I found a Route 66-themed, American-style restaurant just south of Tallinn. No burgers or milkshakes though. Although the interior motif was Baltic with a Midwest American twist, the menu was traditional Estonian--leaning heavily on soups, salads, and, as everywhere, fish.
Arriving in the bustling, modern city of Tallinn, I first located the ferry terminal and bought my ticket. With time to kill, I took a self-driven and walking tour of the city. Like Vilnius and Riga, Tallinn is a mixture of old and new, with its bias towards the modern suggesting the vibrant city has easily shaken off almost 50 years of Soviet domination. Take away the signs in Estonian, and I felt I could have been in Germany or Switzerland. Yet while the city itself was fast-paced, the Estonians I encountered had a relaxed air suggestive of lives in balance.
Back at the ferry for our late-afternoon departure, I secured the Saab on board and located my cabin for the 17-hour journey. Unfortunately, I had reserved a shared cabin by mistake. (Although English can get you by in the Baltics, as happens when traveling in countries where you do not know the native language, important details are sometimes lost.)
My three Swedish cabin mates were on holiday--and in need of much less sleep than I required. I ended up with a blanket on the deck, where it was much quieter. After a few hours sleep, I was awoken by a spectacular Baltic sunrise.
Disembarking, I navigated the Saab 9-5 around Stockholm, heading to Trollhättan to return the car to my hosts. En route, I passed one of the Saab aircraft manufacturing centers, where it was easy to take advantage of the "born from jets" photo opportunity.
I made excellent time on the cross-Sweden drive (covering what should have been a six-hour drive in less than five), so the Saab PR team had time to give me an abbreviated tour of the assembly line before the car service whisked me to the airport.
As a totally unplanned adventure, my 2,400-mile Baltic journey opened my eyes to a fascinating region of Europe not typically on the radar of American travelers. That is a shame, as this road trip's predominantly rural focus, away from traditional in-city destinations like Berlin and even Warsaw, serves up a compelling combination of history and cultural diversity that is difficult to match.
Combine that with the friendliness of the people of the three Baltic republics, the relatively modest prices for almost everything (except for fuel), and the result is a most relaxing and memorable road trip.
Signed by Germany and the Soviet Union in August 1939, the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact divided Eastern Europe into German and Soviet spheres of influence--and included a secret pact in which Germany ceded control of Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia to the Soviet Union.
A week later, Germany invaded Poland and set in motion the Second World War. With the Red Army's invasion from the east two weeks later, Poland effectively ceased to exist. Germany turned on the Soviets and occupied the three Baltic states--only to cede control of Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia after the tide of war turned at Stalingrad. For the next 45 years, all three nations were an integral part of the Soviet Bloc.
Like their other Eastern European counterparts, the citizens of Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia displayed increasing restlessness with the Soviet status quo. On 23 August 1989--the 50th anniversary of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact--their citizens formed a human chain more than two million strong through all three capitals. Running from the city of Tallinn, Estonia in the north through Riga, Latvia and on to Vilnius, Lithuania in the south--a distance of almost 400 miles--the chain was dubbed the Baltic Way, or the Singing Revolution.
Hungary had already opened its border with Austria earlier that summer. In divided Germany, the Berlin Wall would soon fall. And in the Baltics, the Singing Revolution was the catalyst for all three nations to gain their independence two years later.
It's been likened to a Swedish soap opera--the dramatic developments surrounding Saab during the last three years. One of four brands General Motors shed as part of its 2008 government-orchestrated bankruptcy, Saab was saved at the 11th hour by businessman Victor Muller (owner of specialty carmaker Spyker at the time).
Against this backdrop, Saab launched an all-new 9-5 sedan in 2010. A variation of GM's epsilon global platform, it was extensively restyled with a heavy dose of Saab DNA. Starting at just under $40,000 for the front-wheel-drive Turbo4 model, the 9-5 is designed to compete against the Audi A6, the BMW 5-series, and the Mercedes-Benz E-Class. Among domestic cars, it competes with the Cadillac CTS, the Lincoln MKS, and, to a lesser degree, the new Chrysler 300.
I had the opportunity last fall to spend a week behind the wheel of a 9-5 Aero sedan equipped with Saab's cross-wheel-drive system. Developed with outside supplier Haldex, it is an intelligent, permanent all-wheel-drive system that can preemptively and continuously change torque distribution before wheel slip occurs. If it sounds like magic, in a way it is--made possible with an advanced ECU that continuously collects data from the car's onboard systems and, in conjunction with the ESP, ABS, and TCS, calculates the best torque distribution in the driveline.
Providing the benefits of both front- and rear-wheel-drive in a single, continuously variable system, it can deliver as little as 4 percent of available torque to the rear wheels when cruising and as much as 85 percent to a single rear wheel when needed. In limited-traction situations, the system works as advertised.
As much as I am a fan of Saab and enjoyed the 9-5 Aero test vehicle, the car faces formidable competition in its segment with a sticker price of $54,490. In light of Saab's recent highly publicized assembly line shutdowns, many consumers are likely to feel more comfortable spending $50k or more on one of its competitors whose long-term survival is not in question.
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