy chill through warm puffs of vapour. As the puffs dissipate into the whiteness of the snow, medieval brick towers with red spires begin to appear in the distance; these city walls mark my exit point from the old town. I pause briefly at the top of the hill for one final look at the city. A postcard picture etched into my memory from the front, a squiggly trail from my telescopic suitcase etched into the snow lay behind.

The walk downhill did not provide the same respite from the cold. My throat felt as though it had been replaced with a frozen metal pipe, emitting chills throughout my body, some chills in bursts akin to drinking a Slurpee a bit too fast.

Entering the terminal I am surprised to find other travellers with coats still adorned. The heating was not working efficiently. The only salvation now was a warm drink. I walk through the unremarkable terminal to an even more unremarkable bar. Sitting there are seven burly men with long Viking-like beards, drinking shots, obstructing access to the counter. I wrestle enough space to lodge myself between two of the men to ask the bartender if they sold tea. A collective laugh from the men ensues. In a vain attempt to justify my lack of machismo I inform them of my walk and need for a warm drink.

More laughter.

“This warmer than tea,” one of the men replies in a thick accent, handing me a shot glass of glowing amber liquid. The smell was confusing, I could detect spiced-rum but also cinnamon, vanilla and lemon.

“Terviseks,” one of the men shouts as the group raise their glasses and with them I down the drink. It is smooth, like melted chocolate lacing the throat, the cinnamon and vanilla is ever-present but not overpowering. There is no burn, just a tepid warmth that is quickly spreading through my body. I am informed the drink is Vana Tallinn, a favourite in Estonia. Impressed, I share rounds with my new friends as I wait for my boarding call, cold eviscerated.

“Do they sell this on the ferry too?”

More laughter.