Vilnius, Lithuania - The Third Baltic Capital

“How much to the Old Town?” I asked the taxi driver, a middle-aged Lithuanian man parked just outside the small terminal at Vilnius International Airport.

   â€œForty Litas,” he answered in deep Eastern European tones. His eyes, I noted, didn’t flinch a fraction of an inch.

   It was just as we expected. Forty Litas was about eight British pounds. Over the odds for the short fifteen minute journey into town.

I decided to try haggling. By my side, Jodie rolled her eyes. She knew it was sure to end in disaster.

   “Twenty Litas,” I said with an air of feigned authority, doing my best to give the impression I was not a man to be trifled with. With my top lip arched theatrically, I awaited the man’s answer

   “Forty Litas,” he stated again with a hint of boredom. “That is the price.”

   We got in, humbled by the presence of a master haggler, evidently trained in the fabric bazaars of deepest Marrakesh.

 

Vilnius has yet to appeal to mass tourism. Unlike Prague and Tallinn, or even Riga, the Lithuanian capital is not high on people’s list of places to visit.

And as we traversed a side street towards the Old Town, the largest in Eastern Europe, peeling walls and dirty window panes filled our view. Maybe this was one of the reasons why, together with the fact that no British budget airline actually served the city. But things were changing.

 

   Suddenly, the graffiti thinned out and disappeared altogether as we stepped into a large open square, dominated by the mighty Town Hall. Amber shops and bars, together with restored buldings filled both sides of the square, and all around were signs of extensive building work. It wasn’t hard to work out why. In 2009, Vilnius will become the cultural capital of Europe. When the light shines down, the local population will want their city to look as good as it can. And who can blame them?

 

   Further down from the square, we came to a beautiful church called the Russian Orthodox Church of St Parashkevia.

Originally built on the site of a pagan sanctuary, the original structure actually became a tavern with an adjoining brothel. But after Tsar Peter I visited in the early 18^th century, it was pulled down and in its place the majestic, Neo-Byzantine style that is visible today was built.

 

   Jodie decided she needed some tissues, and so we wandered into a sort of general store. Inside were a few people, one of whom was clearly drunk. In his late-twenties, the man was buying a bottle of vodka. I stood behind him while Jodie perused some of the strange liqueurs on display. After swaying at the counter for a moment, the drunkard turned around and spotted Jodie. He immediately lumbered towards her, mumbling something entirely incoherent. Without pause, I took action. James Bond could not have done any better. Inserting myself between the Lithuanian Lagerhead and Jodie, I gently shoved him away. Simultaneously, the woman behind the counter began shouting at him in a strange language. Bleary eyed and grizzle-chinned, the man looked about in a confused manner before staggering to the door. I puffed out my chest and watched his exit as testosterone flowed through my mighty veins.

 

   After the excitement of the shop, I wanted to try my first Lithuanian beer, and so we settled on a bar along the main Pilies Street.

Svyturys was the brand, and costing about 90p a pint, it tasted delicious.

   

The next morning, Sunday, it was time to see the sights of Vilnius. After wandering past a market, selling, strangely enough, plastic flowers, we came to the 16^th century Gates of Dawn. This is the sole-surviving gate of the city’s fortifications. Inside the structure is a chapel containing an icon of the Blessed Virgin Mary, a painting from the 17^th century believed to have healing powers. As we stood admiring it, we could see people inside the chapel, at prayer, facing the golden icon..    

 

   To be honest, St Casimir’s Church looked grim.

But the fading pink paintwork and crumbling features were now thankfully being restored. Dedicated to the patron saint of Lithuania, the church has led a chequered past. When Napoleon was in town, his troops turned it into a grain store, and during the rule of the Csars, it became an orthodox church. Most bizarre, though, was when it became the Museum of Atheism during the Soviet Era. No wonder it needed a lick of paint.

