Vilnius, Lithuania 2021

Wintry Days In Vilnius

The temperature touches minus 7 as we head back to the hotel after our evening meal, frost forming fern patterns on car windscreens and turning pavement puddles into treacherous mini skating rinks. But the air is clean and crisp, the moon is bright and we breathe in the tastes of proper winter for the first time in a long time.

By first light next morning the snow is falling and the cobbled streets have a covering of pure white as workers shuffle to offices and factories, huddled inside heavy overcoats and hidden behind hats and scarves. For us this is a bonus: we hadn’t expected to see snow this early in the year, and as we take our first Lithuanian breakfast we chatter like excited kids at the prospect of exploring Vilnius in a wintry scene.

Our arrival the previous lunchtime, after an overnight stay at Luton Airport and a pre-dawn flight, had seen bright crisp sunshine to accompany our first impressions of this city of cobbled streets and baroque spires. Vilnius is a city steeped in history but defined by recent times.

Lithuania was arguably the most rebellious of the occupied states of the Soviet Union and fittingly the first to declare independence as the USSR broke apart in the late 1980s. This city saw the concept and start point of one of the most singularly powerful human statements of all time: the Baltic Way. As the three Baltic states of Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia strove to break away, an incredible human chain of 2 million people was formed, holding hands and connecting the three capital cities in a show of love, strength and independence which, amazingly, stretched unbroken for 650 kilometres.

Evocative photographs and stories of this moving piece of history adorn the walls inside the Gediminas Tower, site of the start of the chain and the spot where the Lithuanian flag was first raised when independence from Moscow was declared. There is a strong feeling here, as in the rest of the Baltic region, that the three states were badly let down, and subsequently ignored, by the rest of the World, when they were submitted to Soviet rule as Europe realigned after WW2.

Yet our first impressions are that there is a difference here: in Estonia, there was an air of sadness for a nation’s lost identity, whereas here, in this modernised, vibrant city, there is a sense of buoyant independence after decades of oppression. It feels as if the celebration is still as joyous now as it was thirty years ago.

Both Gedimino Street and Vilniaus Street house the shops of Western retailers and restaurants of international cuisine, but the cobbled streets of the expansive old city proudly promote Lithuanian culture, traditions and food. The combined effect is one which feels like Vilnius is still sticking up two fingers in the direction of Moscow. With glee.

The snowfall brings a thoroughly seasonal look to the city’s parks and buildings, arriving just as the Christmas trees are put into place and the lofty white and silver Christmas monument is erected in Cathedral Square. It also adds a certain poignancy to the day’s military display in the same square: it turns out that today, November 23rd, is Lithuania Armed Forces Day, celebrating that particular element of regaining independence.

Gediminas Tower sits atop one of two hills rising above this otherwise flat city – the other is topped by The Three Crosses, a further symbol of independence and one which, like many others in these parts, has been demolished and rebuilt each time Russian or Soviet occupation came and went. There now exists a strong belief that, this time, this city icon is here to stay.

Darkness falls early here and the days are short, approximately seven hours separating sunrise and nightfall, the stillness of the cold air bringing a quietness to the city which is enhanced rather than broken by the ripple of winter tyres of slow moving traffic on cobbled thoroughfares. 

COVID protocols are strictly enforced: if we didn’t have vaccination passes on our phones, we wouldn’t get a meal, let alone a bed for the night. Entrance to each and every building is forbidden without that pass, an uncharacteristic constriction in this otherwise liberated city.

Vilnius: Stories And Histories

Imagine walking across a bridge in the middle of a capital city and being met with a sign on a shop wall reading “border control”, passing entry instructions to the Republic which include a smile icon, multiple flags with an open palm as the centrepiece, and then finding yourself alongside a wall with the Republic’s constitution detailed in over 40 languages, including such clauses as…

“Everyone has the right to die, but this is not an obligation”

“Everyone has the right to be happy”

“Everyone has the right to be unhappy”

“Everyone has the right to have no rights”

And concludes with the Republic’s motto…

“Do not defeat…do not fight back….do not surrender”.

Welcome to Uzupis, a self declared Republic within the city of Vilnius, a 1km square plot surrounded by water, home to a population where 1 in 7 are artists and taking yourself seriously is, it would seem, unacceptable. A “republic”, recognised by the world only in jest yet legitimised by Papal visits, with a National Day of April 1st, with an “ambassador for whistling in the street”, yet which has a certain autonomy in local Government and genuine respect within its country.

Uzupis is part Narnia, part Monster Raving Loony, part fact, part fiction. Part satire, part political. So much so that we can’t even work out just how seriously they do take themselves – though we strongly suspect not at all. It’s fun to be here with the “national” flag at every few paces (it changes colour each season) and the crazy constitution (Google it in full!) fixed to the walls to support and promote bohemian lifestyles. How refreshing it is to find somewhere where a sense of humour is intrinsic. 

This ersatz Republic sits between the rivers of Vilnius, connected to the old city by a number of bridges, and was in earlier times an area of decrepit housing with a reputation for lawlessness and prostitution, before artists gravitated here from around Europe and created the bohemian atmosphere which lead to its current amusing, happy vibe. We don’t know if we’ve ever seen anywhere quite like it……..

The wider city of Vilnius seems extremely comfortable with itself whilst at the same time basking in freedom, perhaps the perfect combination for something or somewhere like Uzupis to exist. 

But, like most cities of Europe, there is something of a dark history beneath the surface. There is little left of the old city walls, but between the obvious boundaries of Cathedral Square to the north and, to the south, the wonderfully named Gates Of Dawn (connections to Pink Floyd purely coincidental), lofty ancient buildings bow down over tight cobbled streets with more stories to tell than most. 

