Updating the Grand Tour: Travel, Teaching, and the European Built Environment
–
Article for the UpGranT book Workbook of Affinities published by the Univeristy of Porto.
1
I would like to begin my review of the UpGranT project with my most
recent travel experience with students. As this text was written while I was
on the road, several methodological questions arose during the trip, which
I will address here. In the second part of the essay, I will turn to the broader
topics of the UpGranT project.
At the beginning of 2026, we participated with our students in Ghent at the
invitation of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts of Ghent (KASK) in the inter‑
national workshop Imagining Tomorrow International, attended by over a
hundred students from Belgium, the Netherlands, France, Poland, Finland,
Estonia, and India. Over ten days, students of interior architecture and other
disciplines explored questions related to the everyday needs of real clients.
Some students were assigned to a group tasked with improving the lives of
prisoners – for many, their first visit to a prison was a shock – while others
tackled less serious challenges, such as marketing French fries (which, as it
turns out, should actually be called Belgian fries).
2
For many Indian students, this was their first trip to Europe, while some
of my own students canceled at the last minute, citing the need for rest. Hav‑
ing grown up in Estonia, which was not yet part of the European Union, and
for whom any kind of travel in youth had been a rare luxury that could not
be skipped, I found such behavior hard to understand. While it was taken
for granted that French and Dutch students would travel to Ghent by train,
students from Eastern and Northern Europe – and, of course, India – had to
fly, increasing their ecological footprint. One Finnish student chose to travel
by ship and train, adding three extra days of travel in each direction. During
the free weekend, students from more distant countries visited nearby cities
such as Amsterdam, Paris, and London, while others enjoyed the privilege
of “taking time off” and explored Ghent itself.
3
During those two weeks, I observed what traveling and studying in a new
environment meant for myself, my colleagues, and the participating BA ‑level
students. First, thinking about our hosts – organizing an Erasmus+ BIP work ‑
shop with over a hundred participants is no small feat. Even when arranging
international cooperation projects is part of a lecturer’s formal duties and may
be accompanied by salary or praise, coordinating a workshop on this scale,
in my view, requires a very high level of intrinsic motivation. This is especially
true when practical obstacles arise, such as finding enough workspaces for
all students without unduly disrupting local students or colleagues. Projects
like these are undertaken out of a genuine sense of mission.
4
In pan ‑European projects, it is common to find slogans like “strengthen‑
ing European identity and active citizenship” or “embedded common Euro‑
pean values” in the applications. On paper, these phrases may seem hollow,
but having participated in numerous EU ‑funded partnerships, I have nev‑
er doubted their real significance. In fact, working within this Euro ‑positive
“bubble”, I often find myself puzzled: where do all the Euro ‑skeptics come
from, and is it perhaps that our academic and professional environment is so
privileged and somewhat detached from reality that such reactionary views
never reach us?
5
What are the common European values that students are meant to expe‑
rience and internalize when they travel? I am fascinated by the dialectic of
the European experience: in a new place, you can, on the one hand, endless‑
ly “zoom in” to the local situation, and on the other, “zoom out” and imagine
how far the boundaries of that context – or of Europe itself – extend.
During my undergraduate studies, I spent a year in London (then still part
of the EU) and realised how the entire world seemed to converge there.
Considering London’s egalitarian public transport system, one could even
argue that it is more “European” than many other European capitals. Later,
as a master’s student in St. Petersburg, I experienced how strongly my own
country’s culture and society – and Europe as a whole – are intertwined with
Russia, and how risky it can be if our communication remains superficial
and is not supported by institutional networks. During my doctoral studies
in Portugal, I became aware that the Iberian Peninsula is inseparable from
South America. In other words, while the European Union has clear geo‑
graphic borders, its values reach far beyond them.
I do not wish to overstate the European experience, but I believe that for
students studying and traveling in this context, this kind of multidirectional
spatial awareness – my street, my neighborhood, my city, my county, my
country, my Europe, my Earth – is a natural and common framework for un‑
derstanding and making sense of the world.
