A story of freedom in the centre of Europe

It’s our last night in Lithuania, tomorrow we cross into Poland after a busy couple of days in Vilnius and around, including a rare meal out,  continuing wet weather, and a cemetery with more stories than the British Library. All this culminated this afternoon with a visit to Trakai, Estonia's must-see destination, pulling in a million tourists a year.

We were incredibly lucky with the weather in Norway, with four weeks of perfect blue skies, several days too hot for the occupants of Florence, and almost no rain for the duration. Things changed when we got to Estonia, but we have still had lots of fine autumn days. Autumn does arrive early in the Baltics, the tree colour in Lithuania has been spectacular, but we have been fairly lucky, except when we've approached a capital city. It rained in Tallinn. It rained in Riga. And, sure enough, it rained again as we parked up in Vilnius.

The Centre of Europe. Really.

We had started the day in the Geographical Centre of Europe. A moniker several places lay claim to, but this one is endorsed by the Guinness Book of Records, so it must be true, right? Just like the disputes over Nordkapp, it depends on whether you are counting islands, which ones you count, and where you draw the edge to the east. Anyway, it was good enough to provide a parking space, albeit in the middle of a golf course, so we had settled down for the night with only the occasional buggy bumbling past until twilight. In the morning we visited the marker stones, and then took the spaniels for an amble over a nearby hill fort, around a couple of villages, and back past the sixth tee. All this in full waterproofs, with a persistent drizzle, and long wet grass which drenched even the most technical of waterproof shoes. 

From here it was straight to Vilnius, where a large Rimi hypermarket on the outskirts allowed us to do our weekly shop and top up the dogfood. By lunchtime we were tucked up in a secure paid car park just across the river from Vilnius' castle and the old town, with the rest of the day to explore. The view from the top of the nearby hill was spectacular, even in the gloom, and we enjoyed our meander around the vast cathedral square, where a single tile  - the miracle square - marks the end of the Baltic Way, a human chain which stretched from Tallinn to Vilnius on 23rd August 1989. It involved two million people, spanned 675km, and marked the 50th anniversary of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact between the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany, which led to the occupation of the Baltic States in 1940. It was a demonstration of the desire for self-determination, and seven months later Lithuania become the first of the Soviet republics to declare independence. 

Rooftops of Vilnius

Max finds the miracle square

More icing sugar churches

We'll return to the story later, but first we continued from Cathedral Square into the Old Town, which is so dense with churches that they almost ran out of saints after which to name them. A typically mean-spirited act by the Soviets saw one of them turned into a museum of Atheism, as they tried to wipe out faith. Now, they are being energetically restored, but many of them are in a Baroque style that did little for us, and there was no opportunity to enter any of them as we had the spaniels with us. The city lacked the old guild buildings and wooden houses that had so appealed to us in Tallin, and the Art Nouveau splendours of Riga. The classical style of the university quarter was elegant, and that was the area which we would have explored more, had we returned without the pups. We could not help but be affected by walking through the old Jewish Ghetto, now the linen quarter. Lithuania had a thriving Jewish population before WWII, the Jews having been invited to settle in 1400 by the then king. A large part of the population lived in Vilnius, a global centre of Yiddish learning, but they were almost all murdered by the Nazis by 1944. Of the small number that survived, many of their families moved to Israel during the lifting of travel restrictions (Perestroika) in the 1980s. 

We returned to the van in solemn mood, but it was time for a glass of wine, and a rare opportunity to dress up a bit. Nick had been paid for some family history research, and we were parked in a city where we could safely walk to a restaurant and leave the spaniels in the van to sleep. We found a place called Grey, just ten minutes walk away, and had lovely meal of Lithuanian pancakes to start, followed by pork shank (him) and trout (her). A shared dessert of crumbly apple pastry and froth filled the last remaining crevices. The service was excellent and the ambiance modern and comfortable. The only slightly surreal moment came when looking up to see Peter Capaldi in a music video on a screen over the bar. Apparently singer-songwriter Lewis Capaldi is his cousin. 

A great place for a game of ball

Heroes of Lithuanian independence

This morning we walked back up the hill behind our car park, this time to a flat hilltop which proved to be an excellent place for a game of ball for Max and Elsa. Only on leaving did we see a sign saying no dogs, but the presence of dog poo bins suggests an on-going battle between archeological regulations and municipal pragmatism. From here it was a short drive to the Antakalnio cemetery, where we were to pick up the story of Lithuania's battle for independence. After Lithuania declared its independence in March 1990, it was instructed by the Soviet Union to renounce its decision - a freedom that was only intended for Soviet satellite states, not those which were part of the Soviet Union. Lithuania declined, and the tanks came rolling in, killing nine peaceful protesters at a television station in January 1991, and eight border guards later that year. Those seventeen people are buried in matching graves, now heroes of the state. Remarkably, they were the only people to die in the three Baltic States in their battle for independence from the Soviet Union. 

The first president had a lot on his plate

Also buried in Antakalnio are the remains of soldiers in Napoleon's army who perished on the retreat from Moscow, and hundreds of Polish soldiers who died in regional battles between 1919 and 1921. Lithuania's first modern president is buried there, near dozens of Soviet graves with their carved effigies, looking like a stony politburo. And it is still a working cemetery, with regular funerals taking place. Just as well really, as many of the graves have already been engraved with the names of their intended recipients, with open-ended dates, yet to be completed.

The politburo lives - or maybe not

We could have spent the day exploring, but it was time to return to the spaniels, and head to the outskirts of Vilnius, to the town of Trakai. An early Lithuanian king had learned about the lake full of islands, and moved his court there in about 1400 from Kernave, where we'd visited the hill forts a few days ago. A reconstructed castle remains on an island, reachable by wooden bridges, and there are also ruins and other important buildings nearby. We decided not to go inside the castle, but to wander around the grounds, where we were rather startled to suddenly hear the words: "Quiet please!" and find ourselves in the middle of a film set. There was no security, and no-one had questioned us. We beat a hasty retreat across the bridge, to the sound of a busker on a squeezebox, and the familiar sight of people pouring off coaches.

Houses of the Karaite minority

The tourist area now centres on the wooden houses belonging to the Karaite people, a Turkic minority brought from Baghdad as bodyguards around 600 years ago. There are now only about 12 families remaining. Almost as strange a sight for us was the field full of British registered cars in various stages of decay. We've no idea why. Max was more interested in the ducks on the lake. 

There are more ducks tonight, this time back on the Neman river, which we've encountered again on one of its many bends. We are in the spa town of Birštonas, in a car park with good access to walks along the river in the morning, before we head west across the border, and say goodbye to the Baltics, after a month of travelling. Tomorrow also marks three months since we left home. We've seen so much in that time, but there is still a great deal ahead. 

Hey, another dog statue Mum!