thehostelwitness

Lithuania Day 8

Kryziu Kalna is the Lithuanian for Hill of Crosses, which is exactly what it purports to be: a hill with crosses on it. At first glance, it doesn't exactly sound like much - even the guide books admit to that fact. However, every report I have read says "just go there, trust us". My plan was to take a bus from Vilnius to Kaunas, drop off my gear, catch a bus up to Siauliau about 2 hours north, catch another bus to Domantu, hike along a road for 2 kilometers, see some crosses, then catch the same busses back to Kaunas. Piece of cake. Andrew and I said our goodbyes - pictures were involved - and I left him picking at his omlette in Vilnius.

I've already written about the busses in Lithuania, but I left out one important detail - the drivers are all fucking crazy. Lithuania already has the highest highway fatality rate in the EU. Put one of these people behind the wheel of a 5 tonne bus and all of a sudden they have the biggest cocks in the planet. I got a seat immediately behind the driver, happy to see out of the huge windshield - a nice change, I thought, from just the side of the bus. This happiness lasted for about 1 minute. Never, never ride in the front of a Lithuanian bus, it will just scare the living shit out of you. Anything slow enough to cause a normal person to slow down is instead tailgated and then passed - again, we're talking about a bus here - while the driver looks over in disdain, one hand on the wheel and the other one holding a Soduku book. Maybe it was appropriate I was heading to a holy site, as I literally felt like I was being taken to meet my maker.

On the otherhand, if I wasn't in front I never would have seen her. Or him. I'm pretty sure he/she was both. The bus was pulling out of a bus stop (actually, the bus just stops on the highway at a sign and lets people on while traffic swerves around it). Ahead was a woman and a man about 50 feet apart, both hitching for a ride. The woman was in a short skirt and boots and pulled a ride pretty easily. The man was left in our dust. About fifteen minutes later, we slowed down to another stop and walking past the bus was the same woman who had just been picked up. And this woman had a pretty outlined jaw and some stubble. And this woman was counting money in her hand. I'm not exactly sure what a person does to hitch a ride and get paid for it, but - okay, I'm pretty sure what a person has to do.

The bus took a little longer to get to Sialiai and I began to do some calculations. 3 hours to Sialiai, 20 minutes to Domantu, last bus leaving Sialiai for Kaunas at 5:45 - I would have travelled almost 7 hours for 45 minutes of sight seeing. This better be worth it. The bus stopped at a small bench and the driver motioned me off - this was my stop. A small cross sat beside a road and seeing how my bus was off and I had no other choice, I started hiking.

The hill is very small for a national monument. I kept on looking for a big sign or maybe some crosses in the horizon, but it wasn't about 10 minutes into the walk that I caught the first glimpse of a cross and another 10 minutes to get to the hill. I wish there were words to describe this place - I have never seen so much of one thing in one place before. “Jesus...” I breathed. The last time the Soviets bulldozed the place was in the early 90s and there were 1,200 crosses. As of last year, it was estimated that there were over 55,000 crosses on the hill. I'm not a religious person, so the awe wasn't spiritual - I imagine I would have the same reaction if I came to a hill with 55,000 Pez dispensers sitting around - so my awe was more of a human nature than spiritual one. Small paths, not more than a foot wide, criss-cross the hill so I had to keep my hands pinned to my side. Besides the crosses mounted in the ground, piles of smaller crosses - thousands to a pile - dotted the grass. I had no crosses to add to the piles, so I took out one of my dollars, origamied a cross, and hid it amongst the thousands - #55,001.

I walked for 45 minutes and then started back to the bus stop, the light failing and crosses growing dark in the background. I was still in awe of what I had seen, so it took a few minutes for my predicament to dawn on me: it was dark, I was 60 kilometers from the nearest town, and the type of night I would experience was completely dependant on the previously described Lithuanian bus system. It was insane; cars were flying by within 8 feet of my bench and I had no idea where I was. The thought that this is exactly the sort of predicament that would kill my mother dawned on me and I started to laugh. I laughed until the bus came, the last one to town, and I profusely thanked the driver who had stopped for the American equivalent of 80 cents.

I got on and walked to the back of the bus for the trip back to town. We passed a graveyard earlier and I saw now that it was alight with candles and torches - families sat around grave stones in quiet observation of All Saints Night. I finally made it to Kaunas around 10pm, ordered Chinese takeout, and went to sleep.

The next morning I was off to Riga, Latvia. I visit Riga on behest of a friend who hopes to one day see her homeland and because, with 4 days before I was due in Rome I really had no better idea of where to go. It was fairly uneventful, until we hit the Latvian border. A customs officer boarded the bus and proceeded to check passports. I handed him mine, the only American on the bus, and he took it. The bus sat for nearly an hour, waiting, and passengers grew impatient with the delay. I sat trying to remember if a visa was required for entry or alternatively, if I had an interpol bulletin out for me. Finally, the driver boarded the bus, passport in hand, and started asking, "Rhodus? Rhodus?" I didn't know what he was asking, but that was my passport he was holding - oh wait, Rhoades - that's me!