6
Although my own university participates in the Erasmus Mundus glob‑
al mobility scheme and long ‑term student trips to other continents are in‑
creasingly common, I see that there is still considerable room for growth in
terms of global research projects and faculty mobility. While the global cir‑
culation of goods and data in the capitalist world seems all ‑encompassing,
the movement of ideas and knowledge is much more constrained, which
contributes to uneven institutional and infrastructural development. At the
same time, ubiquitous social media has created an unexpected effect: stu‑
dents in Tallinn, Ghent, and Mumbai often inhabit a startlingly homoge‑
neous information environment, quickly picking up references to global
memes and trends. In this context, the heartfelt speeches of faculty mem‑
bers about the need for friendship between nations may seem almost
quaint – or even absurd – to today’s twenty ‑somethings: “What are you
talking about? That’s obvious!”
7
At the same time, I harbor no illusions that humanity as a whole is par‑
ticularly capable of progress, or that international solidarity will steadi‑
ly advance. With this in mind, I have set myself a modest – but perhaps
unrealistically ambitious – goal as a teacher: that no bad person should
emerge from my students. How does one measure the success of such an
ambition? There is no other option than to live to a good old age, main‑
taining both mental and physical fitness, so that one day I can look back
on my work and evaluate it. Along this journey, I have many role models,
drawing on various forms of knowledge – both intuitive and learned from
academic literature. One principle, supported by my own experience, the
experiences of colleagues, student feedback, and research, is that travel
carries both personal and creative benefits. The only “but” is that mapping
these results is, as is often the case in the humanities, methodologically
challenging. It was precisely this challenge that became the focus of the
present research project.
8
I would like to draw some main conclusions: even in the second half of
the 20th century and into the early 21st century, the classic destinations of the
Grand Tour – the ancient heritage of Greece and Italy – have retained their
significance in architectural education. Furthermore, through several inter‑
views and conversations, a pattern emerged: when architects look back on
their studies, they often feel that their education was incomplete or that they
did not discover what they were truly seeking. Only after leaving school and
traveling independently did they fully grasp their profession. This insightwas confirmed to me in Ghent by one of Belgium’s leading architects, Paul
Robbrecht, whose office we visited with the students to study his work. At
the same time, this cliché reflects a centuries ‑old European tradition: the
Wanderjahre remain an essential part of the Freudian “academic patricide”,
as well as a practical necessity – an opportunity to encounter new and unfa‑
miliar situations that the safe walls of the school cannot provide.
9
With this in mind, it was gratifying for us, while conducting this study –
Updating the Grand Tour: Memory and Invention of the European Built
Environment – to observe that curious architecture students and young
architects from Estonia have consistently found ways to discover the world,
regardless of socio ‑economic circumstances. This was true both under an
authoritarian police state like the Soviet Union, where very few people could
travel at all, and in the early 1990s post ‑socialist Republic of Estonia, when
a single plane ticket abroad could cost more than a student’s parents’ entire
annual income. Against this backdrop, the current situation – where three‑quarters
of students at the Faculty of Architecture of the Estonian Academy
of Arts spend at least one semester at a foreign university – feels almost like
another planet.
10
In the case of Estonian architectural history, it becomes clear that the
role models shaping architecture in different decades are fairly distinct –
Germany in the interwar period, Finland and the Nordic countries in the six‑
ties and seventies, and Denmark and the Netherlands in the nineties and
2000s. Yet drawing concrete lines between the houses built in Estonia and
the models that inspired them – including the cities and buildings encoun‑
tered on trips – remains largely vague and hypothetical. The architects we
interviewed for this research project generously shared experiences and
encounters that influenced them, but they rarely “reveal” exact references.
And this is understandable – after all, even the architect herself often does
not know where her ideas originate. It can be said that architects are deeply
imbued with the exemplary buildings and travel experiences they encounter.
