Lithuania

We never quite finished telling the Kauna story, so I’m going to back up a couple days. The primary event for the day was to walk to the Ninth Fort, once a prison used during both the Soviet and German occupations, now a museum of occupation. According to Lonely Planet it was about seven kilometers from the city, so how hard could that be to walk? We looked up the Ninth Fort in a Google Map, plotted the course, and off we went.

Alas, it was in fact not so easy. It was bad enough that some of our little pleasure hike took us through a nasty spaghetti-like interchange among a few highways. Worse yet, when we got to the place where the map said the Fort would be – really more like 10 kilometers – there was just a big open field. We walked back and forth and poked around, but it just wasn’t there. Eventually we made our way back to some big mall – by now we’ve walked maybe 15 kilometers and gotten nowhere except a mall, which is pretty much nowhere – so we could get some food and maybe with a WiFi connection figure out where this Fort was.

We did find it on the map, and it wasn’t that far from where we were, but it wasn’t clear how to get from where we were to where we wanted to be. There were choices, forks in the road. Yes, we took the road less traveled, but sometimes the road is traveled less because it’s just the wrong road.

Enough of that. Mark had started to conclude that this fort/museum just didn’t exist, but we eventually stumbled on it. So after probably 12 miles of walking, now it was time to walk around the museum and grounds. The first noticeable feature was a huge Soviet-era monument. As far as we could tell, it was a monument to the Soviet soldiers who fought the Germans in Lithuania. That struck me as somewhat strange, since the Soviets were themselves an occupying force, and not very nice occupiers at that. The used it as a holding place and interrogation center before shipping their enemies (or just innocent bystanders) to Siberia. Not a group I would build a monument to.

Monument to Soviet troops

Monument to Soviet troops

Closeup of Soviet style

Closeup of Soviet style

The museum of Soviet occupation is an interesting building, insofar as it appears to have been built for this museum – I don’t think it was part of the prison – and just looks so incredibly Soviet and hostile. It’s not even very easy to figure out where the entrance is and does a great job of just evoking brutality. The exhibits were interesting, depressing, and another reminder of how genuinely evil the Soviets were.

Exterior of Museum of Occupation

Exterior of Museum of Occupation

The powerful part of the museum, though, for me at least was the part associated with the years it was used as a German concentration camp. I’d never been to a concentration camp before, and standing on a site where tens of thousands Jews – mostly Lithuanians, but Jews from France and other countries were brought here as well – had been murdered is just really powerful. The prison inside the fort had exhibits, mostly dealing with German atrocities, and just horribly painful stories about families and all that. You can read about Nazi genocide all you want, but there is nothing quite as strong as looking at what had once been a mass grave holding thousands, or seeing the barrels where they had tried to burn the corpses to cover up their crimes.

Brutally simple

Brutally simple; in multiple languages, “Here the remans of 50,000 people – Russians, Jews, Lithuanians, and others killed by the Nazis – are burried”

That was supposed to be just part of the day, but after walking back to the mall to catch a bus back into Kaunas, we were beat. And a little somber. Fortunately, we could enjoy just a little more Kaunas beauty when we got back, something we needed after a day like that.

A quiet street in Kaunas

A quiet street in Kaunas

View from our hotel - after these weeks in Russia and the Baltics, night is a new concept for us

View from our hotel – after these weeks in Russia and the Baltics, night is a new concept for us

So what do you do if you’re in Kaunas, Lithuania for a day or two? Among other things, you find a hotel; this was the first time we’ve just sort of never gotten around to making reservations before getting somewhere. It turns out there are available hotel rooms in Kaunas.

1) Walk around in the Old Town through the occasional rain and just see stuff.

Old Town Kaunas in the rain

Old Town Kaunas in the rain

2) Start to make plans for going to Belarus.

3) Go for a run. Or at least that’s what Mark did (sorry, no picture). I’m on for tomorrow morning.

4) Fantasize about Eurovela 6, the bike route from the Atlantic coast of France, along the Loire, Rhine, and Danube Rivers through Switzerland, Germany, Austria, Croatia, Slovakia, Hungary, and Romania to the Black Sea (tentatively scheduled for Summer 2014).

My fantasy

5) Eat at a very cool restaurant that specializes in local foods in what is essentially a wine cellar, where you pick your wine from the selection and they add a $3.25 cork fee.

I was 'splaining to Mark how we could bike from France to the Black Sea

I was ‘splaining to Mark how we could bike from France to the Black Sea

6) Enjoy the public art.

Bikes as public art - what's not to like?

Bikes as public art – what’s not to like?

So far, so good!

