A Loudouner in Lithuania (and more!)

Summary by city: London, Berlin, and Bergen

Let's summarizes the key experiences, by city:

London: I spent my only day in London after two hours of sleep in a hostel. When I left the hostel, someone working there told me I need to see the British National Museum because it's where the Brits house "all of the cool shit we've stolen from other countries." I did go, and I saw the Rosetta Stone and mummies, among other artifacts. Perhaps more important than the museum, was the Fish 'n Chips place I went to near the museum. I ordered a large, to-go. The flakey fish-fry covered in vinegar was deliciously unhealthy.

I had to catch a bus to sleep in the airport for my flight to Germany; the bus left late, so to kill my time, I just settled into a seat at a very standard/traditional British pub. After a few beers and some reading, I noticed the place was really filling up, and I gestured to a pair of men that they could share their table with me. When they sat down, I realized that they were deaf because they were signing to each other. Soon after they sat down, a group of six or so other deaf people came in and sat at a table next to ours. They seemed really friendly, so I wrote one of them a note and passed it to him; thus began an hour long conversation. My first question related to my only experience with sign language: "I like poetry. Have you ever seen poetry in sign language before?" They had seen this, and they were very surprised that I had. Through notes, we talked about their families, politics, my travels, etc. I remember them telling me the key difference between the American and European sign language system is that the American alphabet can be signed with one hand, but the European system requires two. In Ireland they use the American system, so the deaf Irishman at the table told me he can drive and talk, but if the Europeans try to it leads to an accident. I also noticed that when they try to read someone signing from behind, it's like reading everything backwards or trying to read upside down.

Berlin: I stayed in a hostel that is now tied for first as my favorite: East Seven Hostel, not far from Alexanderplatz. (In case you are curious, the other first place hostel is Oasis Backpackers' Hostel in Granada, Spain.) The rooms were very clean, the staff was super friendly; they even prepared a complimentary dinner for guests. Further, the hostel pays for a daily walking tour that guests can join for free. This was exactly what I needed for my one day in Berlin. The four hour tour, with guide Espin (he was English, living in Berlin), ran me past the many vital sights: Museum Island, Checkpoint Charlie, The Wall, the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, and several universities and modern buildings of importance. I've never been in a city so ripe with history--at least tragic history. And Berlin in beautiful; the people are friendly, and the streets are very clean and quiet. I was lucky enough to meet some Berliners at the hostel, and they took me to a rock club, where I tried German beers and listened to a blues vocalist's clunky singing in English.

The most important aspect of my trip to Berlin was the kebab I ate--the best kebab of my life. An amazing saint whom I met on the plane to Berlin told me all of the cheap places to eat, in the Turkish neighborhoods. This woman even insisted on buying my two day public transportation pass for the city, and I told her that travel karma would be good to her next time she was in a new place. At the least, I'll be sure when I'm an older man to buy young travelers transportation passes. Anyway, back to the kebab. I bought it at Schlemmer, directly across from the Rosenthalerplatz metro station. I bought the Chicken Spejial. A picture of it is below. I thought I enjoyed kebabs in the past--rotating meat is a constant in life--but this meat was quality: not very fatty, and full of spices. I got the yogurt sauce, and the vinegar covered fresh vegetables were crisp and flavorful. After the kebab, when I was near tears, I shook the maker's hand.

 

Bergen: I came to Bergen to stay with my good friend, Thomas. Thomas and I met when I was studying in Glasgow a few years ago; we studied at separate universities, but we randomly met on my first morning in Glasgow because we were sharing a bunk bed in the same hostel. Since this was my first time away from home, I was looking for a friend, and I was lucky to meet Thomas that first day. We became close friends over our time in Glasgow and promised to meet again some day. Well, Thomas visited the States last year; he stayed with my family, which allowed him to see DC, and he even stayed with me a few nights in Blacksburg. This year, it was my turn to visit him in Norway.

Norway is by far the most expensive place I've ever visited (and I couldn't have done it without a native putting me up). Despite this hiccup, during my stay in Bergen, I realized I've never visited a more peaceful and beautiful city. It's a quiet place, and the silence is often only broken by the sounds of ships in the port or seabirds. Thomas always comments on the relatively care-free/perfect lives that Norwegians lead. At first I thought he was exaggerating, but now that I've been here, it really seems like something of a utopia.

Anyway, thankfully Thomas and his very kind and beautiful girlfriend, Meri, let me stay with them in their awesome apartment. Seeing them share this little home filled me with envy; they are leading exactly the life I've been wanting to have with Mallary for years now--it has to come eventually, right? It was nice to be in a home and rest plenty after my crazy days of little sleep in London and Germany. I brought my hosts gin and whiskey from the duty free shop at the airport; many people told me that it's insane to go to Norway without buying alcohol in the airports because it is so expensive here.

Thomas was a good host. He fed me very well: blue cheese, bacon wrapped chicken breast, served with marinated fingerling potatoes and a salad of greens with tomatoes and avocado; Norwegian sour-cream porridge (made by boiling sour-cream and adding flour and a bit of salt), with buttered flat bread and sliced meats, including a delicious piece of smoked trout Thomas bought at the farmer's market and a sausage made with cow and sheep hearts; we even grilled outside in the garden one night with many of Thomas' friends.

We also made good use of the landscape surrounding Bergen. Bergen rests in a valley, right on the waterfront. Surrounding the city are seven mountain peaks--the seven sisters--and I looked down upon Bergen from two of them. One day we rode the funicular up to Floien to take pictures of the city. I've never looked at a port-town from such a vantage; it was really nice to see the boats chugging around the harbor. We walked down from this peak back to Bergen. Another day, Thomas and I rode a cable car to Ulriken, the highest of the sisters, and from there we hiked and climbed most of the afternoon over to Floien, the adjoining peak and the first we visited. It was good to be active again and climb my way through the very dramatic Norwegian landscape: broken rocks, sharp cliffs, and running water. In fact, the landscape reminded me of the scenes of "the sublime" sought after by the Romantic poets in places like the Scottish highlands and the Swiss alps. The next day, and perhaps it was too soon after my first exercise in some time, we biked to Salhus, a town close to Bergen where Meri works at an old textile factory turned museum. Salhus was about 20 km away, I think. The landscape was hilly as we biked along the shoreline, and it was some workout for me. Thomas was nice enough to stick with me, though he was obviously antsy to take off; every time someone passed us, he whimpered like a dog who was forbidden to chase rabbits. The museum was pretty cool; I've been to different industrial museums, but never one for textiles. The machines still operate, and I watched them card wool, spin yarn, and make socks. Meri gave her first tour in English for me, and it was excellent. Perhaps most importantly, after the tour, Thomas and I ate the carrot cake that they make in the museum cafeteria; it was still warm and melted in my mouth. I didn't think I would be able to bike back, but I made it, and even enjoyed the trip more. Yesterday, we visited the Bergen aquarium, and we watched a seal show and walked through the new shark tunnel. Thomas did a great job balancing my vacation with sights and relaxation. I am in his debt, and I hope I can host him in the States again someday.

For now, that's it friends. I will write again about Prague, and my stops in Austria, Italy, and France. Today I'm going to Mallary!!

--Alex

Notes:

JAG--Lithuania

Rick and Steve, show

Max and Mary, film

Hot Rod, with Sandberg, film

Haikus

Dearest Giedre gave me a book of haikus written by Lithuanians about Vilnius before I left last week. Once I finished reading it, this was my response:

    Vilnius

Breathe in -- snow clings to
eyelashes, afraid to be
muddy by morning.

Pink dawn comes early.
The color that fights cold air,
loses gracefully.

Like a child she
dances free but with distance
and I feel younger

before now and was:
spring comes certain, and comes with
their ancestor's songs.

Under the dead Duke
Inesa and I sing; they
clap to my rhythm.

Polarized glass rocks;
dark chocolate Baltijos
rolls on down my throat.

Father says life is harder
for children born today. Still,
it's good to be free.

Village peace: Merkys
stops my heart, cold. Survival:
rye flower's hot kiss.

I weep dry tears, lost.
He thinks Lietuva will
weep to lose a friend.

The street is alive;
people unmet: good reasons
to return -- breathe out.

Guitars, Prosecco, Merkys, and Goodbye

What follows is a description of one of the best weeks of my life. I try not to spare details, and yet it was so full, I am certainly missing something. I achieved so much that I feel victorious despite the emotionally draining feeling of leaving home, which is what Lithuania became in 10 weeks.

A few weeks ago, I went to speak to a class of university students about the difference between higher education in the US and in Lithuania (or Europe in general). It was a really interesting experience, and I left feeling like I had a good sense of the benefits of both systems.  (I’ll spare the details—but if you’re interested, ask me about it some time.) At the end of the discussion, I told everyone in the class that if they were ever in the DC area, they were welcome to stay with me. Everyone left, but then a boy came back into the room, and asked for my email address because he hopes to come to DC this summer. It was funny because Mallary, who came with me that day, had just said how cute this boy was. Jonas and I swapped email addresses, and I told him I’d contact him.

After  a few emails, we agreed to meet for dinner last Friday. I told him I’d be playing guitar on the street until we meet, and he said he would bring his along. So, when he met me, we played a few songs on the street. I saw instantly that he was a skilled player with a good ear. We had a dinner of pancakes, crepes really; I had a banana stuffed one with ice cream on top and a strawberry and cottage cheese stuffed one. Delicious, rich. I enjoyed talking to Jonas, so I told him we should go get a beer somewhere. I asked him to take me to one of his favorite places; he chose Snekutis. The man who runs this bar, Mr. Snekutis, had a long gray beard, and all of the brews were homemade. There were no free seats, so we shared a table with a stranger, Gediminas. I’m glad we met him because he suggested the must-have beers in the place. After a dark beer that reminded me of rootbeer and pepper, we tried a traditional beer that changed my life: Jovary. I worked for Doug Fabbioli at his winery, and he told me that good food or drink makes you remember a lost memory. This beer, which was “alive” as the Lithuanians say (the yeast was still active), reminded me of playing in the hay loft in my grandfather’s barn: the musty, warm, heady smell of dried plants and flowers. Gediminas liked this description, and he said it makes sense because the beer is full of native and even wild grains.