In Riga, it was dark but being only 6, the city was still full. I felt a little alien without Andrew around and took a few minutes to get my bearings. My usual routine upon entering a city is to find the tourist center, get a map, make an ATM withdrawal while trying to figure out what the currency is worth (I usually just select the fourth cash option), and then finally, take the Snickers test. The Snickers test serves 2 purposes. First, the cost of the Snickers gives me an approximate value of currency. A Latvian snickers costs 1.40 Latvian, which value wise isn't too far off of a .80 cent New York cost for the same candy bar. I'm pretty sure I'll be getting the Nobel prize in economics for figuring this out. The second reason is to get small change so I can pee. You know you've been in Europe for a month when you don't even blink at having to pay to urinate in a public bathroom (Norway = .50 kroner, German = 1 Euro, Lithuania = 1 litra, Latvia = .15 Lats).

It took me about an hour to find the hostel, a very comfortable chatty place with great American music. "Riga Old Town Hostel" boasts many free amenities, a full bar that was busy even on a Tuesday night, and the best feature of all, sits across from a ballet studio. Concerning said ballet studio, from my room I have a very nice view of some stretches, jumps, and pirrouettes.

Its probably the best hostel ever.

Lithuania Day 7

Just to prove that not all liquors green are apple pucker, I ordered my first absinth last night. It sat there in front of me, a sickly pale green, possibly a portent to the color of my face and the general feeling in my stomach. I mumbled a soft "acieu" to the waitress, thanking her for what was about to commence, and threw it back. It smells of black liquorice and tastes like someone mixed a bottle of distilled gasoline with tequila squeezed out of a worm. Theres an instant chemical reaction in your body, a backdraft of lava up your throat. It was horrible and at the same time, wonderful; how often do you get to have a completely new sensation?

I kept to one and it would keep me warm for the rest of the night as we made our way into town. We popped into a place called Prospekto Pub, a very nice bar/disco that also happens to be the only place in town that is busy 7 nights out of the week. For a Sunday night, it suited our purposes just fine. Maybe it was the absinth, but I was feeling a bit chatty and to my surprise, discovered that there was a fairly positive ratio of women to men in the place. I was more than happy to be the center of attention for the night (or maybe it was the absinth and I just felt like I was in the center when really it was the gutter -and instead of dancing, I was actually choking on my own drool.)

Consequently, this morning I was a bit slow getting up for the bus that would take me to Trakana Castle, the only castle-on-an-island in Eastern Europe. Trakana is about 25 minutes from Vilnius and is nestled between a series of lakes and boasts one of the few settlements of Karaites, a small religious sect who were enslaved and brought over from what is now Iraq to serve as the personal bodyguards of a Duke in Lithuania (so maybe our work visa policies in the states aren't that bad, after all). The castle has been rebuilt, having been destroyed by Russians in a previous war and is just a thing of beauty sitting out there on the lake. Andrew and I spent a good two hours walking the castle grounds before getting lunch and having a Kibina, a type of meat pastry that was brought over by the Karaites and is served really no where else in the world. So if you are ever in Trakana, Lithuania, have a Kibina.

Tomorrow Andrew leaves for Chicago and I'll be leaving Vilnius. Its been a lot of fun and I imagine I'll need to do a little re-adjusting to travelling alone, if only for four days. I plan on heading back down to Kaulnas and the nearby Hill of Crosses for one more night, then will catch a bus to Riga, Latvia on Wednesday. Yesterday was European daylight savings, so it gets dark in this part of the continent fairly early, before 6pm. Its a blessing and a curse, I guess - less time to see things in the day, but on the otherhand seeing the cities all lit up is a thing of beauty.

Updated photo set: Amsterdam and Klaipeda 

Lithuania Days 5,6

Perhaps not without a sense of irony, The Devils Museum in Kaunas is located next to the former US Embassy building. Proclaiming to house over 4,000 pictures, figures, and masks of devils from around the world, the collection is from the private estate of someone who obviously, had a peculiar sense of humor - some people collect Pez dispensers, others collected Beanie Babies, and some people devils - weird yes, but who would you rather have a beer with? The museum is small and is not nearly as sinister as one would imagine. Most of the displays are accompanied with folk tales and cultural beliefs about the devil - in some cultures he was merely a trickster and others he was the God of all things worldly, including agriculture, so it wasn't unusual for people to offer thanks to him. In fact, it really wasn't until the Inquisitions began that the picture of the devil changed from harmless to heathen.

