It is quiet and chilly on the cobblestone streets of Vilnius' Old Town (photo on left) this early Sunday morning. A few cats are out, perhaps attracted by the chirps of morning birds, but not many people. We've left the keys to our cozy guesthouse room on the table and thanked the room for our visit in Lithuania, and are now headed for the bus station and our return to Estonia. The Italian bakery (see photo later in this posting) is due to open at 9:00, and we peek hopefully through the shutters at the women putting fresh-baked goods on the shelves. This sort of place didn't exist in 1997 (though we were happy to discover that local Lithuanian rye bread is still among the best we've ever had!).
We walk along a bit farther, as church bells from first one direction, then others, begin to sound, overlapping and continuous, and I find myself reminded of the sunrise call to prayer in Muslim Istanbul as the first muezzin reminds everyone "it's better to pray than to sleep," then is joined by others from all corners of the great city.
We push open the heavy wooden doors to the Polish Catholic church whose baroque decorations amazed us fourteen years ago and still do today--and find ourselves in the midst of the early Catholic mass. And soon we are happy to find that the bakery women are bringing up fresh, warm, crusty morning foccacia (with onions, olives, and tomato toppings) which we begin to gobble along with a latte. Sigh.
Some of you will remember that our first big sojourn overseas was in Vilnius in 1997, when I (Bruce) had a Fulbright to teach at the Women's Studies Centre there, the year after we got married (mid-life newlyweds). So, this year, we wanted to take a short break from Barbara's Fulbright teaching here in Estonia to see how things there had changed.
But our apartment building looked pretty much the same (photo to the right), though with more graffiti than I'd remembered (true for the city as a whole). What was amazing for us was how many memories kept bubbling up of places, people, experiences, even bits of Lithuanian, as we strolled around to our old haunts. Perhaps our brains keep more of our lives stored for us than seems apparent; perhaps our experiences in 1997 were too vivid to be truly lost.
We were pleased to see that some of those churches have now been restored, though some others are still in the middle of the process (including a few historic ones where we found mass being held in the midst of construction materials). Many of the churches are baroque in style (in other words, "over the top"!), including this Russian Orthodox Church (photo on the left) with its wonderful green color scheme. (All this can suggest bad puns: "going for baroque," or "if it's not baroque, don't fix it!)
Vilnius was once over one-third Jewish, known as the "Jerusalem of the North," with over a hundred synagogues. In 1997, and now, there's only one synagogue left (the "Choral Synagogue" seen in the photo with Barbara on the right), though there are Orthodox services twice a day (morning and evening), as well as on Shabbat. And the Jewish Community Center, where Barbara did some work in 1997, is still humming. But there's still an irrevocable sadness about the memories and lives forever lost that seem haunting.
Today there seem very few visible remnants of Soviet rule. That's understandable, given the experience of people in Lithuania with Soviet control. But I found myself glad to see the old iron statues on the Green Bridge across the Neris River still there, attempting to inspire heroic sacrifice and struggle among people who've now turned their eyes from east to west. In the photo(left) you'll see several historic periods symbolized: the old Catholic church on the river banks (built long before Soviet rule, though during the time when Lithuania was part of Poland), the statues of a young farm couple (during Soviet time), and in the background the mid-sized (20-25 stories) skyscrapers that represent post-Soviet Lithuania--and which had not yet been built when we were there in 1997. A few people we spoke with, 30-somethings, felt ambivalent about the last: on the one hand, skyscrapers were part of modernization, westernization, development, and so forth; on the other hand, there was a feeling that the old city and its ways might be overwhelmed and lost, missed by people whose childhood had embraced those ways.
We saw some of that difference, between old and emerging ways of life, represented in the marketplace. We visited several "traditional" markets, one the central city market (a covered market), on the edge of Old Town (photo to the right), with its myriad of small stalls for fruits, vegetables, meats, fish, cheeses, shoes, clothing, and so forth), the other an "open" market farther out. These markets bustle, sell things that people really need, are full of energy and color, and are great for people-watching. They are also relatively inexpensive, and give people a chance to encounter neighbors or long-familiar salespeople.
