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| Beautiful Lithuanian forest |
How to describe
Vilnius... Imagine skinny dipping with dolphins at sunset somewhere tropical,
sipping the amber nectar and ambrosia of Poseidon himself while voluptuous
mermaids toy with your nether-regions. It's like that, on performance enhancing
steroids, on your birthday, with twice as many mermaids.
It is strange to
think that a mere four days ago, my excitement was infused with concern.
Concern at the prospect of chilly digits in the forecasted (relatively mild)
-12 conditions. Concern at the distinct lack of any obvious tourist activities.
Concern at whether me and my friend's game of 'vacation chicken' was going to
result in an unmitigated shite-mare. In hindsight I realise that like revenge
and gazpacho, Lithuania is a dish best served cold.
The consistent
theme of the trip? Serendipity. Does the bar serve your favourite niche Islay
whiskey? Erm yes, of course. Oh, the only available date for husky sledding in
the next month is tomorrow? Great, thanks very much. Who's that familiar figure
in the strobe of the techno club? Oh the waitress from the cat café we had
cheese and wine at. This neatly brings me to my next point…
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| Pussies galore at the cat cafe |
A hilarious
twist to Vilnius is the rampant hipster culture. Top knots are everywhere, the
pulled pork is plentiful and one in two young Lithuanians are pound shop
graphic designers tapping on their Macs in coffee shops or ridiculous fusion
outlets like the 'beer library' (seriously). At this point I should throw in a
caveat: unlike the brioche bun munching, trilby sporting, moustache-twisted
fuck monkeys of Dalston et al, they are totally clueless that 'hipster' even
exists as a concept. As a result they aren't like the Londoners described above
but sincere. They have obtained that authentic, smashed avocado nirvana their
British counterparts can only hope to replicate. Add to that the fact that the
movement has arguably pre-dated any kind of similar thing in the UK (there is
historical conjecture over this point) and suddenly the meta-hipsters of East
London are made to seem thoroughly unoriginal, all fart no poo compared to the
'real deal' shit splattered briefs of Vilnius.
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| Pulled pork, red cabbage slaw and a craft ale |
The surrealism
doesn't end there either. The language sounds like a post-stroke Sean Connery
phonetically: excuse me is esh-presh-o, thank you is a-chu. Idiom-wise, if you
take a child to the loo you take him/her 'to see the dwarves' and chatting shit
is known as 'slicing mushrooms'. Lithuanian mannerisms are hilariously blunt as
well. Upon ordering a glass of red wine two nights ago in 'Kas Kas bar', the
guy serving me looked me up and down, fixed me with a penetrating glare and
called me a pussy. I promptly ordered a supplementary Jameson.
The city has
bizarre scenery to match. When you pull into Vilnius central station you are
greeted by a 10ft statue of James Gandolfini in flowery boxer shorts. On the
main street, it is considered good luck to stroke a bronze belly embedded into
the marble wall of a very modern bank that certainly has no historical
significance whatsoever. Finally there is a neighbourhood of the city that is
in fact an independent micro-nation called Užupio that has its own president as
well as a constitution requiring its subjects to care for all cats and dogs.
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| 10ft Gandolfini |
Basically, what
I'm saying is stop fucking around and get yourself on the Wizz Air website and
book a return flight, it's £30. Or, to save money and achieve happiness, get a one way ticket. Meanwhile, I'll be harassing London's extensive
Lithuanian diaspora, trying to squeeze any remaining drops of Vilnian ecstasy
into my parched throat.
