A Tale of Two Cities by Claire Gervat

Eight o’clock in the morning, and things were hotting up in the Finlandia Dancing Bar. Although the ferry had barely nudged its way out of its Helsinki terminal for the short crossing to Tallinn in Estonia, the more determined drinkers were already lining up behind large glasses of beer or no-nonsense measures of vodka. Those who’d already had breakfast were waiting impatiently for the band, who were tuning up.

For the next three-and-a-half hours, the floor was packed with couples gliding their way through a succession of modern rock classics rewritten for the ballroom. Bryan Adams may not have envisaged “Everything I Do” as a foxtrot, but the Desperados were happy to put right the oversight, and to do the same for many other hits of the past two decades.

When it all got too much, I retreated to a comfy chair outside the bar and gazed out at the Gulf of Finland. Every so often, someone would open the door, and “plink, plink, plonk, plonk” would waft in from the bar and fade again. Then the coast of Estonia came into sight, and the skyline of Tallinn; the band played a final waltz, and everyone rolled off the ferry.

That two seaside capital cities only a short boat ride apart should have such different attitudes to their position as Helsinki and Tallinn is a puzzle. Helsinki revels in its coastline. There are parks with paths along the seashore where you can watch people sailing or canoeing; the outdoor market on the quayside in the centre of town is a favourite lunch venue on sunny days for local office workers as well as visitors; the most desirable houses are by the water on the islands and peninsulas that make up Helsinki. The whole city has an airy outdoor feel, even in the cold months when the sea freezes and you can skate on it.

Tallinn, by contrast, seems shut in on itself, and wholly ungrateful for its prime location. As you approach the city by boat, the skyline that slowly untangles itself from the horizon is dominated by cranes and factory chimneys and concrete, in which the spires and steeples of the Old Town are barely visible: no waterfront cafes, no esplanades, no pleasure craft. It’s as if the sea doesn’t exist. No wonder, then, that visitors tend to head straight for the medieval town a brisk five-minute walk inland and barely stray outside it.

Not that this is any hardship. There is plenty to explore in the winding lanes and elegant cobbled streets of Old Tallinn, much of which dates from between the 13th and 16th centuries. Now that the KGB and other shadowy Soviet organisations have been thrown out of their former offices, the old buildings have been lovingly restored to strict standards. Paintwork gleams discreetly, the old metal signs have been de-rusted, the stonework looks weathered but clean. Everywhere you look there’s a fascinating alleyway, a tiny courtyard, some curious remnant of the distant past.

For a glimpse of the not-so-distant past, you have only to cross one of the huge, bleak avenues that circles the Old Town. Outside the medieval walls, Tallinn is a testament to the multi-storey car park school of architecture, nowhere more so than the Viru Hotel, once the only place foreigners could stay. Now revamped, it merits a visit for the view over Old Tallinn from the well-stocked wine bar on the top floor, where you can sit and gaze out over pointy red roofs, turrets, bustling lanes and ancient walls. Another bonus, of course, is that it’s the only place for miles from where you can’t see the Viru.

Helsinki’s equivalent rooftop bar is at the top of the Torni Hotel, from where you can look down on altogether more ordered streets. The city, after all, is relatively new; originally founded in the middle of the 16th century by the Swedish as a rival to prosperous Hanseatic Tallinn, many of its buildings date from the early 19th century. The jade-green domes of the Lutheran cathedral soar above the rooftops. Neo-classicism rules, and the result is graceful and soothing both from ground level and above. The only jarring note is the price of your round of drinks, which will take your breath away if the view hasn’t done so.

In reality, alcohol isn’t vastly more expensive in Helsinki than in London. Nevertheless, it explains the huge number of ferries and hydrofoils that regularly ply the waters between Helsinki and Tallinn full to the gunwales with thirsty Finns. Duty-free may be cheap, but Estonia’s cheaper still. Ten years ago there were no bars and only one restaurant in Old Tallinn, though as the restaurant didn’t have - or want - any customers it didn’t really count. Nowadays, there are restaurants galore and more bars than you can shake a cocktail stick at.

The better places rival those in its more prosperous neighbour, though you won’t be surprised to hear that while salmon and other piscatorial dishes feature heavily on the menus in Helsinki, fish is notable by its rarity in Tallinn. If you want Estonian food, there are gloriously snug cellars where you can load up on pork, potatoes and onion. If you don’t, there are plenty of other restaurants with more exotic cuisine, including at least one excellent curry house. Even better, eating out is cheap, and with vodka costing a mere pound a (large) shot even in the better bars, it may be a good idea to stoke up on carbohydrate - though, as everyone knows, you can’t get a hangover from vodka.

There are certainly plenty of people testing that theory each weekend, in a very good-natured way. There must be something in Finno-Ugric blood - something the Estonians have in common with the Finns - that stops them getting aggressive when drunk. Here, and in Helsinki, Saturday night is not alright for fighting. But that’s only one of the reasons that Helsinki and Tallinn make such a powerful combination for a long weekend: two cities, two lifestyles, one inward, one outward, one ancient, one relatively modern - and less than four hours apart by boat, two by hydrofoil. Two cities for the price of one: it’s an irresistible offer.