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Published: June 30th 2017
I first became interested in visiting the Baltic states when I heard about the Baltic Chain.
This was the longest ever chain of people holding hands, stretching 600 km between Tallinn in Estonia to Vilnius in Lithuania, passing through Riga in Latvia and numerous other towns and villages on the way.
This peaceful protest by over a million people in August 1989 was against the continuing Soviet occupation of the region and garnered worldwide attention to the cause of Baltic independence.
This was towards the end of the era of Mikhail Gorbachev’s presidency of the Soviet Union, but it was Boris Yeltsin’s rise to Presidency of the Russian Federation in 1991 that was more influential in the break up of the Soviet Union.
Russian troops finally withdrew from each country late in 1991.
My research indicated that there were plenty of hostels in these capital cities, and a handful in regional towns, so I was able to figure out an outline route around the region for the month I had available.
I started in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania.
There
is a charming medieval old town, well worth a few hours wandering around the cobbled streets. There are plenty of impressive buildings and churches.
Everyone eventually ends up in Cathedral Square, a large open area flanked by the Cathedral (obviously) and a well placed KFC.
In front of the Cathedral there is a photogenic 57m high 13thC belfry, behind it Gediminas Hill is topped by a landmark red brick tower and the Palace Of The Grand Dukes around the corner has a frontage over 100 metres long.
I also visited the former KGB headquarters, which now houses an exhibition detailing the atrocities visited on the Lithuanian population under Soviet oppression.
One of the first things I noticed was the tyranny of the little green man at zebra crossings. I normally take him as advisory, but in these countries his rule is absolute. Crowds await his instruction even in the complete absence of any traffic whatsoever.
A few times I broke ranks and crossed on my own volition, but eventually I was worn down and joined the rest of the sheeple.
I spent
a day exploring with a Ukrainian girl, Anna,from the hostel. Her prime ambition was to lose 2 kilograms in weight, which she approached by subsisting on beer, wine and chocolate.
We visited the university complex, which has an interesting array of buildings and courtyards, followed by a hearty lunch where she watched me eat while toying with her generous
cabernet sauvignon (which cost more than my meal).
The Neris river runs through the city, and is flanked by paths for a considerable distance.
Only 1km out of town there is a garden marking the burial site of resistance activists who were tortured & murdered by the Soviet regime. They combine for a contemplative walk on a sunny day.
I was lucky enough to visit Trakai on a festival day. This is the location of a charismatic castle set on an island in a lake, with easy connections for the 28km journey from Vilnius.
In addition to a scenic walk around there was a lot of elderly people exhibiting their folk singing and dancing skills (variable) and a number of oom-pah bands doing their best to
keep time.
Kaunas is the second city of Lithuania and has, on occasions, served as the capital, depending on the ebb and flow of imperialist conquests over the years.
Today it’s claim to fame is as having the longest pedestrianised street in Europe, at 1.6km. It is a shopping street with a row of trees along the middle, leading into the old town section of the city.
The old town is quite compact. I was particularly impressed with the quality of the art on display inside the cathedral. I almost didn’t go in as the cathedral doesn’t look too exciting from the outside, being made from brick rather than stone - albeit very old bricks.
The old town sits on a point at the confluence of two rivers close to strategically placed castle ruins, and attractive views can be had from atop the hill on the far bank.
In the hostel the receptionist, Gabrielle, said ‘There is folk dancing in the old town tonight. Do you want to come?’
‘Is it a load of pensioners?’ I asked.
‘Not at all. I’m going.’ she
said.
I half-heartedly said I might turn up at the appointed time. I eventually ventured to the old town about an hour after she had said, as it was supposed to go on all evening.
I found the stated location easily enough, but there was no sign of any activity. Then I heard some jaunty music and ventured towards it, only to find a room full of sweaty people in the act of actually dancing.
I guess I am so used to watching touristic events that I expected this to be a demonstration, rather than something to participate in.
Anyway, I entered the small hall and stood watching the locals swishing around to a lively three-piece accordion band.
I was watching for about 10 minutes before I caught sight of Gabrielle, sitting on a bench halfway down the hall. I waved when she looked in my direction, but she looked straight through me. Then she started dancing with a young man and studiously ignored me whenever the dancing bought her to my end of the hall.
I assumed that she was upset
Vilnius
Anna from Ukrainebecause I had turned up late.
After a while I tough that this was a bit off, so I went over to talk to her between dances.