Later that night, I had the experience of going to my first Lithuanian night club. The cousins had wanted to send us off well - the club was filled with kids, as apparently most Lithuanians get married early and consequently, stop going out. The name of the club translated roughly to "American Spa", which was really confusing, until one saw that in the club there was a set of two showers. I wondered exactly what kind of club we had gotten into, but no, the place was filled with party goers, both men and women. About halfway into the night, a cheesy DJ (no matter where you go, every country has the cheesy DJ guy) held some sort of contest, voted on by the audience. The winners, a guy and a girl, were invited to go into the "shower", where they would dance and well, get soaked. I couldn't understand why someone would spend hours getting ready to go to a club, only to get completely soaked in a suspect shower, but  the crowd was into it and I guess it was a fun thing to do.

The women of Kaunas are astoundingly beautiful and I'm convinced that Kaunas is Lithuanian for "Tiny Ass Capital". Everyone here is slim and attractive, but more than that, really young. There are hardly and mid-20s to 30ish folks about, as the town really isn't a place for settling down in. Most people get out to the capital Vilnius or go abroad, which is a shame as for so many years Lithuania struggled for independence - first being occupied by the Russians, then the Germans, then the Soviet Union. Almost 1,000,000 Lithuanians lost their lives or were deported during those times. Now that it finally has that freedom and independence, people can't seem to move out fast enough. Its sad, really.

We parted Kaunas the next day and took a bus into Vilnius, the capital, where we were meeting Aidas, a family friend of Andrew and one of the few Lithuanians to move back to his native country. Vilnius is astoundingly beautiful and shockingly different than Kaunas...its like being in Detroit one day and then San Francisco the next. The population is much more mixed and the city reminded me more of Stockholm or Copenhagen than Kaunas. I had read that the government had diverted most of its restoration funds to the capital, but I can see now that the proportion in which it did would almost be considered criminal anywhere else. Aidas talked about how the tourists had found out about the city and how the costs had skyrocketed here - this may be true, but to an American, Vilnius is probably as close to a hidden secret as you will get in Europe these days. The funds diverted had gone to good use - the streets are clean, the baroque-style buildings fully restored and line the newly re-stoned pedestrian walkway. Its easy to say that this city represents my first true surprise on this trip.

Aidas was happy to have Americans visiting, as he was more than happy to talk about American sports and give me the update. I had no idea Boston was on the verge of winning another series, that USC had lost a shocker to Stanford, and that the NHL season was gearing up (then again, even in the states I ignored the NHL). He has a DVD collection of classic games, so we finished the night watching USC's shocker over Notre Dame (the one where Reggie Bush pushed Leinhart over the line). I was more than happy to take a break from my vacation.

The next day, the weather had clouded the skies, setting the tone for the visit to the former KGB building. The building's basement housed a prison, where over 4,000 political prisoners were executed by the Soviet regime. Its interesting to consider that we hear about concentration camps and Nazi attrocities all the time, but relatively little is ever said about Stalin and his policies. Here it was laid out in plain view, preserved as the day the Russians left it. Cells only big enough to stand in, a padded room where no one could hear the torture occuring within, a water torture room, and finally, the execution chamber itself, where bullet holes dotted the cold walls. I read with morbid fascination the methods employed by the KGB - in the water torture room, prisoners stood on a small pedestal surrounded by ice cold water in the summer time, solid ice in the winter. They were kept there for days, falling into the water when they grew tired. Its in this way confessions were manufactured and I wondered, how different is this than what is going on in our prisons in Cuba? Kind of makes you think.

Lithuania Day 4

Another night, another set of cousins. I've put on a good couple of pounds with all the food being shoved in front of me - not that I'm complaining, mind you. Its gotten to the point where I'm just happily gobbling up food without asking what it is (as I wouldn't understand the translation, anyway). Earlier in the day, we had wandered down the main pedestrian street of Kaunas and with the sun out I was able to see a different side to the city. New stores selling the latest fashions, boots crowding every window, and kids playing on all of the statues. Simply put, it was nice and a relief to see some fruits of capitalism and integration. On the otherhand, integration has a point - Lithuanians love pizza and keep it pretty true to its Italian origins, with a paper thin crust. Ours arrived promptly and I was salivating with anticipation, until the waiter proudly set down four bottles of different types of ketchup. I looked around other tables and sure enough, they were drowning their "picas" in ketchup. Mayo-ketchup, sweet ketchup, spicy ketchup. All at once I realized that these people were not to be trusted, at least behind a kitchen.

The good thing is that they know how to brew a good beer. Svyterus is the beer of choice (pronounced "schvitterus"), a light gold concoction served in .5 liter mugs and packing a 5% alcohol content. A few of these and you feel strong enough to weather any winter, Lithuanian or not. As Andrew and I sat in his cousin's flat, four of these now lay in front of us. The beer, as they say, was flowing quite smoothly. So smoothly in fact that when the bottle of rum was broken out, I thought nothing of downing four shots in the next half hour, each shot tasting better than the last. Quickly enough, I forgot that I didn't know how to speak Lithuanian. And much merriment was had.

