the little church of Chachalacas, on our way south of Mexico City, to Yucatan

We arrived in Mexico City alright, after a long 12 hour flight. We found the hotel we had booked, and the next day we managed to pick up the car we had rented, all without serious hick-ups. And we started our drive south, direction Yucatan – which means that we shelved our plan to head north-east first, to visit a weird, surrealistic kind of architectural sculpture park, called Las Pozas. This will have to wait for a future visit, we have to make choices.

South thus, direction Yucatan, but that’s far too far to do in one, or even two days. We could have flown, of course, and rent a car locally, but I like the flexibility of a car from the start, and the slow – or, at least, slower – pace of travel that comes with that. Besides, you see a lot more, and that is exactly our experience from the first day. Just outside Mexico City, or CDMX, as it is called, the country side is dry, dusty, and not very attractive. Roads are busy, and the main road passes through villages and towns, which invariably means the topes: Mexicans, or at least their government, are obsessed with slowing down traffic, and they have all kinds of ways to achieve that. The most efficient is the tope, an obscenely high traffic ramp, sometimes clearly marked, sometimes not at all, many of which can only be negotiated at snail’s pace, anything more is an attack on the suspension and on the bottom plate of the car. But efficient it is, and our progress is indeed a lot less than initially anticipated.

Popocatepetl volcano, outside Mexico City, in the hazy distance

a toll station, with another small volcano in the back

A little outside CDMX we spot some volcanoes, a familiar sight, from 20 years ago. The 5426 m high Popocatepetl majestically towering above all others, and another one actually smoking – but it is hazy, and they are pretty far away.

By now we have hit a motorway, or rather, patches of motorway, for which one has to pay toll. This is a major improvement, on the one hand because the road is mostly much better, and on the other because lots of people avoid the toll, and take a parallel road free of charge. Which makes our toll road nice and quiet.

landscape with cacti

The landscape changes, and we cruise through mountains, resulting in a significant drop in temperature. The slopes are covered in trees, including fields of cacti, and somewhat later – and higher – pines, agreeably green, after the dusty plains outside CDMX. The sky, hitherto bright blue, develops some clouds, we even drive through fog in the higher, and more coastal oriented parts of the mountain range.

By the time we have dropped to sea level, the country side has changed once more. We are near the Gulf of Mexico now, and roads are lined with palm trees. Sugarcane is a dominant crop, here, and it is harvesting time: truck are driving up and down with enormous loads of chopped cane, but a lot is still on the fields. Excitingly tropical. A far cry from the miserable weather back in Western Europe.

one of the huge sugercane-carrying trucks

and another, next to a now empty wagon

it is watermelon season

Half-way the afternoon we stop in Chachalacas, which has a pleasant hotel with pool, location at the river mouth, and a significant permanent mosquito population. We take a late afternoon stroll through the village, which is obviously geared towards tourism, but now there are none. The boats that provide river cruises lay idle, the beach chairs are unused, thatched umbrellas are empty. But everybody is friendly, good-humoured, in for a chat – some are disappointed that we, obvious Gringos, actually speak Spanish, they had hoped to show off their English skills. Only problem is the sheer total lack of wine in the shops, let alone the restaurants and the bars. This may actually turn out to be another hardship trip!

a street in Chachalacas, with several hotels

pineapple girl in the village

fishing cum tourist boats in the estuary of Chachalacas

beach infrastructure in Chachalacas

the zocalo of Santiago Tuxla

The next day we continue, through more tropical countryside – more sugarcane, palm trees, the inevitable bananas. Further mountain roads, winding through ever denser forest, approaching jungle. Quite nice, actually, and away from the main motorway. We end up at Santiago Tuxla, a small town with a charming centre around a bright municipality building and a church from 1890, with our period hotel squeezed in between. With a few hours spare, to enjoy a walk through town, and a beer on our hotel patio. Did I say hardship?

laundry in one of the villages

Yucatan is Maya country. Not so much in the Costa May, which stretches south of Cancun and has very little to do with the largest indigenous group of people in Mexico, but more in its many discovered, and probably even more undiscovered – jungle covered – Maya archaeological sites (as you know, the word ‘ruins’ is inappropriate since we have a niece with a degree in archaeology).