‘Hi, I’m sorry I’m late,’ I said, ‘I was expecting a display.’
‘I’m busy,’ she said, ‘Can’t you see I’m dancing with somebody.’
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘but you invited me. At least you should dance with me.’
‘No, no,’ she said, and grabbed a young girl from the benches. ‘You can dance with her.’
By this time the music had started again, this time high tempo. I set off with this young girl, but it was pretty hopeless as I didn’t know the steps. I survived to the end of the dance, and then retreated to the wallflower benches to decide what to do.
I was quite happy watching the activity when, ten minutes later, the real Gabriella walked in.
‘Hi. How wonderful to see you. It’s great that you came. I didn’t expect to see you’ she enthused.
Oops, I thought.
How many tall brunette Lithuanian girls can there be?
‘You have
to dance,’ she said, ‘all these ladies are just waiting to be asked.’
It was true, of course. I sort of half turned, and there was a young lady in the perfect position for a request, obviously able to read the conversation.
We set off around the dance floor in a waltz. She started speaking Lithuanian, but when I alerted her to my nationality, it turned out that she was just finishing a degree in technical translation, and could speak perfect English.
She didn’t need it that much as her pronouncements were limited to ‘1-2-3, 1-2-3. You’re supposed to lead!’
I know that in theory, but in practice it’s a different matter.
Anyway, I gave it a go and spun her around with gusto, resulting in her breasts bouncing off me every sixth beat, which seemed adequate.
The next dance was another high tempo affair, involving clapping, stamping, twirling and abrupt reversals. I could tell that other participants were losing their patience as I rollerballed my way through them.
These Lithuanians were far too polite to complain, but I’m sure they were relieved
when I called it a night.
On my way out I passed the
faux Gabriella. I opened my mouth to explain, but her expression persuaded me not to bother.
The next day I went to the Lithuanian Open Air Museum.
This was basically a large patch of countryside, to which they have relocated parts of traditional village centres and a selection of old farmhouses and outbuildings from around the country.
The relocated village was inhabited by recreated artisans, the time warp effect marred by the presence of the coach, rather than the coach party.
There were some interesting examples of 16thC beehives, which were trees purposely hollowed out by farmers to attract bee colonies.
Deforestation spurred the development of stand alone beehives as we know them today.
It was a glorious day and I walked a good few kilometres to learn that farmhouses have a lot more in common than differences.
On the edge of town the Museum of the Ninth Fort houses a moving explanation of the extermination of the Jewish population by the Nazi’s.
The fort itself was the location of the Kaunas Massacre, when 10,000 Jews were shot on the edge of pits on a single day in October 1941.
I reached the Baltic sea at the port city of Klaipeda.
This was a strategic port that was obliterated during WW2, to the extent that the whole population was evacuated.
I didn’t expect much, so was particularly impressed that it has been rebuilt into a fine city of spacious boulevards and cultural parks.
I particularly enjoyed the sculpture park, where 117 pieces have been on display for about 20 years. I couldn’t help wondering how they would have faired in an English setting.
A giant sandbank called the Curonian Spit begins just offshore from Kleipeda and runs down to join the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad.
It is 98km long, and mostly between 1.5 to 2km wide. Rivers drain into the the landlocked section creating a freshwater lagoon along the mainland shore. I hadn’t realised this until I saw swans living on the waters edge.
Over the eons the spit
became forested and then occupied by fishermen. A few of the settlements have developed into modest, but quaint, towns.
A short ferry journey takes you from Klaipeda to the small town of Smiltyne toward the northern point of the spit. A wander through the forest leads to a long beach, which would be popular on a nicer day.
I took the bus south to the settlement of Juodkrante which has a sculpture laden path along the lagoon side for a few kilometres.
Just outside of the boundary there is a colony of cormorants, comprising of approximately 2300 birds nesting in the tops of the skeletal trees.
Cormorant guano is acidic, and gradually kills off the trees in which they are nesting, so they are forced to move along every few years.
At the moment there is a viewing platform and a picnic table. The guano odour was palpable, so I doubt that table sees much action.
Halfway down the spit there is a border between Lithuania and Russia. The holiday town of Nida lies here, just beneath Europe’s biggest example of a
sand dune.
The small town has a breezy holiday atmosphere, with extensive marked pathways. (There is a dedicated cycle way from here all the way back to the ferry port - 53km. few countries can be as bicycle friendly).