We ended up driving to another restaurant (called Bajorkiemis) where, thank god, there was no sax player. Just a guy with an accordian and a guy with a violin. The tunes were all traditional lithuanian songs with no singing, but I laughed anyway. Not at the music, I explained to my hosts, but the English translations presented in the menu in front of me: "Pork with edible sauce", "Recipe from our Granddother","Set of pickled steaks for those that love variety", and a simply put, "Abundant Lithuanian food."

After dinner, it was announced that we would all go - wait for it - bowling. BOWLING IN LITHUANIA!!! I can tell you that there are a few things less embarrassing in this world than bowling with a bunch of Lithuanians, who clearly have no idea how to bowl, and putting in a career high 178. With each strike and spare, I felt my cheeks growing a bit redder and in their eyes, I can see I had become the fat guy with big glasses in brown slacks and yellow polo shirt they see on old American bowling shows. The second game I resorted to bowling between my legs, using different fingers, whatever to adjust the score down to a more respectable 74.

But it was too late, the damage had been done.

Lithuania days 1-3

Day 1
The irony with visiting places that are considerably cheaper is that you end up consuming more, not less. On the other hand, while I have been spending nearly as much as before leaving for Lithuania, I'm finally spending it on food. Carrots have taken a back seat to huge potato based meals and second (and third) servings of beer. And not a minute too soon, one more carrot and I would have gone mad - I swear I was peeing orange for a while.

There is also the common ritual of getting ripped off every now and then. A half liter of beer has run between 2 and 6 litras, depending on how opportunistic the bartender feels. Andrew and I looked incredulously at one such lady on the Curonian Spit who asked 11 for two beers - our boat was due to leave in minutes and she knew it. We could only laugh, not knowing the Lithuanian word for "Crook". It feels out of place getting upset with having to pay $2 for a beer, but its never fun getting taken advantage of.

The Spit is a Unesco world heritage site and one of the jewels of LIthuania, just across Klaipeda with soft white sand beaches that run for miles, bordered by the calm and relatively salt free Baltic ocean. You likely haven't heard of it only because it is way over east, but construction throughout Klaipeda proves that the word is getting out. The ferry running to the spit costs only 2 litras, which is dirt cheap considering the place was nearly deserted, with not a single cloud in the sky. We hiked through the forest, walked along the beach, and climbed up abandoned fire towers - I felt like I was 12 again, with each step up the rusted ladder bringing a quick rush of adrenaline. I know my parents certainly wouldn't have approved.

That was pretty much all there was to the day, the town being a resort town and the season, well...done. Night fell quickly, with the temperature dropping to 1 degree celsius. Shivering, we couldn't find a single bar or restaurant with more than a handful of people sitting in it. We finally ended up at a jazz bar, where I hoped my smile would be interpreted as gratitude and not humor, as the singer belted out jazz standards in broken English.

Old town is charming, but the rest of town is run down, like an abandoned missle silo. Buildings stand broken, windows cracked, and rebar pokes up from the concrete, like a weed straining for sunlight. Across the street from our guest house.sat a high school and behind it, a strip club next to church, as though the school wanted to lay out a clear path for their grads.

Though he won't admit it, I think Andrew is a bit dissapointed that things here are so dead. I almost would have to agree with him, but as I stepped out of the bar for a breath of air, I saw it up in the sky, faint but definately there - the little dipper. I've never seen it before, the stars being too faint and usually in the wrong part of the sky. But tonight, it was there. One thing I've learned about travelling is that you have to take your victories small and your dissapointments lightly.

Day 2
It had grown cold in Lithuania, with even the locals complaining about how this was one of the chilliest Autumns in recent years. So even with a clear sky and the sun shining brightly, I still found myself dressed to the full extent of my cold weather clothes - black fingerless gloves, wool cap, sweater, long underwear, hooded fleece, wool socks, pants, and even a cycling scarf for my neck. With the hood pulled low and the scarf pulled up, I looked like a fat ninja. Its no small wonder then that the locals worked to avoid us - scary looking tourists in an offseason tourist town.