What was it again, with the Olmecs, the Toltecs, the Aztecs and the Maya? All those indigenous civilizations that are collectively referred to as pre-Columbian – the last term in itself is incredible, but probably useful: subdividing the history in before and after the arrival of the ‘conquistadores’ that followed in the tracks of Christopher Columbus and his ‘discovery’ of the New World in 1492. But then, I suspect nowhere else in the world was the impact of the arrival of a couple of strangers so profound. And that all thanks to the obsession of one man!

Anyhow, long before the ‘conquistadores’, people already arrived in what is now Mexico. The first of note was the Olmec civilisation, from the Preclassic or Formative era, say 2500 BC to 250 AD. They already had a fairly complex society, and their art, architecture, religious beliefs and cultural practices are believed to be at the base of the later Mesoamerican civilizations. They are best known for their colossal heads, sculptured from basalt, with flat noses, prominent lips, and almond-shaped eyes. We have seen some of those in Villahermosa, 20 years ago.

Olmec basalt head in Parque La Venta, Villahermosa

one of the Aztec pyramids in Teotihuacan, not far from Mexico City

The Olmecs were already in decline, for reasons still unknown – perhaps environmental decline, social unrest, or pressure from outside -, when Teotihuacan was established in Central Mexico, as the first truly great urban society, perhaps 100,000 people. Cosmopolitan, multi-cultural and an economic powerhouse, it dominated what is now known as the Classic period, from around 250-900 AD. The most impressive remains are the Pyramids of the Sun and the Moon, north of Mexico City (which we also admired, 20 years ago), but its architecture also influenced the Classic Maya constructions as far south as Guatemala. Unfortunately, because of the absence of written records, there is little known about its people and its rulers, neither about it sudden decline in about 650 AD – which had an dampening effect on many other cities in the region.

Further south, in Guatemala and Honduras, and in Yucatan and Southern Mexico, the Maya civilisation flourished. Its origins from perhaps 2000 BC, the Mayas reached their height also in the Classic period, through impressive city states with monumental structures, including temples, palaces, and observatories, ruled by divine kings who claimed to have descended from gods. They performed elaborate rituals, including bloodletting, human sacrifice, and ceremonial ball games, to communicate with the gods and ensure the well-being of their communities. At the same time they also advanced in areas such as architecture, mathematics, astronomy, art, and hieroglyphic writing; they established one of the few fully developed writing systems in pre-Columbian America. And yet, they, too, mysteriously declined at the end of the Classic period, except that in Yucatan, perhaps through the injection of new ideas, perhaps from invaders, they revived their culture again, and built new cities whilst old ones were abandoned. The most impressive site there, Chichen Itza, is such a later complex, whilst others, like Copan and Calakmul, all in our plans, failed. We plan to see all of those, this time around.

Maya site Palenque, in Mexico

prime Maya site Tikal, in Guatemala, in the late sunlight

The decline of most of the Classic era Maya civilizations may have been due to agricultural failure, or ecological disaster; trade disruption has been suggested, because of increasing political instability, and warfare between the city states for control over territory and resources which may have led to people loosing faith in their rulers, perhaps even rebellion. Rapid population growth and urbanization, leading to pressure on resources and strains on social structures, may have led to increasing inequality, with a ruling elite losing control, resulting in social unrest and resentment among the population, which lost faith in their local leaders. Sounds familiar?

Quetzalcoatl, on one of the complexes in Teotihuacan

The Post-Classic period, from 900 AD until 1521, when the Spanish subjugated the Aztecs, saw initially an influx from the north, several wandering tribes invading the Mexican realm, which was weakened by its collapsing polities. The Toltecs were amongst the first to arrive, and dominated from 950-1150 AD. They were the more militaristic than earlier Mesoamerican civilizations, and also the most blood thirsty, practicing human sacrifice on a much larger scale than had been seen before. Most importantly, though, they introduced the legend of Quetzalcoatl, a feathered serpent deity.

The Aztecs, but also the remaining Maya civilisations, incorporated Quetzalcoatl in their own religion. Especially the Aztecs (also called the Mexica) revered the Toltecs, from whom they claimed direct descent, and to whom they attributed artistic, scientific and religious developments – in reality, the Toltecs copied almost everything from earlier civilizations. The Aztecs established themselves in Tenochtitlan, now Mexico City, and through alliances with neighbouring cities, flowed by a militaristic expansion policy and the introduction of an elaborate tribute system – securing their wealth – managed to create the most formidable Mexican empire.

