Summer Solstice

Don’t look now, but from here on the days will be growing shorter.  That’s what the summer solstice is all about, and worldwide the event is marked by festivals and other “Midsummer” celebrations of one kind or another.  To a certain extent Christianity has appropriated the pagan holiday by merging it with the celebration of the feast day of Saint John the Baptist (June 24, or the evening of the 23^rd).  Note that John the Baptist is thought to have been born six months before Jesus.

From Wikipedia, we learn that

In Lithuania the festival is known as “Joninės” or “Rasos” (Dew Holiday).  The traditions include singing songs and dancing until the sun sets, telling tales, searching to find the magic fern blossom at midnight, jumping over bonfires, greeting the rising midsummer sun and washing the face with a morning dew, young girls float flower wreaths on the water of river or lake.  These are customs brought from pagan culture and beliefs.

Yes, up there at the top of this post is a maiden with a flower wreath—our Lady of Gedimino Prospektas.  I don’t know if that’s Saint John’s Wort in her hair or not (I don’t think so), but in Vilnius specifically, celebration of the summer solstice/Saint John the Baptist Feast Day seems to be associated with exactly the same kind of street fair/folk festival that was mounted in Šiauliai a few weeks ago (in fact, it attracted a few of the same vendors) featuring wooden kitchen utensils, accordion music, a light alcoholic drink called gira, and lots of beef and venison jerky.  What’s not to like?

In part because it took place on the avenue in front of our hotel, the Midsummer solstice celebration  in Vilnius proved to be quite a distraction on a day for which we had already prepared a long agenda.  So after wandering around the stalls for a bit, we boarded a #2 trolleybus in the direction of the train station (stotis, not to be confused with solstice), hopping out to join the throng of tourists who had descended upon the Aušros Varai (Gates of Dawn), attracted by this city’s answer to the Shroud of Turin.  It’s called Our Lady of the Gate of Dawn, or sometimes simply the Vilnius Madonna, and she is said to have miracle-working powers.  There were no miracles in store for us.  We stood in the queue for a long time, but never got a close look at the icon, so the image below is taken off the internet:

 

From the mob scene at the Gates of Dawn, we strolled through the old town; at one point I turned around to shoot a photograph down Aušros Vartų gatvé (see photo, below). 

 

There are some lovely baroque churches in this neighborhood, including the Church of Saint Casimir (1618), pictured below.  During the Soviet occupation it was turned into a Museum of Atheism.

 

The town hall also is located in this part of the city.  As it was Saturday, the district was teeming with brides and grooms, which offered an opportunity for a photo of Our Lady of Pilies gatvé, below.

 

And so ends our Lithuanian adventure.  This blog post will be published upon our return to the United States, or maybe from Copenhagen, where we will be changing planes.  It's been a great experience for us both, and we hope for you, too.  Thanks for coming along for the ride and for discovering with us the many charms of Lithuania.

 

Trakai

The capital of Lithuania is Vilnius.  But between the two world wars of the twentieth century, the capital was Kaunas.  During the medieval fluorescence of Lithuania, the capital was Trakai, which is about 30 kilometers from Vilnius.  Trakai was a fourteenth-century castle with the usual accoutrements; it is situated on an island in a chain of lakes.  For me the most interesting thing about Trakai is the role of the Karaites in the history of the medieval Lithuanian state. 

This is what our Lonely Planet guide has to say about the Karaites:

The peaceful ruins of Trakai's Peninsula Castle, built from 1362 to 1382 by Kestutis and destroyed in the 17th century, are a little south of the island castle....  The peninsula itself is dotted with old wooden cottages, many built by the Karaites, a Judaic sect and Turkic minority originating in Baghdad, which adheres to the Law of Moses.  Their descendants were brought to Trakai from the Crimea in around 1400 to serve as bodyguards.  Only 12 families (60 Karaites) live in Trakai and their numbers--280 in Lithuania--are dwindling, prompting fears that the country's smallest ethnic minority is dying out....  Their beautifully restored early-19th-century Kenessa can be visited but there are not set opening times.

