200 thousand crosses and a scramble round a Soviet missile base

On a hill outside the city of Šiauliai in northern Lithuania are two hundred thousand crosses, ranging from several metres high, to tiny crucifixes and rosaries. Their story is a complex mix of pagan tradition and Christian identity, anti-Soviet resistance and Catholic emancipation. It's a place of pilgrimage and a stop on the tour bus routes. 

Myths and legends about the hill have obscured the true story, but it's thought there have been crosses here since the fourteenth century. They were added to over the years, as symbols of faith, commemoration, or thanksgiving. During the Soviet era anyone planting a cross could be arrested, but they continued to multiply in memory of those being killed and deported, despite being cleared away at least three times. In 1961 the hill was bulldozed by the Red Army, all access tracks were sealed off and ditches were dug around the site. The next morning crosses had returned. They were destroyed again in 1972, but by 1990 there were estimated to be 40,000 crosses. In 1993, soon after independence, Pope John Paul II celebrated mass here, and gave a cross of his own with the inscription: "Thank you Lithuanians, for this Hill of Crosses which testifies to the nations of Europe and to the whole world the faith of the people of this land." 

An ever growing field of crosses

We had not been in Lithuania long before we started to notice roadside shrines, and statues of the Virgin Mary. About 80% of the Lithuania's population describe themselves as Roman Catholic, a stark change after Estonia and Latvia where we've become used to seeing a Lutheran and an Orthodox Church in each town. Lithuanians were staunchly pagan, and held out against Christianity until 1413, but once adopted it became deeply engrained in the culture, even more so when persecuted under the Soviets. For that reason this morning's walk around the Hill of Crosses touched us a way that other places of pilgrimage have not. It is about more than religious faith, it's about autonomy and intransigence in the face of unstoppable force. And it's also about the souvenir shops selling wooden crosses to the visitors so they can leave their own contribution.

Plateliau Lake in Žemaitijos National Park

It's been an emotional couple of days. Before arriving at the Hill of Crosses on Friday evening we had visited a Cold War Museum within the Žemaitijos National Park. We'd spent the night beside the lake, and taken the spaniels for a lovely walk, stopping to chat to a couple of people out collecting mushrooms. We must have confirmed all their preconceptions about the English when we immediately remarked on the glorious weather. I was unable to help the woman on her hands and knees taking pictures of one fungi in an effort to identify it with her phone app. She already had a good collection in her bag, so let's hope she was a little more certain about those. 

The Cold War Museum

Zdravstvujtye!

It was a short drive around the lake from our parking spot to the museum. Nowadays there are picnic areas, hotels and cafés along the shore, and it comes as quite a surprise to turn a corner and see four ranks of barbed wire and electric fences and a concrete gatehouse. The welcome inside was warm, and we were given instructions and sent to explore what soon becomes obvious is a former Soviet underground bunker and missile silo. Wax figures in uniform sit at control panels, there is a well constructed account of the development of the Cold War from Hiroshima onwards, and there are explanations about the routine and some of the technology surrounding the base. The most extraordinary moment comes when you walk along a corridor, metal floor panels clanging under your feet, and step up a short ladder, to find yourself staring down into a nuclear missile silo. 

Staring into the abyss

The base housed three active and one reserve missile. The course on which they could be set was determined from books containing calculations made in advance. The trajectory had to be accurate to within two seconds of arc. The books containing those instructions were only taken out of the safe once at this site. During the Prague Spring in 1968 preparations were made to fire on Czechoslovakia. The missiles are no longer here - they were apparently relocated to Belarus and Irkutsk before Lithuanian independence.

As you walk back along the underground corridor you enter a room about the consequences of nuclear weapons. On one wall are technicolour pictures of mushroom clouds, on another the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. The wall ahead shows video of the beauty of planet earth: elephants in the savanna, wildflowers, cool rivers. It's a good opportunity to pause after the shock of what comes before.

After leaving the Hill of Crosses this morning, we took the long way round towards Kaunas, one involving more major roads with fewer bumps. The weather had broken overnight, and we drove through a steady downpour until mid afternoon, when it finally began to clear as we reached the Neman river with its collection of castles and stunning autumn colours. We had a brief look at the Panemune Castle, principally so we could take the spaniels for a walk through its lovely parklands, and parked up for the night on the bank of the river. Tomorrow we will aim to balance the intensity of the last couple of days with a trip to the Museum of Devils.