Beautiful Klaipėda

Beautiful Klaipėda

Yesterday was all about biking the Curonian Spit. Of course, that begs the question, “What’s a spit?” Well, apparently it’s a narrow land formation connected to the coast at one end and sticking out into the sea. This one lies a short ferry ride from Klaipėda, Lithuania. When I started to understand what a “spit” is, though, I saw that Park Point in Duluth is a spit, and thought to be the largest freshwater spit in the world. OK, now I know what they are!

The bike ride didn’t go quite as planned. We rented bikes on the mainland, took a ferry boat across the Curonian Lagoon, and headed off. About 10 minutes after starting, I heard that sound that bicyclists hate … “Psssttt…” and in seconds my front tire was flat as a pancake. Not to fear, though, the bike rental place had provided a tire repair kit, a new tube, and a pump. OK, I’ve fixed a lot of flat tires in my day, so I can handle this.

I can fix this

I can fix this

(True story: While I’ve fixed a lot of flat tires, the one ride I didn’t get a flat on was when I rode from New York to California. Yup, I rode 3,800 miles without a single flat. It was bizarre.)

Except the pump just absolutely didn’t work. I tried various things, and nada. Nothing to do except to walk back to the ferry – it takes about an hour to walk as far as you can bike in 10 minutes – catch the ferry, go back to the rental place, replace the tube, get a new pump, and start all over again. Two and a half hours later I was back on my bike.

I met up with Mark about 22 kilometers from the ferry terminal in Juodkranz for lunch, and then we rode back. Notwithstanding the kerfuffle with the flat tire and failed pump, it was spectacular, fully worthy of the UNESCO World Heritage Site designation it has. Not much to say except pretty much a perfect bike path.

Bike trail on the Curonian Split

Bike trail on the Curonian Split

The beach and the Baltic Sea ... looking pretty Cape Cod-ish!

The beach and the Baltic Sea … looking pretty Cape Cod-ish!

Jim's on the trail

Jim’s on the trail

The village of J, where we had lunch

The lush village of Juodkranz, where we had lunch

Amusingly, the Curonian Spit is described in Wikipedia as a common destination for Lithuanian and German vacationers. Mark didn’t need Wikipedia to tell him that, though. As he was sitting in a little town waiting for me to catch up after my flat tire fiasco, he heard a bunch of commotion. Sirens. A motorcade – and there was German President Gauck, again. We saw him arrive in Riga for a state visit there, and saw online when we got back that he was in Lithuania now. We didn’t expect to run into President Gauck not once, but twice.

Presidents

Photo of President Grybauskaite of Lithuania, President Gauck of Germany, and Mrs. Gauck on the Curonian Spit, taken from President Grybauskaite’s press release (we weren’t actually there with them, though we would have been interesting dinner companions…)

With that, we took off this morning by bus for Kaunas, a city in south-central Lithuania en route to Vilnius. While checking out the area on a map I realized how close we are going to be to the Belarusian border. Visas aren’t easy to get, but we may just decide to go to the embassy in Vilnius and see if we can get in for a few days. Stay tuned! (Mikalai – any suggestions?!?)

Finally, one last note before leaving Klaipėda. This picture is the spot in Klaipeda where one Adolf Hitler stood to declare the annexation of Lithuania into Germany. It turns out that’s not quite as awful as it sounds at first blush. The area, you see, was long part of Germany, and in fact at one point it was the temporary capital of Prussia. To me it’s so obvious that this is Lithuania, but over many centuries it was fought over by a bunch of armies. Should we consider these borders now fixed? Is the era of countries fighting over borders and taking cities away over? I’ll admit – I’m not an optimist.

Hitler was here

Hitler was here

Interestingly, that tiny history of Lithuania – is it Russian? German? Something else? – helps explain another oddity about the Curonian Split. While the northern part, the section we biked, is in Lithuania, the southern section is in Russia. You see, there’s a small part of Russia called Kaliningrad south of Lithuania, not connected to the rest of Russia. How did that become and/or stay part of Russia when other areas swallowed up by the Soviet Union became independent in the early 1990s?

Well, there’s an answer. Kaliningrad was long an important part of Prussia, which became Germany of course. Russia had long lusted after the relatively warm water port there, which stayed ice-free most years. So after World War II they took just it; most German residents escaped to Germany and a bunch of Russians moved in. To a large degree, then, the people who live there now never had a separate national identity like the Latvians and Estonians and Lithuanians did; they were transplanted Russians living in part of what had been part of Germany, and they wanted to stay Russian. That’s why there’s an oblast (essentially a province) that’s separated from the rest of Russia.