We didn’t spent much time in Klaipeda. Our first experience in Lithuania was a little disappointing. Saturday night was deserted, hardly anybody in the streets, the town was dead. Sunday morning we did a fleeting tour of the city, by car through the centre – admittedly, not a very balanced approach, but there seemed little of interest. Most of what we saw looked pretty run-down.
The excitement came a little later, at the Cold War museum, housed in a former Soviet nuclear arms launch facility, deep in the Zemaitija National Park. The facility has been disarmed, luckily, and what is left is the command bunker and the four launch silos. The museum takes you through the history of the cold war, which we – older people – know pretty well, of course. But the opportunity to wander around this huge bunker is irresistible, from one underground compartment to another, the living quarters for the crew, the command room etc, even descending to another, lower level, to power generation rooms, ventilation equipment, and liquid fuel storage space. Ending up at one of the silos, a 30 meters deep concrete hole, with a second, metal cylinder inside. Now all dismantled – once the facility was closed, in 1979 already, metal thieves have taken their illegal share -, but still mightily impressive.
The main target for the day is what is perhaps Lithuania’s best known site, the Hill of Crosses. This is a place, indeed a little hill, where an estimated 100,000 crosses have been planted. The origin probably goes back to the Lithuanian uprising against Russian domination, in 1831, when people who had not been able to find back the bodies of fallen rebels put up a symbolic cross. The habit gained especially poignant relevance during the Soviet occupation from 1944 to 1990, with Lithuanians defying Russian attempts to clear the hill, putting crosses up at night despite considerable risk if caught. Or crucifixes, or statues of the virgin Mary, or sculptures of the Sorrowful Christ, or typical wooden sculptures of a figure topped with a little roof, or tiny effigies and rosaries. The rosaries, hung on a cross and moved by the wind, produce a peaceful clinging sound.
By now, crosses cannot be removed anymore, yet, anybody can add a cross. Had you forgotten yours, you can always buy one from the souvenir sellers at the information centre, who helpfully lend you a marker pen, too, to add your message. This means that the crosses have sprawled well beyond the hill, in several directions; it also means that this Lithuanian tradition has, in my view, somewhat been undermined by all those tourists who add their own, from The Netherlands to New Zealand. But it is a very impressive site, not to be missed.
Next: Kaunas.