 

    Carrying on down Pilies Street, we eventually came to Cathedral Square, the most popular of Vilnius’s sights. Constructed on the site of a pagan altar, the current building dates from 1419. Because of the many fires, wars, storms and unstable ground beneath the foundations, The Cathedral has been rebuilt many times. During the Soviet era, the cathedral was used as an art gallery.

 

   “Look at that!” I said to Jodie, pointing at a strange, motorised cart thing.

“There’s another one.” Jodie turned her head in time to catch a young woman riding past on a strange contraption. They resembled scooters, but instead of having a long rectangular base on which to stand upon, these things had a small square platform just above the wheels. The woman was gripping onto the long handlebars and zipping through the crowd with ease. And then she was gone.

 

    The free-standing bell tower was actually constructed in separate parts. The lower section dates from the 14^th century, and served as part of the city’s fortifications. The second and third sections were added in the 16^th century, and finally, in the 17^th century, top section, with clock, was added. It certainly looked the part, reminding me slightly of St Mark’s Square in Venice. And on the eastern side of the square was a monument to the city’s founder, Grand Duke Gediminas which was installed in 1996. We headed up towards Gediminas Hill.

   Gediminas Tower, perched on top of the hill, is another symbol of Vilnius.

Every army that has ever occupied the city has put their flag at the top of the tower. As we traipsed up the winding path to reach the tower, over on our left, in the distance, we could easily make out the three white crosses on Crooked Hill. According to legend, fourteen monks were killed by pagans in the 14^th century. Crosses were erected in their memory.

 

Along the northern side of the river is modern Vilnius. Skyscrapers, shopping malls and a healthy commercial district jostle for position among the many churches located there. We took the funicular railway from Gediminas Hill towards it. Eventually we came to the Green Bridge. Built in 1952, the bridge isn’t particularly imaginative, but what makes it interesting are the four statues on each corner. They are a legacy from the Soviet age. After Lithuanian independence, most statues from the communist era were taken down and moved to a park eighty miles southwest of Vilnius. But not these four. They depict the following poses: agriculture, industry, peace and youth.

Only a red hammer and sickle could’ve made them look even more Soviet.

 

   Heading back into the Old Town, we came to LukiĆĄkiĆł Square. On one side of it was the very pleasant-looking white building that in Soviet times housed the KGB Headquarters. Many Lithuanians were interrogated, tortured and quite often, executed inside the building. Today, it’s the Genocide Victims Museum, where tourists can visit cells, torture rooms and even the execution chamber. A collection of stones sits just outside the building. They come from all over Lithuania, symbolising the far-reaching damage of the old Soviet rule. But perhaps most poignant are the names of people etched onto the side of the building. Each one of them died inside the KGB Headquarters.

 

   To lighten our mood, Jodie and I took a detour, and walked to the Frank Zappa Monument.

Erected in 1995, and cast by a sculptor more famous for his castings of Lenin, it was quite a strange to see a monument in what looked like a run down part of downtown Vilnius. Old-Soviet-era apartment blocks filled the street, and once again, Graffiti was everywhere. We decided to head back into the Old Town for refreshments.

 

   Afterwards, when the sun began to set, we headed to the eastern portion of the Old Town. There we found St Anne’s Church, one of the largest Gothic buildings in all of Lithuania. Constructed in the 16^th century, there are 33 different types of bricks used in its decorative facade. Apparently, when Napoleon saw it, he wished to take it back to France with him, but eventually opted for pulling out the wooden altars and burning them for fire wood during the harsh winter retreat from Russia.

 

Now that it was dark, we decided to take a short taxi ride to the Hotel Reval Lietuva, one of the skyscrapers of Vilnius. On the 22^nd floor was the neon lit Skybar, offering superb views of the city. We had a very pleasant couple of drinks, where Jodie sampled some of the cocktails on offer, before catching a taxi back to the Old Town to get something to eat.