At the same time, one recurring insight from these conversations is that the
greatest enrichment – both human and artistic – comes from exposure to
differences, contrasts, and even conflicts. It is perhaps no surprise, then, that
many theories of creativity emphasize that the spark of new ideas lies in the
collision of different sign systems.
11
Regarding the UpGrant project’s goal of developing a methodology
for travel ‑related teaching and learning, this three ‑year study has provided
numerous opportunities for reflection and experimentation. For decades,
learning outside the classroom has been a cornerstone of the curriculum
at the Department of Interior Architecture of the Estonian Academy of Arts.
Throughout the department’s hundred ‑year history, annual summer intern‑
ships in measuring, painting, and construction have traditionally taken stu‑
dents away from city life for several weeks or months. These camps – often
held on isolated islands – have offered students not only practical skills but
also the chance to forge strong bonds with each other, laying the foundation
for countless fond memories and legends. At the same time, such immersive
experiences challenge students to assimilate into a new community and
confront questions of identity: Who am I? Why am I here? What am I doing?
What can I give back to the locals? These are questions that cannot be ad‑
dressed through short ‑term, fast ‑paced, or mass ‑tourism ‑like excursions. We
urgently need ways to support students’ long ‑term studies and internships
abroad. In other words, it is not enough to simply visit architectural master‑
pieces; one must also confront oneself – as a work of art, or as a crisis – in
the making.
12
When traveling with students, I always ask them to prepare tours of the
places we visit. I usually assign most of the topics myself but leave a few open
so that there is room for surprise. For example, during our recent visit to the
Venice Architecture Biennale, I asked students to prepare tours on the history
of Venice, the history of biennales, post ‑war Italian design and architecture,
and Carlo Scarpa’s work. One student, who chose a free topic, gave a pres‑
entation on Venice in computer games, revealing the city from an unexpect‑
ed perspective through a digital twin. Another student guided us through the
“most beautiful supermarket in the world” (Teatro Italia Despar), delivering
an impressive talk among pastries and wine bottles. Personally, I also greatly
enjoyed how the Polimi students introduced us to Milan during the UpGrant
tour – it was clear they did so with both respect and responsibility.
13
On the other hand, it seems to me – a point confirmed by experience
on UpGrant trips – that student ‑led guided tours should always be comple‑
mented by presentations from teachers, professional architects, and other
local experts, offering a convivial master’s perspective. Exemplary pres‑
entations of history and architecture are a vital part of architectural culture,
establishing the discursive quality that shapes subsequent discussions. The
speaking – and writing – architect is a long ‑standing European tradition, and
history shows that without active architectural criticism and theory, architec‑
ture itself risks stagnation. Noticing how students often struggle with writing
assignments, I have consistently required them to keep a diary alongside
sketching and note ‑taking, especially when traveling abroad. More often
than not, it is these travel notebooks that unlock their textual and visual po‑
tential, turning them into active writers and sketchers.
14
Lastly, I would like to highlight a distinction specific to our department
in this project. Unlike architects, interior architects often work from the in‑
side out, responding to existing spaces. Frequently, the starting point is the
moral or functional inadequacy of the architectural shell – its rigidity, inflexi‑
bility, or simply unreasonable form. It may sound anecdotal, but many of our
study assignments are born from problems created by architects (or even
the missteps of other interior architects). For a traveling interior architect,
the first question is whether a space enables meaningful encounters for its
users. Beyond that, they notice and ask which forms and transitional zones
between public and private space exist in one country but not in their own –
and which of these might be worth testing. Short ‑term spatial interventions
are one of the interior architect’s key tools in this exploration.
Of course, I am exaggerating the apparent tension between architects and
interior architects, which in many contexts is not so fundamental. Yet, within
the framework of the UpGrant project, it has been fascinating to observe
how our students sometimes remain indifferent to urban planning or typo‑
morphological issues, while their attention is drawn to construction and
finishing materials – or the (sometimes terrible) acoustics of a room. This,
I believe, is one of the most rewarding aspects of the research project: learn‑
ing across disciplines and architectural cultures, and gaining the opportunity
to reconsider the architecture of our own country through the spatial lens of
other European experiences.
