I landed in twilit Kaunas after a four-hour flight. After another two hours of dismal landscape rushing by in the dark of the night, I alighted in a square overlooked by a looming building I later found out to be the train station.
I hauled my tired self and my backpack off the bus and into the cold, brisk air of Vilnius on an October night. I waved away a man asking for cigarettes while messaging the friends I came to visit, 'Come fetch me!' And after fifteen minutes they did.
The week I spent in Vilnius was mostly a happy one. I was infatuated with the city: I remember that on the second day I thought to myself, I could come spend next summer here. I didn't, but that was not the point. This was the farthest I had been from home and
Vilnius has an interesting history. According to legend a Grand Duke called Gediminas, asleep after a day of hunting, had a dream of an iron wolf howling on top of a hill. Asking a local pagan priest to translate it for him, Gediminas was told that he must build a castle atop the hill, strategically surrounded by three rivers, and a grand city was to flourish around it. And so he did and Vilnius was born. Gediminas issued an open gate policy, established a trade centre, and through with many wars and sieges, and enjoying riches from trade, the city grew.
Going up the high hill towards the now ruined Tower of Gediminas, I was captivated. Not only by the sight of a city cut in two - the low quaint red-tile roofs of the Old town on one side and the spanking new, tall glass buildings to the left - but how impressive of a view it was. The city lay out beneath me, in the rich, colourful detail of a busy place, of people walking to and fro, cars flowing and angles upon angles of buildings.
What I enjoyed the most however was cycling around the city. Riding the bike through the Old Town - the biggest and best preserved in Europe - was a thrill. The buildings are so beautiful. You can make out medieval and gothic through to neo-classical; palatial buildings to massive churches and intricate cathedrals. In one church there was the spookiest medieval mural darkened with soot and faint with age, while the St Peter and St Paul Church feels like you've walked into a fluffy Baroque cloud carved out in intricate detail.
The special moments however are always reserved for night. Night has something special about it: there's a certain quiet instilled that makes the time more enjoyable. I met some people at a party my friends threw, and a girl invited me for a walk the next day. It was already dark when we met up and it was all surreal, as I was led through small winding streets of crumbly and quaint buildings. We were apparently in a poorer part of the Old Town, a suburb of sorts. We crossed over a stream onto a street that looked like it was photocopied off Montemartre. I spent the night talking with her friends in a one room apartment, after which I was gifted photographs and Lithuanian incense.
Nightlife was rich, and although I did not particularly partake in any nightlife, I caught a glimpse of it. The centre was full of teenagers and young adults out with friends, drinking, clubbing, skateboarding, you name it. The bars, drinking holes and clubs were fit to burst and all pleasing, people roaring with laughter and everything was a good cheer. Everything felt perfectly safe and I was assured it was the case.
On one day we went out of the city centre. If my memory serves me well, we hitched a fifteen-minute bus ride and walked along a street with thick woods on either side until we arrived at a river. This is were they have their beach. My ignorance of and surprise at the existence of river beaches can be partially excused, seeing as this was my first Northern European city, and my being used to Mediterranean beaches. These beaches were rather big stretches of fine sand along the banks of the river, charmingly ensconced in the trees. Here, I was bemused at finding wooden 'changing booths', picnic tables and benches installed.
The stay in Vilnius ended with my forgetting my phone, and having to run back to my friend's apartment, only to panic and forget the pass-code. I ran all the way to the station all embarrassed and ran collectively back to successfully fetch my phone. You only fully appreciate how fast taxis are when you have made everyone lose the bus. We did get to the airport in time, and got onto the flight to London for a reckless weekend of art shows, a Maltese gig and plenty of drink.