Falling tears, dandy shoes

July in Tallinn is hot. And chilly and windy, rainy as well. The weather changes a lot, as is usual up here in the North. But not inside in the tent we're working in, the one in which the Lootsi Cog lies just outside the Estonian Maritime museum in Lennusadam, Tallinn.

Here, in the comfort of our tent light conditions just change upon the changing weather, from brightly light whiteness of sunny moments to dark tones of thunderstorms, when the tent's lights must be switched on and the soundscape is impressively thrilling. It's good in here, with her, the Lootsi Cog.

The smell? Very familiar, by now. Somewhat similar to that of the last shipwreck we worked on, the Kadriorg Cog, but vaguely different too. It's not just the smell of moist wood and rusting iron, no, it's the smell of centuries gone by and times long past. The present moment too, how she's right now, for us, for our generation. The smell of sailors and traders long gone and the rats too who occupied this ship in its hayday. And us, cherishing her right now.

The scent of a medieval shipwreck. Love it. Should be caught somehow, bottled, and sold as scents. Incense? Maybe not as cologne, though. Or why not? Eau de Cog. Hmm, perhaps not. Anyway, love it, this smell, and all the sensations I get here. The sounds, the light, the feel of touching the wood. It's a multisensory experience, being here and doing our thing, conserving this ship. Love the whole overwhelming all of it, every time I step into this tent to start another day of working on this beauty of a ship.

Okay, the basics, again. She's a 25-meter wreck of an early 14th century Cog ship, an unique example of Medieval shipbuilding mastery and means of transporting. Ships like this were used by the Hanseatic League traders for moving goods around the Baltic Sea. And we're here to make sure she preserves, all this that was found last summer in building construction site, which is a lot. The hull's almost complete, the lower parts of it. Cut in 4 pieces, though, for the sake of transporting her here.

This time we're not alone here, our team. No, there's a small bird inside as well, for whom we open the large doors. So that she could find her way out to freedom, which she doesn't, not in the three days we spend in there. That's sad, but what is great is that the door works the other way around as well. People wander in.

Of course they do. It's thrilling what can be glimpsed through the window and the open doors. A dark wooden structure, surely a ship, they must understand, and us working busily on it. Who wouldn't wander in?

So they come, families and couples. Loners. Who are taking a few steps off the beaten track on their way the Maritime Museum or perhaps when they are tempted to see something of the imposing Patarei prison next to it.

They come, and they're welcome. A Finnish family first, whom I warmly invite inside. Please come and see what we're working on. A German family then, who are thrilled because they recognize the importance and rarity of a real Hanseatic League ship. Tallinn belonged to the German order at the time, the Teutonic knights.

Later on, more Finns. Sure, they're plenty here in summertime. Then a Russian family, whose kids are very enthusiastic about the ship and them being able to come in and see. 'Really, can we!!??', they say as do the others who come later on, a Ukrainian family, some more Finns and of course Estonians, who feel that they're seeing something forbidden and secret. That's how I interpret it, their feeling of it.

But they're wrong. This isn't something secret, nor forbidden. No, it's for everybody, for whom this belongs, which is why I promise here and now to invite passersby inside every time we're here.

It was a good stretch of work, the days I spent here this time. A lot of sand was dug up and brushed off from the structures of the ship, in between the planks and tight forms. We're in something like 33 wheelbarrows of fine sand now. So much sand has been excavated away so far and we're merely beginning. How much will it be eventually? All that sand!

Removing the sand is of primal importance now, to let her breathe. The ship needs air, so that the wood dries. All crevices need to breathe for it to adjust to what's she's facing now.

So we spoon and shovel and brush the fine sand away, which is describing it crudely, as it is actually excavating what we're doing. Very careful working, layer by layer, documenting all the way through.

Green! That's the color of choice for of the middle section of the ship, as opposed to red used for markings in the section next to this. Green string and pins, those we used now to draw the squares, which will enable us to locate the finds to come, the things and bits of those sailors and traders of times past, and to monitor closely what's happening exactly as drying proceeds. Are there cracks forming somewhere? Surely some, it's living material that will live within the climate, as any wooden structure does, but we don't want any drastic cracking or collapsing of surfaces because of too fast drying.

No, we want her to dry gently. We want her to be happy.

But what's that!? A tear? Is she crying?

Yes, it is a tear. A moist drop on the iron fastening of the rudder, on the area we recently exposed under corrosion layers. And another tear on one of the nail heads, the perfectly preserved one.

Oh no, tears! She's crying, shedding tears, from the most vulnerable parts, where she's most exposed.

Oh no, we don't want that. No crying here, no falling tears. But we get it. It's hard, very hard. Being here, after centuries underground, in the solitude and stability of pitch-dark non-oxygenated burial bliss she happily spent the past 700 years and more.

We get it. It's not easy, adjusting to all this. The elements once again. Plentiful oxygen, fluctuating temperatures, changing light levels. It's a shock!

We get it. We do our best. To facilitate her to feel good and be welcome here, in the 21st century world.

So we dry the tears, wipe them away, gently. Then we apply corrosion inhibitor on the reactive surfaces. Treat the iron parts, as well as we can, here and now, without removing the pieces for proper stabilization. That would of course be best, to treat the iron and wooden bits separately, so that each would get what's best for them, but that's not possible here. Iron and wood are inseparable. So we apply corrosion inhibitor locally, to form a protective surface on the iron, which prevents oxygen reaching the reactive chlorides in the iron's corrosion layers.

But hey, what's this! A touch of something soft at first under the sand, then a round shape. What's this? Leather? Yes, there's no mistaking, it's leather all right. What is it, looks like a sole of a shoe, can it be? Yes, it's a shoe all right, a complete one. And a type they didn't have until now. They didn't find one like this before.

It's a pointed shoe. Beautiful. Quite a dandy, this sailor from some 700 years ago. Glad to have found you, in between the beams of the Cog-ship we're preserving here, in the 21st century Tallinn, when thunder roams and sun shines outside the tent we're working in, with the tiny bird who doesn't find her way out and the tourists and locals who just happen to wonder in.

Photo: Lisette Reinvars, Estonian Maritime Museum

The other morning, I started running from Telliskivi towards Pirita where we had spent the previous evening enjoying the long beach and sardines at the quirky restaurant hidden inside the strange sailing center built for the Moscow 1980 Olympics. That far I didn't run that morning but quite a way anyway, past the Tuljak restaurant, to the Victims of Communism Memorial, far enough to get a good view of the Tallinn bay.

The Tallinn Bay is an exposed large bay. Ferries going to and from Helsinki there now, and elsewhere as well. But it's also where the Lootsi Cog and Kadriorg Cog sailed long time ago. Countless others as well, many a which found their final resting place on the bottom.

And there they are now, on the bottom as wrecks, I read from signs they have put there for the enjoyment of those strolling or running the coastal city-route. There are explanations of shipwrecks in the bay and marine archaeological work explained.

There, the first of the signs counting from city center's side, is the Kadriorg Cog, the previous shipwreck we had the privilege to work on. What a great idea, these signs. I see it now. These ships don't just happen to be here, they're not mere coincidences or anomalies. They're part of the story that made Tallinn I'm enjoying my run this lovely July morning in 2023 the place it is.

And when I later on bury my feet in the fine sand of Pirita beach, very similar sand which I'm now removing from the Lootsi Cog, I feel like one of the characters in a very old play. A play which continues, in this stage of life called Tallinn.

I see you, sailor dandy with pointed shoes!