A Tale of Three (Baltic) Cities

by Tim Grimes

A tour of three capitals in one week might be anathema to those preferring an in-depth study into the respective national characters, but Vilnius, Riga and Tallinn are each small enough to enable a fairly thorough insight in two or three days. Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia are small (populations 3.7 million, 2.4 million and 1.4 million) and unhappily, until 1991, were occupied by the Soviets, having been occupied by Germans and others for most of the preceding seven centuries. That apart, they have little enough in common each to be of fresh interest to the first time visitor. They don't even speak each other's languages, encouraging the Lithuanians and Estonians to speak English and the Latvians German. Russian is, of course, also spoken - but reluctantly. Despite the old Baltic peasant belief "that a guest is someone who has to be watched closely lest he rape your daughters or steal your cow" (The Baltic Revolution by Anatol Lieven), I found many of the Baltic people to be generally friendly and approachable.

Day 1 began touching down in the rain at Vilnius Airport, on a dreary Saturday morning. From the luggage carousel, all of l2ft across, passengers shuffled via a polite immigration interrogation into the Airport's impressive entrance hall decorated rather how Uncle Joe must have thought an opera house should be. My first surprise was that I had arrived one hour earlier than expected. Contrary to the guide books, Lithuania is on Central European time, contrasting Latvia and Estonia which are each on Eastern European time - one hour later. One look at the drivers loitering at the Airport suggested that the taxis were a rip off I jumped on the No 2 bus outside which eventually fulfilled my hopes of heading downtown.

My apprehension of landing at a place where no recognisable language was spoken, was dispelled on the bus. I was soon engaged in English conversation with several local folk, one of whom offered me the fare (60c, pay the driver) thinking I had not had time to change my copious supplies of US Dollars into Litas ($1 = LTS4). I had been warned of the difficulty of obtaining cash: Dispelled myth no. 2: in addition to loads of bureaux de change, there are ATMs at the airport and in most commercial streets. The general consensus directed me to leave the bus at Gedimino/ Kudirkos.

I had misread the scale of the map and I walked, with suitcase, for what seemed like three weeks, to the Hotel Narutis, unrespectably hot and sweaty. The receptionist graciously ignored my condition. I continued to be impressed by the central, stylish, clean and airy hotel built around an atrium. Although dinner was a tad below Eastern European standards, the breakfast buffet was excellent. The room information even tells you how much they will rip you for phone charges. Use public phones, it is easy once you realise that the only cards they take are the telephone company's own. In this case American Express will not do nicely - or at all.

Vilnius is on the River Neris, mainly on the South bank. I walked along the river bank, busily snapping (to the disgust of Vilnians?) at the architectural Stalinist statues of agricultural and factory workers, soldiers and children adorning the Zaliasis Bridge, the thoroughly Communist footbridge and the wonderfully Stalinist block to its South. The river frontage and the main thoroughfare, with the Russian Orthodox cathedral at its end, reminded me of Helsinki.

I visited Vilnius University, opposite the hotel, on Day 2. The courtyard is superb, but my Latin was not up to deciphering which of the several inscriptions commemorated its foundation as a Jesuit college and which commemorated Vilnius' unhappily several martyrs. Lithuania, the last European state to have renounced paganism, owes its Catholicism much to Poland which dominated the country for so long that, when the state of Poland re-emerged in 1919 from its most recent intermission of non-existence, there was grave disappointment that it did not include Vilnius. The Gates of Dawn are the City's only remaining gates. Their position at the South of the City suggests that in Lithuania, the sun rises 90° away from the usual position. The Gates of Dawn contain a black Madonna said to have curative powers - which is oddly inconsistent with the large numbers of hospitals in the city.

I joined Sunday morning service at the nearby Russian Orthodox church - one of many. The church was full (presumably of the Russians still living in Vilnius). The incantation of the worshippers was moving and the thick air of incense was migraine-inducing. The congregation bowed and genuflected with almost aerobic frequency. The priest, wearing a cape of gold and deep pink, with matching tall spherical hat, was assisted by half a dozen similarly clad acolytes all with an uncanny Rasputin resemblance, although one looked more like Billy Connolly. The church was adorned with paintings and more icons than a fully tooled up Word for Windows. As I left, I ran the gamut of begging, toothless old ladies, whose entreaties I had to resist as the smailest change I had was a note worth the equivalent of £12.42. (1 wasn't too worried by the imprecations and curses which this attracted. The last time I was cursed, it was by a Hungarian gypsy violinist who thought I had under-tipped him, the curse missed, flew out of the window and caused a road accident outside.)

