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In Which I Am Recognised (For Real, This Time)

November 11, 2006 by Mike

Klaipeda, Lithuania

Route: Liepaja - Klaipeda

Look again at the map. Yes, now. Before you read another word!

I'm in Klaipeda, known for half a millennium as Memel - until 1945, in fact. A German city. Or, to be more specific, a Teutonic, then a Prussian, then a German city. But one that spoke in German, traded in German, looked to and was part of 'Germany' (or whatever 'Germany' happened to be at the time. As a unified country it has existed only since 1871).

How German? Though it isn't sung much anymore, the first verse of the German national anthem tells us that Germany starts.. right here. The river running through Memel is the Neman:

Germany, Germany above all,
Above everything in the world,
When it always, for protection and defiance,
Brotherly stands together.
From the Meuse to the Neman,
From the Adige to the Belt,
Germany, Germany above all,
Above anything in the world.

(Oh, and the Meuse is in France/ Belgium/ Holland...)
--

Earlier this morning
At the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, Latvia stops to remember the dead of all wars. One difference with the rest of the world: they are remembering 11th November 1919, rather than 1918. On this day Latvia declared independence - briefly.

The local garrison and a ragbag of territorials with dyed hair, ill-fitting uniforms and little sense of rhythm marched up and down the main square of Liepaja to the sound of a brass band. Like brass bands everywhere, I silently wished they had stayed at home. But the national anthem is a catchy little number, played with real gusto. An interesting approach: the band started the anthem a number of times but stopped -- ABRUPTLY! -- before starting from the beginning again, getting a little further -- STOP!! -- and so on. A way of expressing Lithuania's faltering attempts over 100 years to achieve independence?

Just fifteen years ago the army of the Soviet Union was out on these streets, trying to suppress the movement for independence. An army that controlled these streets for half a century. Now the soldiers are Latvian, their presence more ceremonial than reassuring. Many, but not most, of the houses flew the national flag today. Many people gathered to watch the parade - but most went shopping.

The long, straight roads down the coast from Liepaja to the border remind me of Patagonia. The wind is the same, too, though here I'm riding through tall pine forests which not only blunts the wind but means that I can't see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and... Down there, there is nothing to divert the road - not towns or villages, nor hills or rivers, so they are straight. Up here, the country is equally flat, but for sure there are towns, villages, farms. Why aren't I seeing them? Because, it occurs to me, this is a military road. Long and straight and easy to roll tanks down. Who'd be allowed to live too close to that? And now the country is free, who would want to live too close to that? It was only 15 years ago...

All the same, when I stop the bike: cold, quiet air smelling strongly of pine. It's beautiful.

The border swiftly negotiated, I note two things.

1. Hello (LAB-ass) and thank you (atCHOO) are going to be easy to remember.
2. If all Lithuanian women are as sexy as the border official who coyly taught me those words, I might be here for some time.

Truth is, I suspect I won't be here for long. It's still moderately warm in the air, but there is snow at the sides of the road. Times winged chariot and all that.. I'm still determined to beat the Baltic winter. And besides, the coast of Lithuania is only 99km long. I could cycle that in about, oooh, a week? So on the Bonnie, it shouldn't take very long at all.

My target for the day is Klaipeda -- for the reasons listed above, one of the most fascinating cities I expect to see on the trip. It's only 60 miles from Liepaja, so I've hardly had a chance to freeze before I get to the outskirts and find a big sign just waiting to be photographed.

Just as I'm noting that I've only ridden just over 400 miles since St Petersburg -- stopping at Narva, Tallinn, Pärnu, Saulkrasti, Riga and Liepaja, but still only 400 miles -- a car zooms up to me and screeches (in a very Hollywood fashion) to a halt.

The driver jumps out: "St Petersburg!"

Errrrm, pardon?

"St Petersburg! St Petersburg! The Sovetskaya Hotel! St Petersburg! You!"

Bloody hell - he's recognised me from St Petersburg. (My head is switched on today. Nothing's going to get past me.)

And that's exactly what has happened. Dimi has just spotted, on the outskirts of his hometown, the bike he walked past every morning when he was staying in St Petersburg. He thought the rider must be mad (he says) but liked the look of the bike. And now here I am. (He's been home for a couple of weeks - just goes to show how slow I am.)

Dima rides a Virago (that's a motorbike, of sorts...) and takes it upon himself to guide me to a moderate hotel downtown, and this evening, to help me paint the town red.

