Rediscovering My Estonian Roots in Setomaa

There are some days in life that unfold so unexpectedly and with such magic that you can’t help but feel something bigger is at play. My day in Setomaa was exactly that kind of experience, unplanned, emotional, serendipitous, and deeply moving in a way I will never forget.

Setomaa holds a special place in my heart. For those unfamiliar, this region in southeastern Estonia has a unique culture, almost like a nation within a nation. The traditions, language, and way of life in Setomaa are distinctly different from the rest of Estonia, and it carries a mystical, almost otherworldly energy. It is also the home of my great-grandmother, Anette, who was born in Petseri, a town that is now part of Russia but remains emotionally tied to many Estonians.

The journey began simply enough. Mum and I keyed a destination into Google Maps somewhere near Värska and set off. As we drove deeper into Setomaa, the forests grew thicker and wilder. We talked about the Forest Brothers, Estonian men who resisted Soviet occupation, and how easily they could have hidden in this vast, dense forest. I began to feel an overwhelming sense of peace. It felt like my great-grandmother was guiding us.

In Värska, we stopped at the tourist information centre where a lovely woman helped shape our plans. The generosity and interest people showed when they learned our roots were in Petseri was both touching and surprising. They asked for our family names and were genuinely invested in helping us connect to our past. This became a recurring theme throughout the day, every conversation leading to something more, every stop uncovering new layers of our story.

We travelled to Obinitsa, passing the Puisa caves and sand dunes, which once supplied sand for glassmaking. The landscape was incredible, raw, vast, and humbling. We visited a jewellery gallery Mum had her heart set on, only to find it closed. But as is common in Estonia, a phone number was posted, and a call later, we learned the owner would be back in two hours. In the meantime, we were encouraged to visit a nearby museum and have lunch at a local farmhouse restaurant.

Tarka Talu, the farmhouse, was a hidden gem. There we met Johanna, a kind young woman who helped us navigate the Seto-language menu. We ordered traditional dishes like potatoes with chanterelle mushroom sauce, a meat-free dish, as Seto people treat mushrooms as a protein, and pancakes with Seto cheese. The food was phenomenal, the atmosphere quiet, and the connection to the land and culture was incredible to be part of.

When we told Johanna about our roots in Petseri, she lit up, and I had no idea then just how meaningful that small detail would become.

Next was the Obinitsa Museum, where a kind woman welcomed us and introduced us to the Leelo singing tradition. This ancient Seto style of call-and-response singing, often led by women, is hauntingly beautiful and steeped in tradition. Mum watched a video while I explored the exhibits, reading about customs like arranged marriages that often didn’t happen until people were in their mid to late twenties.

Then I saw it: the traditional Seto women’s headpiece, the tanu. I had never seen one in person, and I was so excited. The museum lady noticed and gently placed one on my head. For me, it was like wearing a crown. Those who know me know crowns have deep symbolic meaning in my life, so this was a powerful moment. When I asked about purchasing one, the lady made calls and discovered the Värska Museum had some for sale. She promised to send photos while we visited the jewellery gallery again.

Back at the gallery, we were welcomed by a lovely woman, a journalist and writer, whose husband is the artist behind the jewellery. She laid out her personal collection for us to admire and try on. Her husband, Evar, soon returned with his assistant, Sean, a curious Irishman living in Estonia, fascinated by the Seto way of life. While Mum worked with Evar on a custom piece, Sean and I talked about stories, history, and why we felt drawn here.

Later, we were treated to a private concert as Evar played Seto songs on his accordion in the old sauna that now houses part of the museum. The gallery was filled with handcrafted treasures and national costumes, and I even found traditional ribbons to go with my future tanu.

Back at the museum, we were met by a gentleman who had reached out to me earlier via Facebook through Johanna. By pure coincidence, he was in the shop when we returned. He asked our family names, and when we mentioned Ellamaa, Anette and Osvald Ellamaa, he knew exactly where my great-grandfather was buried. He was deeply curious about Osvald’s army medal and seemed committed to helping uncover more of our family history. That moment showed me the power of sharing stories. There is real magic in being vulnerable and open with others.

And finally, we returned to the Värska Museum to see the tanu. I had no idea they came in two parts, which meant more opportunities for colour and customisation. I found three beautiful pieces, each meaningful and stunning. I now have a tangible connection to my heritage, and a way to display that pride in my folk costume in Australia.

This day was not only a deep dive into the culture of Setomaa, but also a homecoming of sorts. I felt guided, connected, and embraced by the land, the people, and my own roots. If there’s one lesson I’ll take from this experience, it’s this: don’t be afraid to share where you’re from. Sometimes that small story unlocks something truly profound.

To read the full blog and see pictures, click here