After Gediminas left, I pulled back out my guitar, and convinced the initially-shy Jonas to play with me. We played some blues songs I wrote, and the next thing I know, two girls asked to sit with us, and Lithuanians in the bar were clapping along. They really liked my favorite song—“Where did you sleep last night?”—Leadbelly style, though I like Nirvana’s take on it, too. Between songs, someone asked where I was from—I could tell he was American; when I said Virginia, he freaked out and told me he was on exchange from VMI. Small world. After reminiscing about good old Virginny, I traded email addresses with him, and said we’d get a drink sometime on the other side of the Atlantic. For a bar, this place closed early; once on the street, I decided I still didn’t want this night to end, so I called one of my friends from the Embassy. She told us that she and a few others were at In Vino, a wine bar near the Gates of Dawn in the heart of Old Town.

At this point, Jonas was high on life, so it took no effort to get him to come along with me. This In Vino was pretty chic and had a lot of seating. My friends were all the way in the back. After they all met Jonas, in their kindness they shared some Prosecco; we returned the gift with songs. Now that it was later in the evening, and all of Lithuania was a bit more intoxicated, the seemingly-shy Lithuanians cast off their barriers. Everyone was shouting requests and one group pulled their table up to ours; perhaps unsurprisingly, Jonas knew way more Americans songs than me. Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” was a big hit, along with “Sweet Home Alabama,” and “Wild Thing.” I even played guitar with Jonas while the Lithuanian’s sang some of their songs.

Eventually, this night had to end (4 am?). I would have been sad, except I had big plans for the morning. Daiva, the language instructor at the Embassy, and mother of the oft-mentioned Jore, invited me to see village life in Lithuania. Her friend, Laima, inherited a small village cottage from her parents, and she was kind enough give an American a glimpse of Lithuania’s private fairytale world. After waking up at 8 am, I traveled by bus to Laima’s place. After she showed me her small but cozy flat and gave me a gift of intricately hand-painted eggs, we piled into her very small car: me, Laima, Daiva, Jore, and Pifas—Laima’s 14-year-old blind/deaf dog.  The ride to the village was lovely, if a bit cramped. It was snowing when we left Vilnius, but Daiva promised better weather when we arrived at the village. She kept her promise because the sun came from behind the clouds just as we arrived.

“Fairytale” is the best ways to describe these village communities. It’s almost unbelievable how quaint and natural everything is. The homes are almost all identical—log cabin like structures painted gray, with intricately carved white wood-siding around the windows. There is no plumbing in the village; everyone has a well, and there are a few community outhouses.  I am a bit of a water snob because in Lucketts our taps are supplied by wells, but this was probably the first water I’ve ever had that was better than Stumptown’s. After opening up the cottage to air out and starting a fire in the woodstove, we spread out a big picnic lunch on the cottage porch. Laima told me some of her family’s history, and the history of the house. Her grandparents built the house in 1913—Laima showed me the board with the number carved into it. She also told me about her mother, who spent 10 years in Siberia after the Soviets deported her for singing a Lithuanian national song when she was 16 years old. The pain in Laima’s face when she told this story was apparent—because of this action against her mother, Laima refused to  ever join the Communist party, which meant she could not go to school in Soviet Lithuania. This moral stand came at a high price when it came time to find a career. She also told me that Lithuanians often joke they are all related because of Siberia; the people that survived their time there met and had children with a Lithuanian from a community they would otherwise never have integrated with.

After lunch, we went for a walk to the river Merkys. As we walked through the pine forest, I saw so many wildflowers and small plants that were new to me; this was very exciting. We bumped into several strange mushrooms, though they are most plentiful in the fall. The soil was remarkably sandy; actually, it just was sand in most places. This composition and plentiful rain-fall cause Lithuania’s forests to be carpeted in soft moss. We came to a ridge overlooking a winding river; it made such a bent U, it was almost a complete circle. If man was a river, he would take the straightest path to a destination; I love how inefficient and unconcerned nature behaves. Because of the sandy soil, this ledge is constantly eroded by the river. Many of the tall pines were on the brink of falling into the river; Daiva told me one falls every couple of weeks.

When we walked down and along the river, I saw wild strawberry and raspberry plants. Laima told me that you can visit the village in the summer and not bring any food because there are enough wild berries and mushrooms to pick and fish to catch that you won’t go hungry. She told me the locals in this poor district joke, “If not for mushrooms and berries, the girls would be naked.” After seeing her small cottage filled with sunlight and that pure smell of wet earth, I realized that someone could spend the best month of their life living in one of these homes. Just live off the land, farm some simple crops, and spend all day fishing in the sun. This is a dream of mine now; we’ll see if I ever make it back to Lithuania as I hope to, let alone have a free month to live here.

I completed my quest to know Lithuania by swimming in her waters. I found a very shallow bank on the Merkys and stripped to my shorts—I usually completely strip, but it wasn’t appropriate in front of the ladies or the conservative villagers. The Lithuanians clearly thought this was crazy, but Daiva brought me to the village because I expressed how important it was that I swim in a Lithuanian river. Of course, the water was near-freezing (Laima said it's cold even in the summer), but it was exactly what I wanted. My heart stopped the moment I jumped in, and it wasn’t sure if it wanted to restart. It was so extreme that I sort of lost control of my brain: a bit of screaming and roaring felt very healthy. Pifas jumped in with me because he is so brave. My good friends know that I’m not a big pet person, but I respect wisdom, and Pifas had plenty to teach me. One would never guess that he was 14 years old (or blind or deaf), which is 100 in human years; he was sprinting through the open fields like a puppy. He was the only one happier to be out of the city than me.

After returning to the village, Jore and I had to prepare to catch the train back to Vilnius. Laima and Daiva stayed in the village for the evening.  Before jumping on the train, we had one final thing to see in the village. After crossing a “monkey bridge,” which was barely suspended and shook in the wind, we came to the village-house of one of Laima’s friends. When we approached the door, an old, short woman, burst out of the door and began hugging me and everyone else. She brought us into her house and pushed me into a chair and gave me cookies, then immediately pulled me out of her seat so she could demonstrate working at her wooden spinning wheel to make thread—old school. Laima and Daiva kept referring to her as a “philosopher.” They weren’t using this title in the way I would, but this woman was certainly full of philosophy. The real reason for the visit was to give me a true taste of Lithuania—homemade liquor made from rye flower. This 70% clear alcohol is illegal and made by “some man in the woods.” It really did smell like rye bread, but it mainly tasted like burning (yes, that’s a taste now). Of course, the 80-year-old woman took her shot faster than anyone else. After Jore and I returned the favor by singing a song, they sang some songs in Lithuanian; the lyrics were translated to me as a mother asking a daughter, “Where have you been?” to which the daughter responds, “I shared a word with a boy beneath a tree.” Despite how inviting this philosopher’s presence was, we had to run to the train. On the train back, Jore and I drank a beer, hiding it from the ticket-collectors. Jore kept saying she felt 16 again.

When I got back to Vilnius, I went to my sister’s house: not my blood sister, of course, but my Lithuanian sister. Renata and her mother fed me weeks ago, after the Kuzukio fair, and when a woman makes me a meal, she becomes family (whether she wants to or not). When Renata invited me to her place again for a dinner, I eagerly accepted. It was lovely to meet her brother again and his son, Cristopus (I’m sure that’s spelled wrong, but it’s phonetically accurate) and her beautiful cousins. After she stuffed me to the seams and gave me a dozen glasses of wine, I sleepily sat and listened to the hum of the Lithuanian language. I went from the village and the river by morning to wine with new friends by evening—rarely are days fuller.

Sunday should have been a day of rest, except that I was invited to go to Grutas Parkas, and this was not a weekend for no’s. (Actually, I’m not sure if I’ve said no to anything since I’ve been here…anything morally healthy that is.) As a private venture, a businessman decided to buy the old Soviet relics and statues around Lithuania and set them up in an outdoor park. Initially people disliked his idea, preferring that the Soviet propaganda be destroyed, but now it is a favorite place in the country for reflecting on their history. There is something beautifully ironic about someone making a business out of paid-viewings of Soviet statues; it’s so wonderfully Western, and seeing Lenin and Stalin poked and prodded by smiling tourists makes one think they’re getting their comeuppance. There were many good photo opportunities here, and there’s even a petting zoo for the children. I remember an American colleague at the Embassy said there is something completely off-putting about placing a petting zoo next to a solemn museum of Soviet occupation; my Lithuanian colleague responded to this by saying: “It actually makes perfect sense because the Soviets were running a zoo in Lithuania.”