And then Hernan Cortes landed in Mexico, burnt his ships so there was no way back, and with 550 men, a few horses, a pack of killer dogs and one canon, defeated the Aztec emperor Moctezuma. Helped by alliances with local tribes that were fed up with the Aztec dominance, but also helped by the religious belief that Quetzalcoatl – who was fair-skinned and bearded, and who had vanished to the east – was about to return, which made Moctezuma hesitate when he had the chance to eliminate the invaders.

And the rest is history. Post-Columbian history, I would say.

We’re leaving tomorrow!

Twenty years ago we went to Mexico, – during my working life, so a fairly short and efficient three weeks trip only. We spent a few days in Mexico City, that vast urban sprawl with a whole range of fabulous and varied attractions, after which we rented a car and drove south, to Puebla and Oaxaca to Chiapas. And saw quite a few Maya ruins, including Palenque. But because of time limitations we didn’t get to Yucatan, the vast peninsula that protrudes west into the Gulf of Mexican to the north and Caribbean Sea to the south. Beach paradise, fringed by the second-largest reef in the world, and covered in thick jungle where more and more Mayan ruins are being discovered and cleared. Also: Tourist destination par excellence.

And that last bit concerns me a little. It is time to return to Mexico, and to Yucatan in particular, but the five star hotels and the discotheques, in Cancun and what has become known as the Costa Maya, the smell of sunscreen, the whole tourism business, that unnerves me: I am not looking forward to that. And February/March is high season…

Anyhow, we are going to try to find the undiscovered parts of Yucatan, the smaller archaeological sites that have not yet been included on the bus tours, the cenotes – crystal blue sinkholes – without the zip lines and multi-colour light shows, located slightly further away from the main roads. Maybe a slightly more upmarket no-kids-allowed hacienda for a few days, or an early morning visit to one of the bird reserves, beating the crowds. Or are we just kidding ourselves? Are we just voluntarily going to subject ourselves to that most horrible of experiences, caught in the holiday traps of prime mass-tourism? The very thing we try to avoid at all times?

Actually, Yucatan is quite big. We will be renting a car again, so we maybe able to escape the worst areas. With so many Mayan sites, there must be a few quieter ones around. With over 1100 km of coastline, there ought to be space for our beach towels, too. And if all fails, we are at least looking forward to meeting up with old friends, again, which no doubt is sufficient compensations for the potential vacation misery we have called over ourselves.

the plan, counter-clockwise through Yucatan

Even though I have been working on the site for almost ten years now, it is still very much work in progress. Here you’ll find what’s new on theonearmedcarb.com (and when I added it).

The small, private museum No Hero, in the town of Delden in the east of The Netherlands, presented an interesting and thought-provoking exhibition from April 2023 to April 2024, of paintings – and some sculptures – from the former DDR. Called ‘Die Uberraschung’ – the Surprise -, it shows some 60 works by East German artists from before and after the demise of communism and the fall of the Berlin Wall, or at least it claims to do so.

visitor reflected in the door bearing the name of the museum
the museum, an attractive large mansion, with a work from the permanent collection in front
another permanent work in the garden, seemingly appropriate: a metal army jacket, which I could associate with the DDR
Volker Stelzmann’s ‘Strasse XX’, not a scene I would associate with communist-controlled subjet matter in the DDR (no year given)
Rolf Handler’s ‘Beschneidung der Engel’ (1987), wings being clipped, whilst more angles attempt to cross the Berlin wall in the back
‘Polit-Zirkus’ – political circus -, painted in 1982 by Hans Ticha: a critical message?

And there are indeed works from before 1989, but in reality most works are from after 1989 (I haven’t dome a statistical analysis, but it seems to me the vast majority). Which is by no means a judgement on quality; as the museum owner and curator (?) explains in a video, artists in the DDR were taught a vocation, were trained thoroughly in painting techniques, and were capable professionals – which he, although not with so many words, contrasts with the leading trend in the West at the time, of conceptualism, where accurate figurative representation was not so important anymore. And the artists of the former DDR are clearly talented, no doubt. But it would have been interesting to also compare the subject matter, in how far artists were limited by the political regime, and whether they were trying to find the limits of what was permissible. And how that looks like, today.

