N is for Nida and Nuclear

Today I want to take you to the most Westerly part of Lithuania and one of the most Easterly – the towns of Nida and Visaginas respectively.

Let us begin with Visaginas. This town of almost 34’000 people, located in a corner of Lithuania bordering Latvia and Belarus is famous for having an almost entirely Russian population and Lithuania’s only nuclear power station. Established in 1975 the town was built to house the workers of the nearby Ignalina Nuclear Power Station, most of who were brought to Lithuania from other parts of the Soviet Union. Whereas most Lithuanian towns have at least some remnants of an old town – including old wooden buildings or a church, Visaginas is an example of Soviet functionality – A collection of grey concrete and red brick blocks, yet set beside a lake and with tall pine trees everywhere. The town could almost be said to be built in a forest, rather than near it.

A short drive from Visaginas through countryside that feels bleaker and bleaker you will arrive at Ignalina Nuclear Power Station. The first unit of the nuclear plant started generating power in 1983 and at the time was the world’s most powerful nuclear power station. The design and build is the same as that most infamous of Soviet power stations – Chernobyl. Fortunately lessons have been learnt and modification made so I hope not to be engulfed in a cloud of nuclear radiation any time soon. The EU have told the Lithuanian authorities that the aging reactor must be decommissioned by the beginning of 2010. Most experts and the news here in Lithuania seem unconvinced that this will be the case.

Discussions are being had between the three Baltic States and Poland to build a new nuclear plant in the region under a new power-bridge agreement– allowing power to be shared on a regional grid system.

On April 16th Russia, casting an ever present shadow over the region and looking for more ways to flex its energy muscles, announced its desire to build a brand new plant in the Kaliningrad oblast which is currently dependant on the Baltic States, through which energy passes from Russia. The announcement is deeply provocative. The region is clearly too small to contain two nuclear plants and thus by beginning to build its own plant in the region before the EU States it would hope to cause the region to become dependant, not only on Russian oil, but also Russian atomic energy. The Russian company has suggested that 49% of the power generated could be passed to its EU neighbours. For now, it may simply be provocative words, but it may help the stalling negotiations between Poland and the Baltic countries to make quicker and further progress in building a new plant.

For more information and pictures of the Ignalina plant take a look at www.iae.lt

Travelling towards Kaliningrad, you will eventually come to the town of Nida. This lies on the unique geographical feature called the Curonian Spit or Kuršių nerija. Legend says that Neringa, a giantess daughter of the gods, gathered sand in her apron and placed it in the sea to protect the Baltic fishermen from storms. It is a little more likely the Spit, which is essentially a large collection of sand dunes, held together by pine trees, rare grasses and shrubs came into existence around 6000 years ago by sand drifts from further west along the coast, making it one of the most recent geographical features in the whole of Europe.

My two French friends with whom I travelled were amazed by how similar it felt to the South of France, and with weather as good as the last few days, it easily could have been. In fact, even having lived in Lithuania for almost 3 years, I could hardly believe I was in the same country. Rather it felt like a mixture of a desert as I walked on the dunes and a Suffolk sea-side village as I walked in the harbour watching men renovate their boats.

Bon vacances!

The Great Dune - Looking south towards Kaliningrad

M is for Mašinos, Men and Mortality

Deus ex machina.
God out of the machine.

It's possible that many Lithuanian men think of themselves as a minor god when they step out of their black BMWs (yes, we're back to them again, I can't help myself) or their 4x4s. Dievas iš mašinos. (Young) Men and their machines will always be a cause for concern the world over, but in Lithuania it seems to be a particular problem. The power, the speed, the unnecessary sound of a drilled-out exhaust. Collecting your lady on a Friday and Saturday evening in a blacked-out BMW, Audi or Mercedes seems to be what many men attain to in life. Fortunately “pimping” ones car hasn’t really taken off in a big way yet, except for blacked-out windows. I wonder if that’s to hide who your friends in the back are or so that no one can see your lack of friends?