I would like to begin my review of the UpGranT project with my most
recent travel experience with students. As this text was written while I was
on the road, several methodological questions arose during the trip, which
I will address here. In the second part of the essay, I will turn to the broader
topics of the UpGranT project.
At the beginning of 2026, we participated with our students in Ghent at the
invitation of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts of Ghent (KASK) in the inter‑
national workshop Imagining Tomorrow International, attended by over a
hundred students from Belgium, the Netherlands, France, Poland, Finland,
Estonia, and India. Over ten days, students of interior architecture and other
disciplines explored questions related to the everyday needs of real clients.
Some students were assigned to a group tasked with improving the lives of
prisoners – for many, their first visit to a prison was a shock – while others
tackled less serious challenges, such as marketing French fries (which, as it
turns out, should actually be called Belgian fries).
2
For many Indian students, this was their first trip to Europe, while some
of my own students canceled at the last minute, citing the need for rest. Hav‑
ing grown up in Estonia, which was not yet part of the European Union, and
for whom any kind of travel in youth had been a rare luxury that could not
be skipped, I found such behavior hard to understand. While it was taken
for granted that French and Dutch students would travel to Ghent by train,
students from Eastern and Northern Europe – and, of course, India – had to
fly, increasing their ecological footprint. One Finnish student chose to travel
by ship and train, adding three extra days of travel in each direction. During
the free weekend, students from more distant countries visited nearby cities
such as Amsterdam, Paris, and London, while others enjoyed the privilege
of “taking time off” and explored Ghent itself.
3
During those two weeks, I observed what traveling and studying in a new
environment meant for myself, my colleagues, and the participating BA ‑level
students. First, thinking about our hosts – organizing an Erasmus+ BIP work ‑
shop with over a hundred participants is no small feat. Even when arranging
international cooperation projects is part of a lecturer’s formal duties and may
be accompanied by salary or praise, coordinating a workshop on this scale,
in my view, requires a very high level of intrinsic motivation. This is especially
true when practical obstacles arise, such as finding enough workspaces for
all students without unduly disrupting local students or colleagues. Projects
like these are undertaken out of a genuine sense of mission.
4
In pan ‑European projects, it is common to find slogans like “strengthen‑
ing European identity and active citizenship” or “embedded common Euro‑
pean values” in the applications. On paper, these phrases may seem hollow,
but having participated in numerous EU ‑funded partnerships, I have nev‑
er doubted their real significance. In fact, working within this Euro ‑positive
“bubble”, I often find myself puzzled: where do all the Euro ‑skeptics come
from, and is it perhaps that our academic and professional environment is so
privileged and somewhat detached from reality that such reactionary views
never reach us?
5
What are the common European values that students are meant to expe‑
rience and internalize when they travel? I am fascinated by the dialectic of
the European experience: in a new place, you can, on the one hand, endless‑
ly “zoom in” to the local situation, and on the other, “zoom out” and imagine
how far the boundaries of that context – or of Europe itself – extend.
During my undergraduate studies, I spent a year in London (then still part
of the EU) and realised how the entire world seemed to converge there.
Considering London’s egalitarian public transport system, one could even
argue that it is more “European” than many other European capitals. Later,
as a master’s student in St. Petersburg, I experienced how strongly my own
country’s culture and society – and Europe as a whole – are intertwined with
Russia, and how risky it can be if our communication remains superficial
and is not supported by institutional networks. During my doctoral studies
in Portugal, I became aware that the Iberian Peninsula is inseparable from
South America. In other words, while the European Union has clear geo‑
graphic borders, its values reach far beyond them.
I do not wish to overstate the European experience, but I believe that for
students studying and traveling in this context, this kind of multidirectional
spatial awareness – my street, my neighborhood, my city, my county, my
country, my Europe, my Earth – is a natural and common framework for un‑
derstanding and making sense of the world.