Andrew turned to me and said, "I think this town is done with us." We had heard of a smaller town just 20 minutes away, a seaside resort called Palanga. We packed up and hiked our way to the bus station. It would be unfair just to label the bus station decrepid. Most bus stations back home suffer the same fate - crumbling facade, poor maintenance, and a host of shady characters. In Lithuania however, its the best way to get places. The bus system is similar to what you'd find in some third world nations, a hodge podge of retired tour buses shipped off once they have fully depreciated. It was one such bus that awaited us - Andrew was hesitant. "Jacob, how do we know this is our bus? This guy looks shady. He's not even parked in the right terminal." I assured Andrew that I thought this was the bus. "No...I don't know. If this is the right bus, then how come he's just sitting here and not there?" I wanted to get on this bus...so I lied. "Andrew, there are people on the bus. I saw them." We got on the empty bus and immediately following us was a hard-lived character. "Oh man, this is the guy who is going to tie us up," Andrew whispered. Immediately following the man was a grandmother, a ten year old kid, and a young girl. We laughed, guessing how the rest of the occupants were going to kill us. "The Grandma is going to shoot us, the kid throw our bodies out of the bus, and the girl is going to clean up the mess."

Palanga is just beautiful. Huge country homes greet you through a winding, wooded lane, with the fall leaves dusting the concrete. Andrew was snapping pictures in wonder - this was not the Lithuania he had heard about growing up as a child. This was prosperity. Palanga hosts an annual beach volleyball tournament, drawing talent from all four corners of the world and is so nice in the summer that it even draws tourists from Italy. This though, was not summer. Andrew and I walked down the main boulevard, which at this time of the year was almost completely abandoned. Restaurants sat closed, clubs were boarded up, and the resort hotels were giving away rooms at dirt cheap prices (80 litras for two people).

So there wasn't much to do here, but we arrived late afternoon and only had to kill a few hours. We were treated to absolutely one of the most spectacular sunsets I've ever seen - the sky lit up bright red, as if just over the horizon the sun had set the rest of the world on fire. Its at that moment I set another goal for myself - before I die, I want to see a sunset over every ocean.

Day 3
Unfortunately, we missed the national amber museum, our guide book having listed the incorrect closing time. With nothing left to do, we trotted out old faithful: the Pub Crawl. Palanga's main street was dotted with many restaurants, most closed, but enough were open, so away we went. Each bar was empty; often we found ourselves with only the bar tender for company. By the time we reached the fourth bar, two Polish men were chatting about the dismal night. "Hey, where are all the women?" we asked. They laughed "Vie hav no idea." All told, we made it to seven empty bars before deciding that the fun had run out at about the 3rd bar.

Kaunas awaited us the next day and with it, relatives of Andrew. We were finally treated to a good night out on Lithuania, with food and drink with long lost relatives. It was also revealed why so much of the country looked so run down. "We were only admitted into the EU recently," explained one of the cousins. "The cities are catching up, but if you want to see old Lithuania, just go to a town." We had passed those same towns coming in and their state reminded me of some of the places I had passed in Jamaica on the way to my resort. I felt similar pangs of guilt sitting in the bus as we passed on our way to Kaunas. From what I have read, the government directs most of its foriegn capital to Vilnius, leaving Kaunas to fend for itself - in some ways its more Lithuanian than its capital.

We were taken to dinner at a nice place called Bernlieu Uziega, a restaurant serving traditional Lithuanian fare (read: fish, pork, chicken, beets, potatos, potahtos, and potatoes). A lone sax player sat on stage and I was treated to soulful renditions of "Beauty and the Beast", "We Are the World", "How Deep is Your Love", and yes, "Raindrops keep falling on my head". I'm slowly coming to realize however that its not that there is a great love for these songs - the songs have been relegated to unimportance, perfect for drowning in the background so you can instead focus on the table and company around you. To us, its amusing, but to others, its just good old fashioned filler, which come to think of it is the fate of most American products, no?

Kiel days 1,2

The loud humming shows no sign of abating, nearly 20 hours since beginning shortly after the ferry pulled away from Kiel. Andrew is with me and we are sharing a small 4-bed cabin with a mother and son returning to Lithuania to visit family. Kiel is a somewhat distant memory already and I struggle to recall details of the day spent there.

What we experienced of Kiel and the Kiel of its heyday are two different cities: One city, once one of the most prominent cities in Europe with settlements dating back to the 1200s and the other, a faceless series of cold, uninspired buildings, nearly completely rebuilt after the war, the only evidence of its rich history the small brass plaques found dotted throughout the city at the foot of a mall or restaurant. "A church dating back to the 1300s once stood here" or "this spot used to be the home of so and so, destroyed in 1945."The Kiel today is a uniform array of gray and brown buildings, hastily reconstructed in the wake of the Marshall Plan and thus, designed with no eye towards history or architecture.

What is left of Kiel you find in its traditions, such as the Kieler Brauerei, a local brewery which serves its fish fried and its beer in small wooden casks. Smoke rising from swinging cigarrettes mingle, dance, and couple with the fragrant steam of freshly fried fish, with loud German voices filling out every crook of the beer hall. Andrew and I grin and, not for the first time, refill our glasses in a toast to the city, a half-smoked cuban cigar resting on the table.

