She was supposed to be unsinkable. If only the watchmen in the crows’ nest had not lost their binoculars. If only more than two out of nearly ten iceberg warnings had reached the captain. If only there was no pressure on breaking a record from Southampton to New York. If she only had hit the iceberg straight on, instead of it carving a gush on the side. If only she had only been turned instead of reversed, too.

If only the regulations for lifeboat numbers had been updated for larger vessels. If only lifeboats had not been removed from blocking the sea view on promenade deck. If only they had been lowered more than half-full. If only people had believed she was going to sink, after all.

But she was unsinkable. She was big and strong like the Roman gods she was named after. Until that early dawn in April 1912, when she sank on her maiden voyage, along with over fifteen hundred souls. And yet some of her and the people she carried will never sink into the depths of oblivion – because the legend of the Titanic will always stay afloat.

(Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition, Tallinn, Estonia; March 2014)

It was the first weekend in March. That dreadful in-between time when winter is tired and spring is timid. When the days are long enough to give hope but too short to give joy. When dry cold turns into a wet cold. And then there was a Saturday of sunshine, and two sisters in need of a weekend escape.

What better than to hop across the pond to Tallinn and spend a day listening to the layers of the city? The walls do talk, and they whisper stories of great battles, bloodshed, flourishing trade, and of an ancient city that through the ages has boasted more than five names. We dove into the kilometers of criss-crossing bastion tunnels to hear tales of great escapes from war, illness, and persecution.

As I walked the worn cobblestone streets I could not help but wonder: why is it that the most beautiful cities also have the bloodiest history? And why do we associate fortresses with beauty, when they are built for war and death and suffering? Today Tallinn in the sun is beautiful. Other sunny first weekends in March have been quite different.

And suddenly there was another hue to the light shining on the city walls, reflecting from the gilded cathedral cupolae, and bouncing on the market square. It was the hue of life-despite-the-hurt, sprinkled with wisdom-of-age, and topped with a dash of pride. Despite the struggles and battles in the past and the future, or perhaps because of them, today Tallinn is vibrant, and beautiful in the sun.

(Tallinn, Estonia; March 2014)