6
Although my own university participates in the Erasmus Mundus glob‑
al mobility scheme and long ‑term student trips to other continents are in‑
creasingly common, I see that there is still considerable room for growth in
terms of global research projects and faculty mobility. While the global cir‑
culation of goods and data in the capitalist world seems all ‑encompassing,
the movement of ideas and knowledge is much more constrained, which
contributes to uneven institutional and infrastructural development. At the
same time, ubiquitous social media has created an unexpected effect: stu‑
dents in Tallinn, Ghent, and Mumbai often inhabit a startlingly homoge‑
neous information environment, quickly picking up references to global
memes and trends. In this context, the heartfelt speeches of faculty mem‑
bers about the need for friendship between nations may seem almost
quaint – or even absurd – to today’s twenty ‑somethings: “What are you
talking about? That’s obvious!”
7
At the same time, I harbor no illusions that humanity as a whole is par‑
ticularly capable of progress, or that international solidarity will steadi‑
ly advance. With this in mind, I have set myself a modest – but perhaps
unrealistically ambitious – goal as a teacher: that no bad person should
emerge from my students. How does one measure the success of such an
ambition? There is no other option than to live to a good old age, main‑
taining both mental and physical fitness, so that one day I can look back
on my work and evaluate it. Along this journey, I have many role models,
drawing on various forms of knowledge – both intuitive and learned from
academic literature. One principle, supported by my own experience, the
experiences of colleagues, student feedback, and research, is that travel
carries both personal and creative benefits. The only “but” is that mapping
these results is, as is often the case in the humanities, methodologically
challenging. It was precisely this challenge that became the focus of the
present research project.
8
I would like to draw some main conclusions: even in the second half of
the 20th century and into the early 21st century, the classic destinations of the
Grand Tour – the ancient heritage of Greece and Italy – have retained their
significance in architectural education. Furthermore, through several inter‑
views and conversations, a pattern emerged: when architects look back on
their studies, they often feel that their education was incomplete or that they
did not discover what they were truly seeking. Only after leaving school and
traveling independently did they fully grasp their profession. This insightwas confirmed to me in Ghent by one of Belgium’s leading architects, Paul
Robbrecht, whose office we visited with the students to study his work. At
the same time, this cliché reflects a centuries ‑old European tradition: the
Wanderjahre remain an essential part of the Freudian “academic patricide”,
as well as a practical necessity – an opportunity to encounter new and unfa‑
miliar situations that the safe walls of the school cannot provide.
9
With this in mind, it was gratifying for us, while conducting this study –
Updating the Grand Tour: Memory and Invention of the European Built
Environment – to observe that curious architecture students and young
architects from Estonia have consistently found ways to discover the world,
regardless of socio ‑economic circumstances. This was true both under an
authoritarian police state like the Soviet Union, where very few people could
travel at all, and in the early 1990s post ‑socialist Republic of Estonia, when
a single plane ticket abroad could cost more than a student’s parents’ entire
annual income. Against this backdrop, the current situation – where three‑quarters
of students at the Faculty of Architecture of the Estonian Academy
of Arts spend at least one semester at a foreign university – feels almost like
another planet.
10
In the case of Estonian architectural history, it becomes clear that the
role models shaping architecture in different decades are fairly distinct –
Germany in the interwar period, Finland and the Nordic countries in the six‑
ties and seventies, and Denmark and the Netherlands in the nineties and
2000s. Yet drawing concrete lines between the houses built in Estonia and
the models that inspired them – including the cities and buildings encoun‑
tered on trips – remains largely vague and hypothetical. The architects we
interviewed for this research project generously shared experiences and
encounters that influenced them, but they rarely “reveal” exact references.
And this is understandable – after all, even the architect herself often does
not know where her ideas originate. It can be said that architects are deeply
imbued with the exemplary buildings and travel experiences they encounter.
At the same time, one recurring insight from these conversations is that the
greatest enrichment – both human and artistic – comes from exposure to
differences, contrasts, and even conflicts. It is perhaps no surprise, then, that
many theories of creativity emphasize that the spark of new ideas lies in the
collision of different sign systems.