A shy castle

Autumn colour in the castle grounds

The history of the Cold War

Deathly sculptures, a wide waterfall and lots of cows

The nights have been getting cold in the Baltic and the second duvet is now on the bed. The autumn colours are well developed and we have awoken to frosty mornings on more than one occasion. It was a touch milder at Lake Usma when we took the spaniels for their morning walk. Unfortunately the path petered out at a boggy reed bed, so we returned to a grassy area for some ball, much to their delight. 

Not sure this would survive a rough sea

From Usma we made the journey west to Ventspils, Latvia's sixth largest city. The port remains ice free during the winter so is very important, not only to the Latvian economy, but also that of Russia. During the Soviet era a pipeline was built from Russia to Ventspils so that oil could be exported all year round. The docks are pretty impressive and large amounts of oil, coal and grain are loaded here. We ambled down the quay watching a massive cargo ship being loaded as well as an impressive floating crane chugging slowly up the waterway.

Bovine charm

The old town was typically Latvian with a large number of traditional wooden houses sitting cheek by jowl with larger, stone built 19th century public buildings. The city was home to one of the cow parades in 2002 and a number of the fibreglass participants remain there. The largest was the travelling cow which was plastered with luggage labels showing where it had been  over the years, from Austin,Texas, to Sao Paolo, Brazil, London to Wyoming. The one that intrigued us most was the cow on a swing, a cute, demure bovine in a dress.

Pagan relic or film prop?

We headed south along an indifferently surfaced Latvian road and parked up close to the village of Zlēkas. The evening was enlightened when a fox wandered across the field next door causing the spaniels to go ballistic inside the van. The fox, which looked to be old and wise, took little notice and sauntered on its way. 

The next morning brought a forest walk safe enough to let the spaniels off the lead. Elsa goes charging off following the scents of whatever creatures have passed by during the night but always returning when called. Max just charges off with no particular intent, often disappearing around a corner before realising he has lost sight of us and forgotten where he is. For both of them it was a great opportunity to let off some steam. The path took us up Karātavu Hill, more of a mound really, which was apparently used in the past for acts of pagan worship. There were a couple of constructions there which may have been pagan or perhaps just yet another set of props for a film. On a more sombre note we passed an obelisk commemorating the 160 local people murdered by the SS because they were suspected of harbouring partisans during the war. 

Never mind the height.......

The town of Kuldīga was to be the last major settlement we visited in Latvia and, in many ways, it was the best. It has a large and beautifully kept old centre which runs on cobbled streets down to the river where the 17th and 18th century frontage is unique in the Baltic. It also boasts the Venta Rapid, which is claimed to be the widest waterfall in Europe at 240 metres. Being wide is its only claim to fame as the water only falls around two metres. It then runs under a stunning brick bridge, built in 1874. We certainly could have spent longer admiring the various buildings but hunger called and we decided to eat out for lunch. A rustic wooden restaurant gave us the opportunity to sit out on a balcony so we could have the spaniels with us. Meals and beer came to €15 which we felt was very reasonable. A short drive south took us to Aizpute where we spent the night, close to yet another lake. The police did a drive-by a couple of times, mainly due to the local youngsters meeting there for a beer, rather than us. 

There is no street art that is not improved by a spaniel

Our journey south the next morning to the Lithuanian border took a little longer than we had anticipated. Each time Google maps wanted to take us off the beautifully surfaced A9 road, it was onto a 12 km gravelled track. Eventually we found a detour along a road that had tarmac, although it must have been laid in the days when the earth was young. We had a very bumpy journey before crossing a small stream and entering Lithuania, without even the pretence of a border. However, the road miraculously improved for the last 3 km when we fetched up in Skuodas which we had targeted as having a decent supermarket for much-needed wine supplies. Lithuania does not seem to do wine in boxes so we have reverted to bottles. 