The rest of the day was spent wandering, doing laundry, and gathering information of ferry times. We stopped in a shop specializing in camping supplies - I was happy, as I had stupidly left my nalgene bottle on the train to Berlin. Andrew stepped in first, his pack easily twice the size of mine. With a friendly wave to the clerk, he said "just checking to see if there's something here that I haven't got," to which the clerk replied after sizing up his pack, "Oh, I doubt that." Andrew let the quip pass, but I let a smile pass at his first introduction to German humor. Later, we'd stop by a coffee shop and as I was paying, a midget was handing money up over the counter. I couldn't help myself. I walked back to Andrew and muttered the immortal lines, "I know a little German...he's over there."

The ferry will run us from Kiel, across the Baltic sea, and into Klaipeda, a city which sits on the western coast of Lithuania, due south of Latvia. It will serve as my first introduction to the culture of former Soviet bloc countries - I'm expecting skinny men with shaved heads and women in bulky coats and big hair. So far, I've been able to handle cultural differences fairly well, but that's only because the cultural compass of Western Europe has a tendency to swing west across the Atlantic. Lithuania though, represents a place more influenced by Russian traditions than American ones. Essentially, I'm coming in blind and this ferry will serve as my crash course to the Baltic states.

Already, I can tell you the differences are industrial grade. Most men have their hair close-cropped, with crevasse like wrinkles and deeply set eyes. There are no smiles welcoming you into the fold - that you have to work at. Andrew and I shared a table with a couple younger truck drivers (the majority of the ferry contingent, it would turn out) and soon made friends, with the men boldly approaching the women, getting shot down, and then while still laughing make their way back to the table. The women are equally as bold, sitting down next to their new friends, hips touching, and making no comment at the hand that suddenly has been draped around their waist. I looked at Andrew, muttering "I think what they do is just club a couple of them and drag them away." Indeed, by the end of the night women were being playfully pulled away into this corner or that room, voices raised in protest but laughter betraying their wishes.I'd find out shortly after retiring that our cabin has very thin walls.

The tv shows are as bad as you can imagine, with everything so far a remake of bad American or European shows, redubbed from Russian into Lithuanian. The ferry featured live entertainment in the form of a man, his beard, and an accordian which belted out classic Lithuanian folk songs (this got the crowd dancing) and even American hits such as, "Rain drops keep falling on my head". Even though the ferry is cheap (something I'm sure my wallet appreciates), I couldn't help but feel as though I'm stuck sitting out a blizzard in a Motel 6 somewhere in Butt Lick, South Dakota. The boat finally pulled into Lithaunia at 9pm, nearly 22 hours after we had initially left.

For me, this leg of the trip represents the farthest away I've ever been from home, literally and figuratively. For Andrew, being in Lithuania is a coming home of sorts (as demonstrated when he kissed the ground we were walking on). Few people are more proud of their heritage than those of the Baltic stock. We went out for dinner and when the bill came, it totalled to 70 Litras- or $30 for two meals, four beers, two shots, and two desserts. At that moment, I too, was very proud of Andrew's heritage.

Amsterdam day 3

One recent adjustment to the morning ritual has been waking to the sound of church bells, each a thing of beauty and harmony. When played together though, decends into a cocaphany of noise not unlike the hoots and catcalls emanating from the hookers the night before (now there's an idea...put local parishners behind glass, extolling the virtues of Catholicism!). You can't even press the snooze button. Then again, I thought with my cheek still wet from sleep drool, I've been pressing the snooze button on church for 30 years now.

Now there is more to Amsterdam to see than prosititutes, but the fact that our hostel was right in the middle of the red light district meant that each trip back to the hostel made for interesting sight seeing. Here's interesting fact #1 - some red lights are actually blue lights, blue being your mood I imagine after discovering there's a little bit more going on "down there" than you bargained for. I discovered this unfortunate fact after nearly being ambushed by a half-naked woman who had drifted out of her door in hopes of getting a successful pull. Wow, I thought, that's a huge adam's apple.

Andrew is proving himself to be a trooper, dealing with the time change with hardly a complaint. Outside of Goonfest, I haven't seen Andrew really consume much of anything. He doesn't eat meat, sips his beers slowly, and to my astonishment prior to arriving to Amsterdam, had never even had tried a cappacino. What better way to be introduced to the city than get him his first cup of joe? He took to it with aplomb, I'm proud to say.

We slowly made our way to the train station to purchase tickets to Kiel and set about finding a way to spend the next 6 hours (sadly, I wasn't able to make it to the Chuck D seminar). Instead, we did as all folks do when they come to Amsterdam: we grabbed another cup of coffee and then tried our hands at bike riding through the streets of the city. I can't say I was entirely thrilled with this idea, a cold October morning not exactly presenting the conditions I had imagined for a ride. Andrew persisted though (another benefit of having a travel partner) and that's how I found myself dodging trams and stray tourists on the cold streets of Amsterdam. And yes, I'll grudginly admit, it was fun. The bikes are fat tire style, with only one gear that makes you feel like you are behind the two-wheel equivalent of a caddilac. They seem to have right of way over cars and people and not for the first time I wondered why the States couldn't be more like this (reason: cars and hills).

