After five minutes of being ignored and a minute or two of confusion about the seating, I settled into a seat with my Lithuanian/English menu in hand. It's kind of amazing, but apparently there is not a single restaurateur in all of Europe with a native English-speaking friend. Every last one of them produce menus with this awkward, fumbling English which sometimes serves to charm, but more often leaves one baffled.

So as I'm working my way through, the descriptions either sounded gross (“Fried chicken, persimmon, and corn”) or plain old baffling (“two dragons meet in the forest”). I was seriously tempted to order that one just to see what would ensue...

Meanwhile, other menu descriptions were suspiciously vague. What was it they didn't want me to know? In Lithuanian, the description is three sentences long, and in English it says “Fried Shrimps.” Fried shrimps WHAT? Fried shrimps dredged from a swamp and slathered in a toxic level of Chinese Five Spice Powder and fried up last month and left out to ferment by the light of the full moon, and then carefully placed on a bed of noodles that taste both familiarly and alarmingly of spit?

Or just fried shrimp?

If you've ever read Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential, you're already suspicious of everything coming out of a restaurant kitchen. Even if you haven't, you just never know in these circumstances. Thus, I decided to go with something that sounded suitably reminiscent of American Chinese food I have eaten and contained a similar level of detail to the Lithuanian version – fried eggplant in oyster sauce. How could you screw that up?

Happily, it wasn't screwed up, but it did contain some extra ingredients not mentioned on the menu. First off, thank god I'm no longer vegan or vegetarian, because there were quite a few little scraps of meat in it (I'd guess pork) even though it was in the “vegetable” section. Second, there was a heaping helping of red and green bell peppers. Lovely to look at, but I don't eat them. They dislike me immensely and wreak unimaginable havoc on my digestive system. In fact, there were just enough in the sauce to throw me into a state of intense distress about an hour later, but we don't need to talk about that. Let's just say I was glad I was near a bathroom that had more than a broiler pan nailed to the floor...

Anyway, and not to mix bathroom talk and food, but, strange translations on a menu are a veritable godsend when compared with facing a foreign grocery store. This is particularly compounded when in a country with a language based in the Roman or Cyrillic alphabets. You may as well just let a toddler do some scratching on the packages for all I know.

At the same time, it's something of a gamble and yet an exciting one, and for this reason, I love - love, love, love, love, love - going to the grocery store. It's a guaranteed adventure. The marvel, the wonderment, the baffling mysteries wrapped in dough or hidden in a can. I could quite possibly purchase, bring home, and eat a tin of cat food and never know the difference. For all I know, I've done this, and - come to think of it - my hair has never been shinier.

Obviously, certain sections are easy - produce and raw meats, in particular. That's a good opportunity to jot down the mix of symbols that mean "chicken" or "potato" or "apple", which could come in handy in a future situation...the kebap and schwarma stands, for instance. Other sections - particularly anything concealed in a can, frozen in a package, or prepped and shrink wrapped by the store itself (my favorite for wild experimentation) - are a total grab bag.

I still recall my total horror in a Hungarian supermarket in 1992. It was something of a trifecta of confusion:

1. I was vegan, so I was SUPER picky about what I ate.
2. There was pretty much nothing in the store. It was like a supermarket in Florida right after they announce a hurricane warning - bare aisles and some boxes of Tide.
3. I bought and consumed a pastry that was a complete and utter mystery to me to this day. All I know is that the contents were black and gooey and had no flavor. Not sure what that fruit (?) is, but I'm glad we haven't embraced it in the U.S.