Luckily for the Karaites, it seems that their Turkic ethnicity trumped their Judaism, which is why they were exempted from the Holocaust.  Here are the Knessa (next photo, below) and some of the houses (underneath that) they built in Trakai.

Before Trakai, in the dim recesses of the Lithuanian past, the capital was Kernave, the remains of which are largely archaeological.

Both Kernave and Trakai are UNESCO World Heritage sites.  We spent yesterday in Trakai; here are the photos. 

In the Shadow of the University

 

Yesterday we took advantage of our growing familiarity with old town Vilnius by spreading out from Cathedral Square and its statue of the Grand Duke Gediminas (see photo, above), and down Pilies gatvė in the direction of St. Anne’s Church (see photo, below).  St. Anne’s is a Gothic wonder that was famously admired by Napoleon, who was said to have wanted to spirit it away “in the palm of his hand” to Paris. 

As you can probably tell from the photo of St. Anne's, it was an unusual day weather-wise, as the skies would change dramatically in a matter of minutes.  I took a few pictures during the sunny moments.  The one below was taken in the Bernardinų sodas (Bernardine gardens). 

 

Nearby, there is a monument to the memory of Adam Mickiewicz (1798-1855), “the Lithuanian Goethe,” who is considered the national poet of Lithuania, Poland, and Belarus.  Mickiewicz (see photo, below) graduated from the Imperial University of Vilnius and taught in Kaunas before reconciling himself to political exile and a peripatetic existence in the great capitals of European intellectual life.  

 

For Jane’s former colleagues at the Folger Shakespeare Library, here’s a photo of the entrance to the Shakespeare Hotel, which is just a block or so from St. Anne’s. 

 

Back in Pilies gatvė, we stopped for lunch at a restaurant called Aula.  Ken had mushroom soup served in a dark bread bowl.  Jane had a colorful beetroot soup with baked dill potatoes.  Labai skanu!  

 

Then last night we attended a performance of Handel’s oratorio, Alexander’s Feast, which was a treat for both the eyes and ears, as explained here.  It was performed at the Vilnius Opera House (photo copied from Internet, below), which reminded us of the Kennedy Center (i.e., it's ugly), though it's nicer on the inside, and the acoustics are terrific.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pilies gatvė

 

 

We arrived to find a juggernaut and a posse of Hare Krishnas (see photo, above) camped out in the park across the street from our hotel.  Always a little unnerving, those juggernauts.  Welcome to Vilnius.

We finally made it to the most photogenic part of the old town yesterday, and it’s pretty special.  You could spend a month in the linen and amber shops alone, and even then you’d probably miss a few. 

So here is a photomontage of buildings on Pilies gatvė.  And today, we are off to Trakai.

 

 

 

And finally, it wouldn't be an authentic Lithuanian experience without some reminder of the Jewish contribution to national culture, reminiscent of the Isaiah Berlin plaque that we discovered on the side of an apartment building in Riga.  From Old Town Vilnius:

  

 

 





Sue's Indian Raja

So, thanks to our Šiauliai University driver and van, we are back in Vilnius, where our adventure began in January, and where we will try to decompress for our flight home on Monday, June 23. 

We really loved Šiauliai, but it is not as cosmopolitan as Vilnius, and so we now have a welcome opportunity to indulge in a few earthly pleasures, which began today with chicken quesadillas and flautas at Tres Mexicanos (see photo, above), and ended with chicken tikka masala and curry, with cucumber raita and naan (and gin and tonics) at Sue’s Indian Raja, which is ideally situated across the street from Vilnius Cathedral (see the selfie of Ken taken on Sue’s patio, below).  As for the curious name of this establishment, it helps to learn (which we did from the menu last night) that Sue was an Indian woman, a Chaudhary, whose husband keeps her name on the marque out of devotion to her memory. 

 

 

We squeezed in a few other activities yesterday. 