The beach on the opposite side of the spit has several sections: Naked males, naked females, naked families and everybody else. It was a bit chilly, so the few dedicated nudists had their jumpers on.
There is a marked route to the top of the Parnadis sand dune, at 52m above sea level.
This used to considerably higher, but erosion caused in the days of unregulated tourism is thought to have reduced its height by about 20 metres.
You are allowed to wander around on the top.
This is also an unusual place because there is a clear view to the horizon for both sunrise and sunset.
A perfect place for a sundial, and a giant one has been erected there. The needle is 13m tall and weighs 36 tons, casting its shadow on a concrete base transcribed with hours
months and various other symbols which beg for an explanation, though none was in evidence.
Worse, it was telling the time incorrectly. I was there at 11am, and the shadow was definitely falling on the 8 (I multi checked). I am in serious need of an explanation for this.
As I followed a trail through the forest, along the lagoon edge, a young elk darted out of the brush a few metres in front of me and ran off into the distance.
At this time I was travelling with Nicola, a German lady with a PhD in Land Management.
We went from Kleipeda to Liepaja in Latvia, where the bus driver uncerimoniously dumped us on the edge of town around 8pm. This was somewhat annoying as Nicola had purposely booked a guesthouse close to the bus station.
Fortunately, a friendly minibus driver dropped us in the town centre and we found our way with the mapping & GPS technology installed on her phone.
I experience a bit of tech-envy, but reasoned that I would have found my way eventually. I always have
Kaunas
Longest pedestrian street in Europe before.
Due to the long evenings in this part of the world at this time of year, we still had an hour to race around the town sights.
Travelling with Nicola was like being with a jolly school ma’am on steroids. She strode around the route until she found an interesting photo opportunity, at which point I would be called into service. She loved to strike expressive poses with expressive statues, of which there were plenty.
I think I would have benefited from a full day in Liepaja, but we were off to Kuldiga, a picturesque small town a couple of hours inland.
Another dose of old fashioned architecture, we were particularly intrigued by an unusual building in the town centre, which turned out to be the local water tower.
Normally water towers are concrete monstrosities, but I noticed several in Latvia that had been turned into eye-catching edifices - and why not?
Kuldiga is the location of Europe’s widest waterfall, about 240m from bank to bank of the Venta river. It is only the height of a man, so not much
Kaunas
Two rivers meet white water is generated.
Latvia was turning out to be more different from Lithuania than I had expected. Everywhere had a much higher preponderance of wooden buildings. Some were lovingly maintained whilst others were suffering from neglect.
Latvia is like a large area of countryside with small towns dropped in amongst the trees.
In Riga, Latvia’s capital, I landed back on the tourist trail with a bump. I stayed in a youthful party hostel called the Naughty Squirrel, where they offer you a shot on arrival, play beer pong in the common room and organise nightly pub crawls.
This is not my normal habitat, but I found the professionalism of the hostel operation adequate to make it a worthwhile stay.
I am still not sure if there are any sober hostel options, as Riga is currently the destination of choice for cheap flight & booze aficionado’s. The few tipplers that affected my sleep were bellowing up and down the street at 3am, not always in English, I might add.
Daytime Riga is occupied by tour groups following flags around the main sights.
It is difficult not to be charmed by a city of such immense beauty and style, even when it is pouring with rain.
Whilst there I did a couple of day trips.
First, to the seaside resort of Jurmala - nice beach and some ornate wooden houses to look at.
My visit to a public lavatory was marred by a woman ranting and raving at the top of her voice in the Ladies section. I wondered what was going on, but decided it was better to make a discreet exit.
A few hours later, I thought I would just visit again prior to my train back to Riga. I was most surprised to hear this mad woman still going at it when I went in. I had assumed she would be long gone.
The racket continued as I completed my business and washed my hands. then something caught my eye in a mirror. It was a hand waving out of a tiny gap in the wall, which I identified as the source of all the noise.
It turned out that users were
Kaunas
Lithuanian Open Air Museum supposed to pay and a lady esconced in a tiny compartment had been trying to attract my attention. Still, I only paid for the one visit - a genuine example of BOGOF.
Sigulda is a pleasant town with two castles to investigate, both worth the effort. They are about 5km apart, much of which is a walk through parkland and forest.
Along the way there is a cave which has been used by graffiti artists for hundreds of years.
In the Middle Ages graffiti was a much more arduous task. People used to carve their coat of arms into the rock face.
