In Search of A Fairytale Christmas

I’VE ALWAYS DREAMED OF WANDERING through Christmas markets, but not the ones packed with crowds, selfie sticks and the same glitzy souvenirs you see everywhere. I wanted the ones that feel small, quaint, authentic … where locals linger, where the scent of roasting chestnuts and mulled wine drifts through cobbled streets, and every stall tells a story. Somehow, my gaze landed on the Baltics.

Christmas Market in Tallinn, Estonia

As crazy as it sounds, I knew I’d be chasing magic in freezing winters, the kind of cold that makes your cheeks burn and your nose tingle. But honestly? Every frosty breath, every snow-dusted rooftop, every tiny twinkling light made it completely, utterly worth it.

What makes this part of Europe so special at this time of year is how it holds on to its old-world winter rituals. It all feels untouched by the commercial frenzy that Christmas elsewhere has become. I was stepping into a storybook, one market at a time, and it felt like the kind of Christmas I’d only ever imagined.

TALLINN: SKATES, SNOW, AND A SIP OF GLÖGG

I set off from Estonia to Latvia, arriving in Tallinn in the first week of December. The city greeted me as if it had been waiting, its medieval spires wrapped in snow and the faint smell of pine smoke curling from chimneys. From the Kohtuotsa viewing platform, the red roofs and towering steeples of the Old Town unfolded below me, one of Tallinn’s most iconic views. Old Town was awake, twinkling with lights strung between rooftops like delicate threads of magic.

By the time I stepped into Town Hall Square, the world had shifted. Much of Tallinn’s Old Town is remarkably unchanged since medieval times, so celebrating Christmas there feels like stepping back 500 years. The town claims to have hosted one of the first decorated Christmas trees in Europe in Town Hall Square. The tradition began with the Brotherhood of Blackheads, a guild of unmarried merchants who chose St Maurice, an imagined African Black Moor, as their patron. They would put up a tree, dance around it and later set it on fire as part of winter festivities.

Estonia’s oldest and largest astronomical observatory sits in Tartu

The Christmas market tradition is similarly tied to medieval guild culture, and the stalls that spilled onto the square were filled with woollens, hand-carved ornaments and fragrant gingerbread. Telliskivi Creative City, set within a former industrial complex, is another must-visit. Home to galleries, indie shops, creative studios, start-ups and some of Tallinn’s best restaurants. I cupped a mug of mulled wine (glögg), cinnamon steam rising to meet the chill, and wandered through the tiny alleys, listening to the soft clatter of footsteps on frozen stone. Above the rooftops, the spires rose into a pale winter sky.

When night fell, the city became liquid with light. The viewing tower from St Olaf’s is unmatched at this hour. I found myself wobbling on the ice rink in the city centre, skating hand-in-hand with locals and tourists, laughing as I stumbled, the world spinning with the glow of the town around me. Snowflakes like tiny stars fell on my hair, and for a moment, it felt as if the city had been built as a dream.

I took up lessons in ice-skating for the three days I was in Tallinn. And here’s a tip: yes, you can learn the basics in three days. Enough to glide, wobble, stop (mostly), and feel like you belong in a Christmas movie. For first-timers: keep your knees loose, lean slightly forward, and accept that falling is part of the charm. And if you know skating or roller skating, that definitely adds up!

TARTU: SOUP TOWN, KISSING STATUES AND STARRY SKIES

On the fourth day, two-and-a-half hours by bus from Tallinn, the city’s hard medieval edges gave way to gentler landscapes—wideopen fields, snow-laden forests and slower, quieter towns where time seemed to move at half-speed. Everything felt more intimate, more lived-in, as if the countryside were whispering you into a slower rhythm.

I arrived in Tartu, Estonia’s bohemian heart. A university town, steeped in centuries of scholarship, student chatter and bustling cafés. Tartu is this beautiful mix of youthful energy and deep-rooted intellectual history, where students, artists and academics coexist in the most effortless way.

From the viewing platform, a bird’s-eye view of Tallinn unfolds below;

After admiring Tartu’s most famous landmark, the Kissing Students statue in the fountain on Raekoja Square, I wandered

Supilinn, the “Soup Town,” a maze of wooden houses and cobbled streets named after root vegetables, which gave the area its name. Along the Emajõgi River, frozen and still, I walked slowly, listening to the faint scrape of ice under the breeze. At the Tartu University Observatory, Estonia’s oldest and largest astronomical observatory, you can visit the first point in the Struve Geodetic Arc, the landmark survey that helped determine the exact size and shape of the Earth and is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. In the quiet, the observatory felt almost alive with the ghosts of scholars who once charted the stars above.

RIGA: WHERE CHRISTMAS TREES AND LEGENDS COLLIDE

After two days in Tartu, I set off for Riga. The drive blurred past like a winter watercolour: forests coated in frost, lakes frozen like mirrors and villages where the lights glimmered through curtained windows. Four hours later, Latvia’s capital emerged from the snow.

Riga is bigger, louder, darker, but no less enchanting. Dome Square sparkled with Christmas lights, the scent of roasted sausage and sea buckthorn tea filling the cold air.

I wandered through the House of the Blackheads (yes, there’s one here too!), where gothic spires rose like shadows against the pale winter sky. Rebuilt in 2000, it now stands as one of Riga’s defining landmarks, home to a museum and cultural events. Near the northwest corner of the building, a stone marker embedded in the cobblestones claims the site of the first public Christmas tree. According to city records, it dates back to 1510, making it, arguably, the earliest documented Christmas tree in the world. Tallinn makes the same claim, of course, and given that both cities were home to branches of the same Brotherhood of Blackheads, it’s not impossible that the tradition sprouted in both places around the same time. When it comes to festive legends, the more the merrier!

Later, from the top of St Peter’s Church Tower, the highest in Riga, I watched the city unfurl below me like a slow, frozen river. After stopping in Central Market for smoked fish, rye bread and pickled delights, I wandered toward Alberta Street, a stunning showcase of Art Nouveau architecture with intricate, whimsical facades. Stone faces peering from walls, vines curling around balconies, entire buildings bending at impossible angles, many of these masterpieces are now part of a UNESCO World Heritage ensemble. At night, the frozen canal turned into a ribbon of skaters, the city itself joining a quiet ballet under strings of golden light.

Everywhere I went, I was reminded of the surreal contrasts of the Baltics in winter: the fairy-tale charm of Tallinn, the contemplative intimacy of Tartu, the layered grandeur of Riga. Ice skates on ancient cobblestones, candlelit cafés next to gothic towers, markets brimming with human warmth in the midst of frost.

By the end of the journey, I was full of more than souvenirs. I carried the frost on my eyelashes, the taste of glögg on my tongue, and the quiet magic of streets and spires that felt like they had been waiting to be discovered just for me. The Baltics are a place where winter doesn’t just bite, it enchants