The comment in the curator’s video, that they were not suddenly painting other things after the wall came down, is not convincing enough: I wonder whether a painting like  ‘Strasse XX’, by Volker Stelzmann, would have been acceptable at the time, depicting transvestites and gaudily dressed women (unfortunately, this work is one of the few without the year it was painted). Rolf Handler’s 1987 painting ‘Beschneidung der Engel’ (Circumcision of the Angel) does seem to be substantially critical, depicting an angel whose wings are being clipped, to be interpreted as the inability to escape from the DDR, and at the same time as the straightjacket applied in the west for those who fled the east. And what to make from Bernard Heisig’s 1979 work ‘Hure, Morder und Soldaten’. Propaganda? Hans Ticha, with ‘Polit-Zirkus’ does seem to be voicing criticism, as early as 1982, if only in the title of the work.

My favourites are some of the more modern works, 21st-century. Below a few examples.

a 1979 work, ‘Hure, Morder und Soldaten’, from Bernard Heisig, perhaps a prostitute giving birth to soldiers? Around the shoulders of the woman are numbered soldiers – if you zoom in – but one could either be nr 8, or – I think – wearing a Nazi symbol (not really visible on this photo)
‘Kabarettisten’, oil on hardboard from 1995, by Norbert Wagenbrett
view of one of the rooms, really nicely done
‘Der Schausteller’, a painting by from 1992 by Hubertus Giebe
and a detail from the same
another great work by Hubertus Giebe, ‘ Die Mauer’ (The Wall, 2004) definitely not acceptable before the Wende – the fall of the wall
detail of the same, illustrating the technical capacity of the artist
and another detail, most certainly unacceptable to the communists
and a third detail, a bandaged child (?)
Gerhard Altenbourg made this lovely ‘Spatzieren einher’ (1984), which means Walking Along
the night train of Ralf Kerbach, ‘Nachtzug Germania’ (2012), perhaps with a symbolic German eagle?
and a detail of the main character
as well as of the hammer and sickel, discarded at a small table
one of my favourite artists in the exhibition, Werner Liebman, who painted ‘Braut’ – Bride – as recently as 2020
and this one is even better! Werner Liebman’s ‘Das Taschen’ – the handbag, which has been reduced to a minor detail – (2021)
‘Eninnerung an Bagdad’ (1987), from Stefan Plenkers, almost entirely abstract, although the occasional person, building and palm tree can be recognised
Trak Wendisch, painter and sculpturer at the same time, made this ‘Kleine Fischtragerin’ in bronze (1997)

Years ago, as a young man not particularly interested in art, I walked into a museum in Amsterdam, and happened to come face to face with a monumental painting of Anselm Kiefer. It made such an impression on me, that I still remember the moment, even the painting: a dark post-apocalyptic scene.

In the meantime I have learned that Kiefer, who was born in Germany amongst the ravages of bombing raids at the end of World War II, is preoccupied, if not obsessed, with his struggle with war and destruction. And over the years I have seen more work by Kiefer, invariably dark and menacing, in my memory. As recently as September 2023 I admired a huge, wall-covering war scene in a museum in Finland (https://theonearmedcrab.com/08-the-museum/).

‘Le Promethee Mal Enchaine’ – also called ‘the bookshelves’ – a quintessential Anselm Kiefer work of 2023 in lead and steel
‘Wolfsbohne – fur Paul Celan’ (2020), oil and acrylic and a whole lot more on canvas. The Ukrainian-born poet Paul Celan was an important source of inspiration for Kiefer

So when the Museum Voorlinden (https://theonearmedcrab.com/museum-voorlinden/), near The Hague in the Netherlands, put up a solo exhibition of Kiefer, I just had to see this. New Year’s Day 2024 was the opportunity. It is called ‘Bilderstreit’, which is something like battle with the images.

It did not disappoint, on the contrary. The visitor is blown away by room after room of monumental art works, sometimes paintings, sometimes installations.

Many of the paintings need to be viewed in three dimensions, as huge metal constructions come out of the canvas, into the room. The overall impression was actually a lot less dark than I had imagined, despite the copious use of black lead; although the subject matter remains mostly depressing, of course. There is a room full of collages of woodcuts on canvas, with a sombre depiction of the Rhine, for instance. But another room contains a collection of, rather erotic, watercolour and pencil works, which at least are a lot more colourful.