On the drive home from the park, we stopped along the road to see what someone was selling on the hood of their car: mushrooms! I had heard that a special type of spring mushroom was ready for picking, and I hoped to try them so I could complete my full quest to see Lithuania: her river and her mushrooms. The group of us bought a bag of them for around two dollars, and I said we’d have a pot-luck dinner at my place during the week, and I would serve them there. Bobausis (pronounced bo-bo-say) are toxic mushrooms, so they must be prepared carefully. It was difficult to get education on their preparation at first because many Lithuanians don’t eat them. I read that in Scandinavia and the northern Baltics they are popular, but they are avoided in France and Poland; Lithuania is right in between. Finally, someone from the Embassy who enjoys them told me that I need to boil them three times for 30 minutes, changing out the water each time.  I was also told to keep all the windows in my kitchen open because the steam is full of the toxins, too.  On the first boil the water turned blood red and the smell gave me a queasy feeling, so I just opened every window in my flat. By the third boil though, the mushrooms that previously looked like a death-trap, looked very tame. I sautéed them with onions using a hunk of pork fat and some butter. We had quite a spread at this pot-luck; in fact, I was eating left-overs until the day I left. But the mushrooms were rather anti-climactic after all the fuss; they tasted much like any other mushroom, or even less. I’m not sure how anything can taste good after you boil it three times, though. Most Lithuanians say the autumn mushrooms are better, so I’ll have to return for them. I’m glad I can say I ate them, though, and that I prepared something that could have killed me.

My work is completed at the Embassy. As the week ended, I shared several heartfelt farewells with my colleagues, including the Ambassador. I enjoyed my time there, and I signed up to take the Foreign Service Exam this summer. I’m not certain I want to be a FS officer, but there’s no harm in taking the test. Friday, my last full day in Lithuania, was beautiful: 72 degrees and sunny skies. I met many of my American and Lithuanian friends in Uzupis, and we drank and chatted outside. I said goodbye to many people, and met many new people, which was bittersweet. I wandered through the streets with Jonas, Jore, and Giedre, and to the end was going to new places I hadn’t seen. Jonas and I played guitar everywhere we went, and I can say I went down singing. I really do hope I can return to Lithuania one day. Time will tell.

Now I’m in London, and I plan to continue writing about my travels. The itinerary by city is: London; Berlin; Hamburg; Bremen to Haugesund, Norway (just points of transit); Bergen (with Thomas); Prague (with Mal); Vienna;  Salzburg; Florence; Rome; somewhere in southern France; Paris; and Washington! I wish I was excited about the first leg, but it largely feels like one awkward, long path to Mallary. Ignorance is bliss, and because I lost that ignorance and I know how good it is to be with the person I love, I’m hardly satisfied when I’m not.  (It’s a good thing I love Thomas, too! I can’t wait to see Norway with him.) Plus, though cheap travel through Europe is possible, it’s tiring. Because of strange flight times and locations, I will probably sleep (try to, that is) in airports two of the next three nights. I’m young, though, so I should do this while my body can. For a month, I’m living from a small school book bag. Thankfully the weather is warming up, so I didn’t need to pack bulky winter clothes. I will be re-wearing my socks and growing a gnarly beard; how freeing! Believe it or not, I feel less up for it at 23 than I did at 20 when I did this last. I want to keep pushing the limit, though. I am well aware that it will not be possible to take a whole month like this in the coming years. That’s also why I’ve dismissed my guilt over the cost of the trip: in ten years, I won’t remember starting the payments on my school loans one month earlier, but I will remember this trip.

Keep reading, friends; I’ll have stories to tell. In fact, rather than a rambling narrative, this blog may become brief vignettes. And I may use this venue to post some poetry I’ve been working on as well.

One of the last things Mal and I did before her departure was visit the old castle behind Cathedral Square in Vilnius. It wasn't until I had that vantage that I realized how many red roofs there are in Vilnius. The contrast against the many churches is beautiful. See?

In the small museum in the castle, Mallary and I read about The Baltic Way. In 1989, two million people joined hands in a 600 km chain between the three Baltic capitals. I know this act came out of necessity because of Soviet oppression, but I still slightly envy the people who remember being one of the two million. Americans rarely join hands in such acts of solidarity because we rarely have to. This is good too--just in a different way. The castle we were in is the distant brick structure in the next picture, behind Duke Gediminos on his horse.

On the evening before Mallary left, my good friend Giedra, with whom I work, invted the two of us over for dinner. She prepared herring with Lithuanian mushrooms and a Lithuanian national dish of ground meat cooked in cabage leaves. We ate our fill, and the meal was made complete with an amber, smooth cognac. I'm glad I've met enough people to have homemade meals while I'm here.

Mallary's departure was awful. Every time is worse than the last. I guess that means we are getting better. But it's hard to be optimist because I just hate being apart from her. I should see her about in about three weeks, though--that is, short of more volcanoes erupting.

I've been in paper-writing mode since Mallary left--went from Heaven to Hell. I'm trying to wrap up some online courses I'm in before I start traveling in two weeks. The other night I was working and feeling pretty sorry for myself, and I was about to give up and go to bed. Then I realized it was 4/16, and I was thinking about my peers who were robbed of the right to go to school and write papers. This really is a privilege. There are people in the ground who would much rather be writing a paper. So, I didn't go to bed. I wrote about the Cold War until about 4 am, when the sky was beginning to lighten. Go Hokies!

This volcano issue is pretty interesting, especially because of my work at the Embassy. We had short-term visitors who were stranded in Vilnius over the weekend. One of them was driven to Warsaw today by our motorpool service, but the other is hoping airspace will open for her flight tomorrow. It doesn't seem likely at this point. In fact, if this doesn't stop soon, my travel plans could be ruined. And a problem with using RyanAir and other cheap airlines is I will not be reimbursed if my flight is cancelled. Let's hope that doesn't happen.

The Dubliner, an Irish ex-pat bar, closed its doors on Saturday night. I think I'll be glad to say one day that I was there on its last night. It was a cool place, but they were having disputes with their landlords--a Catcholic Church. The Church turned off power in the place some months ago, and they've been running on generators since then. It made the whole restaurant too expensive to be profitable, though. What a shame. Now Vilnius doesn't have a British pub.

On Sunday, Giedra took me to a Family Day concert at the Philharmonic. The feature was "Young Talents." There were clowns between each piece that was played, and in the dark, they would search with flashlights for the new talent and then bring them on stage. It was very silly, and all of the children around me were howling. Some of the musicians were quite impressive. Often it is easy to be over impressed when you see a child musician because their skill is beyond their years--but there playing can be robotic or forced. A couple of the acts, including a ten year viola player and a five year old violinist was quite good, though.

I'll close with a picture of the apple dumpling I bought the other day. The core of the apple was replaced by a a core of sugar. It was amazing. And despite it being the size of my little sister's head, it still only cost about $1.20. I'll miss you Vilnius.

--Alex

Klaipeda, Mono, Uzupis, and Trakai

Last weekend I took a trip to Klaipeda--Lithuania's sea port town--and it was great. This was a diplomatic trip, and we came up on Sunday to join the Ambassador who was already there. We arrived on Sunday evening and stayed in a nice hotel. We came in Sunday night because it is about a 3 hour drive to Klaipeda and our day started early on Monday. At breakfast Monday we met with representatives from Army and the Navy who are investigating potential routes for bringing cargo to Afghanistan. With the upcoming surge, thousands of new shipping containers are headed to the Middle East. Klaipeda's port is the biggest (and arguably most accessible) in the Baltic, but for some unknown reason, it is the only Baltic port that is not being utilized currently for delivering military supplies. Thanks to our proactive Ambassador, this may change. She pretty much single-handedly suggested to the military that they investigate using Lithuania. They agreed, seeing that the more routes they have for delivering cargo, the more strategical advantage they have. After visiting the VERY well-managed port, it appears that Klaipeda may even be a cheaper/safer/more time efficient choice for much cargo. It was interesting to see the port and listen to the Lithuanians sell their option hard. Lithuania has a well-developed rail infrastructure, too, so containers can be on their way east quickly--enough routes exist that certain or all cargo could avoid conflict areas like Belarus. As an aside, I realized a port is like a wine trail...every company is in competition at the port, but TOGETHER they are in competition against all other ports to bring business to their area. This reminded me of seeing how the wineries worked together in Loudoun--because people usually visit multiple wineries in one day, it is better for them to work together. Notice the ice in the picture below; yes the Baltic Sea has been known to freeze, but it's usually not as bad near Lithuania.

I'm not certain, but I'm not going to discuss the second diplomatic visit of the because it is probably just classified. I'll just say it was militaristic in nature, too, which made our final diplomatic mission of the day so interesting in contrast. We donated three big boxes of English books to the children literature section at the main library in Klaipeda. When we arrived, we entered a small auditorium FULL of Lithuanian children. Several very talented children played various pieces of reception music or even recited poetry, and I never wanted to speak their language so much. The children were in awe when the Ambassador gave her speech in Lithuanian. They also chuckled at her accent. Anyway, the whole moment was very rewarding for me because it was very genuine. No political posturing/false smiles/limp handshakes. These people were happy to have these books, and we were happy to give them to them. It made me realize that if you had one genuine moment like this out of every one hundred, then it might all be worth it. To celebrate 1000 years since Lithuania's name was first documented, which Lithuanians celebrated last year, the Ambassador decided to give 1000 books to libraries; very simple and beneficial initiative.

We returned to Vilnius late Monday evening, and so began a very full week. Tuesday night I went to the Broadway club and played at an open-mic session. I want to thank my friends Milda, Jore, Giedre, and Ruta for coming to cheer me on. I've done this many times, and I don't really get nervous, but it's always nice to have a friend in the audience. I had the misfortune of playing after two very quality acts--two good guitarists. I'm not much of a guitarist--I play a simple style--but my voice is strong, and I played a few of my favorite blues songs well. After I played, I went outside for some air, and a group of Lithuanians came to congratulate me and say they liked my songs. I began talking with them about my growing love for Vilnius, and I said I already hope to return one day. One of the men said, "Because of the women?" I've heard this a lot from the men who are naturally upset about foreign boys stomping on their ground, but I said, "No, I want to come back for the mushrooms." This was a good answer. He had never heard this before, and I think he could tell I was being honest. In the fall the people make treks to the woods for mushrooms; I would love to see this. In fact, Ruta promised to prepare me some frozen mushrooms she has. I'll remember this. Anyway, it was nice to play at an open-mic again, and I play to do it more soon.

