The Baltic states, forcibly appended to the Soviet Union nearly half a century ago, present a rare paradox. In Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, Disney World scenes of antique castles, churches and bucolic vistas of fields and farm houses coexist with modern urban bustle and ill-concealed examples of Third World economic hardship.
During a tour last October, some citizens I encountered might have stepped out of a Ronald Reagan speech about the ”evil empire,” so glum and seemingly downtrodden were they. Others were cheery and hospitable, while everywhere one could sense the excitement and tension caused by the first uncensored expressions of nationalist sentiment in half a century.
In Lithuania, home to the leaders of our tour and our Intourist (Soviet travel service) guide, we visited three cities: Vilnius, Kaunas and Panevezys. Think of them as Poppa Bear, Momma Bear and Baby Bear. (Panevezys, the charming ”baby,” accorded our group of food and wine writers a warm welcome when we stopped en route to Latvia by bus. But the two larger cities are more logical tourist destinations.)
Vilnius is the capital of the Republic. ”The history of the city shrouded in the veil of romantic legends and traditions goes back to the hoary past,” announced an Intourist pamphlet, revealing in somewhat less arcane language that it had been a capital since 1323 and by the 16th Century was a major trade, education and culture center-as it is today.
Area of contrasts
Ringed by tree-lined hills and graced by two rivers, the Neris and the Vilnia, and some lovely parks, the natural charm of the setting is juxtaposed with high-rise buildings and a giant television transmission tower whose shadows imprint the 20th Century upon the landscape.
We stayed in one of the high-rises, the 24-story Lietuva. It has accommodations for 700 guests, all of whom seem to be forever waiting for the three lackadaisical elevators. The rooms are cell-like but clean, there is a strange T-shaped discotheque on the top floor and buffet breakfasts are copious and quite good.
Vilnius has a population of half a million, including Russians (never label a Lithuanian with the ”R” word), Poles and students from several Iron Curtain and Third World nations. As the city has grown, a series of apartment complexes have been built that are notable for their human scale and graceful accommodation with the surrounding terrain. Extensive apartment construction on the outskirts is not due to a population spurt, I was told, but rather to long overdue relief from crowding that forced several generations of a family to live together in older buildings. (A native estimated that 40 percent of the city had been destroyed during World War II.)
Old town walk
But, as in Florence, despite urban sprawl and rush-hour traffic, most sites of interest to the tourist are concentrated in the old town, an area offering a cram course in several centuries of architectural history that can easily be covered on foot. You need, in fact, remember only two streets, Lenin Prospekt and Gorky Street.
The former is lined with government buildings and stores. Eyeball the undernourished displays of consumer goods in shop windows and browse through the Children`s World Department Store at No. 18, the Central Bookshop at No. 13, and the Dovana souvenir shop at No. 1.
At the east end, Lenin Prospeck dissolves into a vast square. It is the setting for the political rallies that you may have seen on international television in recent months. Here stands the 18th Century cathedral (now a gallery for notably unappealing art), its bell tower and, nearby, a monastery dormitory that houses the museum of Lithuanian history and folk culture. Behind the square is a park that climbs a hill to the 14th Century Gediminas castle tower, which offers a fine view and another museum. The Lithuanian national flag was clearly visible atop the tower. In October, it had been flying for only two weeks after a hiatus of 50 years.
Founded by Jesuits
Gorky Street is at the southeast corner of the square. Before exploring it, however, walk east to view St. Anne`s Church, a delicate gem of late Gothic architecture that is built of bricks fashioned in 33 shapes. Take a right, another right and return to Gorky past ancient homes and shops with glimpses of courtyards little changed since the Middle Ages. Cross Gorky and explore another time-warp, the courts and buildings of the university. It was founded by the Jesuits in 1579 and somewhat more recently named for the Communist revolutionary, Vincas Kapsukas.
Now, take a brisk stroll along Gorky street, which turns to the left to avoid a large memorial statue to Kapsukas and becomes an uphill climb. Within 10 minutes you will reach an arch and old wall, remnants of the city`s 16th Century defense perimeter.
Look up. Above the Dawn Gate, as it is called, through the windows of a chapel, one glimpses a wall of precious metals and jewels. The chapel is reached by climbing a long flight of worn marble stairs, passing bent and weary elderly people-women mostly-willing themselves upward to worship and lay a few tired flowers or coins before an icon of St. Mary.