Our final stop of the day brought us to another bizarre attraction that rivalled that of Cinevilla. In the grounds of a farmhouse stand the most eclectic collection of stone carvings I have ever seen. They were originally made for a local village cemetery by Kazys Orvydas (1905-1989) and his son Vilius (1952-1992). The latter eventually became a Franciscan monk. When the Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev ordered the destruction of religious symbols in the 1960s, the carvings were brought to the house for safekeeping. The Soviets eventually blocked all access to the farm to prevent local people being corrupted by crosses and figures of Christ. Today you can wander through a host of rocks and carvings interspersed by the odd bit of agricultural machinery. The tank sitting precariously on a pile of rocks near the entrance adds a grim reminder of how things were. 

Not sure how this got up there

The road to tonight's stopover consisted of a strip of tarmac so narrow that it was necessary to put the offside wheels onto the gravelled shoulder to pass vehicles coming the other way. We survived the trip to find ourselves parked up by yet another lake. On his release from the van Max immediately dived in for a swim, emerging triumphant with a bit of tree branch. Bodies of water are becoming features of this trip. 




    Create your own cemetery

Time travel on a Latvian film set, and an English country house in the Baltics

Sometimes on this trip we have driven quite long distances with little to see and do apart from the everyday tasks of dog-walking, servicing Florence and getting her, ourselves or our clothes clean. Suddenly we have found a corner of Latvia where there is something to see at every turn, and better still, it isn't all castles - much as we love a good castle. The highlight today was surreal - a film lot in the middle of the countryside with several full sets and props including a full scale original Russian locomotive, a viking village and Riga in the Second World War. 

World War Two Riga

We arrived at lunchtime, and had planned to eat in Florence in the car park before going inside. As I took Max out for his hourly pee I saw a man ambling over to the little ticket hut, no doubt having spotted our arrival, so I went straight over to buy two tickets for the grand sum of €8. I tried to explain that we would be eating first, and he shrugged, waved over to where we were to enter, indicated we could start whenever, and promptly disappeared again. So it was that half an hour later we wandered over to a deserted building, and took ourselves for a tour of the place, joining the dots as to which sets, props and costumes belonged to which films. It was a completely bizarre experience, as the real merged with the fake, authentic looking buildings had new, bare wood on the reverse, and we deduced the route in much the same way as one solves a hedge maze. 

It looks real, until you go around the back

We knew that the original set was built for the feature film Defenders of Riga, and worked out that a cross between Vikings and Game of Thrones was responsible for several newer sets, including the inside of a longhouse, and exterior of a village. It turned  out to be a film known in English as The Pagan King, about the efforts made by the people from this region of the Baltics to resist the crusading Brothers of the Sword - they're the ones responsible for most of the castles we've visited. 

Nah, far too pretty

A 13th century Baltic village

Inside the Pagan King's court

We were highly entertained by the chance to explore Cinevilla, but there was another stop planned for today, just a few miles down the road. This was the country residence of the Englishman who became Mayor of Riga in 1901, whose statue we saw in Riga yesterday along with that of his wife, Cecile, and dog (name not given). 

Jaunmoku Castle, really a manor house

George Armitstead built the manor house at Jaunmoku, having commissioned an architect to design something reminiscent of an English country house, which ended up tipping over into something like a cross between a French chateau and a woodcut from a Grimm fairytale. The rather lovely grounds included a lake, rose gardens, flowerbeds and barns and cottages. Unfortunately for Geoge, he inherited his father's title and estate, and had to up sticks after only five years. This left the house to bounce through several owners before ending up the property of the state. It became a sanitorium, army barracks and offices, and inevitably fell into deep decay. When it was first decided to restore it in the 1970s there were seven families living in the ground floor.

Mrs Artmitstead and the mayor

Eventually the building was painstakingly restored, including the William Morris wallpaper in the ground floor reception rooms, and the priceless stove which is a national monument in its own right. There were also some handsome portraits of the Armitsteads and their family tree. The house is owned by the national forestry, and there is a museum dedicated to woodland on the first floor. We were unable to see one room on the ground floor as there was a reception being held there as the house is now used as an events venue. Altogether we more than had our money's worth - €5.50 for the two of us. It's great to be able to visit attractions freely again, without spending half a day's budget. Almost nothing in Norway was less than £20 each to enter. 

A glorious frosty morning in the mire

A woodland cemetery

By now time was creeping on, and we were ready to find a place for the night. We'd made a slow start this morning as there had been a heavy frost overnight, and it took a while for Florence to warm up. I'd gone for a run around the Great Kemeri bog near where we had parked, and after breakfast the four of us made the same circuit over the duckboards, now in warm sun. 