More seriously however, young men and their cars (Lithuanian, mašina or automobilis) are a very significant problem in Lithuania. Motoring accidents are one of the biggest killers in Lithuania and in a country with an already diminishing population this isn’t a good thing. There are big signs on the main motorway stretching the length of the country, from Klaipėda to Vilnius and passing through Kaunas, letting you know how many people have been killed and how many injured on that stretch of road. So far this year 1 dead, 25 injured – less than in the same period last year. However, it is on the smaller roads where most accidents occur.
I travel on the roads between cities at least once a week and normally I can expect to see at least one recent crash. In Vilnius I often witness shunts as cars tail-gate those in front and fail to brake in time at traffic lights. Nothing serious in that, but it reflects the common attitude of drivers here – drive fast, brake hard, give no room to others and drive as defensively as possible – not dissimilar to downtown Baghdad, just with less Humvees.
The Lithuanian daily newspaper Lietuvos Rytas has a section called "Wheels" on its internet site which seems to be a daily update of crashes on Lithuania's roads.
It is reported that Lithuania has one of the worst records per capita for driving accidents and yet compared to other (mostly western) European Countries the relationship between these accidents to alcohol is low. Meaning that Lithuanian drivers are often sober but dangerous.

It’s saddening to read stories of young men, on an evening out, packed into a car, ending up involved in an accident either through their own fault or the fault of others. This usually occurs at night when overtaking on single carriageway roads. Should all the occupants of the car be killed it can often leave a whole family without its sons or a peer group without its men. It is no wonder therefore that there is a whole project dedicated ending the carnage called, “stop to the war on the roads”. http://www.lrt.lt/stop/

Deus ex machina. So far there has been no resolution and as a philosophy professor recently told me, “It will take more than warning signs and programs. It will take a change in culture”.
Dievas į mašiną?

L is for Language

When back in the UK I am often asked a common question.
“What do they speak in Lithuania?” Pause “Lithuanian?”

Actually, in the capital Vilnius, about 9% speak Russian and another 10% speak Polish as first languages. But yes, Lithuanian is the official language of Lithuania. Lithuanians love the Lithuanian language. They’ll tell you it’s beautiful, that it’s related to Sanskrit, that it’s one of the most archaic languages in the world.
After a few weeks of living in Lithuania, and attending language class I only had one thought about the language – it’s hard. It’s more complicated than rocket science, it’s impregnable to my English ear and it seems to have no relation to anything I’ve ever seen before. It is in Latin script, so life was a little easier, but beyond that it’s a mixture of vowels, ks, zs, prefixes, declensions and cases that all conspire against the average foreigner to make him or her sound like they’ve got a lump of fried bread stuck in their throat and are in desperate need of the Heimlich manoeuvre.

There are 24 different ways to say the same word, depending on if it is male or female and then one of six possible cases. Let us not go into the intricacies but instead look to some of the novel things to be found about the language.

The first word that brings a smile to British tourists is the word for thank you, Ačiū. The little v over the c gives it a ch sound and thus this word is pronounced almost exactly as if sneezing, though normally on demand. From my experience it takes about 5 minutes before a-choo no longer becomes funny.

Bičas – Despite what it sounds like to English ears, is the word for a good male friend, “mate”. And originally comes from the word bite or bee. Bees were sacred animals in pagan Lithuanian tradition and were highly respected. To kill a bee meant bad news for you. There are plenty of other words in Lithuanian that sound rude or not altogether wholesome in the English language, but I won’t share those with you.

Language is also a great preserver of culture. There are many words and phrases which are based on the agricultural history and culture of Lithuania. Two examples are below.

Man šakas tau! – meaning something like, “I have a pitchfork for you”. This isn’t a friendly gesture from a neighbouring farmer to say, “I’d like to help you move your hay.” Rather it’s a form of abuse.

grybauti – to pick mushrooms. Mushroom picking is an important and common national pastime in the late summer. This verb can also be used about someone who seems to be late, as if to suggest they have been temporarily distracted by some attractive and tasty looking fungus.