Wednesday night I met Jore at Moulin Rouge, the metal/rock club in town to see a Japanese post-rock band, Mono. Here was the "underground" concert I had been looking for. If you don't know what post-rock is, check it out and its close relative, shoegazing. Does it sound weird? It should. Honestly, this will never be my favorite music--but the rhythms, big crescendos, and the tonal harmonies overwhelm the body. Mono was a quality act too. They've been touring for many years, and their show had an uncommon, almost off-putting feeling of perfection. They have songs on YouTube, for those who may be interested. Here's a sweet pic I took of the opening act, a Lithuanian experimental rock group. Thanks again Jore for the invite!

On Thursday I went to Uzupis for their independence celebrations. Uzupis is a small part of Vilnius, but on April Fools day each year, the people of Uzupis declare it independent from the rest of Lithuania. This is the cause of a big party. I saw people kayaking down the still-freezing river, and they were setting up a sauna when I left. Supposedly around midnight people spend an hour in the sauna then jump in the river naked. Those who really know me will know that I wanted to do this--but representing the US government while I'm here affects my judgment in such situations (sadly). They were even stamping passports, but I came too late to get a stamp from "immigration." If you follow the wikipedia link I set up, be sure to scroll down and read parts of their hilarious constitution.

Friday evening I actually took it pretty easy. I played basketball, but very few people showed up to play, so we played two on two. It was the US versus Lithuania, best of three, games to 21. We won the first game by a solid margin, but we lost the next two by small margins. The home turf was overwhelming. I joked with my American friend, though, that we can always tell people we came in second in an international basketball competition. I want to play more ball when I get home--my ball handling skills are awful, but I have a pretty good shot. And damn, I'm out of shape. Maybe it's the life of wearing a suit to work every day? Since the weather warmed up last week (which means the 50's), I've been jogging, so hopefully my heart will remember how to beat soon. After I returned to the Embassy, I went to bed around 11. I wanted to make sure I woke up well rested for Mallary's arrival on Saturday!

I went to the airport on Saturday at 1:30 in the afternoon to get Mallary. It was so nice to see her, but like in Warsaw, we didn't really know how to react at first. It takes some time to remember a person when you haven't seen them in weeks. But not that much time...thankfully my throat is better, so we kissed for the first time in months. Wonderful! I took Mallary to the Embassy to show her my apartment, but we only picked up some groceries I had before heading to the apartment I rented for us to share for the week. It will be a good home for eight days. It's small, but not so small for us, and it couldn't possibly have a better location. We are literally steps from Cathedral Square, one of the most beautiful spots in the city. We took it easy last night because Mallary just concluded a week of heavy traveling with her family--they went to Berlin, Vienna, Budapest, and saw Prague in one week. I'm so proud of her, my little traveler!

Today we woke up early and headed to Trakai, a small village not far from Vilnius. Trakai is famous for its island castle, which we definitely enjoyed visiting. The sun came out while we were walking through the castle, and I can say I was almost warm.

EPIC!

Before heading back to Vilnius, we stopped to have kibinai for lunch. These are dough pastries stuffed with meat and vegetable. They are a traditional dish in Lithuania, brought by the Tartar population that once lived and ruled in Trakai. You can see them in the picture below. We had one with chicken, beef, and lamb, and we both liked the beef the most--this surprised me because I usually avoid beef in Europe. We also ordered a stuffed bell pepper that was amazing.

Now we are back in Vilnius, after a dinner of homemade pasta, and it's 10 PM. The night is young! I'll be sure to blog whatever we make of it!

Pasta, Tamsta, and Pagans

    To start this post, I need to go back in time some. I got so caught up with the engagement story that I forgot to make note of a few things I did before going to Warsaw.

    One night, I went to Milda’s house and prepared spaghetti for her family. Milda’s parents were very welcoming and kind enough to let me use their kitchen. On my behalf, Milda asked her mother if Lithuanian women trust men in the kitchen. She said no and laughed. Well, I gave it my all, and the spaghetti turned out great, despite the Lithuanian’s lame excuse for pasta sauce (it’s really just ketchup). It was fine because I always load up my sauce with sliced, fresh vegetables. During dinner, when I spoke with Milda’s parents, I realized she is partly so interesting because her parents are very worldly. Her mother is a professional Opera singer, and this career took her to Venezuela for a time, as well as Chicago and New York. Because of their time spent in Venezuela, they spoke mediocre Spanish like me, so that was the third language at the table. If you had told me before I flew to Lithuania that I would make spaghetti for a Lithuanian family and we would speak Spanish throughout dinner, I don’t think I would have believed you. When discussing her career, it was revealed to me that Milda’s mother is quite talented (she is able to sing quite challenging pieces, that in my ignorance of Opera, I have never heard of). But the timing of her career was unfortunate because Soviet occupation in Lithuania largely limited her travel. She said she would win competitions in Italy, but since she was only allowed in the country for a single day, she could not accept her award the next day.

    After this delightful meal, we went to Tamsta club to see one of the guards who works at the Embassy play in his funk band. The band was really a pleasure to listen to, though their songs were very simple. I could tell that the musicians were really holding back on their instruments. Of note was the saxophone player who was “scratching” via the app. on his iPhone. I have to admit it sounded pretty cool and fitting. The vocalist for the group was easily the skinniest girl I’ve ever seen in my life—verging on 2-dimensional and clearly unhealthy. But she had a big, big voice, and the simple, almost childish English lyrics really played to the minimalist sentiments in my heart. While I was at the club, I also met some of the young professionals working at other embassies. Someone at the Norweigan Embassy reached out to create a master-list of all the interns working part-time in Vilnius, and I suggested on the listserv that people come to see the funk band. I particularly remember the Spanish people I met; it was nice to hear that husky tone of voice again. Hopefully I will meet with the rest of this group in the future.

    Okay, now let’s fast forward to this past week, after my trip to Warsaw. Early in the week I met with Jore and her friend Giedre (forgive me for the missing accent marks over vowels). Jore’s mother is a university professor, and she often comes into the Embassy. She asked if I would consider meeting her daughter so she could practice speaking English. I told her I was looking for friends, so it would be my pleasure. What a gift was this introduction! We met in my favorite, small cafe. We talked about the differences between schools here and at home because they are in the process of studying for their university entrance exams. We also discussed Jore’s photography, Giedre’s acting, and films—I told them about my not-so-secret passion for horror films. After departing, we agreed to meet again.

    Just a quick note that I went to The Dubliner on St. Patrick’s Day. An Irish ex-pat owns the bar. Everywhere I’ve been, I’ve found a bar like this. There’s always a niche for a place like this in the market. I had a Guinness and met some of the contractors who work at the Embassy. I’m still not sure why, but the power kept going on and off in the bar, sending us into near darkness each time. It was kind of funny because the place was so busy.  I didn’t stay long; for some reason I was bored and slightly depressed. This is the problem with seeing Mallary; immediately afterwards, the normal, tepid conversation I have with people is dissatisfying. Does that sound arrogant? It should. If there were awards for quality conversation, we would win them.

    I met with Giedre again to go to an art exhibit. They were featuring the Fluxus Art of Jurgis Maciunas. This Lithuanian went to live in New York City during Soviet occupation in Lithuania. During his time there he developed an art ideology that denied art as a commercial good and promoted the idea that anyone could be an artist; in his own words, he aimed to “demonstrate artist’s dispensability.” Personally, I fear he may have succeeded; I have commented on other posts about how one can still make an honorable profession of being an artist in Europe, but this is an ever more challenging profession to maintain in the U.S. I did enjoy the humor in his work, though, and his concept of “happenings,” which were sudden, unannounced street performances. Jurgis was friends with John Lennon and Yoko Ono, and they sometimes assisted him in his artistic endeavors. After enjoying the exhibit, Giedre and I had coffee, and I found the good conversation I was seeking. I was surprised how much we had in common, though I was close-minded to think an ocean of separation would make people consider love and life differently. I remember her specifically commenting, “When I fall in love, I think I could spend 24 hours straight with that person and never leave the house.” I encouraged her to not give up on this notion, though it may just be a dream now. Mallary and I suffer time apart because we act on some external suggestions that it is healthy to be separate; I really believe we would be content spending all of our time together. From conversations Mallary and I have had with people, this is clearly not a universal—but if Giedre wants it, she can find it.

    On Saturday, I walked to Tamsta club twice. In the afternoon, I went to their music shop beneath the music club. I spent two hours playing different guitars. I was surprised how much I’ve missed my guitars since I came here; I really regret not bringing one of my own. Because I have lonely, down-time in my apartment most nights, my fingers itch for activity. Well, after trying many guitars, I realized I had to buy one. I was pleasantly surprised by the prices, so this was possible. Because of the strength of currency exchange, quality guitars are significantly cheaper here. But quality wasn’t what I was after. I found the cheapest one I could and took it for a ride. It did everything I wanted; despite its small body it had a big sound, and it could handle being down-tuned for slide play. I fell in love. The price tag was 175 lt., but I only had 100. The guitar had obviously been dropped by its previous owner, and the body had been repaired with wood glue. I explained with my nicest smile that no would ever buy this except for a kid who only planned to play it for five weeks. After the women working in the shop whispered in Lithuanian, they agreed. I even convinced them to throw in the slide for this price. I played most of the afternoon and all day Sunday—already penned a few songs I’ve been hearing in my head the last few weeks. Last night I learned John Prine’s “Dear Abby.” Check it out if you don’t know it. (Thanks again for that album, Dad.) Once it warms up a bit here, I’ll play on the street one day.