At the other end of the market spectrum are the new, sometimes quite large, shopping centers that have been going up. A photo inside the "Europa" center is on the left. It's clean, bright, with up-scale cafes; it carries lots of fashionable goods that many people would not be able to afford to buy, or would need to buy, though it provides style and (as the name implies) a sense of belonging to European culture and ways. And it provides a place for young people to hang out, to window shop, to buy an inexpensive drink, perhaps to consume them with friends in one of the "pods" hanging on cables from the ceiling (which I thought were pretty cool). Note the red sign: "The Economist (magazine) partners with Lithuania."
The creation of small businesses like the Italian kepykla (bakery) (photo to the left, with Barbara waiting hopefully while the owner opens the doors and shutters) seems to be one strategy some Lithuanians are pursuing. And it's one we were grateful for--there are many more possibilities for eating out in Vilnius now than when we were there, particularly for any food other than traditional Lithuanian fare.
Another change we enjoyed (in addition to the more diverse eating possibilities) was the new national art museum (photo below). Both the Lithuanian art museum, and the similarly new national art museum here, feature art almost entirely by their respective citizens (rather than the "great Western art" seen in other European capitals). We much enjoyed seeing the Lithuanian work--some portraying "old ways" and pastoral scenes, some reflecting the influence of movements such as Impressionism, some reflecting the pressures to create "Soviet Realism" in art, and some to sort through what Lithuanian identity and culture mean now that, in this post-Soviet time, artists have a chance to go in directions they had not considered before.
Standing outside the art museum is a statue of a woman from whose right hand a flock of birds is taking wing (see photo below). I'm never sure what art "means," and I suppose any piece means many things, but I see in it a representation of the hope that Lithuania will itself take wing, into blue skies. And so I liked it very much.
Some of you will remember that our first big sojourn overseas was in Vilnius in 1997, when I (Bruce) had a Fulbright to teach at the Women's Studies Centre there, the year after we got married (mid-life newlyweds). So, this year, we wanted to take a short break from Barbara's Fulbright teaching here in Estonia to see how things there had changed. Some things had not--the photo of Old Town above would look similar in 1997, except that then there were no tall buildings from which to take it (!). And a walk to our old neighborhood showed few changes--though the Russian Orthodox Church (photo to the left) had finally been repainted (when I walked by it most days in 1997, a man was hanging by ropes from various places, slowly repainting it--the green domes had still not been completed by the time we left!).
But our apartment building looked pretty much the same (photo to the right), though with more graffiti than I'd remembered (true for the city as a whole). What was amazing for us was how many memories kept bubbling up of places, people, experiences, even bits of Lithuanian, as we strolled around to our old haunts. Perhaps our brains keep more of our lives stored for us than seems apparent; perhaps our experiences in 1997 were too vivid to be truly lost. Vilnius is a place of historic churches, many of which were in a state of disrepair or neglect in 1997. Under Soviet rule (ending in the early 1990's), nearly all public religious observance was forbidden, and many churches were turned into storage areas or museums, the rest simply closed up.
We were pleased to see that some of those churches have now been restored, though some others are still in the middle of the process (including a few historic ones where we found mass being held in the midst of construction materials). Many of the churches are baroque in style (in other words, "over the top"!), including this Russian Orthodox Church (photo on the left) with its wonderful green color scheme. (All this can suggest bad puns: "going for baroque," or "if it's not baroque, don't fix it!)Some of this restoration, and that of the Old Town more generally, represents not only an attempt to restore the area, but also some economic growth--at least until this current crisis, which has hit Lithuania as well as the rest of Europe. Another big change we saw in Old Town was the arrival of a lot of up-scale and trendy shops (along with a rise in prices, which are approaching those in the U.S.). The "milk shop" where older ladies would make you a cup of weak hot chocolate, and where I enjoyed seeing mothers with their kids during the season leading up to Christmas in 1997, was gone.
Vilnius was once over one-third Jewish, known as the "Jerusalem of the North," with over a hundred synagogues. In 1997, and now, there's only one synagogue left (the "Choral Synagogue" seen in the photo with Barbara on the right), though there are Orthodox services twice a day (morning and evening), as well as on Shabbat. And the Jewish Community Center, where Barbara did some work in 1997, is still humming. But there's still an irrevocable sadness about the memories and lives forever lost that seem haunting.