 

 

We paid our respects to King Mindaugas, in front of the Lithuanian National Museum and underneath Gediminas’s Tower, all of which are shown in the photo, above.  Then we took the funicular railroad (or incline, for yinz Pittsburghers out there), up to the top of the castle for a spectacular view of the city (see photos, below).

 

 

Today (a dreary one, 46 degrees Fahrenheit--see raindrops on hotel room window, below) we will check in with our friends in the U.S. Embassy.

Later, Wednesday, June 18:  Lunch at Plieno Paukste with Rasa Baukuviene (far right in the photo below) and her colleague, Sarah J. Talalay (far left).  Sarah is the new cultural attaché at the U.S. Embassy in Vilnius.

 

Winding Down

As the days grow longer (sunrise today was 4:40 a.m., sunset will be 10:14), our time in Lithuania grows short.  We have had a memorable semester, and now final exams have been administered and graded, library books and keys have been returned to their rightful owners, and we have had a farewell lunch with Elders Marshall and Petersen, the ranking Mormon missionaries here in lovably funky Šiauliai. 

Inevitably, bidding farewell requires a sentimental journey, consisting in this case of random tidbits and loose ends that have eluded tidying up here on Baltic Avenue.  Better buckle up! 

* * *

One of the things I’ll remember most vividly about Lithuania is that people here are perhaps a little too self-deprecating, which means that Jane and I were spitting into the wind when we argued that the country should market itself more aggressively.  We Americans, by contrast, are so good at marketing that we sometimes forget to deliver the substance of the thing we're trying to sell.  Surely there is a middle ground here between their modesty and our shameless hyperbole.  

That said, I continue to believe that there is room for the Hill of Crosses (see photo, above) on the list of UNESCO World Heritage sites.  The marketing campaign on behalf of the site should start with Roman Catholics, but should not be limited to them.  Others likely to be interested in the Hill of Crosses would include cultural tourists, hikers, bikers, and everyone who has ever been to Santiago de Compostela or Canterbury.  

Another Šiauliai site that should be exploited more aggressively by the Ministry of Tourism is the Gubernija brewery, which was founded in 1665 (!) and makes a first-rate beer.  I love their porter.  Who wouldn't want a tour and a tasting?   

I hope, too, now that the magnificent Chaimas Frenkelis villa has been restored to its former glory, that the city fathers and mothers will consider taking on the task of restoring the adjacent tannery complex, which is in serious disrepair, but which should be considered an opportunity to acknowledge the importance of the crafts associated with leather goods, and also the contribution of Judaism (a synagogue and a school were on site) to the history of Lithuanian industry. 

* * *

Before signing off, I wanted to acknowledge a very great debt to Diana Saparniene, chair of Public Administration at Šiauliai University, and to a number of our departmental colleagues who were generous with their time and other resources.  Jane and I also want to say how much we enjoyed the company of several graduate students, specifically Anzelika Gumuliauskiene (pictured above), Jurgita Mikolaityte, and Oksana Mejere.  We met another graduate student, Kristina Kupryte, who is a world-class performer on the Lithuanian harp, called the kankales.  Unfortunately, we never got to hear Kristina perform in person, but luckily, she’s all over YouTube, including here.

* * *

 

 

Also, while we were still brand-new residents of Šiauliai, Jane noticed a distinctive graffito—a sparkling diamond (see photo above)—that appears on buildings all over town.  What does it mean?  We’d still like to know. 

* * *

We'll be spending a few days in Vilnius.  When we arrived in Lithuania at the end of January, the temperature was well below zero, so we weren't inclined to be active turistas at that point; somehow we managed to miss Pilies gatve, perhaps the most celebrated street in old town.  Now that spring is ready to turn into summer, we plan to follow a more ambitious itinerary.  We have tickets for a Handel performance at the Vilnius Opera, and we intend to visit Trakai--and, if possible, Kernave, another UNESCO World Heritage site.  So, stay tuned for another week or so. 