    On Saturday evening, I returned to Tamsta to listen to Jonas play in his rock band. Yes, two different people who work at the Embassy played at the same club in their respective bands. But the setting was completely transformed. Instead of a young, hipster crowd for the funk band, there was a respectful, politically charged audience for Jonas’ band. Poliarizuoti stiklai (it means Polarized Glass) has been famous in Lithuania for several decades, but they were very popular during Soviet occupation. Jonas told me they used to get in trouble for singing in Lithuanian. One could tell how politically and socially important this band was. The average age of the person at this rock concert was probably 50, and these people knew every word. Other people from the Embassy were pointing out current and former members of the Lithuanian Parliament and Ministries. Our Ambassador even showed up, which I thought was ace. She really goes out of her way to show support for the entire Embassy staff, even in their personal endeavors. I would have enjoyed the concert no matter what because I am growing to care for Jonas, but his band seriously rocked. He styles himself as a rockabilly guitarist, and the group’s songs were driven by fun rhythms you could dance to. Of course, I couldn’t understand the lyrics, but my friend told me they are very positive—looking forward to things getting better when the Soviets leave. Now the words have a new meaning. They also played new songs to debut an album. I really hope to see Jonas play again before I leave Vilnius. I wanted to note something really different about concert culture here. After a fan-favorite was played, they would continue to chant the chorus after the song finished, and the band would play a verse of the song again! This happened many times, and it made me ponder how such practices come into being.

Administrative note to myself. Someone I met told me that when Mallary and I go to Florence we have to visit Ari’s Diner. Supposedly this Ari knows how to show Americans a good time; he is from Philidelphia, came into a little money, and decided to set up an American diner abroad. Sounds like a great life; we’ll have to visit this place.

On Sunday, Jore invited me to bus out of the city and see a Lithuanian Pagan ritual to welcome the spring. It snowed again yesterday, but I still think it worked. I won’t pretend to understand this culture, but I can say that I enjoyed listening to the traditional songs and dancing with strangers. We met her friend, Asta, and the three of us took a walk through the park. I saw the Vilnia, roiling with the weight of melted snow. I really wanted to swim, but the current looked very dangerous. So, I found a twisted, moss covered tree to climb. The air was so sweet here. My mind loves the city, but my lungs miss the country. And speaking of sweet smells, I asked the girls to identify their perfume, so I could find some for Mallary. Of course, they wear like ten different types, so who knows which one I like. Mallary, I bet they would take you shopping if you want. Hopefully I will have pictures from this day soon.

I’m getting increasingly more depressed that I won’t see Lithuania in the summer of fall. I will have to come back one day. If I had any credit, I would get a loan and buy an apartment in this city so fast. There are beautiful four bedroom flats in old town for $200 thousand. I want to invest here before it becomes Paris or Prague. And I must see summer and fall here—summer for the weather, fall for the mushrooms.

I owe a quick shout out to Mom and Dad for the Resees filled box I got for my birthday!

Not sure when I will write again; this is becoming increasingly difficult, but I am committed. It would be easier if I didn’t feel like I was near death at all times. My antibiotics ended Sunday, and now, on Tuesday, my throat is starting to hurt again. Not good. I have the plague or something. Maybe I need to drink Lysol to finish this once and for all.

 

 --Alex

Milk bars, milk chocolate, and engagement

As I write, a blizzard falls outside. I took two steps out of my door to make my now usual walk to Sviezios Bandeles, my favorite cafe, when the snow began to fall hard. Everyone looks like walking snowmen: the men all have white hair, and the women all have white eyelashes. A woman and her four small children just came into the cafe a moment ago. The children were gesturing at me and whispering as if I couldn't hear them. I may not understand everything, but children begging their mother for cookies is a universal, so when this began, I couldn't help but laugh. This made the children stare again.

 

I have much to write about my weekend in Warsaw. It has turned into a story I will be proud to tell for many years. To begin, when I woke up on Thursday, my throat hurt so much I was unable to swallow. It had begun to hurt slightly early in the week, but it was really more of an irritating tickle. Perhaps I was being a "stupid man" or too proud, but I really did think that rest would make me better. I went to work despite the pain, but when I came to my apartment for my lunch, I practically fell into bed. I woke up two hours later (sleeping through the sound of my alarm, which I never do, for almost an hour). I decided to call the Embassy Doctor, a Lithuanian woman who made me promise I would never get sick when we first met. I did promise her, and then here I was sick on a Lithuanian holiday. But I had to call her; I had a bus to catch to Warsaw in eight hours. She teased me about my promise, but she set up an appointment at the Baltic American clinic (the only privately funded clinic in Vilnius and the only one that would see me immediately). Luckily, one of the guards at the Embassy was able to give me a ride to the clinic. And here I remember all of the little players that made my weekend with Mallary possible; I must thank this driver again because at the time I was near delirious.

 

At the clinic the Doctor looked at my throat and practically gasped. She could see that my throat was infected; it was bleeding and full of pus. She decided to do a strep test that came back negative. I knew I had to tell her what my plans were immediately. I told her that I had to leave for Warsaw at 10 pm. She asked what I meant by "had to." I told her that I intended to meet my girlfriend there so I could propose to her. I remember the surprised look on her face and that she clicked her teeth. She told me the only way I could go is if they started the antibiotics immediately by IV. At this point, I was willing to do anything to feel better. This was easily the sickest I have ever been in my life. She and a nurse conducted a blood test to see the level of bacteria in my blood. They stepped out of the room for a moment, and for the first time in my life I fainted. I woke up with my body still in the chair and my face on the ground. I corrected myself and hid the fact that I had fallen because I didn't want to appear weak in front of the Doctor. When she entered the room again, she could tell that I had fainted, though. I had blood on my shirt from leaning on the spot in my arm where the needle was. They apologized for their error, and I told them they could ruin all of my clothing if I got to Warsaw on time. They took my temperature, and I had a fever of 101 F. This caused more teeth clicking. I rested as the IV put fluid in my veins, and I could feel the fever breaking; I began to sweat, and then my mouth was salivating uncontrollably. The Doctor wanted me to rest for a few hours before leaving; I reiterated my intentions for the evening and said I would only stay if they didn't intend to sabotage them. After she promised, I slept. I woke up an hour later feeling significantly better. The Embassy Doctor came to the clinic to check on me; she tried to make me stay the night at the clinic, but when I told her my plans, she said she wouldn't stop me and gave me the name of a clinic in case I needed assistance in Warsaw. With her blessing, I paid the surprisingly expensive clinic bill (the downside to being seen immediately), though I would have paid anything in that moment. I thanked the Doctors and nurses at the clinic, called them all angels, and said I hoped I would never have to see them again.

 

After arriving back at the Embassy, I ate for the first time all day. I needed easily digestible proteins that didn't hurt to swallow: eggs.  After another nap, I woke, truly feeling better, and went to the train station to board my bus. The bus was only a bit more than half full. Unluckily, I was the only person with someone sitting next to me. Luckily, she was a very nice Lithuanian girl, Maria, who was eager to practice English. After speaking with her for some time, I did manage to sleep for a few hours. The bus was supposed to arrive in Warsaw at 5 am, a six hour trip. About an hour from Warsaw, the bus broke down. At this point, I was willing to walk to Warsaw if I needed to. Bacteria and faulty mechanics couldn't stop me. Whoever was supposed to fix the bus never arrived, but the driver decided he could drive to Warsaw despite the issue as long as he drove at a low speed. So, on we went to Warsaw at agonizing speeds. I knew Mallary would arrive at the train station sometime after 7, and I did not want her to wait for me there long. Luckily, it turned out that I arrived at the train station only a few minutes after she. After my ordeal at the clinic, it was so nice to see her. We could both barely process the moment, one that we had built up in our heads for some time. It didn't help that we couldn't kiss either, thanks to the plague in my throat. We were both very tired from our travels, and so we figured out how to reach our hostel first.

 

Hostel Krokodyl (Crocodile) was the best hostel I have ever stayed in; the location was not central, but it was a very new building, with a fantastic and friendly staff. Mal and I splurged on a private room, which is a ridiculous overstatement because it still only cost a bit more than $50 a night. Like I said, this was the best hostel I have stayed in; but then again, I was there with Mal, so perhaps I am biased. This was the first room I shared with Mallary...in Europe. It was small, but very cozy. After checking in, we showered and took a nap. I told Mallary about the challenge in getting to her, and she said it sounded like I was stupid for coming (but she called me stupid in such a way that I knew she didn't mean it).

 

After our nap, we decided to take a trip to the city center. Rick Steve had a lot of good advice about which sights were worth visiting in a somewhat small, industrial city. We were both hungry, so we decided to go to a milk bar. Milk bars are remnants of the Communist era; these cafeterias serve very affordable and hearty meals. Mallary and I first entered the bar to find an awkward ordering method; a wall of posted available dishes, a woman who didn't speak English at a register we were supposed to order from, and a small window the food was being shoved through. We left, deciding to look for another milk bar, perhaps with an English menu. After unsuccessfully searching (Rick needs to update his favorite location because it's gone), we returned with bravery in our hearts. I handed the lady cash and said periogis and borscht, the two dishes I knew. She just nodded and took my money. A plate of periogis and the soup cost roughly $1.50. The periogis were delicious, and I can say I'm glad we tried the borscht. Perhaps the funniest moment of the trip came when I decided to order two more plates of periogis. Now full of confidence because of our first ordering, I went to the woman at the register and ordered. She understood, took the money, and I went over to the window where the food comes through almost magically. To my stomach's dismay, I was handed two plates of white beans with a dallop of butter on top. Unable to explain the issue, and with smiling Polish faces behind me in line seemingly saying "Nice choice, foreigner!" I went back to the table. Mallary and I laughed so hard as we ate the beans. We joked that this was the most communist aspect of the place: one out of ten times you order periogis that is what you get; the other nine times, you get beans.

