The path from the end of Raatuse (or the start) to the student's bridge is evenly divided into an asphalt gray pedestrian side (indicated by the stencilled image of a skirted mother holding a genderless child by the hand) and a russet colored bicycle lane (here, the image is, remarkably, of a bicycle). Tall maple and birch trees line either side of the path and a grassy park extends quite a way to the right and left. Lately, and suddenly, the leaves on some of the trees have begun to yellow and fall to the ground. The whole scene provides a picturesque frame for a bridge which, except at night when it glows with a shifting rainbow of LED lights (it is surprisingly lovely), is an ugly concrete replacement for what I am told was once a stunning piece of engineering and aesthitic brilliance. Luckily for Tartu, it was one of the few casualties of the second world war.
Like the path the student's bridge (I am unsure whether this is its official name or merely a colloquialism, and hence I decline to capitalize) is divided in two and meant only for pedestrian and bicycle traffic--though which side is for whom appears to be undecided. Neither side is wide enough for an automobile to pass and there is a great concrete arch supported by equally concrete pillars that runs its entire length. Two other bridges are visible to the north and south of the Emajogi, and both have their own structurally unnecessary arches. At certain times during the day and night, which I have not taken the time to note, the bridge is very busy. It is not uncommon for men to fish from the banks of this slowly moving river. One early morning I saw a man drop a smallish perch-looking fish into a bucket where at least 5 of his unfortunate comrades flopped helplessly.
The bridge spills its passengers out onto a pale red bricked sidewalk on a level with the antiquely cobbled street. Here as well the click ticking of the walking signal controls forward movement, and if reached just a moment too late gives one a full 30 seconds to take in Raekoja Platz from a distance.
The square is actually a rectangle, about 100x70 meters, I think, dominated on the west end by the town hall which gives it its name. The building is a few stories tall, a dignified pastel like most of the other buildings in the old town, surmounted by an impressive black clock tower. Its bells ring once every quarter-hour and as many as the time it is on the hour. Once I think I heard it through the open dormitory window too, but I may have imagined it. A tremendous open courtyard, cobbled in the 18th century style, lends its very bumpy surface to the cafes, three on the right and one on the left, for their outdoor seating. Their short painted wooden fences and big sun umbrellas advertising A. Le Coq and Saku beers give the scene a decidedly festive feeling.
Cobbled streets are not easy to walk on quickly. The stones, rounded from wear, jut up a good inch or two from the mortar nestled deeply in wide grooves between them. Most of the stones are fist sized and it is very easy to trip if the placement of your feet is not the primary focus of attention. I wonder how horses ever did it.
Two art galleries sit side by side on the eastward entrance to the square. The building closest to the bridge is a beautiful 18th century design, like everything else in this part of town, and apart from two statues in a greek fashion perched on its second story it is otherwise unremarkable. Its neighbor, however is not. The narrow white building whose corners resemle a squarish kind of Greek or Roman column houses the city's official art museum. The slenderness of the building is emphasized by its rather lofty height which suggests the most refined and traditional artistic sensibilities. It also leans, at a very noticable angle, destinctly and determinedly to the left. The official local tourism guide--"Estonia, A Great Little Country"--refers to it as "Tartu's tower of Pisa".
Said tourism guide can be had for free at the tourist information office whose entrance on the left-hand side of the Town Hall is advertised by a round green lighted sign with a lower case "i" inscribed in white. The other buildings surrounding the square house a couple of souveneir shops, a travel agency, a legal office and notary, and I'm sure a few other businesses I will never have reason to enter. Strange to me is that the upper floors of these stately and perfectly preserved blasts from the past appear to be totally empty. Most of the windows are uncurtained and I have never seen a single body pass before them. They are always dark at night, too. In fact the only illumination in Raekoja Platz of an evening is generated by a few old fashioned and well meaning wrought iron lamp posts. Their warm orange glow creates an actually magical atmosphere in the starry skied square, and at such moments the spray from the fountain sparkles impossibly.
It's really a romantic fountain. The Kissing Students. The cafe in the square that uses its name is much less appealing than its namesake. I ordered a "salad" there which came to me as a plate of deep fried potato medallions covered with sauteed onions and canned mushrooms. The whole thing was crowned with an enormous splotch of sour cream and decorated at the top with some artfully arranged pickle slices. The fountain itself it much nicer. Raekoja Platz is the enchanted navel of Tartu, which spreads in all directions around it and in some cases carries the beauty of the place along its streets and into its parks for some distance. In fact, just behind the Town Hall...
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