How Setomaa Keeps Its Culture Alive on Estonia's Russian Border

As I step naked into the sauna, my skin immediately erupts with sweat. It’s well over 200 degrees Fahrenheit, and my throat burns with the intake of each breath. In the corner, hanging from a hook, is a leg of ham. “For Easter!” exclaims my host, Reimi Kerdt, “This is a traditional Seto smoke sauna. We keep the windows closed for the whole day to build up the heat, then open them just before we get in to let the smoke out. So we might as well smoke the easter ham with it, too.” I’ve come to Setomaa, southeast Estonia, 65 miles south of the country’s second city, Tartu, and up against the border with Russia. The land is flat, and still covered with snow, whilst the air is filled with a haze that diffuses the light and makes distances hard to judge. Setomaa means “the land of the Seto”, almost a mini-nation within Estonia, distinguished from the rest of the country by religion and dialect. I’ve been fascinated by the Seto, and their distinct identity, ever since I served in Estonia with the British Army Reserve, and I’m here to learn why Easter (which arrives in Setomaa before the rest of the country) is their most important celebration. “Most Estonians are Lutheran,” explains Helen Külvik, a Setomaa native and local guide, “which has its origins in Germany. But Seto belief is rooted in Orthodox Christianity, which came to us from Russia, and which follows the Julian calendar, hence our early Easter." She goes on to explain that while Setomaa is spread across both Estonia and Russia, when the Soviet Union ended, the new border split Setomaa in two, and separating people from their ancestral lands. “But the end of communism also led to a flourishing of Seto culture. We are proud to share it, and Easter is a very good time for you to experience it,” she adds. We wander into Iti Leiväküük, a café just off the Obinitsa village square, where proprietor Iti Toom greets me with a shot of hansa—a strong, clear, liquor that tastes more like whisky than vodka. “Terviseks!” Iti exclaims, downing her own hansa and pouring me another. Then she leads me to a pot of simmering onion skins in the kitchen and tells me to wrap string around chicken eggs before placing them in the pot. “We must decorate them for tomorrow’s egg-rolling,” says Helen, “The onion skin gives the eggs a crimson color, and we make patterns on the shells with rice and wax.” We’re joined by Iti’s friends and family, along with journalists who have come to cover the Seto Easter ceremony, part of Setomaa’s intangible cultural heritage. After a dinner of smoked sausage and bulgur wheat, draped in cream sauce, and washed down with more hansa and kasemahl (birch-sap water), Iti’s daughter pulls out an accordion. Before long, the locals are engaged in a raucous sing-along in Estonian, Seto (a dialect of southern Estonian), and even German, pulling me up to dance in circles around the kitchen. Helen looks at her watch and suddenly bundles me out, followed by everyone else. “It’s nearly midnight,” she says, “We’ve got to get to church!” We jump in her car and race to the pale-green Transfiguration Church at the edge of Obinitsa, where candle-bearing devotees follow the priest in a procession round the building. But my eyes are drawn to the forest, where hundreds of candle flames flicker like sprites around each grave. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Helen says, “On holy days, we always visit our ancestors. We have a picnic in the cemetery, light a candle, and talk to them. Because we believe, very strongly, that we are still communicating with them. This is the core of Seto religion. It’s a mix of Russian Orthodox and pre-Christian beliefs. In our vocabulary, we don’t even say someone ‘dies’. Just that they ‘fall asleep’. “That’s why the division of Setomaa was so tragic. We cannot easily visit our ancestors who are sleeping on the Russian side of the border.” The following day is the Easter parade. It begins with men wearing cream woolen coats (embroidered with geometric patterns), black fedora hats, and black boots carrying a basket on a long pole around the village. They sing a cheerful folk tune in time with their movements, stopping to collect the decorated eggs from each single-story, steep-roofed, wooden home. As the men stop singing, the women of the leelo choir (walking arm-in-arm behind the men, wearing red embroidery and silver jewelry) take up a polyphonic song and dance in circles. I recognize elements of it from the hansa-fueled singalong of the previous night. Once every home has been visited, we make our way to the village green, where a banked arena of sand has been set up for the egg-rolling. The game is a mix between crazy golf and curling, and the goal is to roll your egg down a ramp of birch bark, hitting the other eggs at the bottom. After some initial success, my fourth egg slips through a gap, and the next player takes over. “Not bad for your first go,” says Helen, “Now it’s time for you to meet the other aspect of Seto spirituality.” We drive to Jumalamägi; a short hill surrounded by trees and topped with a carved idol of Peko, the Seto god of crops, fertility, and beer. During the Soviet period, Setos had to hide their idols of Peko, but now he stands proudly on the hill. “This is a sacred hill to Setos,” says Helen, “We come here to offer something to nature, or to Peko, and he gives something back. There’s no conflict with our Orthodox Christianity; even the local priest comes here to ask Peko for favours.” At the foot of the hill is Old Jüri’s soap shop. Silver Hüdsi established it in 2010, naming it after his grandfather. “I make soap in the traditional way,” Silver says, “Using holy water from the Petseri Monastery on the other side of the border, which is much harder to get hold of these days. I’m also the guardian of the hill, so it’s a chance to chat to visitors about our traditions. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else!” Our final excursion takes us half a mile into Russia. This strip of land, known as the “Saatse Boot”, is an artifact of the collapse of the Soviet Union, which left a patch of Russian territory projecting into Estonia. Until October 2025, Estonians could drive along this road without any border checks (the Russian border fence sits 100m further into the woods) but increased Russian activity has since led to the road being closed. It takes us to the village of Podmotsa, ending at a jetty overlooking a shallow branch of Lake Pihkva, where patches of ice drift between rushes and reeds. During the Soviet era, a ferry would carry Seto to their relatives on the other side, and to the church whose bells I can hear ringing out across the water. Most of the 13,000 Seto moved to Estonia after independence in 1991, with only around 100 still living in Russia. The Petseri monastery, a crucial pilgrimage site for the Seto, is just 2km from the border, but since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine it has become increasingly tricky for Setos to obtain visiting visas, and border crossings close more frequently. “Everything changed when Setomaa was divided,” Helen says, “But we don’t come here to mourn what we lost. We are too pragmatic. We live on and deal with the things that we can affect. And now Setomaa is stronger than ever. People like you are coming here to learn about Setos, and we are proud to share our stories and traditions.” How to get there Setomaa is approximately 170 miles from the Estonian capital of Tallinn and 50 miles from Tartu, the 2024 European Capital of Culture. You can hire a car to drive to Setomaa or take the train to Piusa, then use buses or bikes (it’s great for cycling). Contact Seto Tours for more information and guidance. Where to stay Kirsi Farm, near Meremäe is a lovely homestay and converted farmhouse. Host Kaidi Herdt serves up traditional meals, made from local ingredients, and you can test your endurance in the smoke sauna (a style that originates in the region), built by Kaidi’s husband Reimi. When to go Setomaa comes to life in spring, when Setos celebrate Easter (calculated by the Orthodox, rather than Gregorian, calendar). Seto Kingdom Day, in early August, is the highlight of the year, with singing, dancing, food, and a tongue-in-cheek military parade.