We rode through most of the city, found our way back to the train station, and boarded the train bound for Kiel, where we will end up spending the night before getting on the ferry to Lithuania the next day - a 22 hour ferry ride. Here's hoping for calm waters.

Amsterdam Video message taken at the Van Gogh Museum

Amsterdam day 2

Today marks the fourteenth day of my departure from Seattle. It also happens to be the longest period I have not worked, including vacations and the like. I'll admit that prior to leaving, my reservations included travelling alone and how long I could stand it for. I have friends who grow tired of me in less than 5 minutes, so how long until I grew tired of myself?

I have found though that I love travelling alone. There is only internal debate as to what to do next, you can take all the time you want doing something, and as far as freedom goes, you can't beat it. Andrew, who arrived today, will be travelling with me for nearly 10 days, easily the longest time I have been with someone who wasn't a close relative. After the surprising level of enjoyment I had travelling alone and the stark realization that it was all coming to an end (at least for now), I grew a bit apprehensive. I wasn't sure how we would get along.

The verdict after day 1, pretty well. Its nice not having to carry an internal conversation with yourself. Andrew is also a wanderer, so we explored the streets beyond the edge of our maps without either one feeling anxious to go back. We saw the Van Gogh museum, the National Monument, and acres and acres of canals and bicycles. He also brings a level of brash humor that I could never attempt, like going to the windows with the lounging ladies to haggle prices with them, interested to see how low he could get them before finally turning his back or asking them to detail their services, each time asking for a clearer definition of the act. It was like I was back at Goonfest.

And on the flip side of the coin, I was helping provide Andrew with his first ever vacation with absolutely no agenda. We sat in bars, having a beer or latte, just enjoying the day. He's seeing exactly what one does in Europe with absolutely nothing on the schedule.

Amsterdam day 1

By the time evening greeted my last night in Berlin, I had made travel friends with three Aussies sharing the room with me. One was on vacation from England and the other two, actors from Melbourne who had just finished "a very lucrative gig", enabling them to take 4 months off for travel. We decided to go and check out a laser/fireworks show that was supposed to be occuring in Alexander Platz, a square located in the former East German section of Berlin.

The fireworks/laser show (or as David called it, "Lay-zers" with the finger quotes and Dr. Evil accent), was supposed to be broadcast on the Berlin TV tower, a "towering" structure which dominates the landscape of the city, built by the East Germans as a testament to Communism's fruits. We stood around for a half hour, four of ten thousand eager Berliners, waiting. And waiting. All that was showing were a series of powerful searchlights, rotating in color, illuminating the tower in a series of oranges, blues, reds, yellow, and well - you get the picture. It was impressive for about 10 seconds, but the crowd was getting restless. Loud whistling and sarcastic cheering filled the square, with teens on their second bottle of half-liter beers restlessly jostling each other out of boredom. We did the math...10,000 people, beer, no cops, and a lame light show - it was time to leave with haste.

We hadn't gone but a few blocks when the first fireworks exploded, but on the otherside of the tv tower. Alexander Platz is the square where we were gathered, but we, along with a majority of Berliners, didn't realize that the show was supposed to occur at the Alexander Platz shopping mall. And so it was that we found ourselves in the Alexander Platz mall, necks craned strait upwards, with fireworks exploding directly overhead.

Fireworks naturally, are a dangerous thing. In Seattle, they launch fireworks off of a barge in Lake Union, with police boats forming a cordon a few hundred yards out for safety. In Berlin, there was no cordon. Shells dropped at our feet, ash stinging our eyes, and we slowly realized that the fireworks were only a few hundred feet away. Its the closest I've ever gotten to bombs exploding and I laughed, dancing away from still lit shells, the air thick with sulfur.

Needless to say, it was a surreal event and a perfect cap to a great two days in Berlin. In the morning, I would board a train to Amsterdam to meet my friend Andrew. Andrew, is one of the creators of Goonfest, a day long themed tailgate party. Each summer, I make my way to Miller Park in Milwaukee, finding myself dressed as a pirate, a superhero, a roman, or whatever the theme happened to be. I had worked with Andrew as an RA at Marquette and also happened to be his RA in his first year of school. When I told him of my plans this past summer, he eagerly informed me that he wanted to go to Lithuania - his family's homeland - before the birth of his first born. So a couple of months later, I would make my way to Amsterdam to meet up with him for the next 10 days.