We had then been to investigate the delightful woodland cemetery we had passed on our way into the campground, a jumble of Orthodox graves on terraces between the trees, with small paths and steps leading between them. Each family grave has a small bench or seat for visitors, many now decaying and covered in moss. We couldn't work out how the graves had been dug so close to the trees, which had surely been there longer, but the whole result was very picturesque. 


Tonight there is another cemetery nearby, and several churches, but our main reason for being here is Lake Usma in Western Latvia, at which Florence is pointing her nose. It's a busy resort in summer, but it's been very quiet wherever we have been in the countryside for the past couple of weeks, and once again we have the place to ourselves this evening. 

A scene from The Pagan King, shot at Cinevilla

A cable car, an English mayor and a noisy shunting locomotive

Most of our overnights in the Baltic states have been in remote forest areas where the only sound, certainly lately, has been the rain falling on Florence's roof which, strangely enough, can be quite soothing when you are drifting off to sleep. However, last night we were in the city of Riga and things were not so quiet. More on that anon.

We imagined pouring boiling oil down on attackers

Yesterday we awoke by the side of a lake to persistent rain which obviously wasn't going to ease off any time soon. We found a track alongside the edge of the lake where we could walk the spaniels, splashing through standing water in the ruts along the path. On our return we gave them a game of ball to wear them out a bit before packing up and setting off for the town of Sigulda where there was a promise of more castles. 

We were not disappointed. The medieval castle, begun in the 13th century, was built by our old friends the Livonian Brothers of the Sword, whom we had come across in previous places. Think of them as a version of the Knights Templar who instead of going off on crusades to the Holy Land, preferred to butcher pagans in the Nordic countries. Large parts of the castle have disappeared over the centuries not least because of the various conflicts that have engulfed this part of Europe. 

Those Livonian knights had big bottoms

Since Latvia regained its independence from the USSR a real effort has been made to try and show the castle as it would have been in its heyday. They have done this by constructing wooden replacements for the original stone walls so you can still stand forty feet up and look through an arrow slit at potential invaders. These are mostly Far-Eastern coach parties these days. 

We had left the spaniels to sleep in the van during this visit as we also planned to travel in a cable car across the valley of the River Gauja. This was a great experience, particularly when the car brushed the tops of the trees on either side of the valley on a journey of just over a kilometre. There is no central support so the car plunges downwards then makes the slow climb up the other side. If you are feeling really daring you can zip wire down to the lowest point of the supporting cable and be pushed back up when the car makes its return journey. We passed on that experience.

Intrepid zip wire riders. We were safely inside the car

The journey to Riga was a bumpy one. The main road was closed and we diverted in a huge loop into the countryside. Latvian roads are a bit hit and miss. You can be sailing along on beautifully smooth tarmac for miles and then suddenly it comes to an end and you hit a road surface that doesn't seem to have been repaired since the Russian tanks arrived. Things were not much better as we approached the centre of Riga where badly patched potholes gave way to cobbles. Very picturesque but noisy and bumpy. We fetched up in a small car park by a marina a short walk from the old town. 

They do architecture in Riga

The evening was enlivened by a shunting engine that used the short length of track next to the van to push wagons backwards and forwards. However things got really noisy a little later when a local dance establishment fired up a sound system that Black Sabbath would have dismissed as being far too noisy. We enjoyed the delights of drum and bass vibrating the air around the port until 6 am the following morning. Well, I did anyway. Neri slept through most of it.

Undeterred by lack of sleep, and persistent drizzle, we set off the next morning to explore Riga. The old town is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and deservedly so with its breathtaking array of architectural styles from classical to art nouveau. We wandered though the cobbled streets and squares dodging the crowds of tourists. For us the outstanding building  was the House of the Blackheads, originally erected in 1334 by the Brotherhood of the Blackheads, a guild of unmarried merchants, shipowners and foreigners living in Riga at the time. The building was bombed by the Germans in 1941 and what was left demolished by the Soviets at the end of the war. Incredibly it was completely rebuilt in its original form in the late 1990s. 

