While browsing through your Tallinn accommodation options you might notice a listing for the Sokos Viru Hotel. Looks like a standard city centre hotel right? Well, not exactly. Behind the modern exterior lies a much deeper story.
Tallinn’s Hotel Viru is more than just a hotel; it’s a relic of a bygone era, steeped in Cold War intrigue and Soviet absurdity. It was built during a time when Western tourism was both encouraged and heavily monitored. The hotel was a gateway for visitors and a goldmine of intelligence for the KGB. From its questionable construction to its scandalous nightlife, every corner of the hotel tells a story of control, commerce, and clandestine operations.
A frame from the commissioned documentary “Tallinn”, released in 1977. (Rahvusarhiivi)
Tallinn’s First ‘Skyscraper’
The first Finnish tourist boats arrived in Tallinn in 1965. Pretty soon, officials realised that they needed a place to house this increasing number of Western visitors, especially Finnish tourists taking advantage of the cheap booze and exotic Soviet atmosphere. But there was a problem: Soviet engineers had neither the expertise nor the materials to construct a modern high-rise. The solution? Bring in a Finnish construction company to do the job. And so, Hotel Viru was born. Tallinn’s very first ‘skyscraper’. A monument to the glorious architectural grandeur of the Soviet Union, built by a western company.
Work originally began in July 1969, but a fire broke out on the 10th floor in December of that year, causing the company to go bankrupt. The project was then taken over by another Finnish firm, Haka Oy, which completed the hotel in May 1972. Using Western materials and expertise, they built what became one of the most modern buildings in the USSR at the time.
Final stags of construction. (Rahvusarhiivi)
The Viru Hotel opened its doors in 1972, under the watchful eye of the Soviet Union’s Foreign Tourism Office. But make no mistake, this wasn’t just a fancy place to stay. It was a perfectly designed playground for the KGB, who saw the hotel as a golden opportunity to keep tabs on visitors and locals alike. Sure, it had a racy cabaret, a bustling bar, and a restaurant with actual food (a rarity in Soviet Estonia), but behind the luxury was a world of secrets, surveillance, and some seriously shady business.
The Secret 23rd Floor
For years, guests were told the hotel had 22 floors. Look closely however and it becomes clear that this is a 23-storey building. No-one knew what the purpose of the 23rd floor was or why it was kept such a secret. Officials said that it was simply a storage area and no hotel elevators had a ’23’ button. That “storage area” was, in fact, the KGB’s hidden headquarters on the top floor.
A room in the Viru Hotel that once belonged to the KGB and is being preserved in its original form. (Rahvusarhiivi)
Why did the KGB monitor the Viru Hotel? It’s very simple. With foreign guests (businessmen, journalists, diplomats, and tourists) constantly passing through, the hotel provided a prime opportunity for Soviet intelligence to monitor Westerners and gather information. Any conversation, however trivial, might be of interest to Moscow. Who was meeting whom? What were they discussing? Were they spreading anti-Soviet ideas? The KGB wanted to know it all.
The top-floor surveillance hub built in 1975, equipped with state-of-the-art radio equipment used to intercept transmissions from Helsinki and other Western sources. It had a direct line to Moscow, ensuring that sensitive intelligence could be reported immediately. Adding to the mystery, the entrance to the floor bore a cryptic sign: “There is nothing here.” Definitely not suspicious.
In August 1991, as the USSR collapsed, KGB agents fled the scene in a hurry, leaving behind a mess of papers, broken equipment, and abandoned listening devices. The once-secret space, frozen in time, has since been transformed into the KGB Museum, where visitors can step inside and witness the eerie remnants of Cold War espionage firsthand.
Listening In: The KGB’s Surveillance Web
The KGB’s influence over Hotel Viru extended far beyond the 23rd floor. The entire building was a carefully controlled surveillance trap, designed to keep close tabs on both foreign guests and Soviet citizens. Every aspect of hotel life was orchestrated and choreographed to ensure that information flowed seamlessly to the authorities.
