“Welcome to Kihnu. We are not a matriarchy,” says Mare Mätas as she meets me off the ferry. I’ve stepped on to the wild and windswept Kihnu island, which floats in the Gulf of Riga off Estonia’s western coast like a castaway from another time. Just four miles (7km) long and two miles wide, this Baltic outpost is a world unto itself that has long been shielded from the full impact of modernity, a place where motorbikes share the road with horse-drawn carts, and women in bright striped skirts still sing ancient sea songs. But Kihnu is no museum – it’s a living, breathing culture all of its own, proudly cared for by its 700 or so residents.
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Mare, a traditional culture specialist and local guide, promptly ushers me into the open back of her truck and takes me on a whistlestop tour of the island, giving me a history quiz as we stop at the museum, the lighthouse, the cemetery and the school.
The men of Kihnu would once have spent many months away at sea, sailing or hunting seals. Out of necessity, the women of the island became the heads of the family as well as the keepers of the island’s cultural heritage. This led to Kihnu being nicknamed “the island of women”, and the BBC even proclaimed it “Europe’s last surviving matriarchy”. But Mare is very clear: “If you must use a word, you could say that our culture is matrifocal. But I prefer to say that on Kihnu we are simply equal. Women have status in the community, and older women have a higher status – they are seen as wise elders. Women work as the guardians of our culture, and we look after the circle of life on the island – we have the children, we tend the land, we care for the dead.”
This Baltic outpost is a world unto itself that has long been shielded from the full impact of modernity
The women of Kihnu have been lighthouse keepers, tractor drivers and even stand-in priests. Today, they play ancient melodies on violin and accordion, teach their daughters traditional dances and sing Kihnu’s eerily beautiful runic songs, believed to be of pre-Christian origin. Most eyecatchingly, they wear traditional dress – bright red woollen skirts, embroidered blouses and patterned headscarves. These aren’t just garments donned for weddings or festivals – this is the only place in Estonia where folk dress is still donned daily.
When the men were at sea, the women became the lighthouse keepers. Photograph: Matjaz Corel/Alamy
Mare is wearing a red striped kört skirt and woollen jacket. Her daughters, in their teens and 20s, pair their traditional skirts with slogan T-shirts. The skirts are woven every winter and each tells the story of the wearer. Young women usually wear red – they are supposedly in the “fairytale” era of their lives. If a woman is in mourning, she will don a black skirt. Over the months, her skirts will include more red and purple stripes until she’s dressed in joyful red again. A married woman wears an apron over her skirt, and new fashions and patterns still influence designs today. “When paisley was brought to the island from India, we began using it for our headscarves,” explains Mare. “And in the 1960s, when miniskirts were the rage, we wore mini körts!”
I spot women of all ages dressed in bright flashes of red as I cycle about the island’s dirt roads on a sit-up-and-beg-bike. Kihnu is a patchwork of wildflower meadows and pine groves, edged by rocky coastline and dotted with wooden homes painted in primary yellows and reds. Outside one homestead I meet Jaak Visnap. An artist from Tallinn, he has run naive art camps here every summer for 20 years. Historically, many of the island’s sailors were also naive painters (artists who typically have no formal training and exhibit a simplicity in their work), and when I meet Jaak, he and a group of painting students from Kihnu and the mainland are busy working on richly coloured paintings for an exhibition in the island’s museum.
Local guide Mare Mätas in traditional dress. Photograph: Sian Lewis
Estonians often label themselves as cold and standoffish, but the painters welcome me warmly and offer me wine. The sun comes out and transforms the island – moody grey skies swept away by golden light – so I join them for a swim in the warm, shallow sea. As we bob on our backs in the evening glow, Viola from Tallinn tells me a joke: “It’s raining, and a foreigner asks an Estonian man: ‘Don’t you have summer in this country?’ ‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘But sadly I was at work that day.’”
Before I leave the painters, I ask Jaak how the island has changed since his first summer here. “This used to be the fishing island,” he says. “Now, it’s the tourist island.” But visitors don’t seem to have transformed Kihnu just yet. Locals may drive modern cars and trucks, but I also pass Soviet-era motorbikes with side cars. There are a few shops and cafes, but they sell smoked dried fish and seal meat as well as coffee and cakes.
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The island only wants to attract tourists interested in culture and craftsmanship
Outside her craft shop, I meet Elly Karjam, who knits the traditional troi sweaters worn by Kihnu’s men, beautifully patterned in blue and white wool woven into protective symbols. “I can knit hundreds of jumpers every winter, and each takes me 200 hours,” she says, her fingers clicking in a blur as she works on a new masterpiece for the local priest.
Kihnu island is four miles long and two miles wide. Photograph: Wirestock/Alamy
Mare tells me that the island only wants to attract tourists interested in culture and craftsmanship, and that the islanders are musing over whether campervans should be banned. But tourism also allows the next generation to remain on the island, rather than leave for the mainland in search of work. And for now, most visitors seem to embrace slow travel, staying with local people in guest houses and B&Bs, and visiting to join midsummer dances and violin festivals, to learn to paint or knit, or just to find pastoral peace.
The “island of women” is a misnomer. Instead, Kihnu feels like an old-fashioned yet balanced place that moves to the beat of its own drum (or perhaps, the hum of its own accordion). In winter, cloaked in snow, it must be a tough place to live. But in summer, this slow-paced island is a joy to explore. As I leave, the rain that makes it so lush and green returns. The ferry has barely left the harbour before Kihnu is swallowed in the grey sea, a place of legend once again.
Kihnu is reached by a one-hour ferry crossing (foot passengers €4 one way, cars €16 one way) from Munalaid harbour, which is an hour’s bus journey from the coastal town of Pärnu. See visitkihnu.ee. Mare Mätas offers guided tours of Kihnu as well as guesthouse accommodation on her farm, about £40 a person a night, kihnumare.ee. Elly Karjam offers comfy bedrooms and a traditional sauna on her homestead, where she also sells her knitting and homemade crafts, visitestonia.com/en/elly-bed-breakfast-in-kihnu. Pitch a tent at Kihnu Vald campsite, kihnurand.ee