I had occupied myself on the trains with Billy Bragg's "The Progressive Patriot", a manifesto of sorts by the legendary English singer/songwriter. It was a fascinating read, his own personal argument of how national pride does not have to come at the expense of progress. It sat now on table in front of me, finished. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to face a German passenger who inquired asked me what I thought of the book.

As it turned out, he was a music journalist/promoter, who had recently had the fortune of booking Mr. Bragg to speak at a conference he had put together. We spent the next couple of hours discussing music, the WTO, progress, and various voices of change and progress in today's world. I mentioned to him that I had the fortune of listening to Chuck D speak a few years back and astoundingly, he informed me that he was on his way to Amsterdam as part of a conference on music he had put together - and with Chuck D scheduled to speak! Here was a kindred spirit - he even mentioned his love for a certain Seattle based radio station, KEXP. I grinned as I pulled out my Ipod, complete with the yellow and black KEXP logo stuck to the back. Shit, he said in way of response. We pulled into Amsterdam and he left with a promise to see if he could get me on the list to attend the forum on "The Exploration of Fame in Music", with none other than Chuck D himself participating.

So we'll see. I stepped off the train to greet Amsterdam, travel amnesia in full effect, but marvelling at the sudden smallness of my world. I made my way into the hostel, where I couldn't help but get a contact high, making check-in something of a self-amusing process. My hostel would happen to be located smack dab in the middle of the red light district.

Amsterdam at night...hordes of tourists, half-dressed women with vacant, bored expressions sitting in windows, shops advertising mushrooms and marijuana the vanguard of the canal. I grew anxious - this was like Times Square meets the Inferno. I found a street leading away from the masses and quickly found myself alone, sitting by a canal, marvelling at how strange our little world could be.

Berlin day 2

There is something appealing about a place that makes no bones about its history and open displays its skeletons for the world to see, like a 12 step program for reconciliatory nations. Berlin as we all know, was home to both the SS and the Soviets, so it was with that in mind that I made my way across the city. I wore out a few centimeters of boot tread visiting the Brandenburg gate, the Siegessaule, the bombed out remains of Kaiser Wilhelm kirche, the Wall (naturlich), and Checkpoint Charlie, along the way passing by the provacatively named "Wall of Terror" (what remains of the former SS headquarters) and "Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe", constantly wondering how many times I was crossing the same streets that the Romans, Hitler, Kennedy, Gorbechev, Reagen, et al, once crossed themselves?

At the same time, Berlin is a city that is plowing headlong into progress, moreso than any other city I've stopped in so far, with an openly gay mayor (imagine Nickels or Bloomberg marching in their gay pride parades, let alone sitting on top of a float with a feathered boa), modern buildings, and even a Berliner Weiss. I ordered one of these at lunch, eager to add to my repetoire of European beers, only to find that its a luridly green concoction of heffeweissen, sprite, and lime soda. I would learn later that these are alternatively known locally as "kinder weiss" or "kids beer".

My mollification (or as I like to think of it, my Molly-fication) was quickly annulled though by a visit to the Zoo station itself. I even rode the U-bahn #2...or the U2 subway line. I had found my Graceland. Coffee in hand, I sat outside the station to take in the moment, Ipod plugged in, "Zooropa" providing the appropriate gravitas.

I have a certain fondness for gravitas. Once, after a hard day's work my friend John and I piled into my parents car. Dirty and tired, it took John a moment to realize that the song I selected to provide perspective to our day was Bob Seger's "Like a Rock". John was unappreciative asking, "What...the hell...are we listening too?"

So it was now, with no John nearby for thousands of miles to spoil the moment, that I took it all in. Or rather, I would have if it were not for the band of roving gypsies who determined to deprive me of my money.

One of the issues currently plaguing Germany, as with many other European nations since the creation of the EU, has been the influx of foriegners. Myself, I've always been a supporter of integration, but found this tolerance being challenged greatly at the moment, repeatedly having to fend off demands for money - this wasn't begging, this was a scam. Mothers with kids in tow, as dirty and as pathetic as they could make themselves out to be, targetting anyone with a backpack or a map. Don't speak German? No problem, as they quickly pull out the appropriate card to translate their needs. The first time I shook my head sadly "no" and was left with an indescipherable comment. The second time, a more firm "no". Still they were not detered, returning with a new child to assist, each one dirtier and with infinately sadder eyes. When I realized that they can ask in English, but couldn't understand my replies, I got creative. Responses were subsequently given with a sad shake of the head and advice free of charge, such as "your kid should be in school", "I already gave at the office", and my personal favorite, "Lady, I will slap the dirt off of you."

But as I said before, this is all in the name of progress. There were far fewer beggars than I remembered in Hamburg and Koln, I walked the streets at night with little to fear, and after looking at the crumbled remains of a once devisive barrier, I was reminded that even being here wouldn't have been possible in years' past. Change, as they say, is a good thing.