Anyway, the good news is that I am now a lot less picky, because in the last month and a half I have started chewing something up, and upon examining the flavor thought, Thank god I'm not:

• Vegetarian
• Muslim
• Lactose intolerant
• A Recovering alcoholic (this in response to a pastry I bought yesterday. It was a super cheap .99 LT - like $.35 - and looked like a chocolate donut hole, only three times the size of a normal donut hole. So I figured it was a big, round brownie or chocolate thingie. It turns out it was a rum ball - heavy on the rum. It was good, but a small child would've been three sheets to the wind having eaten the thing. It should've had a "Mister Yuck" sticker on it or something to warn parents!)
• Jewish
• Squeamish (this after some pirogies ordered from a non-English speaker in Poland. Gee, I didn't know they made pirogi in 'ground up bones and lint' flavor.)
• Allergic to fish, nuts, animal parts no one in their right mind would eat, etc.

In other words, if you are any of the above and have plans to come to Eastern Europe and buy your own food or venture into places without an English menu...hire a translator.

Meanwhile, I had a nice day in Klaipeda. It's cold as hell, but I won't focus on that and whine to you. It's the Baltics, what did I expect? Tomorrow I have a long bus ride to Riga (five hours - need to take it easy on the morning beverages!) where there is a hotel with a sauna on the premises and wifi in the room awaiting me. I'll write you a nice, long post about what I've seen here in the fatherland (besides grouchy people) and post some photos of me freezing my @ss off by Baltic Ocean.

In other news, and not to always have a cloud in the silver lining, but after getting back from my day out on the coast, two guys in their late sixties (at least) have checked into the "youth" hostel. Go ahead and call me elitist, call me a snob, even bitchy, I can take it. I still think I have the right to say that 70 is too old to be youth hosteling.

They have the look of the homeless to them (everything but the shopping cart full of cans) or maybe just Hells Angels kicked to the curb (or dropped off at the nursing home), and I am wee bit spooked, especially since discovering they're in the bunk that touches mine (although I plan to move. Screw it.) The hostel is practically in the parking lot of the train and bus stations, so I guess it has an "anything goes" policy with respect to guests. One of them looks like Dennis Hopper if Dennis Hopper had lived the same wild life of drugs and booze, but without any money or proper nutrition, and lost some key teeth along the way. Right now he's eating a piece of bread like it's corn on the cob, while reading a magazine called "Fighters". "Fighters" features a woman in nothing but a camo print thong straddling a vicious motorcycle-like thing that may have been swiped from the Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome set. It's in German, and the top banner says, "100% EDELBIKES, 100% ACTION, 100% TUNING, 100% SZENE."

Creeeeeeee-py.

Presuming I get through the night in one piece (ah, who are we kidding? I'd fight like a demon if it came to it. For many years I had a vivid dream [nightmare] life in which I killed thousands of undead, zombies, and vampires every night. I'm ready.), I'll catch you up tomorrow from Riga!

I wish I was one of those people that slept five or six hours a night and felt super, but I'm not. On six hours of sleep, I feel like there's sand in my eyes, and I start a task, go into a room, stand there stupefied and wonder, “Why did I come in here?” With just five hours and at a really boring meeting (or watching a colleague do a sales presentation I've seen a hundred times before), I've been known to actually nod off – like when your head starts falling forward and the sudden motion causes you to jerk and wake up. Like it or not, I need a solid eight hours to function properly.

I remember reading that Donald Trump sleeps something like three hours a night, and regards sleeping as a waste of time (of course he does). I suppose that's just one of many reasons why I'm on a public bus and am now on my way to a crappy hostel in the middle of nowhere, and he owns half of Manhattan. I have better hair though. And I bet he feels really damn tired sometimes.

I've noticed that my dreams all seem to have travel themes lately. Last night I dreamed that people were coming up to me and smelling me. At first I was really worried about it (Like, 'OH no!? Do I stink!?”), but then I realized I smelled quite lovely., so they were just drawn to me and taking it in - kind of alike a smell-based siren's song. In real life, as you've probably picked up, I've become relatively neurotic about icky human smells. I'm no hypocrite, this includes my own. I'm not a super clean freak, but I'm turning into one. Thus, when I'm in the retail part of a city or going by the duty free shop in the airport, I now go in and give myself a nice dose of Coco Chanel or another perfume that I have back at home. Usually, I rarely wear it and it takes me a decade to go through a bottle of perfume, but I'm also not typically carrying 40 pounds of clothes and gear while running through subways. Anyway, I'm somewhat hellbent on not becoming Europeanized in the stink department.