My initial impression - that the only interesting thing about Vilnius was that it wasn't very interesting - gave way as I made further discoveries in the Old Town. It also helped that I had been able to negotiate a LTS 10 reduction from a LTS40 nicknack, although probably leaving the street vendor's margin little scathed. The Old Town, not unlike Bratislava or - come to think of it - the old towns of Buda, Prague et al, consists of mostly renovated churches, houses and chic shops selling Levis, Calvins and Versace. Mingled with these are still-dilapidated properties which an English estate agent would describe as opportunities to fulfil potential. I suspected that the unrenovated properties would have the last laugh as some already improved premises were beginning to show signs of deterioration at the edges of their stucco. Many of the streets give way to cobbled courtyards with wooden balconies - the real thing.

Lunch at Freskos, the almost Bohemian cafe at the National Theatre and adorned with costumes and other adiaphora, was excellent. They serve a local beer with a passing resemblance to English barley wine, strong enough to translate the morning's bloody downpour into the afternoon's soft droplets of cooling rain.

My next call, to the former KGB headquarters at Auku 4/ Gedimino 40, said to be the only such establishment which can be visited, was instantly sobering. Apparently the building, and its cells, were used successively by the Czarists, the Germans (from 1915) the Poles (1920 to 1926), the Germans again (1940 to 1944) and the Soviets from 1944 to 1991. According to the 80 year old guide (as interpreted by a Lithuanian emigre from Canada who was also visiting) and who had been incarcerated there by the KGB, of all of these the Soviet occupation had been the most brutal. The detention cells, torture rooms and execution chamber are chilling.

To prove that he really had been an opera singer before a partisan, the guide gave a rendition from Aida. We heard this shut in a padded cell for fear of disturbing the solemnity of the building. We were told that in the room next door reposed the remains of Lithuanian partisans murdered by the KGB and recently found to have been buried in a mass grave outside the city. Most of the KGB records were destroyed, or returned to Russia, in the last days of the Evil Empire but there apparently remains a quantity of evidence being analysed for prosecutions of KGB agents and collaborators beginning next year. Such a chilling experience endorsed the guide's assertion that only those who had been deprived of freedom could fully appreciate its value.

Parliament (Gedimino 53) presents further evidence of the last days of the Soviet occupation. The typically Communistic architectural aberration probably from the 1970s is distinguished only by the remaining concrete blocks placed outside to protect the building from Soviet tanks. There is a memorial to those who died in the fighting. On the way back to the hotel, the impressive Cathedral and, for those with high enough blood sugar levels for the climb, the tower which is all that remains of the castle, providing views across the whole city. There is little traffic in Vilnius, allowing frantic driving and tangential parking.

Day 3 began (or nearly didn't) when my taxi, for the bus station, arrived late at the hotel and proved to be the exception to the rule about frantic driving. Fortunately the grubby Ikarus bus of 1950s vintage furnished with tubular steel and torn leatherette seats and Belarussian registration plates, also arrived late - by 40 minutes. We chugged, mostly in third gear, out of Vilnius, through the massive high rise housing suburbs, which characterises ex-Communist cities, peppered incongruously with sassy BMW and Volvo dealerships. The road became quite a respectable dual carriageway with hardly any traffic. The countryside was flat, at first, largely uncultivated then, towards Latvia, more wooded between the very smallholdings with the odd chestnut cow and a few hay ricks. The border crossing was uneventful, officials from each side roaming the bus, rubber stamping at random. I put my watch forward by an hour.

I was relieved to arrive in Riga. It had concerned me slightly that the bus destination board had-also displayed "Minsk" and was written in the Cyrillic script. At the bus station, the taxi driver proposed a LVLS fare (helpfully £1 = LVLI). Although I knew I was being ripped off, I accepted, being travel weary after a less than comfortable four hour journey, and anxious to make my next base. The driver tried to make me feel better by taking the long way round.

As a time-warped example of a Soviet era hotel, the 26 floor glass and aluminium Hotel Latvia doesn't disappoint. I even took the precautions of checking for cameras behind the mirror in my room and for microphones in the lamp standards. The corridor walls were painted a tasteful black from top to bottom. For added authenticity, there was no plug in the non-matching bathroom suite which had obviously been supplied by the same commissariat which had furnished the sanitary ware to the KGB cells in Vilnius. (Travel tip: If visiting Riga, avoid the Hotel Latvia.) My hotel in Vilnius had been central, stylish, clean and airy. The Hotel Latvia manaJed not to achieve any of these descriptions.