But first...

I watch a bit of TV in my room: Danish football. One of the players is wearing short sleeves. He doesn't look too cold (but he does look pyschotic.)

Into town: the Castle Museum is a disgrace. I pay to walk up one corridor and down another. Half a corridor has information in German, then they just give up and stick to Lithuanian. Then they give up on that too. The display ends with a video advert for an unbuilt marina. Yippee. When I leave I know less about Klaipeda/ Memel than when I came in. The castle is being 'renovated' (I'll believe it when I see it.. because today I could see nothing) and the dieing, decaying, derelict industrial area surrounding it is due for demolition and a spruce up. Well maybe.. but for now: Avoid. (... if you're in Klaipeda any time soon, that is.)

The Museum of Lithuania Minor, as this region was known historically, may answer all my questions, but though I arrive 90 minutes before it shuts, and half an hour before the ticket office is due to close, they're already locking up. A woman smiles bashfully through the plate-glass door and asks me to come back tomorrow. Then she remembers they're closed tomorrow, and can I come back on Tuesday. After 11 (the sign says it opens at 10.) Anyone been there? Did I miss anything amazing?

The Old Town looks new. That's because it is. They put cobbles down on the main street last year to recreate the past. The locals hate them.

New Klaipeda is almost as unpopular. Someone commissioned and built two huge towers, shaped like a 'K' and a 'D'. I forget why. The 'K' looks mildly interesting, the other building just looks lop-sided. The locals hate them.

There are a noticeably large number of young men with shaven heads in town, walking around in fatigue trousers and tight-fitting t-shirts. My first thought: Nazi-sympathisers. I'd seen their like in St Petersburg. They are really quite intimidating. My second thought: duh, Mike - they're all soldiers. No wonder they look like that. They're probably lovely. My third thought: soldiers don't grow beards like *that* skinhead's wearing. They *are* Nazis. Not good.

I stopped off at a bar called 'Boogie Woogie'. Great name, great decor. There were old rock'n'roll artifacts on the walls - pictures of Little Richard and Eddie Cochran; concert posters and car posters and Elvis Elvis everywhere Elvis. As I was wearing my Elvis t-shirt, how could I resist?

It was time to test the local beer and maybe line my stomach. Browsing the menu, which *did* come with English translations, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven when I found "Deep-fried bread in cheese and mayonnaise."

The translation was accurate. One mouthful and I realised I would be dead and going to heaven if I finished the plate. Arteries screamed. My heart started pounding double-time. It was the most congealed, fatty congelation of fat I've ever seen in my life. Fat was *oozing* out of every pore within moments. Pretty soon fat was pouring out of the fat.

Elvis on the wall. Elvis on the t-shirt: if I wasn't careful, I'd end up like Elvis.

The hotel have provided a leaflet in my room entitled Welcome To Klaipeda. I quote:

'Klaipeda girls are very attractive and sexy, especially for the relaxed foreigners. Don't bring casual friends to your apartment, because next morning you will miss yesterdays girls, your money, personal belongings and good mood.'

So it is that I am slightly less than relaxed when Dima picks me up in his car for a high-speed tour of Klaipeda's nightclubs that includes everything from grannies waltzing with each other to accordian music in one club (we don't stay long) to being patted down for guns as we enter another.

We both stick to coffee.

Dima: "I want to stay awake."

Mike: "I want to stay alive."

Five clubs checked out in about 30 minutes. We return to the first one we visited -- Club Paradox is run by a friend of Dima's -- and patrol the three floors of the club. By now, I'm not phased by go-go dancers anymore, though it's a trifle disconcerting when they get up on the bar next to you as you're stirring your coffee. Nor am I phased by Russians in mullets and shellsuits, who all manage to look like mafiosi despite dressing like trailer-park trash. I *am* phased by the ridiculously high ratio of Extraordinarily Beautiful Women, but not phased enough to become a relaxed foreigner and cunningly invite one or more of them back to my room for an "English lesson."

In fact I am unphased enough to slip away at an hour that is almost reasonable for a 40 year old man and find my way home. I intend to wake up tomorrow with my money, personal belongings and good mood.

Comments

By waynski | November 21, 2006 12:18 PM

hi mike,

thanks for the exclusive coffee and sugar! what a cool name!and your postcard. all well in W11 but soooooo busy.....somethings never change!

Beside the Seaside

In Which I Am Recognised (For Real, This Time)

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