 

After more walking, we went to a shop and bought bread, some amazing blue cheese, and carrot juice. The juice was prompted by a very friendly, English-speaking Polish girl who gave us a sample. The vitamins seemed like a good thing for my throat, and it tasted surprisingly good. Mal and I relaxed in our room that evening and went to sleep early and happy.

 

In the morning, Mallary and I enjoyed a great complimentary breakfast and planned our day in Old Town Warsaw. We began with a walk to see the Mermaid statue; she is supposed to protect the city. I would be tempted to say that she failed against Hitler, except that she may be responsible for the preservation of the city's spirit, which is intact despite the tragedy that befell it. We learned more about this tragedy at the Warsaw Historical Museum; we especially enjoyed the twenty minute black and white film in English that showed footage of the thriving city before the war, during the war, and after. For those who don't know, the Nazi presence was always resisted proudly in Poland. The largest underground army ever worked to interrupt the Nazi plans in Warsaw. In 1944, they openly made battle with occupying German forces, knowing that Germany's strength was weakening. The Red Army who waited outside of the city did not come to the Poles' aid, realizing it would be easier to take the city eventually if the Germans were allowed to defeat the Poles. The Polish forces were stopped, and in response to their assassinations and behavior, Hitler ordered the city to be entirely destroyed. It was difficult to understand the meaning of “destroyed” before seeing the footage; the enormous city was literally turned into a desert of stones and twisted metal after months of putting fire to and dynamiting the city's buildings. The film also documented the slow return of Polish survivors to the city, and I could only imagine what it must have been like for them to see their home in ruins. But, in what must be one of the greatest examples of human hope and strength in history, the city was built again, with the Old Town being reconstructed as it once stood. The film closed with this statement: "Some say there are no miracles, but what else is this city?"

 

For a treat, we went to a very traditional pastry shop and had their famous doughnuts with rose-flavored filling; Mallary had a delicious soft, creamy, cakey pastry. As always with such treats there is a depth and subtlety with the flavors and textures. We were very impressed. Then, on Rick's suggestion, we went to Wedel Chocolate's store and cafe. Wedel chocolate is Poland's oldest chocolate brand. What one must have here is hot chocolate. This is not mere hot chocolate, though; rather than chocolate flavored milk, one gets a mug of melted chocolate bars and a glass of water. I can say that this mug of pure chocolate gave me way more of a buzz than any cup of coffee I have ever had. To all the people reading this waiting for the engagement, I promise it's coming; if the ring was in my pocket when we were in this cafe, I would have given it to her there. Such was the effect of the aphrodisiac on my head. After taking a photo of the Soviet skyscraper, known locally as Stalin’s Penis, we went back to the hostel to get dressed for dinner.

 

As I shaved, I asked Mal what she was doing. Some of you who know Mal well know that she is a bit of a snoop; it’s a harmless habit, but a habit nonetheless. When she gets bored, she starts searching for some treasure. As I said, harmless really, but I wasn’t going to let her habit ruin the surprise. Plus, I was afraid that she suspected. Despite selling hard the idea that we would look for a ring this coming summer, she knew that I had been at our favorite jewelers just before I came to Europe, so I thought she may suspect. As we dressed, I quietly slipped the ring out of a roll of socks and into my coat pocket. I remember talking to her about what I wanted to eat at dinner somewhat loudly so she wouldn’t hear me fiddling with the box. Finally, after flying across the Atlantic Ocean around my neck on a silver chain and waiting with me in my apartment for six weeks, it was ready to go on her finger.

 

First off, for those who are interested, you can look up the restaurant where we ate: The Belvedere, www.belvedere.com.pl. I chose this place after reading amazing reviews online. I will probably never experience a more affordable five-star restaurant experience; thus is the joy of living on the dollar in developing Europe. Mallary and I had some trouble finding it; since it is located in the Polish Royal Gardens, it has the address for the main gate of the Gardens, which is some distance from the restaurant’s location in the garden. I was embarrassed, and of course slightly nervous that I may be ruining the night, until I realized that getting lost was very like us. I’ve never promised Mallary that everything will go right the first time or easily, but I do promise her that I will make it work eventually. And so I did. After calling the restaurant, we were able to find the appropriate entrance. Because of the darkness over the gardens, and the seeming distance from the city, it really felt like we were in another dimension when we arrived. From seeing the website, I knew that the place was in a greenhouse, but I thought it was an adjoining building. No; instead they sat us directly beneath warms palms and amid orchids. Our table was tucked away and very private. The first thing I did was order my first bottle of wine at a restaurant; thanks to John Boyer, I knew all of the protocol. The waiter showed me the bottle, I acknowledged it was what I ordered, and then he opened it and allowed me to try it. With my approval he poured away. I admit I did nothing daring here; I went with the so-called house wine, a French merlot-based blend. It was a safe, utilitarian choice—the type of wine that would go well with whatever we ordered. Mallary and I debated what starter to try. After swallowing my pride, I admitted ignorance and asked the waiter what milk caps were. Mushrooms! I love mushrooms! And now I love them even more; we ordered buttered fried milk caps served with potato dumplings. There were a variety of mushrooms, and they were clearly local and fresh. Mallary and I melted at their flavor; again, as I said with the pastries, fine food is about textures and temperatures. The butter was practically still boiling on the mushrooms. I could have eaten a ton of those and been happy. But I knew I wanted something Polish for dinner, so I went for the duck served with an apple and plum based sauce. Mallary ordered salmon served with kale and in a dill sauce. Dessert was white chocolate mousse with Bison vodka and toasted meringue served with coffee cream. Without going into too much detail, I will say that our plates were cleared, and my palette neared nirvana.

 

We were there for at least three hours, slowly eating and drinking and talking about us. Mal and I know that this trip abroad is our last test. The only concern I had with asking her so soon is that the test is not over because she still has two months left of school. But before it even began, we both knew that we would pass. We’ve been together too long and spent too much time apart for this test to be any more trying than the others. Still, if not more trying, it is at least different. Boys have been very interested in Mallary over her first six weeks in Prague. While this comes as no surprise to me, it is the first time that she has been quested after in this way, so it is a surprise to her. Every woman I know—no matter how beautiful—has doubts about her strengths. Hopefully this attention will finish Mallary’s doubts. And because of my hope for this, rather than being nervous about this attention she receives, I see it as an important validation of her choice for me. If she chooses to stick with me after being given options, then the choice is more credible. When we met in high school I had little competition; as she said at dinner, I was this cool upper classman, and it augmented my normal charm to make it even greater. But, I think more importantly, I had no competition because the other boys were too stupid to see a good thing when it stood in front of them. I know I was a dumb ass in high school too, because I’ve grown much since then, but thankfully I had the wisdom to know that Mallary was a keeper even then. Now, as we reach the end of college, boys are finally becoming men, and they are noticing what I noticed about Mallary years ago: that she has an enduring beauty, not a short-lived one, and that she is the type of woman you ask to meet your parents. Luckily for me, I’ve been whispering at her neck about how beautiful she is for years, and my family already loves her, so any boy after her faces an uphill climb (which I would call insurmountably steep). It is difficult to communicate the dynamic social situation here, but “To the early bird goes the worm” partially summarizes it. I say partially, because I do not want to sell myself short. I was not merely the early bird—I was also the loudest. Never have I sat at ease with the state of our relationship (which would have been easy when I faced little competition); I have always, with her help, pushed for it to be better. I have been expressing and re-expressing my commitment to her with words and acts of love as if I am always defending my place in her hear against an army of suitors. Now that the army has finally arrived at the gates, they find that after years of intensive wooing, my castle is fortified and my soldiers well trained. Okay, sorry for the birds and castles; the metaphors end here.

 

I asked her if it made her doubt her commitment to me, now that she sees I am not the only man who is capable of flattering her. She told me that she appreciated the flattery, but the she had no desire to act on it. What would be the point of trading in all of our work together to start at square one with another person? This has been a refrain of ours for years, as we’ve spoken to many doubters of high school sweethearts and commitment in general. I know that no one could love me as much as Mallary, let alone more, and I know that no man could love Mallary more earnestly than I do. And after six weeks of boys questing for her, she was still committed to me. Despite a fair interest in exploring their potential, Mallary said that they have nothing to show her in a few weeks that would outweigh six years of good memories.

 

Yes, time is an important aspect here. And a sense of time is what really overwhelmed me when I went to one knee. I told her that I have one more important question to ask her, and when I stood from my seat, I think she knew what was coming. I remember when I opened the box that for a moment she looked like the 14-year-old girl who came up to me as I sat on a bench outside of our high school. I still remember how shocked I was at her bravery, but I have always liked forward, honest people. I would later find such bravery is a bit uncommon for her, which makes it even more special. And we still argue about what type of skirt she was wearing, but the important thing is that she wore a skirt—am I right, gentlemen? And then, as the ring went on her finger, I saw her as she is now—a very confused, somewhat-lost young person, like me.  I remember thinking in this moment that having a companion is not always about having someone to enjoy time with; it’s also about having someone to be lost and scared with, and we’ve always been there for each other in this way. We are still so young in many respects, but our hearts are old, and if anything this asking was overdue. Half of me may still be a confused boy, but the wiser part of me knew that this was the right time. Lastly, as we sat and talked, I realized fully how great of a purchase I had made. I don’t want to brag (much), but I found a real winner: firstly, because it had all of the antique filigree that she desired; secondly, because it is a good size. It almost looks too big. I’ve placed a woman’s piece of jewelry on a young lady’s hand. It will be wonderful to watch her grow into it over time. And this growth over time is a unique part of our story. When we reach old age together, we will be able to remember being childish lovers (literally), struggling as young adults together, and earning the right to be together as much as we see fit in adulthood. Perhaps I overvalue what I have because of pride, but I believe this fact puts us in a truly enviable position. Realizing all of this was the truly unexpected gift of the evening for me.