Most of the works on show are fairly recent, or fairly recently completed, in the last ten years, or so. Culminating in a delightful series called ‘Journal Intime’ (2023), adorned bicycles – and in one case a super market trolley – glued to painted canvas. There is an installation, a room full of objects dedicated to historically relevant Germans, including a bed for Ulrike Meinhoff. But my favourites remain the huge paintings, each of which require meticulous study to discover the many details. A sample, below.

monumental works of art they are, this one appropriately called ‘Samson’ (2014-2017), oil, acrylic on canvas
another wall full: ‘Sichelschnitt’ (2019), oil and acrylic on canvas
Kiefer has also ‘ Sonneblume’ (‘Sunflowers’) is his repertoire (2023)
sometimes in a more complex setting, like this ‘Hortus Conclusus’, a woodcut collage (2007-2014); note the body in yoga pose at the bottom of the image
another woodcut collage, ‘Der Rhein’ (1982-2013), actually a series of woodcuts glued together; the Rhine being a national symbol in Germany, which in Kiefer’s memory was appropriated by the Nazis
and a third one, ‘Melancolica’ (1982-2013), referring to Albrecht Durer’s famous 16th C engraving of the same name
‘Ignis Sacer’ (2010-2022), which becomes ever more fscinating if you concentrate on the details, left
‘La Voute Etoilee’ (1998-2016), made of lead, oil and a whole lot more on canvas on wood
whereby the lead columns literally come out of the canvas
lots of more detail, of which the significance is – to me, at least – not immediately clear
similar technique, ‘Sternenfall’ (1998-2016)
with once again the lead sticking out into the room
a room full of installations in display cases
amongst them ‘Monsalvat’ (2018), more steel, glass and lead
and ‘Der Fehlende Buchstabe’ (2017), same thing, a bit
‘Der Freimaurer’ (2010-2011), the emblem of the Freemasons, with the now-derelict Berlin airport Tempelhof in the background
‘Canis Major’ (2010), another monumental painting which refers to the Great Dog constellation
and a detail of a mountain in the back
and, yeah?, burned and dead wood in the front?
‘Aus Herzen und Hirnen Spriesen Sie die Halme der Nacht’ (2019-2020), a fabulous, wall-filling oil & acrylic painting on canvas
and look at the detail, not the just the scythe
but also die Halme – the straw
‘Winterreise’ is an enormous stage set where Kiefer creates a forest in a winter landscape, with the names of well-known Germans written near individual objects; many poets, philosophers, writes, and even composer Schubert, creator of the same-title song cycle
a bed pontifically in the middle
which is dedicated to ‘famous German’ Ulrike Meinhoff
and the side view of the same scene
one of the watercolour and pencil works
and another one; I left the more erotic ones out
‘Journal Intime’ (2023), oil, acrylic, steel – a bicycle, or a supermarkt trolley – on canvas
the trolley in more detail, including its burnt contents
and another ‘Journal Intime’ (2023), in the same room
and a room full of more bicycles
one stacked with hay, another burdened with bricks

a fabulous exposition, never seen anything like it!!

the Green Gate, one of the medieval gates that lead to the old town centre of Gdansk

Although not in the Baltics, Gdansk is on the Baltic Sea, and on the way home, so we decided to stop here for a day. A bonus, so to speak.

Entering Poland from Lithuania is a difference of night and day. Once across the border, we realise how poor Lithuania actually is. In Poland the roads are better, the houses are better, life seems to be much more prosperous. Another observation: people are so much more friendly, talkative – perhaps also because their English is better, something that especially in Southern Lithuania was occasionally lacking. But come to think of it, during this entire trip there has been a gradual improvement in interhuman interaction, from the stoic, non-communicative Finns who would not by their own choice get involved in any form of vocal exchange, slowly improving through the Estonians, who were better and the Latvians even better communicating, and the Lithuanians. Culminating in the Poles, who naturally smile, and happily strike up a conversation.

Long Street, the centre part of neatly restored Gdansk

more off the coloured houses

pastel-coloured, decorated houses in Long Street

 

 

painted facade, with medieval themes

decorations on the facade of one of the houses

the entire outer wall has been painted

stucco decorations, equally dating from the 1950s restoration

a curious sign board, not sure which business is promoted here

We will be coming back to Poland, for sure, but Gdansk is a pleasant introduction. The old town part, which has suffered badly from Soviet and Allied bombings during the war, has been beautifully restored, to the extent that we recognised a lot of Dutch-style architecture that wouldn’t be misplaced in Amsterdam. It is only after reading up on Gdansk’s complex history – Polish, German, a free city state during the interbellum – that I can place the restoration in context. Although this was a truly meticulous exercise in the 1950s and -60s based on old photos and building plans, the reconstruction was undertaking with the objective to dilute what was called its German character, from the time Gdansk was part of Prussia, and make the city look like what it must have been in medieval times. Indeed, with a lot of Dutch influences.