For instance, Soviet officials and foreigners were never allowed to mingle freely. They were assigned separate floors to prevent unsanctioned interactions. Even mealtimes were carefully scheduled: Soviet citizens dined at one hour, while foreigners ate at another, ensuring minimal opportunity for unsupervised conversations.
The hotel’s infrastructure itself was bugged to an astonishing degree. Hidden microphones were embedded in walls, telephones, ashtrays, even the bread plates in the restaurant. If you were a guest at Hotel Viru, you could safely assume that someone, somewhere, was listening in.
Even the hallways were monitored. A group of older women, known as “floor supervisors,” kept detailed records of when guests entered and exited their rooms. They reported anything suspicious: extended absences, unexpected visitors, or conversations in foreign languages. If you were an Estonian exile returning for a visit, you were almost guaranteed to be assigned a bugged room.
Hotel Viru floor supervisor. (Rahvusarhiivi)
The level of control was meticulous and, at times, unsettlingly efficient. Guests who casually mentioned needing soap, for example, would often find a bar delivered to their room within minutes—an eerie reminder that no words went unheard.
Risky Business: Black Market Deals
While Western guests enjoyed the hotel’s perks, enterprising locals saw it as a golden opportunity for some black-market dealings. The problem? Getting in was like trying to sneak into a top-secret government facility. The front doors were guarded by highly suspicious Soviet security men.
According to Meelis Lao, there were three main ways to bypass these bouncers:
- Bribery. Very risky. KGB agents regularly patrolled the hotel and bribes could be easily noticed or reported.
- Disguise. Foreigners were easy spot. They were well-dressed and almost always drunk. Locals however, were shabbily dressed, and never drunk. Take your chances and don a fancy dress costume and maybe you could trick the guards.
- Invitation. By far the best option was to somehow gain an invitation from a foreign businessman to join him for dinner. Easier said than done, but with the right approach, the opportunity to make money was too good to turn down.
Even if you made it inside, the risks were enormous. Anyone leaving the hotel could be searched, and if they were caught with more than 15 US dollars in foreign currency, they were slapped with an automatic two-year prison sentence. The golden rule for these underground entrepreneurs was that no money would change hands inside the hotel. A deal would be agree and exchanges would be done outside.
During the Soviet period many local ‘entrepreneurs’ saw the Viru Hotel as an island of western opulence and a unmissable opportunity to make illegal business deals. Much money was made, but some juicy prison sentences were also received. Very risky business.
Ladies of the Night: Prostitution in the Viru Hotel
If the walls of Hotel Viru could talk, they’d have plenty of stories; especially about its wild nightlife. The 22nd floor restaurant wasn’t just known for its panoramic views. It was also a hotspot for Western businessmen, Soviet officials (though never at the same time) and a very specific category of “employees”: the ladies of the night.
At the Valuuta Baar (Currency Bar) was where guests could pay in foreign money and, unofficially, arrange for female company. While officially frowned upon, the system was quietly tolerated. After all, keeping foreign visitors entertained was a top priority, and as long as the KGB had tabs on everything, they didn’t mind a little extracurricular activity, especially if they could receive a cut of the profits.
Hotel Viru variety show. (Rahvusarhiivi)
But even this world had its absurd Soviet inefficiencies. Many of the hotel’s maids were specifically chosen for their perceived unattractiveness to prevent them from forming relationships with foreign men and potentially defecting. I bet they didn’t mention that in the job listings.
A Hotel Like No Other
Hotel Viru was more than just a hotel: it was a microcosm of Soviet absurdity. A western-built tower where foreign luxury and communist control existed side by side. A place where tourists came for the cheap vodka and black-market deals, while KGB agents eavesdropped from the shadows. And now, it stands as a fascinating time capsule, reminding us of an era when even your ashtray might have been listening.
So, if you find yourself on the 23rd floor of the Viru Hotel, just remember: there is nothing here. Or so they say. 😉
