​En la sección the artful flâneur se incluyen textos de gente que recorre una calle de una ciudad y luego describe los locales que encuentra, poniendo su dirección. Mi pareja vivió en esa calle, más o menos, un año y medio.

If you come walking from the south, here’s where the street starts. For the drivers who were visiting the bars along the street, this is the very end; and the policemen know it: almost twice a week you see cars being taken and drunkards complaining.

By looking at the clients’ attitudes, Kolm sibulat seems like a place you go on important occasions. Waiters are formal, wear tight uniforms and ask for your opinion about the prosecco –Estonians love it– before placing the cork over a tiny plate. I try to use my experience as a waiter to get them to chat, but they still keep their distance.

I enjoy the smell of wood.

Telliskivi street, on the pre-gentrifying times –when the buildings weren’t renovated and some of them had only one toilet per floor–, was mostly populated by Russians.

I like to believe that the old man who’s walking towards me, who’s always smiling and sometimes drunk, lived here during the Soviet Union. We all see him every day, neatly dressed and tottering, shining with a happy face. I’ve never seen him speaking; sometimes you hear a female voice coming from his place –maybe his daughter–, but he never answers.

One day, watching one of Tommy Cash’s videos, I noticed that the catering was done by Minu pizza.

I laughed –believing it was a joke–, and found the name perfect for Cash’s style, but never thought that such place could be around the corner.

Their pizzas combine the same flavors that other Estonian pizzerias use –pickles, minced meet, pineapple, onion… – but, somehow ,the place hasn’t been successful.

You can also buy some framed charcoal drawings, like this one from Al Pacino; but the grimace of the seller-cook-waiter, which reminds me of an old teenager, proves that the drawings are not top sellers.

At the beginning, the place didn’t even have a name. It was always full of happy young clients, and no one from the outside seemed to know what they sold.

Now I know that Noodle box is a vegan restaurant, and that the tags from the soon-to-be graffiti artists are welcome. Their menu is “sort of Asian”, with the usual projections and local variations of ingredients.

Some meters north, you can visit La Tabla. This one is “sort of Latin”; their logo is a colorful table (“tabla” means “table” for them), and the menu also shows a combination of curiosity for foreign flavors, ingenuity and commodification.

It was one of the first places people talked about when the former industrial complex was baptized as “Telliskivi creative city”.

I believe that F-hoone –along with Cabaret rhizome’s office/theater, Pudel, Lendav taldrik and the one where they sell handmade stuff for kids– is one of the few businesses that still survives among the pioneers. F-hoone is the bar you’re taken to when you’re a tourist and the one you recommend to other expats.

Apart from Estonian, you hear English inside, and some other languages; I miss hearing Russian, but my couple tells me that she’s heard it only near the kitchen.

The waiters are mostly hipsters, friendly and talkative, carry a big “F” on their backs, and work a lot. I see people enjoying their time: friends, people having dates or philosophizing. No work meetings.

An old man with a humongous cap is trying one of the craft beers, but he doesn’t like it. He approaches our table and tells my couple that maybe the “minority” (meaning me) would like to try this beer; he’s only had one sip, and it would be a pity throwing it away.