Never mind the political intentions at the time, Gdansk now looks beautiful, with its rows of stately houses, in tasteful pastel colours, some of them richly decorated with stuccos and frescos. It is a pity that the weather is overcast, so most of my pictures don’t do justice to the lovely Long Market, or any of the other streets in the Old Town. Nice to wander around, even though we spot even more tourists than we have seen in any of the other towns visited this trip. And even though picturesque, cobbled Saint Mary’s street is given over to the amber-selling stalls serving the same tourists.

souvenir shops sell minatures of the pastel-coloured houses, kind of

the High Gate, at the other end of Gdansk old town

and the decorated bank building around the corner of High Gate

the Green Gate in full view, from the outside

amber-selling stalls in cobbled Saint Mary’s street

the old wooden crane, a Gdansk landmark

and the waterfront at the Motlawa River, which in Gdansk flows into the Baltic Sea

another painted wall, in perfect condition

There is no doubt much more to see in Gdansk than we realised, and with more time – and better weather – we may have explored it further. But the afternoon rain drives us inside, to the World War II museum, a strikingly modern building, with a strikingly powerful permanent exhibition. Of course I know my history, but the way the museum has been set up, very visual, rams home reality once more. There is film material of pogroms, the usual documentation of German war crimes, the horror of the Holocaust, you name it and it is here. That it is a bit centred on Poland, is forgiven. Especially because for me perhaps the most illuminating message was we in Western Europe grow up with the message that after the war, our parents could look up again. Here, after the war one terror regime was replaced by another. Which, come to think of it, was of course not different in any of the Baltic republics.

Even our bonus day on this trip has taught me something.

the modern-design Second World War museum

with poignant picturs of Holocaust victims

and a collection of their universal symbols

cobbled Gdansk at night

one of the few more abstract sculptures at the Grutas Parkas near Druskininkai

Druskininkai is a small Lithuanian town in the far SE corner of the country, near the Belarus border. It is insignificant, except that it has somehow developed in the spa capital of Lithuania. “Druska” is Lithuanian for salt, and refers to salt springs that apparently form the basis for this development, although I have seen no hotels advertising a link to authentic spring water. Yet, each and every hotel seems to have a spa and sauna and massage and whatever else.

in the south of Lithuania, also outside Druskininkai, we encountered lots of wooden totems

often intricately carved images, of which I have not been able to find the origin and meaning

outside town, the countryside is still full of wooden houses, a fairly poor area, I would say

Druskininkai is also where the interests of my travel companion and of me diverted. Confronted with the opportunity to enjoy a last spa, before we are heading home again, she elected not to accompany me to the real reason for coming here, the Grutas Parkas, a few kilometers outside town.

there are not that many statues of Stalin in the park

the other scuplture of Statin, in his Napoleontic stance

Of Lenin, there are many scultures in the park, here are two (!)

another Lenin, as said, one of the many

We recognise these two fellas: Engels and Marx

sculpture Felix Dzerzhinsky, a bit of a Fidel Castro avant-la-lettre. He was a Polish revolutionary of aristocratic background, one of the founders of the Polish Lithuanian Social-democratic party in 1900. But he gained even more notoriety by establishing the Cheka, the first Bolshevik secret police, in 1917

this, too, is supposed to be Lenin – perhaps a younger version of the man?

sculpture Felix Zemaitis, a Lithuanian who became a major general in the Red Army, and was instrumental in the destruction of the Lithuanian army during the WWII

and this is how his sculpture stood in a public place, in the past, significantly elevated, so to speak

a sculpture of Karol Pozela, a local, leader of a communist anti-state underground organisation with a fabulous haircut, executed in 1926

and Karol was not alone at his execution, these other three guys also got the bullit in December 1926; Karol in the one on the left, recognisable at his hair-do

an old Soviet watch tower, as we have seen them at the borders of former Soviet republics, too.