 

Lithuania and the Misery Index

Columbia J. Warren, author of a quirky book that Jane and I have enjoyed (Experiencing Lithuania:  An Unconventional Travel Guide, 2012), can’t quite decide whether the national pastime is basketball or frowning.  Of the latter, Warren insists that “Lithuanians aren’t necessarily unhappy”; they just don't want to be mistaken for Americans, who are generally regarded as  “grinning idiots.”

But it turns out that Lithuanians may actually be as unhappy as they look.  In a poll reported recently by USA Today (click here for link) Lithuania was revealed to be the third most miserable country in the world, ranking just behind Syria and Chad, which are, without a doubt, objectively miserable places.  You’d think that the national happiness/misery index would be strongly correlated with personal income.  Well, it’s not.  GDP per capita in Lithuania is $22,566, for example, compared with the third happiest country, Nicaragua, which has a very low GDP per capita:  $4,548.  There seems to be a strong element of culture at work here. 

The poll itself is interesting, in that respondents were asked about specific behaviors (such as having a good night’s sleep) that would seem to bespeak contentment (or its opposite).  Here is the capsule report for Lithuania:

Lithuania had a relatively high GDP per capita, at $22,566, in 2013. Despite the seemingly capable economy, Lithuanians were among the unhappiest people in the world. The country has a high suicide rate.  It also had among the highest alcohol consumption per capita in the world, according to the World Health Organization.  Heavy alcohol consumption can exacerbate or, in some cases, even cause depression.  Lithuanians were among the least likely to say they have experienced enjoyment in the previous day or to say they smiled or laughed in the preceding 24 hours.

So, there may be some perfectly good reasons for all the frowning.  And that’s without even considering the element of tragedy and pathos in the country’s history.  After its medieval florescence, Lithuania served as a doormat for its big and aggressive neighbors, including Tsarist Russia, Germany, and the Soviet Union.  While conditions today are superior to those prevailing even twenty years ago, it’s a depressing legacy, and one could argue that it has left the country with an inferiority complex and a bad case of national angst. 

Lithuanians are perhaps too good at beating themselves up.  The good news for the rest of us is that Turning Lithuanian (to borrow a meme from the rock song, "Turning Japanese") has been reduced to a few easy exercises that can be done in the privacy of the home, or, in the case of that fellow in the photo at the top of this post, out on the deck of Captain Morgan’s beer joint on Vilnaus gatvė. 

Rumšiškes

In 1891, a Swede named Artur Hazelius (1833-1901) created an open-air museum and zoo, called Skansen, which was designed to display the cultural distinctiveness of different parts of the country.  The idea caught on in the course of the twentieth century, and the name "Skansen," according to Wikipedia, has come to mean any outdoor collection of historical structures, “particularly in Central and Eastern Europe, but also in the United States, e.g., Old World Wisconsin and Fairplay, Colorado.”

I have visited the original Skansen in Stockholm, and also the one in Helsinki, which is called Seurasaari.  These exhibits are quite interesting, but there would seem to be several grounds on which they are, as a genre, vulnerable to criticism.  One has to do with the integrity of buildings that have been, to one indeterminate extent or another, reconstructed before or after their removal from their original sites, rather than being preserved or restored to some previous condition in situ.  Another criticism centers on the act of removal, which inevitably entails a loss of context.  A third has to do with the illusion of coherence generated by the geographical propinquity of structures that have been moved to an ethnographic museum bent on expressing a regional or chronological rhetoric, or at least what may be considered such by historians or anthropologists.

Lithuania’s Skansen is called Rumšiškes, and its purpose is to express the essence of nineteenth-century Lithuania, which was a decidedly rural place with important regional distinctions.  Rumšiškes is not far from the old (the 1920s and ‘30s) national capital of Kaunas, and it provides a window—albeit an imperfect one—into the somewhat tortured soul of Lithuania.  The site occupied since 1966 by the ethnographic museum is artificial.  There was an original village of Rumšiškes that was submerged by a dam on the Nerunas River built in 1959 to create a huge artificial lake that the locals call the Kaunas Sea, and which serves as Kaunas’s reservoir. 