A moving scene
The chapel, small and intimate, is as moving as the people who come to pray. In addition to a portrait of the beautiful young saint, the walls are indeed covered with gold, silver and gleaming gems. There are hearts everywhere, too, formed in the soft metal. The room, constructed in 1503, is a memorial, a tribute by Grand Duke Alexander to the young wife whose face the portrait of the saint is said to resemble. In a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare, she was poisoned by Alexander`s mother.
Now stroll back down Gorky Street. At No. 84, there`s a charming restaurant and cafe called Medininkai in a building that was once the home and shop of a merchant. No. 74, once a rococo Italianate church, is now a distasteful museum that ”exposes the reactionary substance of religion and its servants.” The severely limited selections of grocery products at state- run food stores on the street are equally unappealing. There are signs of restoration everywhere, however. Old buildings are being converted to shops, museums and restaurants in hopes of benefiting from the lively tourist industry here.
In addition to its other assets, Vilnius is the home of the Lithuanian state theaters of drama, ballet and opera (we saw a first-class production of ”Norma” in the modern opera house) and home to ”countless” song festivals and vocal competitions.
Much of the tourism comes from Poland. The Poles formerly ruled Lithuania, and people I spoke to in Vilnius are still deeply suspicious of them. ”Did you know that Solidarity listed regaining Vilnius as one of its goals?” I was asked. At a cooperative market one day, in a scene reminiscent of the film ”Fahrenheit 451,” a crowd of Lithuanians ignored sparce food displays to walk silently among Poles who had come to conduct black market sales of clothing and other consumer products made outside the Soviet Union.
Restaurants abound
Perhaps because of the tourism, Vilnius seemed to have a greater variety of restaurants than other cities we visited. In addition to Medininkai, we dined at Bociu, No. 3 K. Giedrio, an elegant antique setting with a fine woman chef. Bociu shares its kitchen with a sister restaurant, Senasis Rusys, which features stridently modern decor in a former wine-cellar. The address is No. 16 K. Giedrio. Lokys, No. 8 Antokolskio specializes in game. The Craftsman Cafe, No. 19 Didzioji Gatve, serves a lively wine drink, glintveinas, and lunchtime snacks for the equivalent of $2 to $2.50.
Our day trip to Kaunas, about 100 kilometers (just over 60 miles) west of Vilnius, remains something of a blur. The highway, dual-lane and in excellent repair, took us through gently rolling farm country and forests that might have been mistaken for rural Michigan or Wisconsin.
Kaunas is Lithuania`s second largest city, yet it seemed relatively calm after the big-city bustle of the capital. There was little destruction here during World War II, so one encounters a good many nostalgia-invoking prewar streets and buildings. Alleya Svobody and beautiful Laisves avenue are closed to traffic and therefore ideal for a turn-back-the-clock stroll, although many of the old mansions on the Alleya now house shops or restaurants.
The old town is particularly agreeable in scale, its streets lined by three- and four-story buildings, many painted in bright colors and bearing the names of the architects who designed them. Outdoor wood sculpture is a local art form and charming antique wrought-iron signs testify to crafts once practiced in various buildings. One that caught my eye showed two men caring for a lady`s hair. This had been a Renaissance beauty parlor, no doubt.
A ghostly Nazi prison
My most vivid memory, however, is of a cab trip past a closed synagogue to a deserted, overgrown Jewish cemetery with many of the headstones pushed over, and then on to Fort 9, a Nazi prison where, in pregas-chamber days, 80,000 people were shot to death. The prison is ghostly and irritatingly pristine. In contrast, there`s a giant, gut-rending monument to the dead on the manicured lawn nearby and a moving stained-glass mosaic in the small museum. But art can only imitate life.
The city is sure to please museum buffs. It offers at least 15, the most significant of which are the museum of Lithuanian history and the picture galley with more than 800 works by ”masters of the brush.” We were led on a tour of what purports to be the only museum dedicated to the devil. It contains several hundred art objects from various parts of the world portraying the devil. The exhibition invokes more humor than terror.
There are many opportunities for dining. Gildija has 100 seats scattered through a series of small, renaissance rooms decorated with antiques. The Metropolis restaurent is an unspoiled Art Deco treasure, the 1930s Pump Room of Kaunas. A beer bar called Rambunas serves delicious snack foods and Berneliu Uzeiga, near the cathedral, is an old country building brought to Kaunas only a few years ago. It is furnished with traditional pieces, the staff wears folkloric garb and the menu features old-style rustic fare. –