The Grutas Park ‘outdoor experience’ is – literally – a walk in the park, in this case a walk through a pine-forested park. A concrete path forms a loop through the forest and leads past a collection of statues and sculptures of prominent Soviet and communist Lithuanian characters, all bad guys (and one or two bad girls). In earlier days these decorated prominent public squares, but after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the reestablishment of Lithuanian independence, these people fell from their pedestal, sometimes literally. The museum has collected quite a few, and given them a new life. Lenin in over-represented, especially in the beginning of the park, Stalin only appears twice, and a few other Soviet terror-mongers also surface; the Lithuanian communists are less interesting for the outsider, but are compensated by a number of grand sculptures and decorative friezes, some damaged before the museum could salvage them. Some of the statues have fallen on the ground, and not been put back, perhaps because they are still so much hated? Or does the museum want to illustrate this aspect, too? Not everywhere is English explanation, sometimes there is no explanation at all, and sometimes there are numbers along the path, without exhibits, but all in all it is an entertaining walk, with enough information to get the message across: these were bad people.

The museum claims, on their website, that they are the only museum to exhibit Soviet relics, and that theirs’s is ‘a rare, and maybe even unique phenomenon in the world’. The ‘maybe’ suggests that they are probably well aware of that other museum, near Budapest, which also shows a collection of Soviet-era sculptures, and which I liked more, to be honest. Grutas Park is, after all, a bit dominant on individuals, not all of them that well known.

Next: on the way back, Gdansk.

not every statue in the Grutas Parkas is a once-celebrated politician

there is also room for some of the unsung heros of the revolution

this is a monument to the partisans. The Soviet Partisans in Lithuania spread from 1942 onwards, encouraged and organised by the Soviet Union and its Red Army. They were groups of saboteurs in the German-occupied country, consisting of a wide group of individuals, amongst them activists, Red Army men, escaped prisoners of war and Lithuanians, many of Jewish origin. They were not supported by the majority of local population, who had set up their own resistance groups. But the Soviets won, and the partisans survived in post-war roles as so-called ‘stribai’, provocateurs for the Russian secret service.

stained glass remains, Soviet propaganda for a model society

in which the helmets of the military men are quite visble, still

stained glass work depicting a factory or a train (?), proclaiming the virtues of a worker’s paradise

although voluptuous women also were part of paradise, it seems

another propaganda tool, a coloured mosaic called ‘the pioneers’ (1954)

the first sculpture you encounter, this one just outside the Europos Parkas sculpture garden

I am not sure that the claim of this museum, also known as Europos Parkas, to be the centre of Europe is geographically entirely correct – although, apparently, the French National Geographic Institute has, in 1989, determined so. But in any case, at about half an hour’s drive north of Vilnius this this is a wonderful open-air museum, or rather a sculpture park, with over a hundred works seemingly randomly distributed across a 55 hectare forest. The works represent artists from 35 countries, of which the majority are, understandably, Lithuanian. Especially Ginteras Karosas, coincidentally also the founder of the park, is well represented, but then, quite a lot of his works are original and interesting, not in the least the ‘Infotree’, claimed to be the largest sculpture with TV sets in the world, using some 3000 of them.

The museums advertises with a few of its top artists, like Sol LeWitt and David Oppenheimer, but many other artists are, let me say, less well known – I certainly recognise none of the Dutch sculptors represented here. Nevertheless, we spend an enjoyable few hours in this museum, admiring a whole range of interesting, thought-provoking art works, once again in beautiful surroundings.

Next: Druskininkai.

just to prove, it is really claimed to be the centre of Europe

the sketch map of the park, not easy to work out

Lithuanian Danatas Jankauskas’s sculpture ‘Bye-byes’ (2013)

also Lithuanian, Elena Urbaitis’ ‘Reflectiveness (1995) – they are not all very recent works, here

one of the main attractions of the park, ‘Chair-pool’ by American Dennis Oppenheim – the pool is in the seat of the chair

I love this one: Magdalena Abakanovich’ from Poland, made ‘Space of Unknown Growth’ (1998)

El Sayed Abdou Selim, from Egypt, with ‘Eve among Trees’ (1997)

another big name, Sol LeWitt (USA) with his sculpture ‘Double Negative Pyramid’ (1998), nicely reflected in the lake

a Dutch contribution, ‘Small Monument for Humanity’ (1994) by Adri de Fluiter

Argentina is also represented, by Matias di Carlo
and his work ‘Gravity Matters’ (2023)