Jane and I got to Rumšiškes by taking a taxi from our old town hotel to Kauno Marios, which is a marina on the lake side of the dam.  There we boarded an only-on-Sundays ferry (see photo below), which docked in Rumšiškes about an hour later.  There we were met by Teodora Morkūnienė, an employee of the museum who also happens to be the mother of my colleague, Aistė Lazauskienė.
 

Teodora proved to be an expert on historic preservation issues and Rumšiškes specifically.  She also was excellent company (see photo of Jane and Teodora, below).  Aistė joined us a little while later (see photo of Aistė, Jane, and Ken, beneath that).

We had a fantastic visit, though what we saw constituted only a small fraction of the vast outdoor museum.  Toward the end of the tour, we arrived at the fictional village center (see photo below), that is supposed to represent nineteenth-century commercial activity and communal, or specifically urban, institutions.  That's Saint Florian, the patron saint of firefighters, on top of the column in the town square.
 

I think it is probably fair to say that as an ethnographic museum Rumšiškes may be a better expression of regional—and class—variations on the Lithuanian national theme than it is an expression of multicultural 19^th-century realities.  As our “In Your Pocket” guide to the Kaunas area states, Rumšiškes has been criticized for failing to represent such nineteenth-century institutions as synagogues, Orthodox churches, and mosques.  In this way, the museum might exaggerate the monolithic quality of traditional Lithuanian culture and society.  Regional and socio-economic variations aside, not all Lithuanians were Roman Catholics, or even Christians.

One suspects that it was partly in response to that kind of criticism that Rumšiškes has introduced some exhibits designed to depict the tragedy of the post-World War II deportations that the Soviet Union used to strangle independent thought and indigenous aspects of Lithuanian culture.  Rumšiškes has recently unveiled a cattle car of the kind used to convey human cargo to remote outposts of the Gulag Archipelago.  There also is the kind of sod house that would have accommodated an appalling number of political prisoners in Siberia.  See photos below.

 

 

Of course, this glimpse into some of the horrors of the twentieth century, while profoundly moving, must be considered somewhat extra-curricular, since Rumšiškes is supposed to represent nineteenth-century Lithuanian life and culture.  

Rumšiškes also has been criticized for failing to make official mention of the fact that a portion of the site was the scene of a massacre of men, women, and children during the Jewish Holocaust.  I suspect the museum would respond by saying that this too, is beside the point of an institution designed to impart an understanding of nineteenth-century Lithuanian life. 

I would think that that line of argument would, however, make acquisition of a nineteenth-century Orthodox church, synagogue, or mosque an even more urgent priority.  Though I have yet to see a mosque, I have seen for myself that there are nineteenth-century synagogues and Orthodox churches in Lithuanian small towns and villages.  They need to be represented somewhere in Rumšiškes.
  

 

Kaunas

 

Last weekend we took a bus to Lithuania’s second city, former national capital, and epicenter of the national basketball craze:  Kaunas.  It turns out that there is a lot to see in Kaunas, much more than we could have squeezed in over a weekend.  But we had a great time that included a quick trip to Rumšiškes, about which we will have more to say in a day or two. 

We spent two nights at the Daugirdas, a hotel in the city’s old town, about a block away from the town hall square, or Rotušės Aikštė, where we were reminded of something we learned during previous visits to such cities as Rome and Prague:  Saturday is wedding day in Europe, and weddings usually involve parallel ceremonies—one at city hall (see photo at the top of this post) and another at a nearby church.  These events typically are scheduled back-to-back, which means that on Saturdays the town hall square is chock-a-block with wedding parties hanging around waiting for the call, traipsing off in the direction of a neighborhood church, or folding themselves into horse-drawn carriages, vintage automobiles, or (in the case of the bride below), stretch limousines.  It’s pretty picturesque.  How could one not be charmed by peripatetic brides, grooms, and their attendants on their matrimonial rounds on a gorgeous sunny day in old town Kaunas?

