The most significant thing about the Käsmu House is not perhaps the building itself, but its location. It is not merely close to the sea, but is situated in the territory of the oldest national park of the former Soviet Union – the Lahemaa National Park. Käsmu is thus surrounded by protected nature. However, it is also important that this protected area lies in the north-eastern corner of our dear Europe, 75 kilometres east from the Estonian capital.

Allow me to be more precise – there is much mighty history in the heart of Europe, and modern landscapes stretch to the horizon, but you cannot easily find the kind of nature there that the English might call "wilderness", which is not so typical in the territory of the EU any longer. To an urbanised Central European, it could almost be a revelation that the road to Käsmu runs for many kilometres through dense forests, with only a few houses in them, occasionally forming small loose villages, just like Käsmu itself. The dense wild forest in fact starts right behind the shed of the Käsmu House – moss-covered stones, mushrooms, slender pine trees; twilight, dampness and cool air even on the hottest summer day. Unlike professional tourists who drive through the village on the only asphalted road in an air-conditioned bus, a true visitor to Käsmu can still be seized by a feeling that human activity is not advancing on nature but quite the opposite – nature is threatening man. This feeling is especially prominent towards the end of summer when hordes of tourists no longer trample along the nature paths of the national park, the first mushrooms pop out of the soil in the forest and the wind starts howling in the tree tops. The village becomes quiet in the autumn and the shadows of the forest sneak from beyond the back gardens to the yards. The houses start creaking, the village becomes a narrow strip of human activity between the raging sea and the dark wall of the forest.

On a more practical note – the Käsmu House differs quite a bit from its famous counterparts by the Baltic Sea, i.e. similar houses in Visby and Ventspils. As a rule, writers and translators travel to the latter two in order to work, concentrate on asceticism; taking your spouse or partner with you is possible, but it does not happen frequently. Käsmu, on the other hand, welcomes a writer’s family, including children, cats, dogs and turtles, and occasionally even a friend with family, including children, cats, dogs and turtles. When the Estonian Cultural Endowment kindly donated the house to the Estonian Writers’ Union, it quickly became the summer favourite of the members – the summer bookings are usually done a year in advance. Working is obviously more difficult or secondary in summer – people do not come to write, but to have a rest from writing. It is therefore quite common that the house is full of merry commotion, and the writer who has come to seek quiet and solitude might slip on a toy car or a nappy.

The above does not mean that you have to abandon any plans for work in Käsmu. In autumn the house is quiet, the children’s voices fade into the rising wind; silence and peace reign also before the summer season, in early spring. Käsmu’s isolation must by no means be underestimated – this is a province within a province, a quiet corner behind God’s back. Käsmu does not even have a shop – this can be found five kilometres away, in the soviet-era super summer resort and today’s sleepy village called Võsu. Occasionally, there are power cuts in the village (caused by the wind, snow and other natural phenomena of the northern climate), and when the writer cannot get a fire going in the stove, he must pack his bags and try to escape from the village – which might be quite difficult as the bus connection with the capital is not that frequent.

I have, of course, no intention whatsoever of putting off those who heard the name of Käsmu for the first time here. The isolation of Käsmu does not mean being left on your own – the Estonian Writers’ Union has nice friendly local people there who will help anyone with practicalities. I would like to emphasise that Käsmu is an experience worth trying – either with the house full of people or totally empty, either with the sun shining above Lahemaa or the clouds touching the tree tops. The Käsmu House is truly bewitching – and not because it is reputedly haunted, but because within a few hours of arrival, the newcomer can find the lost idea or faded inspiration, and the bad mood can evaporate in a moment. Käsmu’s forests and sea and the old white house with creaking floorboards (where a real captain once lived and where a modern visitor can enjoy wireless internet!) work wonders with the soul of people arriving from the feverish and confusing world. This is the true spirit of Käsmu.

Jan Kaus


HALMA grant holder Richard Obermayr wrote about his stay at the Käsmu House. His essay is available in the European Library of the HALMA network.