 

For less philosophy and more details, I would have to ask the waiter who perhaps overheard the whole moment. It was really a whirlwind; I cannot remember much more than feelings. I know I asked her: “Will you marry me?” Call me crazy, but I intentionally ruled out “Will you be my wife?” weeks ago because that question seems dangerously possessive. She said yes, but I don’t remember how she said it exactly; regretful, but perhaps not so important. I also remember she said, “But it’s your birthday!” This fact was far from my mind at the time—a mere coincidence—but in retrospect, I can think of nothing I would have rather done on my birthday. Another great mystery of the night came when Mallary decided to take off the ring before we left the restaurant because it was tight and she needed to know if it could come off if her hand swelled for some reason. When we got back to the hostel, we tried to put it back on, but we couldn’t. In fact, we still don’t know how it ever got on. She chose to be very upset at herself for ever taking it off, but I see it as something of a miracle that it went on in that moment because in trying again later it appears that we defied the laws of physics during dinner. We will need to resize it before she can wear it, but this is an easy fix. I also remember as we waited for a taxi, the restaurant host asked us what hotel was accommodating us. I admitted that we were poor students and staying at a hostel but that luckily for him, I never go cheap on food and drink. He seemed satisfied by this response, and Mallary and I thought it was funny. This appreciation of food is perhaps the most important thing I have learned from my family, and I find it is a principle that unites me with all of my best friends.

 

When we returned to the hostel, I wrote in the guest book about my appreciation for the place, as it was home on one of the most important weekends of my life. I think the girls at the check-in desk got quite a kick out of reading my musings on loving my fine lady in Warsaw. I do hope we can return to this place one day. After a very loving, but short night together, we woke up at 5 am for our train rides. My train took about ten hours, the last three of which I seemingly shared with half the population of Lithuania. I sat with an old lady literally in my lap for about two hours. But I felt like the king of the world. I left for Warsaw near death, and I returned to Vilnius a new man, having taken the first step on a big transition in my life.

 

I’m sorry if this story seemed winded. This is a private documentation of this moment on some level too. I never want to forget my thoughts and feelings at this time. Plus, I believe in some way I owe this story to our truest fans. To those of you that have loved Mallary and I separately as much as you have loved Malex, your support did not go unnoticed. As I said, ours is an uncommon path and much criticized. I know Mallary and I would survive a world of criticism, and it is a personal mission of ours to educate people that there is no one path to love, but it’s been nice to have homes, apartments, and dorm rooms where we could go and not have to be on guard. You friends know who you are, and I am lucky to say that the list is too long to give everyone their due credit. I can say that this list will have to be made eventually though—when it is time to send out wedding invitations.

 

Yours truly,

Alex Chapple

 

Kaziuko Fair, cepelinai, and looking towards Warsaw

My thoughts are very disjointed in this entry; there’s so much to say, and very little connection between the pieces. Sorry for obtuse pronouns; I have to be careful about using names.

 

Week two was tougher than the first. I was very busy at work, but in a good way. Again, I must avoid details, but I can say that the first part of the week was spent learning about the economic situation in Lithuania. I went to several meetings with entrepreneurs, bankers, and government officials to hear their take on the economic crisis (which is felt in Europe as well as at home), energy projects, and investment opportunities. The biggest message I got from these meetings is that it is a very exciting time to be a Lithuanian. Lithuania’s population is generally young and very well educated. But there is about 15% unemployment here, and it is growing. They are something of an untapped resource for companies in the service sector looking for employees. Recently a British bank opened a service center here to outsource labor; cheaper than paying British citizens, but more expensive than going to India. Lithuania won over India, though, because the bank didn’t want to have to spend time and resources training the work force, as would be necessary in India, and they noted customer dissatisfaction with the language skills of their Indian employees, and Lithuanians speak a sound, accent free English. One entrepreneur said the problem is getting on the long list. Companies usually don’t even think of Lithuania as an option. (Right? I had to look up where Lithuania was on a map when I was offered the job here.) But he did say that if they get on the long list, they almost always get on the short list because site identifiers for companies are impressed when they come to Lithuania. I would be too. So, the challenge going forward is exposure, putting their name on the map.

 

My Lithuanian friend who works at the Embassy told me that when he was a boy, Lithuanians had to speak Russian, and then in school they could take a second language like English or French. Now, he said everyone learns Lithuanian and English almost simultaneously, and later they can choose to learn Russian or another European language. He said he first realized the difference one day when he heard a group of boys chasing each other in a park and saying, “Drop the money, robber!” He told me when he was a boy that they ran around screaming in Russian.

 

I saw a pigeon the other day and realized that for a city there are remarkably few. That’s how cold it is here.

 

This whole weekend was the Kaziuko Fair, celebrating the coming of spring and the patron Saint of Lithuania. All of the main old town streets were closed so they could be lined with tents where vendors from all over the Baltics came to sell their homemade foods and crafts. The two biggest crafts were woodworking and knitted clothing; I saw beautiful wooden spoons and cutting boards, and awesome wool socks. The foods included bagel necklaces, which people ate as they walked, smoked fish, cookies and treats in the shape of mushrooms, and piping hot beer. The most traditional item sold were staves covered in dried flowers. Everywhere people were carrying these staves, which were several feet long, and so it looked like hundreds of dried flowers bouncing up and down the sidewalks. At many of the stands, sadly, was the normal plastic, cheap crap one might expect; China exports to everywhere these days.

 

I was lucky enough to have a friend from the Embassy be my cultural guide at the fair. She explained the significance of most of the traditions, but even she occasionally had to ask her mother what things meant. I was grateful for their insight. We were also invited by one of the Fulbright students to take a tour of the Royal Palace, which is in the process of reconstruction. The Palace has a long history—it has been built and torn down three different times by various warring factions—but if I understood correctly, it was last taken down in 1790. Now, 200 years later, the Lithuanians have decided to rebuild it exactly as it stood at that time. Well, some of the Lithuanians. The man who gave us a tour, who is in charge of the whole project, said it is a big political topic. For one thing, some citizens are upset that during this economic crisis they are spending millions on constructing a museum. Since the Palace hasn’t been there for so long, the media sometimes refers to it as the “invented Palace.” Another thing is that the Palace is being built in the same square with the Catholic Cathedral, and many people are upset that once the Palace is complete, it will dwarf the Cathedral. My invitation to this place was special; few Lithuanians have entered the Palace since it began construction. I personally believe that once the project is complete, tensions will be cooled because it is amazing inside. It is a true testament to Lithuania’s near-ancient history. I have a picture of this square below.

 

At the end of the afternoon, my friend and her mother invited me over for lunch the next day. I gratefully accepted. Finally! A home cooked meal! On Sunday morning I went to buy tulips for my friend, so I did not show up to her home empty handed. This was a good move. When I got to her apartment, I met her very friendly father, and he clapped at my gesture. My friend’s brother and his wife and son also joined us for lunch. Only my friend and her brother could speak English, but I still managed to talk with everyone with their help. They all had many questions about American cars and driving in America because my friend’s brother is considering buying a car, and there are a lot of American cars in Lithuania. It also turns out that they don’t have easy access to reports on VIN numbers like we do, so they could very likely buy a car that was in an accident in the U.S.

 

Lunch was amazing. My friend’s mother made cepelinai, Lithuania’s national dish. I’m glad I had this for the first time homemade. Cepelinai are boiled dumplings stuffed with meat and cheese. They also cover them with a wonderful sour cream/cheese sauce before serving them. It was quite good! We also had chicken, broccoli, and rice. My stomach had not been so happy in three weeks.

 

It was interesting to hear my friend’s father talk about the time of Soviet occupation. I asked if he went to college, and if it was common for people of his generation to go to school. It was explained to me that it was more common for his generation than the newest; education was free under Communist rule, and students were provided a stipend to pay for the cost of living and riding the train to their university. This surprised me, but maybe it shouldn’t have. The Russians did not want to destroy the Lithuanians; rather, they wanted to assimilate them into their culture, and there can be no better way to achieve this than through a strictly controlled curriculum. I also asked if they have a problem with drugs here, and he said it’s been growing ever since the Soviets left. I didn’t understand this, and he explained that the borders were very secure at that time; Lithuanian’s couldn’t get bubble gum, so they certainly couldn’t get drugs. I joked: “So, there were some benefits to Soviet occupation.” He nodded, but declared that freedom is better. There was something powerful in this declaration that an abstraction—freedom—was better than free education and secure borders, even if the freedom came with new responsibility. As someone born into freedom, I will never know how to value it like the people here do.

 

The last thing I must mention is my growing friendship with Milda, who I met through the Marines at the Embassy. She got coffee with me last night while I pretended to write a paper for my online class, and we went to the grocery store to get the ingredients for spaghetti, which we plan to make tomorrow night before going to see one of the Embassy guards play in his funk band. I appreciate her company because I’m still feeling lonely here. It’s hard being with my big family one second and living alone the next. I also met a language teacher this week who is a part-time employee at the Embassy, and she asked if I would meet her daughter and her friends, so they could practice speaking English. I said I was looking for friends and it sounded like fun. She said I spoke clear, accent-neutral English. I laughed and proceeded to give her my best Southern drawl. Hopefully I will meet these people next week sometime.