We visited Kaunas Castle (see photo below).

 

Jane climbed creaky stairs sans handrail up to the top of the castle tower, while Ken, ever reluctant to abandon terra firma, amused himself by taking selfies on the castle grounds (see photo below).

We also enjoyed hanging around in the watering holes on Vilniaus Street, which is the name of the pedestrian district in Kaunas, as it is also in Siauliai.

One of the truly fascinating things about Kaunas is that cartographically, it is quite reminiscent of Pittsburgh, though its hills are much more modest, and of course maps are two-dimensional representations of three-dimensional realities.  As in Pittsburgh, two rivers meet at Kaunas, the Neris and the Nemunas, and at their confluence a “third” river is formed (see photo below), though in the case of Kaunas it is considered a continuation of the Nemunas. 
 

On the south shore of the Nemunas, near “the point” where the rivers meet, there is a funicular railroad that leads to a hilltop overlook, which is reminiscent of the vantage point on Mount Washington where the young George Washington saw at once the military value of the site.  It was in fact crucial to control of the Ohio Country, and was fought over by the English and French, and then fortified by the newly independent Americans in the eighteenth century.  Kaunas is, simply, Pittsburgh without the dramatic topography, yesterday's smoke, and today’s spectacular skyline.

We didn’t do Kaunas justice, but we did have one extraordinary experience, one that Jane and I will never forget.  Thanks to Ken’s Šiauliai University colleague, Aistė Lazauskienė, who lives in Kaunas, we were able to visit the AB Underground Printing House, which reminded us of the marvelous German film, The Lives of Others, which won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film in 2006. 

We were shown around the eerie site by the wife of Vytautas Andziulis, the typesetter who was one of two partners in the clandestine publishing operation.  Astoundingly, at the end of our tour we were joined by Mr. Andziulis himself, who still lives in the house, and who took the occasion to complain about U.S. foreign policy--though in terms polite enough to spare our feelings, and those of our translator, I think.  This museum is a gem, though it is hard to find, and almost as hard to research.  Here is the entry from the “In Your Pocket” guide: 

Founded and run by Vytautas Andziulis (b. 1930) and Juozas Bacevičius (1918-1995), the AB Underground Printing House (the title comes from the first letters of Vytautas and Juozas' family names) operated at great risk during the last decade of the Soviet occupation of Lithuania three metres under the ground in Andziulis' garden on the outskirts of Kaunas. Dug by hand between 1978 and 1980 and reinforced with sturdy concrete walls, during its lifespan the printing house published 23 titles dealing with subjects ranging from Lithuanian history to religion and poetry, all on a hand-cranked machine built from miscellaneous spare parts gathered by Andziulis who was at the time a professional printer. Now part of the Vytautas the Great Military Museum, the printing house has been preserved and can be visited by prior arrangement. Set in the small village of Saliai some 10km north of the city centre, visitors can view the old printing house, which was and that remains hidden under a greenhouse as well as a museum dedicated to the place and to resistance printing in general. Easiest reached by car or possibly bicycle, the museum is more or less off the public transport route entirely. The N°21 city bus to the Mega shopping centre is the best option. Running from the Kauno Pilis stop close to Old Town to the Mega shopping centre, get off at the Šiaurinio Aplinkkelio Tiltas stop and keep walking out of the city with the river on your right until you reach the outskirts of Saliai. A signpost marked Pogrindžio Spaustuvė Muziejus takes you off the main road. At the fork a little further on, keep to the right and look for the small car park of the left. The N°21 also runs a couple of services in the afternoon to Saliai itself, in which case you need to double back on yourself and keep an eye out for the museum sign. Everything at the museum and printing house is labelled in Lithuanian only and nobody speaks English. Taking somebody along who can translate is not only recommended but more or less essential. 

Entrance free.

As luck would have it, as we approached the hidden crawlway in the greenhouse, the battery in my camera announced that it needed re-charging.  So I have no photos to share, alas.