Do you fancy your chances learning Lithuanian? Have a go at http://www.oneness.vu.lt

L is for Love

At the prompting of my colleague at "Late Night TomasAdomas"*, I have decided to update my blog on time this week. However, this is a temporary post. L is actually for Language - but it's a work in progress and I have an early start and a busy week of travelling ahead of me, so you will have to wait until the weekend.

Instead, (skirtas jums visiems mano Lietuvių draugams bei pažįstamams) a very short note to say I'm loving Lithuania at the moment (aš nejuokuoju). Spring has arrived and despite the rain today, there is a feeling of new potential in the air. I've lived here for getting-on 3 years and whilst sitting with friends over dinner (žinoma, šnekėdami lietuviškai) this evening and recollecting my initial and most memorable experiences - girls who would only talk Lithuanian to me (I appreciate it now, but at the time thought it was just rude), guys who showed me where to buy food, feeling like I was about to die in an empty building that may or may not have been a hospital** - I realise I have come to love Lithuania with all it's quirks and rude old ladies.
I'm leaving this summer and believe me, it's going to be hard.

Lietuva, aš myliu tave! Ir net šiandien myliu močiutėlę, kuria gyvena apačioje.
Gal aš per daug bulvinių blynių persivalgau?

*http://www.youtube.com/user/prenlex (out of date, bizarre and pseudo-arty/ comedy pieces - watch the ones without us in.)

**a post about that event will follow in due course.

K is for Klaipeda

On March 23rd 1939 German warships pulled into the town of Memel. Later Adolf Hitler stood on the balcony of the theatre and announced to the predominantly German speaking population that the town was part of the Third Reich. You can still see the same balcony today, in the Lithuanian coastal city of Klaipeda. No, the balcony hasn’t been moved, but European borders and empires have.
Officially the city was founded in 1252 by Teutonic Knights. For almost 400 years, between 1525 and 1918, it was the Easternmost City of the Prussian Empire, interrupted by Swedish rule 1628-35 and Russian 1757-62.
It was administered by the French military on behalf of the League of Nations from 1918 with the aim of setting up an independent territory. However in 1923 it became part of Lithuania for the first time in its history after the latter took over the territory.

Lithuanians often say that Klaipeda looks more German than Lithuanian. Indeed, there are more redbrick buildings and sloping roofs (take a look at the central post office) but to my mind, Klaipeda is more a mixture of post-World War II, Soviet era modernist buildings and standard concrete blocks alongside modern glass-fronted buildings. As a strategic port and a base for German submarines Klaipeda was almost entirely raised to the ground during WW2. One of Klaipeda’s newest sights are the D and K buildings – a hotel and apartment block – named after their shape. They stand taller than any other building in Klaipeda and the views from the café at the top are fantastic – though the menu is less satisfying.

Today Klaipeda, Lithuania’s third city with a population of around 200,000, is a popular tourist destination. From here it’s possible to make the short journey to the Curonian Spit – an almost unique geological feature. or further up the coast to Palanga. In the summer, this town is all sea, sand, sex and sun – probably in that order of frequency. The sandy beaches are wonderful and the Baltic Sea less salty than those that wash against Western Europe. In the summer months most of Vilnius moves here, including MTV who broadcast from the beach. In fact everyone moves here and ends up sitting in traffic for hours as the town’s population bulges and the road network fails to cope.

In the winter there’s definitely less sun and a lot less sex. On one particularly bracing walk along the beach the sea had frozen in large chunks, about a foot deep and several feet across. These mini icebergs rubbed together making a sound like grinding plastic as the lapping waves underneath gently lifted them up and down. Approaching the entrance to the port of Klaipeda was like witnessing a huge Slush Puppy. Fishing boats and cruise liners sailed perfectly normally across the dark blue and green sugary syrup in and out of the port.
If you needed yet more reasons to visit, on the northernmost tip of the Curonian Spit, a brief ferry ride away, is a Dolphinarium. You could almost be in Florida!

The D and K buildings - obviously!

Part of Klaipeda's old town

The Post Office

Part of the Old Port. Still fully operational.

Where you might have lived as a 19th century fisherman.