Our stay in Narva began in the Narva Hotel, a building with a distinct Soviet touch. The corridors were wide, the rooms oversized, and the decoration reminded us of another era. From our window we could catch a glimpse of Ivangorod, the Russian border town across the river. It seemed alarmingly close – less than a hundred metres away – a daily reminder that Narva truly sits at Europe’s edge.
After a delicious breakfast, complete with fresh berries, we packed our bags and prepared to explore the city. We were fortunate to have local guides: through my Luxembourg consultancy work for Emma Technologies, I had once learned that the executive assistant to the founder, Anastasia Izmalkova, grew up here in Narva. She told me her sister still lives here, and her 18-year-old daughter, Stefania, was willing to show us around together with her mother. Nicolai, our pilot friend who manages the airfield, had work obligations that morning, so the timing was perfect.
Stefania and her mother collected us from the hotel in their car. Her mother, a lawyer, knew the city inside out, while Stefania was preparing to leave Narva to begin her studies in medicine. Both radiated warmth and pride for their home town, and we were lucky to see Narva through their eyes.
But there was no time to lose: the bad weather from Finland was marching steadily south, and we knew we would need to take off again around noon. The morning, however, was ours.
Narva, Estonia = Europe at the Edge
What makes Narva so special is its identity. Though it is firmly part of Estonia, its population is overwhelmingly Russian-speaking, with cultural, familial, and economic ties to St Petersburg just 140 kilometres away. For decades, the border was porous: people crossed daily for cheaper fuel, food, and goods. Today, those days are gone. Crossing into Russia now means standing in long queues, bags inspected and passports scrutinised. Buses still arrive, but passengers must disembark and walk across the bridge, one by one, under the eyes of border guards. The ease of movement that once defined life here has been replaced by a modern iron curtain.
Narva has always been a frontier town. On one bank stands the Narva Castle, also known as Hermann Castle, originally built in the 13th century and later expanded under Swedish and Dutch influence. I am a great admirer of Dutch history – the maritime trading empire that once spread across the globe, from Asia to the Americas. In Narva too, the Dutch left their mark. Walking through the renovated halls of the castle, now housing a museum, one is reminded of how far Dutch trade and influence once reached.
Climbing the tower, we looked across the river to Ivangorod, where the Russians built their own fortress, massive and formidable. The two castles stare directly at one another, separated only by the narrow river – symbols of centuries of rivalry. To stand here is to stand in the middle of European history, at a place where empires collided, borders shifted, and cultures overlapped.
Around the City
Our guides also took us to Raekoja plats, the town hall square. The restored buildings there show Narva’s determination to preserve and celebrate its history despite the destruction of past wars. We also visited the Narva Eesti Gümnaasium, a beautifully renovated building that has become a point of pride for the community.
As we walked, it was impossible not to notice how membership of the European Union has changed Narva. The infrastructure is modernised, buildings restored, and public services well organised. This sleepy border town, long in the shadow of its giant neighbour, is clearly benefiting from being part of the EU.
Our visit extended to Narva-Jõesuu, the small harbour at the mouth of the Narva River where it meets the Gulf of Finland. Once, children swam freely in the river, enjoying summer days under the watchful eye of their parents. Today, such scenes are impossible: swimming is forbidden, and patrol boats secure the border waters, underscoring the harsh reality of the new iron curtain.
A Personal Encounter
During our conversations, Stefania told us about her family’s holiday house by the Finnish Gulf. Her eyes lit up when she spoke about summers by the sea, a reminder that life in Narva, despite the border tensions, still carries a certain peaceful rhythm.
When they drove us back to the airfield, Stefania climbed into the cockpit of the Blackwing, her curiosity impossible to hide. I sensed something familiar: the aviation virus, which is highly contagious in my vicinity. She admitted she had dreamed of flying as a child. I wouldn’t be surprised if that spark one day grows into something bigger.
Nicolai reappeared at the airfield just in time to help us with the practical side of departure. Together, we drove to the nearby fuel station to top up the tanks. With the aircraft ready and weather deteriorating, it was time to leave Narva behind and head south into Poland – another long leg of this journey through Europe’s fragile borders.
I received a gift of Nicolai : a paper flight map of Estonia, which would soon prove to be very helpfull, but that’s for Part 5
