The way I remember my first Silmufestival, walking towards the river harbour, there was something different in the air – not just the smell of the barbecue and the sea, but that special buzz of anticipation that comes when a whole city has decided to be itself again for a weekend. Yes, on the face of it, it’s ‘just’ a fish party. In fact, it’s a story that flows through Narva-Jõesuu like a river itself – from one autumn to the next, from one generation to the next.
Looking back, the idea for 2009 was both simple and daring: to have our own party in autumn, when the summer beach has gone quiet but the river is still alive. A year later, the story rolled out with a bang. 2010. The ‘eye rally’ of 2007 – yes, the world’s first idea to let the eyes crawl downhill at speed – got half of Estonia talking. Some thought it was blatantly unethical, others nodded their heads in agreement. In the end, what is still talked about today happened: a canned rally. The live participants got bogged down in paperwork, and the pickled cans made it to the track. “Disappointment,” the papers wrote. And yet, the noisy argument brought people to the harbour, turned their eyes towards Narva-Jõesuu. It got me thinking… sometimes tradition is born just when it has briefly stumbled into view.
The years that followed confirmed that the idea was right. 2011. It was raining in 2007, but the pitch was full. The “Hungerburger” – a cheeseburger made to Mayor Andres Noormägi’s own recipe – became the funniest symbol of the day. The protagonist himself swam in the aquarium, while children and adults alike looked over the glass to see that the eye is not just ‘another fish’, but a strange, primordial creature that has written itself forever into the cuisine and language of this region. 2012. In 2007, the sun was particularly generous, the 500 litres of cauliflower soup disappeared like spring ice – and all that music, all that noise, all those families looking for a pancake for their child with one hand and a jar of pickled buds to take home with the other. 2013. In 2007, it was just as annoying and complacent: master classes, queues, soup kitchen noise. In this rhythm, the festival grew every autumn, stone by stone.
And then I have the story of 2017 in my mind’s eye – how someone said: “Every city has its own brand. We have the buds for it.” It sounded big at the time, but honest, because what makes a place special if not its own flavour, its own story. 2019. In 2007, the story echoed further than ever before: there was a huge media coverage, with as many as eight hunters lined up in the river harbour, coming especially for the festival. Chef Indrek Kõverik punctuated the evening with ‘Satan’s Eye’ – six dishes, six drinks, six stories – and I realised that the eye could offer as much fantasy as a fine French delicacy. In fact, the idea went even further: there was even an eye ice cream on the 2020 menu. Yes, ice cream. Some wrinkled their noses, many smiled after the first mouthful. And it was the very same year when the fish market was full of fish, and the soup competitions were full of new names and recipes, from the kamajah battered eye to the eye-shish kebab. Looking on from the sidelines, you could see how tradition doesn’t set in stone – it breathes, it plays, it adapts.
The year set a different note: The White Park was ablaze with lights, torches and small fire pits. The Night Bazaar, the mini zoo, the aquariums – the whole story shifted for a moment from the quays of the river harbour to the fairy-lit park. The crowds were fewer that hot summer, but the hotels were sold out. I realised that the festival wasn’t just selling fish, it was selling a feeling – that Narva-Jõesuu was a place worth visiting in autumn. 2022. In 2008, for the fourteenth time, it felt like a machine that worked beautifully: AHHAA science theatre, Lazerzone dry ice tricks, photo booths, master classes – and the same solid axis: fresh, fried, pickled, baked eye. Mayor Maksim Ilyin also shared a soup bowl at Sinimäki and Olgina; it’s a detail I like – when the soup reaches the neighbours, the feast is truly a community affair.
And then 2023 – the fifteenth. The record: 17 fishmongers, a long entertainment programme, Caroline and the wooden S/V Dolphin on special trips on the river. Hanno Kask cooked paella and hungerburgers, the chefs grilled eyelets and combined it with apples, mushrooms, sushi rice and uhha. Artjom Romanov made the soup – eye, spinach and barley groats. 800 portions in two hours – only steam and good spirits left in the cauldron. There was a band for the evening, and, for me at least, the knowledge that more than seven thousand people can form a homely atmosphere at the same time. You may have felt it yourself: sometimes a big party can surprisingly fit into a small moment when someone picks up a bowl of soup and says: “Taste it, we have it here.”
Last autumn confirmed the direction. 2024. In 2007, there were already around 7,000 visitors, a record 130 operators were on the square, and 300 litres of soup were again sold like hot cakes, nearly 800 portions. The mayor distributed it himself, as usual. Alongside this, there were lots of little things that don’t appear in the programme: fishermen’s tales of nets and currents, tips on how to clean the mesh properly at home, children who dared to taste the mesh for the first time. These are the moments that really make up the story.
But the festival isn’t just a boiler above the stove. The aim has always been bigger: to extend the season, to raise the visibility of Narva-Jõesuu even after the summer sun has set, and to bring income to the region that doesn’t just fluctuate to the rhythm of the beach. Collaboration with tour operators, masterclasses, competitions – best recipe award, eyeballs on time, cookery workshops – all designed to move skills from person to person and networks to create new value. I’ve seen local cuisine become a reason for guests to come back. Once a taste gets a story, you’ll want to reread it.
In this sense, 2025 is more than the next date on the calendar. It’s an investment with a return not only in terms of portions sold and rooms filled, but also in the feeling that East Estonia has its own distinct voice. The eye is a rare species, and there are disputes and legends swirling around it, but in Narva-Jõesu it has become something third: a living sign that the place can literally put its identity on the table. When I think about it, I understand why this festival does not go away. She’s a joker (except for the canned food rally), a hostess (look at how the edge of the soup bowl glistens!), a teacher (learn to clean, try pickling) and an innkeeper (accounting for hotels and cafés) all at once.
And so it flows: from the first idea in 2009 to the last goldfish in the kettle boiled last autumn. Everything in between – the smoky joke of the hunger burger, the curious eye in the aquarium, the paella pan, the sparkling toss of the science theatre, the moment on photobox paper that endures – confirms that the story is whole. And I, who came here at the beginning just out of curiosity, go back every autumn because there is one soup worth coming back to. And not just for the taste. But for the feeling that the city knows who it is.
All in all, Silmufestival is an event where tradition and entrepreneurship go hand in hand: the number of visitors has increased (2023 ~7000, 2024 ~7000), the number of entrepreneurs is at a record high (2024: 130), and the kettles are boiling at a brisk pace (2012: ~500 l; 2023-2024: ~800 portions in a few hours). But the numbers here are only signposts. The road itself is simple: meet at the end of September, when the river brings the buds and the city brings the people together. Then Narva-Jõesuu will be exactly what it is again – and it will be beautiful.