Riga didn't immediately fill me with warmth - at least not metaphorically. Unlike Vilnius (current Russian population in Lithuania only 8% as against 30% in Latvia) Riga had the feel of a former Soviet republic capital. Its attraction is not its people, who appeared to me as detached and unhelpful as my Chairman's secretary.

Riga's attraction is, however, its omnipresent wealth of architecture reflecting its sad history. Latvia was run by the German gentry since its days as a Hanseatic port, under German, Polish and Russian rule and later by the Germans and Soviets. UNESCO has designated Riga as an International Heritage site. Architectural decoration is plentiful, with Mercury, winged messenger of the gods, and the horn of plenty particularly popular. It is interesting to see how the stylised emblems of industry and agriculture on the Czarist era buildings, presaged the Soviet use of these symbols.

On Day 4, I took the economic decision not to change hotels, but to insist on a better room. A supplementary US$20 per night got me brighter decor, almost matching bathroom suite and tap water of a much deeper brown. Evidently my experience was not unique for, later in the day, I had the satisfaction of buying a poster, at the Museum of Decorative Art (Skarnu) which depicted the Hotel Latvia being dynamited. The saving grace of the Hotel Latvia is the stunning views of Riga: the dawn vista from the 26th floor is one of the most breathtaking I have ever seen. You don't have to stay at the hotel, just get up early and take the lift.

The Freedom Monument must be seen. It represents Riga as the Eiffel Tower represents Paris. It commemorates Latvia's first independence in 1920, unaccountably surviving the subsequent Soviet era. It is a tall pillar bearing a golden madschen with art deco figures apparently representing the usual virtues in bas relief. It is unclear what each of the figures is depicting and the Southern pair looking especially compromised. In the words of the indispensable guide book, the whole thing rests on a "massive fundament" (Riga, A city to discover, available locally at L5.90).

The Dom is an exceptionally fine red brick and, internally, white stucco church. It boasts one of the largest church organs in Europe. Dom Square, in the centre of the working Old Town, contains the usual wealth of architecture including the ornate Stock Exchange and government and other buildings. Close by, Parliament is a restrained and dignified Renaissance pile. The nearby Castle is modern, for castles, and curiously (for the presidential seat) still bears Russian emblems on the outside. On the way, the restored l8th century barracks opposite the town walls (Torna) are attractive.

But my heart stopped for the Bank of Latvia, opposite the Castle (Torna/ Citadeles): an imperial Russian building whose bas reliefs include a 1850s locomotive, hammer and sickle (but not together), wheatsheaves and loads of Czarist eagles. The Academy of Science (aka Stalin's Birthday Cake, and not mentioned in the guide book) can be seen from much of the city and is a poorer version of Warsaw's Palace of Culture and Science and equivalents in other former Soviet client states.

To photograph this, it is necessary either to navigate the less salubrious areas of Riga, picking a way through the somnolent tramps - which are even more plentiful than elsewhere in Riga, where they are even more plentiful than in Los Angeles - or atop the main railway line embankment by the Bus Station. (Travel tip: the first line which, suddenly, presents itself, is live.)

Just by the Bus Station is what appears to be a series of stunted Zeppelin hangars. This is the market, built with the steel girders of former Zeppelin hangars. The sensitive should avoid the fish hangar. It was at this point that I discovered the minibuses at the rear of the Bus Station. They take passengers into the centre for 20p - that would have saved me £4.80. (Travel tip: If, in search of the minibuses, you encounter the five storey town gaol, crowded with prisoners peering through the bars - a sight which I reluctantly thought too distasteful to photograph - you have turned the wrong way.)

Riga is not a gastronome's delight, but the Jever Bistro (Kalku) plavs brilliant 1970s rock and serves excellent food and the vey acceptable local (Jever) beer. Alas the public telephone there gobbled up my NatWest Visa card - some people never learn.

Day 5 started back in poignant mood, at Riga's Occupation Museum. This explains, in exhibits, photographs and text, the Soviet occupation (1940 to 1941); the German occupation (1941 to 1944) and the Soviet occupation (1944 to 1991). The impression given in Vilnius, that the Baltic states view the Soviet occupations as more brutal than the German, was reinforced here. The mood lightened next door where the House of the Blackheads is being rebuilt, after destruction in World War II. The medieval guild of Blackheads preceded trade-based guilds and apparently attracted young single men. Nowadays, they would ask for the pharmacist at Boots. There is a rather fine Blackheads memorial also at the Dom.