 

I just went to buy my train ticket to Warsaw. I’m meeting Mallary there early Friday morning. I can’t wait! The train station is in a creepy part of Vilnius, though. I got out of there as fast as I could. I’m almost certain I saw women working the corner on one street. Creepy. I ran to my favorite place to get coffee. The girl working tonight spoke no English, but I know coffee = kava and cookie = sausainiai, so I was fine.

 

I’m sure this is full of writing errors. I wrote it up as fast as I could. I’m still having trouble finding time to get on the internet with my laptop. But I am committed to writing; it will be nice to read this in a few years. I’ll write next week about the trip to Warsaw. Closing with a few pictures. 1) A vendor at the fair. 2) An example of those dried flower staves, carried during a small parade. 3) The square with the Cathedral and the Royal Palace. It was below freezing that day, but the sun was out!

 

 

 

Basketball, clubs, and the KGB

I've had a busy 24 hours. Last night I went to play basketball at a university. I asked around the Embassy and found a Lithuanian who is on a team, and he said I could come practice with them. An American who works on the Embassy is on the team too, and he gave me a ride. We played games of four on four, and I actually shot really well. When I was open. I'm too lanky and clumsy to have strong ball-handling skills. It was fascinating to be a small player on a team, too; the Lithuanians were all my height, but most were much thicker.

I found out that the basketball leagues here are very well organized. There is one united system of 200+ teams, and teams are placed in different tiers based on their competitive ability. The team on the top at any given time is actually the Lithuanian National team (which usually competes well in the Olympics). This structure is fascinating to me; it essentially means that anyone can work their way up from the bottom to the professional tier if they play hard. One player on the team I played with will probably go far; I maybe saw him miss one shot out of fifteen, and the majority were three-pointers. Another layer to this competitive league is that teams have corporate sponsors, and there is actually significant pressure from sponsors to play well. I heard stories of Russian sponsored teams--called "gangs"--who hurt players on other teams.

After I played basketball, I called Jeff, a new friend who works in Public Affairs at the Embassy, and he told me to come to a club where there was a Lithuanian cover-band playing motown hits. He said it would be quite a walk and recommended I call the Marines to see if I could bum a ride. I'm glad I took his advice because the Marines made my night exciting. There is a driver on staff 24 hours at the Embassy; because of this perpetual DD, the Marines go out every night (unless they are on duty, of course). I got a ride with them to Tamsta first. The motown band was actually really good. It was fun to see Lithuanians singing these songs and dancing. The Marines are friends with two bouncer-like, enormous Lithuanians. I don't remember their names: partly because I couldn't hear them, partly because they bought me so many drinks I probably wouldn't remember anyway. When we were there, Jeff introduced me to several of the Fulbrighters living and studying here. One girl, Audra, actually interned at the Embassy a few years ago, and she was telling me who I have to meet and what I have to see here. I also had a lengthy conversation with a Lithuanian I bumped into about career paths of all things. He has been a lawyer for five years, but he's quitting his job in two weeks to pursue a career in journalism. I wished him luck.

We left Tamsta, and the Marines took me to two other clubs. The first was a big place; one dance floor was for techno, and the other for hip hop. The Americans I was with don't like techno, but the way I see it, I can dance to hip hop any time back home. When in Rome, you know? I'm in Eastern Europe, so I'm going to dance to techno. There were hired dancers on the techno side dancing on elevated platforms, and drinks were absurdly expensive and so avoided. But I had fun dancing, for sure. I noticed that Lithuanians are very shy. Of course, some just say Americans are very forward. Either way, I saw so many girls and boys dancing separately. But they were eyeing each other, and I could tell that they wanted to dance, and neither was brave enough to ask. Girls seemed surprised when I asked, but none turned me down. I danced with someone named Dalia for a long time, and she said that I seemed crazy. I told her I was being normal, but could try to be crazy. I said I would dance with a boy to prove it, and she dared me to. So, I did. He was wearing suspenders, and I snapped them. I explained what I was up to, and he laughed. After that she called me crazy more and said that I was embarrasing her in front of her friends. She must not have been that embarrassed, though, because she told me of her own volition where she's going Monday night. And, no, I won't be going there; Mallary and I have an agreement that allows dancing and harmless flirting. But there's something like a time-limit on interactions with anyone of the opposite sex, so it remains harmless. Plus, it's not fair to the person we're flirting with. The Marines are friends with this awesome Lithuanian girl named Milda, and she told me that girls don't assume you are single if you dance with them here. But to me it still seems wrong to give someone false-hope. I've been with Mallary a long time, but I remember my hopes being dashed like that before I met her, and it hurt. The last club we went to was cool too, but nothing special. They did play a few salsa songs that were fun to dance to. I got home after four. I don't understand how the Marines do this every night. I called my family before I went to bed around five.

When I woke up today, I went to the KGB museum which documents the years of Soviet occupation. The museum is housed in the old Soviet prison. The exhibits were very moving. I'll relay some of the facts that surprised me. Lithuania was an independent nation for the years between the World Wars, but the Soviets reclaimed power by dirty politics in the 1940's. The museum spoke about the Sovietization of the Lithuanian people--how their culture and language was forbidden, and how over 120 thousand Lithuanians were deported to remote parts of Russia to live in exile. Another 140 thousand were sent to work in camps, practically as slaves. Of these people, about 25 thousand died because of poor living conditions. There was a partisan movement of freedom fighters in Lithuania from '44 though '53. These fighters, known as the "Forest Brothers," fought a guerilla war against the occupying Soviets and are considered national heroes today. The museum had an amazing collection of photos of these soldiers, many of whom were women, and a good collection of their personal belongings and writings. I remember clearly a picture of a woman in a uniform wearing braids and a smile and brandishing a machine gun at the cameraman. The partisan movement took some time to be organized, and by time it was, their ranks were already thinning. Of course, they lost in their effort, but they gave Lithuanians hope of eventual independence. The Soviets used to lay the corpses of these freedom fighters in the streets of Vilnius to scare citizens. This only made them hate the Soviets more. The time after Stalin's death is called "the thaw," as Soviet power lessened over time despite KGB presence until the early '90's. Exiled citizens were allowed to return after his death, but nearly 50 thousand remained in exile because they had established new lives and their lives in Lithuania had been destroyed; those that chose to return were not given back their lost property and faced extreme prejudice. There was an awesome room called the "Glory Room," which was a remaking of a Soviet museum from the '60's that honored their own prowess and socialist ideals. It was interesting to see how one-sided the Soviet's telling of the same story was. The museum also told the story of how Vilnius was run while the Iron-Curtain was down. Of interest to me, a traveler, was the fact that foreign visitors to Vilnius were only allowed to stay in one hotel, which was heavily bugged so the KGB could spy. I also took a tour of the spooky prison, which has not been altered since it closing in the '90's. Here are some pictures:

 
This shows "a box," where new prisoners (captured anti-communists, for example) were kept for a few hours while their paper work was being processed. It is difficult to tell from the photo, but I could not have stood in this room nor reached my hands out in front of me.

This room is for solitary confinement. Supposedly this was for misbehaving inmates, but someone usually went their for withholding evidence. Trips here were usually 10 days long. Inmates only wore underwear with no shoes. There was no heating and a small window. Meals were 300 grams of bread a day and half a liter of warm water. Inmates were forced to exercise and not permitted to sleep more than five hours. If you look carefully in the photo, you can see that the bed has a locking mechanism to keep it tight to the wall. Another solitary confinement room was completely padded and equipped with a straitjacket.

 

This was definitely the most distrubing sight. In this cell the floor was filled with water. To stay out of the usually freezing water, an inmate would have to stand on that small platform in the center. It was small enough so balancing is difficult, and inmates often fell in the water. Sometimes the guards would put two inmates in at once to watch them fight for the platform. 

So, let's try to end on a high note? As an update on what I posted about flowers the other day, I heard that those flower markets are open 24/7. One of the drivers at the Embassy told me that roses are the most popular gift, but tulips will be everywhere soon, so they are a cheap choice. I was also warned to never buy someone a dozen roses because in Lithuania an even number of flowers is strictly for funerals, so gifts must always been in an odd number of blossoms. Could you imagine if you had to count each blossom in your bouquets, Mom? Supposedly people will really get spooked if you give them an even number; it's like a curse. And what is the origin of that rule? I enjoy traveling for small pieces of culture like this.

 
This last picture is the view from my apartment. I am looking towards Old Town Vilnius; there's not much to see from this vantage, but the sunrise was beautiful.

Oh, and I should apologize now for any writing errors, which my mom is eagerly pointing out because I am critical of her writing. I would remind her that every writer, even an English major, needs an editor. That's why editing is a profession. The errors come from me trying to write these posts quickly, so I have time to do more things...that I can write about. It's a catch-22. If anyone has read Sir Tristram Shandy, they will remember when he notes that it would take a lifetime to adequately write about all the activity in a single hour.

Until next time,

Alex

Syturys and scams

Hi everyone. Just two quick things today.

Here I am on the computer in Double Coffee. I ordered a Svyturys (which means Lighthouse in Lithuanian). Svyturys is a Lithuanian beer. It's very light, but very delicious. And cheap. I am more than impressed. If you can find it at home, try it out.

On another topic, the RSO (head of security) on the Embassy warned me about a common scam in Eastern Europe. A man will be in a bar and two, usually attractive, women will come up to him and buy him drinks. Then they encourage the man to come to a better club. There the man's card will be put on a tab and when he leaves that night he'll have thousands of dollars charged to his card--legally; there are just really expensive drinks at this place. I don't have to worry about this, but I thought it was funny.

'Til next time.

--Alex