It's amazing to realise this was reconstructed in its original form

George, Cecille & dog

One of the many interesting statutes we discovered was that of George Armitstead and his wife Cecille, not forgetting their dog. George was born in Riga the son of an English peer and successful merchant. His great grandfather was the vicar of Easingwold in North Yorkshire. He worked for a time as an engineer in Russia before returning to Riga where he was elected mayor, an office he held from 1901-1912. Tsar Nicholas II of Russia was so impressed by Armitstead's improvements to the city that he offered him the post of Mayor of St Petersburg, which George, probably wisely, refused. 

The four of us returned to Florence, tired, damp but full of enthusiasm for this lovely city. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology we sat in the van and watched England beat Tonga in the Rugby World Cup. We decided not to risk a second night, just in case the disco had a Sunday evening session, and instead drove west where we are now parked up in Kemeri National Park and expect it to be much quieter. On the way down the rough track to the parking area we passed a terraced cemetery among the trees. I will certainly be looking forward to visiting that tomorrow. 

Obviously no window tax in Riga

Elsa felt this feline was a little too big

When you have trams and trolley buses things get complicated

A photographer's delight

The town with the border through the middle, some evening orienteering and two castles

Yesterday we walked along a street in the small town of Valga/Valka, and crossed into Latvia. Unfortunately we had left Florence and the spaniels in Estonia, so we walked back again, and eventually crossed the border on four wheels. The town was the only one not to have a clear identity when the Baltic states gained their independence the first time around in 1920. It was claimed by both Latvia and Estonia, and for some bizarre reason an Englishman was called in to mediate. His solution was to carve the town in two, and there the border remains. Schengen makes it less problematic than it once was, but border posts are still scattered around the town. 

Valka/Valga: two countries one town

Just like a fell race at home

We drove on into the Gauja National Park, largely pine forest and established in the 1970s, where we found one of the campsite/picnic areas we had become so fond of in Estonia. This one was down a rutted 2km dirt road, but proved well worth rattling Florence's innards. Good job we had the rear shock absorbers replaced before we came. As we parked up cars began to join us in large numbers, and we realised we were in the middle of an orienteering event. No one took much notice of us as they tucked in around Florence, and the whole experience made me feel very much at home. The sight of people arriving in work clothes and changing behind car doors into tights and trail shoes before trotting off to registration was just like any local evening fell race. I could identify many of the same characters, and the expressions of relief, frustration or satisfaction on their faces as they returned. It made me feel very much at home on our first night in Latvia.

Another border crossed

This afternoon I went into a supermarket for milk, and for a moment I was confused by the packaging, before remembering that we were now in a different country. The name of the supermarket was the same, and much else feels familiar, but there are a few noticeable differences from Estonia. Latvia has the highest motor accident rate in Europe, and we quickly realised why, as cars screamed up behind us before pulling out into the narrowest of gaps and swinging back in in front of us. The consequences were underlined this morning, when blue lights ahead resolved into two fire engines trying to decide how to remove an upside down car from a ditch. One can only hope that the man gesticulating wildly at the firefighters was the driver.

Driving aside, Latvia feels comfortable and friendly. Even the fishermen arriving at tonights parking spot gave us a cheerful wave - we're in another picnic area, this one by a lake. We spent the day in Cēsis, which Lonely Planet describes as the cutest little town in the whole of Latvia. It has two lovely castles, a medieval one built by the crusading Brothers of the Sword, and an eighteenth century Manor House with a tower, which was inhabited by German counts. The old castle had some wonderful costumed inhabitants going about their trade, and we stopped for a chat with the blacksmith, who had strong views on the frustrations of nail making: "A pain in the arse", and the limitations of wearing medieval armour: "Three minutes fighting, max. It's about fifty degrees in there." 

Old castle 

New-ish castle

After lunch back in the van, we took the spaniels with us for a wander around the picturesque town with its rather upmarket souvenir shops. We discovered that it was alive with cats, which had Elsa quivering with suppressed rage when they refused to run away. These cats have gone paw to paw with bigger dogs than Elsa, and barely twitched a whisker at the sight of two spaniels. Fortunately Max and Elsa were able to command the attention of teenaged girls and old ladies to restore their pride. Luckily they were also quite tired having had a couple of long forest walks over the last few days. 

A wander around Cēsis

Parking by the lake - again!

Lantern required for dungeon visit

Not another walk in the forest!