Your House Abroad

We had taken an ill-planned trip to Vilnius in 1993 - shortly after the country had gained its independence from Russian rule - and on the foggy night we boarded the bus from the airport into town it soon became clear this was no ordinary time to visit Lithuania - we were the only ones who weren’t dressed in a Habit and Wimple - it seemed the world’s nuns had descended on the country’s capital for what reason we were unsure. As we walked along the streets trying to find a hotel it was evident something surreal was going on - every hotel was full - with nuns - and so were the streets. There were video screens around every corner and it didn’t take too long before we realised what the fuss was all about - it was Pope John Paul II’s first visit to Lithuania since the death of communism had allowed the return of Catholicism to the streets. And the faithful were out in force to proclaim their support.

We missed the momentous moment at which John Paul had delivered his message to the masses, but we were still left with the problem of finding somewhere to sleep. We were just about to give up when we fell upon the Hotel Gintaras (Lithuanian for amber) and it was not long before the doorman of the hotel fell upon us - demanding to know if we had a reservation, smelling of cheap vodka and being vaguely abusive in his tattered, once regal, braided uniform. We informed him that we had just checked in and he agreed reluctantly to take us to our room after seeing our room key.

Our room had seen better days - if those days had ever been better. The beds were hard board sofas with wet sheets found in an old brown sideboard, the window was cracked and the wind was blowing in a blast - but we laughed about it all, just glad we had somewhere to stay.

After coming to terms with the room we went for something to eat but the only café we found was an old place with a bullet riddled wall selling nothing but hard- as- stone pasties and plum brandy. We had our fill, returning strangely sated and toastie to our hotel for a fitful night sleep and a stand up breakfast of stringy half raw sausage in a bun which we shared with a surly bunch of men in black leather jackets.

I'm sure the Lithuanian capital has come on a great deal since the days of our visit but I hope it hasn’t lost its magic. After all, magic, legends and myth are something the Lithuanians have a special affinity for, as we were to find out . . .

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