On the other side of town, I spent an excruciating 15 minutes walking through the modern art in the Museum of Foreign Art (part of the Castle) in search of a remaining hammer and sickle. Sadly, the rather modest emblem didn't justify the sacrifice. A hire car would be useful to explore the old airport, across the one-span bridge over the River Daugava; the terminal building is reputed to contain loads of hammers and sickles and to have at fleet of rotting Aeroflots nearby. A car would also help to find the city's quirky motor museum a mile or two North of the centre.

On Day 6, I arrived at Tallinn, possibly architectured-out - and certainly tired - after a six hour journey in a cramped and filthy Lithuanian bus. On the window a fly had been swatted into an anatomical diagram, possibly some weeks before. This wasn't poverty - the bus was quite new - this was the kind of inexcusable neglect which, I speculated, might have been associated with Communism. I had expected that Estonia would be the most Western and most commercial of the three cities - and so it proved. There are massively more shops (including two virtual department stores Stockmann and Sokos - as well as several quasi department stores of the Eastern kind) and many more restaurants and bars than Vilnius or Riga. Today's - rather than yesterday's - UK newspapers are sold and at no premium to the cover price. (£1 = EEK22) The taxi drivers wear white shirts and ties and use the meters without being asked.

Tallinn has no beggars and no noticeable police presence. English is widely spoken. There is very little apparent Czarist or Soviet influence, maybe because of Estonia's 28 per cent Russian population. Tallinn is so forward looking that its history is less important that the other two cities. Really this is the fifth Scandinavian capital.

The buildings are generally in better condition and Tallinn is renovating its post-war stock with imaginative cosmetic improvement and smart new construction. Tallinn's "Old Town" - another UNESCO Heritage Site - is partly medieval and generally much older than Vilnius and Riga, but does have a bit of a theme park feel to it. There is even a wally trolley (why do those vehicles have to be made to look like trains?) and, at the excellent "Olde (sic) Hansa" one can eat medieval food and drink medieval beer, all served by waiters in medieval dress. At the centre of the Old Town, I climbed the huge and threateningly infinite steps of the 15th Century Town Hall's bell tower. The Blackheads had spread to Tallinn where they had also built a guildhouse. Pikk Street is an architectural museum in itself, containing medieval to Art Nouveau. At No. 61 is the uncommemorated ex KGB headquarters - now a ministry office, but note the five pointed stars.

Outside the Old Town, on Toompea Hill, are the Parliament (Telephone 6 316 357 for an invitation to tour), the spectacular Alexander Nevsky Russian Orthodox Cathedral, where I was an uninvited guest at a wedding, and the ancient Dom church much in need of restoration. But it would be a shame to restrict a tour of Tallinn to the Old Town.

I spent Day 7 outside the centre where there are so many attractive buildings from the l9th and 20th Centuries. Tallinn's version of Stalin's Birthday Cake, opposite Stockmann, is a restrained 5-storey block, spreading down two perpendicular streets. The creamy colonnaded National Theatre and Concert Hall (1913), stands opposite the classical Peter's School and near the red brick Nobles' Credit Union (1904). But an unavoidable stop is the imaginative, individualistic and exciting National Library (Tonismagi 2, opposite the Soviet War memorial) which was built between 1988 and 1993 in irregular blocks of white stone, looking not unlike a Yorkshire dry stone wall. Inside hang flags of Estonia's counties in a huge vestibule furnished in dark wood. It is hard to compare this with anything else I have seen - perhaps it is just Estonian. Curiously the National Library does not feature in guide books - not even the excellent In Your Pocket (comprehensive guides to Vilnius, Riga, Tallinn and other cities in the area are available for a few pence at local bookshops or on the Net) or the quarterly City Paper (available in hotel rooms or at bookstalls, with topical articles and news).

The almost clinically clean Central Hotel (Narva Street) is plain, efficient and very Scandinavian and serves excellent breakfast and seriously impressive dinner. I don't think I have ever seen food better presented than at its Primavera Restaurant - although I was a little puzzled by the nettle leaves on the cheeseboard.

So, if you think that Lithuania was a liner which sank in the 1920s, broaden your horizons, book a flight and within 4 hours you could be in the capital of any of three very different former Soviet republics, whose past is reflected in a wealth of architecture and whose future is palpably in the wider Europe. It is tremendous fun.

 

First published in VISA issues 31-32 (winter 1998 / spring 1999).