Occupation by the Soviet Union followed Nazi invasion during WW2; the Soviets seeking to dispel indigenous culture by expulsion and infiltration, the Nazis, as ever, creating ghettos for the Jewish population in preparation for their slaughter. The former ghettos now sport a series of evocative pieces of street art reviving memories of the Semite people, though all but one of the synagogues are long destroyed.

Vilnius proudly displays its Jewish history, enjoys its offbeat bohemian Uzupis “republic”, and speaks little of, and gives no respect to, its period of Russian/Soviet occupation. Lithuania is proud to have resurfaced and the adjective “resilient” is in its every piece of written history. There seems to be enormous pride in that characteristic. As there surely should be.

Vilnius: Knights, Russians….And Frank Zappa

Tuesday’s snow melts away quickly as a rise in the mercury brings heavy grey skies and occasional drizzle, the ice patches on the uneven pavements are once again just harmless puddles. A 17-mile train ride out of the capital brings us to Trakai, a lakeside town which in summer is a popular destination for city dwellers and tourists alike.

Trakai is a town surrounded by water, built on both lakeside flatlands and grassy peninsulas, and is a ramshackle mix of timber clad houses and characterless rectangular apartment blocks, but its popularity is down not just to its watery location but also to its stunning castle structures. One of the castles sits majestically on an island in the lake reached by two lengthy footbridges, the other faces it from a narrow peninsula jutting out into the water.

Originally built in the 14th century as a base for the Grand Duchy of Lithuania then rebuilt in more robust form by Vytautus The Great, the castles enabled the Duchy to ward off successive crusades by the Teutonic Knights and thus retain the Duchy’s autonomy, displaying characteristic resilience (that word again!) in the process.

The famous island castle fell into disrepair in the 19th century as villagers looted building materials for their own ends, until a major restoration project starting in 1902 saw rebuilding which replicates the original design. The result is a beautifully picturesque lakeside structure which looks as much like a fairy tale castle as a piece of ancient history. 

With 200 lakes in the region, one of which, Galve, is large enough to sport 21 islands, as well as the castles, it isn’t surprising that Trakai is such a popular excursion from the capital. All the clues are here: tour boats are moored and shrouded for winter, large restaurants with extensive verandas sit in darkness waiting for Spring. It’s impressive even in today’s gloom; it must be beautiful in summer.

In some less than prominent corners of Vilnius you will find some inspired, offbeat statuary, some with deep meaning, some just plain random. “First Swallows” sits between a school and a shopping mall north of the River Neris, the first swallows of summer being a metaphor for the rebirth of the Lithuanian nation. Others are less obvious: the angel of Uzupis standing on an egg, a small boy clasping a shoe to his chest, and, most incongruous of all, Frank Zappa.

Zappa’s connection with Vilnius is…..absolutely nothing. When Lithuania had pulled down its part of the Iron Curtain, the desire to align with Western culture and shake off Moscow triggered thoughts of just how its capital could celebrate its new found freedom. When a local youth group suggested a Frank Zappa statue, even they were surprised when their idea was accepted by the authorities: but accepted it was, and a stony Zappa now stares out across a quiet square.

Celebration of freedom is one thing, remembering the darkest days of Russification is quite another, and to conclude our time in Vilnius we head to the place where the brutal truths of that period are laid bare: The Museum Of Occupations And Freedom Fights. This museum, housed inside the former KGB prison, takes the visitor into a world of unimaginable brutality.

We previously visited a similar museum in Estonia, and can honestly say that these two places must be, together with Auschwitz, amongst the most chilling places on Earth. These stories need to be told, and not forgotten: surely we should never forget the level of pain and brutality humanity can inflict on itself, the level of depravity our race can reach when brainwashed by authority.

The Baltic region’s 20th century story is a long one, too long to recount here, but the common theme is of being let down and exposed by the World, and of the resilience of the oppressed people. The story starts with the Molatov-Ribbentrop Pact, a secret agreement between the opposing Nazis and Russians regarding which territories they would mutually invade. 

But the main story here in this museum is of the ensuing years of oppression by Moscow. Hundreds of thousands of Russians forcibly relocated to the Baltic to impose Soviet lifestyles; similar numbers of indigenous peoples shipped the opposite way, so changing the demographic of the Baltic states in order to make it easier to impose control.

Many didn’t make it as far as exile. One word against authority and the treatment was brutal, from death by firing squad to solitary confinement to Siberian prisons; from being forced to stand naked in freezing water in a solitary confinement cell for hours on end to the bodies of slaughtered teenagers being left in Vilnius market square as a warning to those considering dissidence. These acts were not committed in wartime, but in the period of Soviet rule through the decades from the 1950s right up to the late 1980s.

Resistance movements existed in all three Baltic states, putting their lives at risk in order to defend their heritage, though understandably their numbers declined over the decades. The so called “Forest Brothers” was a loose amalgam of such resistance movements across the three states, the nickname coming from their hiding places out in the harsh remote terrain, men who fought for freedom and sovereignty in defiance of oppression. 

Brutality aside, the Soviets succeeded in inflicting change on Lithuania. Autocracy won, communism won, oppression won, and generations of Lithuanians grew up under Soviet rule, living a life alien to free spirit, but learning from parents and grandparents of Lithuania’s proud history. And always dreaming that one day, freedom will return.

Return it did, eventually, of course. But this museum tells the whole story of brutality, of stolen identity, of oppression and of resentment. And, of course, of resilience. 

No wonder the feeling of liberation is so strong, over 30 years later. 

Resilience is but part of the story.