11
Regarding the UpGrant project’s goal of developing a methodology
for travel ‑related teaching and learning, this three ‑year study has provided
numerous opportunities for reflection and experimentation. For decades,
learning outside the classroom has been a cornerstone of the curriculum
at the Department of Interior Architecture of the Estonian Academy of Arts.
Throughout the department’s hundred ‑year history, annual summer intern‑
ships in measuring, painting, and construction have traditionally taken stu‑
dents away from city life for several weeks or months. These camps – often
held on isolated islands – have offered students not only practical skills but
also the chance to forge strong bonds with each other, laying the foundation
for countless fond memories and legends. At the same time, such immersive
experiences challenge students to assimilate into a new community and
confront questions of identity: Who am I? Why am I here? What am I doing?
What can I give back to the locals? These are questions that cannot be ad‑
dressed through short ‑term, fast ‑paced, or mass ‑tourism ‑like excursions. We
urgently need ways to support students’ long ‑term studies and internships
abroad. In other words, it is not enough to simply visit architectural master‑
pieces; one must also confront oneself – as a work of art, or as a crisis – in
the making.
12
When traveling with students, I always ask them to prepare tours of the
places we visit. I usually assign most of the topics myself but leave a few open
so that there is room for surprise. For example, during our recent visit to the
Venice Architecture Biennale, I asked students to prepare tours on the history
of Venice, the history of biennales, post ‑war Italian design and architecture,
and Carlo Scarpa’s work. One student, who chose a free topic, gave a pres‑
entation on Venice in computer games, revealing the city from an unexpect‑
ed perspective through a digital twin. Another student guided us through the
“most beautiful supermarket in the world” (Teatro Italia Despar), delivering
an impressive talk among pastries and wine bottles. Personally, I also greatly
enjoyed how the Polimi students introduced us to Milan during the UpGrant
tour – it was clear they did so with both respect and responsibility.
13
On the other hand, it seems to me – a point confirmed by experience
on UpGrant trips – that student ‑led guided tours should always be comple‑
mented by presentations from teachers, professional architects, and other
local experts, offering a convivial master’s perspective. Exemplary pres‑
entations of history and architecture are a vital part of architectural culture,
establishing the discursive quality that shapes subsequent discussions. The
speaking – and writing – architect is a long ‑standing European tradition, and
history shows that without active architectural criticism and theory, architec‑
ture itself risks stagnation. Noticing how students often struggle with writing
assignments, I have consistently required them to keep a diary alongside
sketching and note ‑taking, especially when traveling abroad. More often
than not, it is these travel notebooks that unlock their textual and visual po‑
tential, turning them into active writers and sketchers.
14
Lastly, I would like to highlight a distinction specific to our department
in this project. Unlike architects, interior architects often work from the in‑
side out, responding to existing spaces. Frequently, the starting point is the
moral or functional inadequacy of the architectural shell – its rigidity, inflexi‑
bility, or simply unreasonable form. It may sound anecdotal, but many of our
study assignments are born from problems created by architects (or even
the missteps of other interior architects). For a traveling interior architect,
the first question is whether a space enables meaningful encounters for its
users. Beyond that, they notice and ask which forms and transitional zones
between public and private space exist in one country but not in their own –
and which of these might be worth testing. Short ‑term spatial interventions
are one of the interior architect’s key tools in this exploration.
Of course, I am exaggerating the apparent tension between architects and
interior architects, which in many contexts is not so fundamental. Yet, within
the framework of the UpGrant project, it has been fascinating to observe
how our students sometimes remain indifferent to urban planning or typo‑
morphological issues, while their attention is drawn to construction and
finishing materials – or the (sometimes terrible) acoustics of a room. This,
I believe, is one of the most rewarding aspects of the research project: learn‑
ing across disciplines and architectural cultures, and gaining the opportunity
to reconsider the architecture of our own country through the spatial lens of
other European experiences.
Add a comment