‘Europe’s Bird’ (1993), by Hungarian Zsigmond Szoradi

and the same work, from the other side

detail of ‘Requim for a Dead Pony’ (1994), by Irishman Laurent Mellet

another Lithuanian, Adamas Jacovskis, made ‘Lying Head’ (2001)

a work not yet in our list, to illustrate how recent it is: ‘Coal Forest’ by Jolita Vaitkute and Andrius Marmontovas

by Lithuanian and the main character of the park, Gintaras Karosas

and here he is, Guiness World of Recor sculpture ‘LNK Infotree’ (2000)

the world’s largest sculpture made from TV sets (really…)

rather more subtle, Damien Moreau’s ‘Reclining Woman’ (2010)

some metal circles; I don’t know the artist, neither the title, but I like it

another very visible work, ‘Drinking Structure with Exposed Kidney Pool’ by American Dennis Oppenheim again

the Gediminas tower, landmark of Vilnius towering over the Old Town

Vilnius is considered one of the best preserved old towns of Europe, ‘old’ meaning medieval. It was established in 1323 and grew to become the capital of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, which stretched from the Baltic to the Black Sea, including large parts of Belarus and Ukraine, and even Russia. However, its biggest expansion period was the 16th century, when the walls were built, the nine gates – of which one is left -, the palace of the Grand Dukes and the university. And much of the old town seems to date from this time, or a little later, demonstrating a distinctive baroque architecture. This has either been maintained very, very well over the years, or has been restored, as much of it, the stucco and the frescos of the university, for instance, look too perfect to be original. Many of the baroque churches, too, seem to have been patched up, with all the details, perhaps because during Soviet times they have been neglected. The defence works and parts of the wall are, well, horribly over-restored, really.

the Gate of Dawn, the only gate left

the neighbourhood full of narrow, cobbled streets

or otherwise alleys leading off to yet another corner

the Grand Duke’s palace, impressive building, now a museum

and the is the monument to the Grand Duke Gemenimas

front facade of the cathedral, next to the palace

and the inside of the cathedral

the clock tower, a stand alone tower in front of the cathedral

a fountain – always nice for variation

more variation, colourful city bikes

one of the entrances to the former ghetto

the balconies on the outside of the former ghetto

large square in the middle of the Old Town of Vilnius

the inside of the Ortodox Church of the Holy Spirit

with the relics of three saints covered by a purple cloth – only the feet are visible

the courtyard of the university

inside the Saint John’s church, part of the university complex, a very barroque interior – quite unlike the Lutheran churches of Estonia and Latvia

they are nice enough, though, patched up and all

decorated with frescos, which I don’t think are entirely original anymore

I don’t think the city suffered badly during the war, except for the two Ghettos, which have been totally destroyed. Vilnius was known as the Jerusalem of the North, with 60,000 Jews living there before 1940, of which only very few have survived. The ghettos have been rebuilt, kind of, and although my guide book insists that we have to go and have a look there, it is not particularly attractive – of course not, compared to the rest of town.

Which is nice enough – but remember we are suffering a bit from city fatigue, after all these weeks. Lots of churches, again, like Kaunas, and here especially the expansive and detailed decorations of the Baroque are fully developed. Quite a few squares provide space in between the often narrow, often cobbled, streets. And lots of people outside, and in restaurants and on terraces, there is a good atmosphere. Quite a few tourists, too, but I suppose that is unavoidable, Vilnius Old Town is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Saint Anne’s church, so beautiful that Napoleon, apparently, had wanted to ship it lock, stock and barrel to France

luckily he didn’t get the time to carry out his plan

and inside Saint Anne’s church

fresco on the ceiling of Saint Anne’s chapel, part of Saint John’s church

yet another church, Saint Casimir’s

sculptures at the side of the National Opera and Ballet Theatre

depicting the arts that are being preformed here

another little cobbled street, outside the walls, just beciause it is so picturesque

stairs and walking paths past the numerous tombs at the Antakalnio cemetery

some of the thriteen graves of those who died during the independence protests in 1991

and the memorial, complete with soldiers keeping watch

and tomb stones as works of art

tombstones as rogh stones, meant artistically

Outside the Old Town is the Antakalnio cemetery, originally a military burial ground. A section is devoted to Polish soldiers, another large grave contains remains from Napoleon’s Grand Armee of the early 19th century; the thirteen victims who died during independence protests in 1991 are also buried here. But the most attractive part, if you can use that term for a cemetery, is the park itself, tree-shaded, undulating, and graves everywhere. And although many of the graves are standard, crosses or simple head stones, quite a few have been adorned with elaborately sculpted stones, that wouldn’t look out of place in a modern art gallery. I am a sucker for cemeteries.

And for modern art galleries, one of which is not far north of Vilnius.

like this one, for instance

flowers on one of the graves

a rare moment of colour at the cemetery