 

   Pig’s ear and pig’s trotters were only two of the delights on the menu. They were served with a mouth-watering range of vegetables and potatoes. The menu also had a section entitled Dishes from Flour, Grits and Curd, which sounded truly delicious. Instead, though, I opted for a chicken dish, which was one of the most expensive things on the menu – a whopping ÂŁ3.

50. Bargain, even if it didn’t contain grit.

 

The next morning, our last in Vilnius, we headed into town once more, keen to see some of the sights we’d missed the previous day. The UĆŸupis district was a short walk just east of the Old Town. To reach it, Jodie and I had to cross a small bridge with numerous padlocks attached to its railings. Placed there by newly-married couples, they symbolise that once the key has been turned, no one can ever unlock the union. Jodie thought it very cute. And then we spotted something just under the bridge - a mermaid perched beside an arched window. We crossed the bridge, entering UĆŸupis, the home of artists and romantics. 

 

   Every year, on April 1^st, the residents of UĆŸupis declare their independence day.

People set up fake border crossings, with ‘officials’ checking and stamping passports. The community has an army of twelve people, and for this one day calls itself the UĆŸupis Republic. All firmly with tongue in cheek of course however.

   We quickly came to the only monument of the district – the Angle of UĆŸupis. It represents the rebirth of this area of town. Until the 20^th century, UĆŸupis was the domain of the poor and needy, but now a transformation is taking place. Art galleries, cafes and stores are springing up among the rundown ex-soviet buildings.

 

With about four hours before we had to catch our flight, Jodie and I headed for Cathedral Square once more. We approached a taxi driver. Gesturing to my guide book and pointing at a photo of Trakai Castle, I asked the man how much it would cost to take us there.

Located twenty-eight km to the west of Vilnius, most people got to Trakai by bus, but since we had lots of Litas left, we thought we’d inquire about a faster mode of transport

   The driver looked at the photo. “I am not sure. Trakai long way.” He rubbed his head, then said, “One hundred and eighty Litu. Take you there. Bring you back.”

   I looked towards Jodie. I knew she wasn’t keen on the idea of getting a taxi to some far flung place in the middle of Lithuania. But a hundred and eighty Litas was about ÂŁ36, which was well within our budget.

   “We stay at Trakai for two hours,” I explained to the man. I showed him my watch and made a circular movement going around the clock face twice. I wanted to be sure he’d come back at the right time. I couldn’t face thinking about how Jodie would react if we missed our flight back to the UK.

   “I wait in Trakai for you. Good, yeh?”

   Fantastic! We got in, our chauffeur putting pedal to the metal, heading towards Lithuania’s ancient capital.

   Half an hour later, Max, as I christened him, parked up, got his newspaper out and pointed to the Castle. “I see you later!”

 

   Trakai was actually a town surrounded by three lakes. The Castle is on an island connected by a narrow bridge. Lake Galvė, translated as Lake Head, surrounds it.

Legend has it that it got its name after the Grand Duke Vytautas, the founder of the castle, decapitated an enemy and tossed his head into the lake, giving it a taste for human flesh.

   Built in the 15^th century, Trakai Castle was a mighty medieval defensive fortress, but by the 17^th century, the castle was used as a prison before being completely abandoned. Eventually, it was restored in the 1960’s, and now houses a historical museum.

 

   After ambling around the castle, we headed back to shore, where we had nice lunch in a restaurant overlooking the castle. Then it was back to our vehicle. We gave Max a twenty Litu tip when he dropped us back in central Vilnius. His face lit up when he received it. We’d made him a very happy man.

 

   And then it was time to catch our Lufthansa flights back to Manchester.

We’d completed the trio of Baltic capitals. And so how did Vilnius compare to the other two? For me, Riga was going to be hard to beat. It was the first Eastern European country we’d visited, and thus seemed so different. Jodie preferred Tallinn. She liked the medieval domes and cafĂ© culture of the Estonian capital. But Vilnius wasn’t far behind. Beautiful medieval architecture, the main sights centrally located, and everything so damned cheap. Well worth a visit.