Today there seem very few visible remnants of Soviet rule. That's understandable, given the experience of people in Lithuania with Soviet control. But I found myself glad to see the old iron statues on the Green Bridge across the Neris River still there, attempting to inspire heroic sacrifice and struggle among people who've now turned their eyes from east to west. In the photo(left) you'll see several historic periods symbolized: the old Catholic church on the river banks (built long before Soviet rule, though during the time when Lithuania was part of Poland), the statues of a young farm couple (during Soviet time), and in the background the mid-sized (20-25 stories) skyscrapers that represent post-Soviet Lithuania--and which had not yet been built when we were there in 1997. A few people we spoke with, 30-somethings, felt ambivalent about the last: on the one hand, skyscrapers were part of modernization, westernization, development, and so forth; on the other hand, there was a feeling that the old city and its ways might be overwhelmed and lost, missed by people whose childhood had embraced those ways.
We saw some of that difference, between old and emerging ways of life, represented in the marketplace. We visited several "traditional" markets, one the central city market (a covered market), on the edge of Old Town (photo to the right), with its myriad of small stalls for fruits, vegetables, meats, fish, cheeses, shoes, clothing, and so forth), the other an "open" market farther out. These markets bustle, sell things that people really need, are full of energy and color, and are great for people-watching. They are also relatively inexpensive, and give people a chance to encounter neighbors or long-familiar salespeople. 
At the other end of the market spectrum are the new, sometimes quite large, shopping centers that have been going up. A photo inside the "Europa" center is on the left. It's clean, bright, with up-scale cafes; it carries lots of fashionable goods that many people would not be able to afford to buy, or would need to buy, though it provides style and (as the name implies) a sense of belonging to European culture and ways. And it provides a place for young people to hang out, to window shop, to buy an inexpensive drink, perhaps to consume them with friends in one of the "pods" hanging on cables from the ceiling (which I thought were pretty cool). Note the red sign: "The Economist (magazine) partners with Lithuania."And the current economic crisis has been hard on Lithuania, we were told. We had supper one evening with a student we'd gotten to know in 1997, then 20, now 35 with four children. She's doing pretty well, but hundreds of thousands of Lithuanians have migrated to places like London in search of work (there are only 3-4 million people in the country). (The rise in the number of younger people who now learn English rather than Russian facilitates this kind of migration.) But if too many young people leave, what will the future bring? Will those who remain search for bargains the shopping centers can't provide? Or will economic recovery arrive?
The creation of small businesses like the Italian kepykla (bakery) (photo to the left, with Barbara waiting hopefully while the owner opens the doors and shutters) seems to be one strategy some Lithuanians are pursuing. And it's one we were grateful for--there are many more possibilities for eating out in Vilnius now than when we were there, particularly for any food other than traditional Lithuanian fare. Still, while enjoying my time watching the "sons of Gediminas" (young boys playing under the watchful eye and sword of Gediminas, led to found Vilnius with his iron wolf), I couldn't help wonder about their futures. What will they choose, and what will be possible? (See the photo below of the statue, standing next to the restored cathedral in central Vilnius.)
Another change we enjoyed (in addition to the more diverse eating possibilities) was the new national art museum (photo below). Both the Lithuanian art museum, and the similarly new national art museum here, feature art almost entirely by their respective citizens (rather than the "great Western art" seen in other European capitals). We much enjoyed seeing the Lithuanian work--some portraying "old ways" and pastoral scenes, some reflecting the influence of movements such as Impressionism, some reflecting the pressures to create "Soviet Realism" in art, and some to sort through what Lithuanian identity and culture mean now that, in this post-Soviet time, artists have a chance to go in directions they had not considered before. 
Standing outside the art museum is a statue of a woman from whose right hand a flock of birds is taking wing (see photo below). I'm never sure what art "means," and I suppose any piece means many things, but I see in it a representation of the hope that Lithuania will itself take wing, into blue skies. And so I liked it very much.Bruce
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