The oldest surviving example is from the 1600’s, carved over efforts created over the previous few hundred years. Chad wasn’t here.
It is thought that continuous carving has reduced the thickness of the rock walls by around half a metre over the years.
Travelling by bus and train in Latvia and Lithuania, the scenery is mainly trees of the forest, with many stops apparently in the middle of nowhere (where are those people going?).
Crossing into Estonia,
Kaunas
Lithuanian Open Air Museum the views open up almost immediately. The road cut across fields of Rye (allegedly) and occasional livestock, such that there was actually a horizon.
The hostel in Estonia’s second town Tarta, was situated right on the main square.
It was on the top floor of the only bland building in sight, coming with the benefits of a self service breakfast and a laid back atmosphere for 12 Euros a night.
The bells on the top of the Town Hall chimed hourly. Every 3 hours they played a charming rendition of a tune I recognised but struggled to identify.
I challenged the receptionist to identify it and was most impressed when she told me it was
Minuet by J.S Bach. Actually, it was a different tune,
Minuet in G Major, and it was not written by Bach but a lesser known compatriot named Christian Petzold. Apart from that she was 100%!r(MISSING)ight.
This was another medieval town centre. There was also a residential area of interesting large wooden houses nearby, no doubt of a lesser vintage.
There were a couple of malls in
the new town, dealing exclusively in expensive designer brands. I wondered where the ordinary people go to buy their clothes. There is probably a Sports Direct on the outskirts somewhere (that’s the main brand I have seen from the UK).
There was a Japanese lady in the dormitory who told me that she spent 2 to 3 hours each day looking for 4-leaf clovers. Apparently she was the fourth of four children and considered herself lucky to be here, thereby having an affinity with a 4-leaf clover.
As the conversation developed, she showed me the photo’s of the clovers she had found that day and then dug out her book of pressed 4-leaf clovers. Some were surprisingly large.
She then spent an inordinate length of time on Google Translate, only to come up with the word ‘mutation’. I entered ‘low frequency phenotypic expression’, but the resulting translation didn’t do anything for her.
The Japanese lady said she had been to Parnu, but left after 3 hours. I had booked a hostel for the night, so didn’t have that option.
Three hours would have been adequate.
It is a nicely landscaped town with a nice bit of beach. Lots of families and pavement cafes.
I went to the Museum of New Art, which is supposed to be pushing the cultural envelope. The only envelope I would have been interested in would have contained a refund.
I took the bus and ferry to the island of Saaremaar.
I was not expecting to come here, but I discovered a new hostel had just opened in the main town of Kuressaare, so I thought I would give it a try.
First impressions of the town were very positive, and I soon found my way to the hostel, which had the only dorm accommodation in town.
The dormitory was an office space with a load of bunk beds squeezed in, along with a shower, sink, fridge and a few bean bags in case anybody wanted to sit down.
I got the impression that the owner had never actually been in a hostel before, but had spotted a gap in the market.
Curtains would have been a
bonus, as the expanse of windows looked out on to the car park.
It was ok as long as I was the only guest. I rigged a towel up around a lower bunk to reduce my exposure to the midnight sun.
Nicola had been travelling a similar route to me, but in more auspicious accommodation, and we met up the next day to visit the castle.
This was a much grander affair than we had anticipated, and it took a couple of hours to get around all the displays including regional stuffed animals, medieval mystery and heraldry through to recent occupation and emancipation.
Estonia’s capital, Tallinn, is easily the highlight of a visit to the country.
The old town is big enough to accommodate the thousands of visitors that disembark from multiple cruise ships on a daily basis.
The fortunes of the city have ebbed and flowed over the centuries, but modern day restoration has preserved sufficient architectural splendours to impress even the most travel weary (should such people exist).
Photo opportunities abound among the cobbled streets and the
Juodkrante
Cormorant colony cruise ships themselves are pretty impressive.
I was there for the summer solstice. The longest day of the year is a national holiday in Estonia.
I realised that it had been a while since I had seen proper night-time darkness, as it was still light when I went to bed and when I got up.
This trip yielded a life enhancing discovery in the form of Kvass, a dark drink traditionally made from the fermentation of rye bread. It was introduced to me as a non-alcoholic beverage, but I doubted this as I felt a bit tipsy after my first couple of glasses. Actually it contains about 0.5% alcohol, which is considered a soft drink in this part of the world.
The rye bread itself is also wonderful. So good you can eat it straight.
I will be checking out the Polish supermarkets in the UK.
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