My obsession with cleanliness has also spread to my clothes. Whenever I can, i like to do my laundry, partly because I don't have that much stuff, but also because I love to just sit there and smell it when it's clean. I stick my face in a big pile and just breathe deep. Of the few things I've purchased and have added to the weight I'm lugging, one is a pack of moist dryer sheets (fabric softener, but the sheets are wet like a baby wipe). The one challenge to this new-found passion is that there's not much I hate more in the world than laundromats.

In my early 20s I put in more than my fair share of time in laundromats, and with each passing visit, i grew to hate them more and more. The dryers that take your money, but don't work. The dryers that burn everything to a crisp. The machines where someone has just finished doing some tie-dying or batik art and now everything you own is a muddy red. I remember Matt Groening (creator of The Simpsons) had a cartoon series “Life is Hell”. One of the featured characters were a gay couple, Jeff and Akbar. They both wore little fezzes and in drawings were kind of reminiscent of a primitive Bart Simpson. Anyway, a regular feature was that Jeff and Akbar would open a business together, and the whole frame would feature the store and the little signs and notices they'd hung up – like Jeff and Akbar's Falafel Hut. However, the one that sticks with me most was Jeff and Akbar's Laundromat, where posted in the window was a sign that read, “Suicides no longer permitted on premises.” That pretty much sums up how I feel about laundromats.

Lately I've been in places where they do the laundry for you and return it piled up. Prices can be hilariously high (around $10 US for a load), but what are you gonna do? Despite my strong feelings about laundromats, I don't really like other people doing my laundry. Not because I have anything special or delicate (it can all go in one load together without issue), but because I'm sensitive that it isn't clean and...it stinks. (See? What did I tell you? I really am developing some neurotic tendencies here!) Moreover, the stuff I run in smells REALLY bad, and when it's all in one bag together, then it all smells bad. Basically, i feel really awkward handing someone a big bag of my stinky clothes and asking them to deal with it.

However, $4 is a deal in the laundry world and all my pants were dirty, so I filled a bag and brought it to the girl. Last night I needed to get it back so I could pack up, but no one was around at the front desk. When I finally found an employee, she took me down to a basement room that I hadn't realized existed. It was a common room with a small TV and a computer, and there were a number of people gathered down there. All over the room, drying on any object with a flat surface, was my laundry.

it was like some kind of demented Easter Egg hunt, going around and gathering up my stuff while these people watched TV and played on the internet and looked at me bemused. For example, my socks were drying on top of the TV. My panties were hanging on doorknobs and hooks on the walls. My pants were suspended a few feet from the ceiling all across the room (kind of like streamers) on a line that would have been a proper clothesline, if it weren't in a family room. But my stuff was clean and it smelled nice and that's all I care about anymore.

Meanwhile, I am 25% Lithuanian and our last name is (allegedly) Lithuanian. Actually, I've come to be convinced that it was significantly altered when my great-grandfather hit Ellis Island. Or we're not Lithuanian. I don't know what he was up to, but he apparently decided it was a good time to invent a new identity. All the last names are these super long things ending in “kas” or “ics” or “ski' and not one surname is just six letters long. With six letters, they're just getting warmed up. There's still a “obieski” or “warsowkas” or something to be added on. I spent some time in the graveyard – just browsing – and didn't come across a single name that even reminded me of ours.

Although my dad remembers quite clearly that his paternal grandparents were Lithuanian, I'm developing a secret hope that they were lying. The people here are JERKS. Serious, serious jerks. I need to talk to him and see if he remembers his grandmother (with the suspicious first name of Stephanie) as a brutal, angry, non-smiling shrew. if so, then we may be onto something. If not, maybe we're from some friendly land like...??? Who's friendly besides the Irish? (which I already know I'm half, from my mother's side where she's 100% Irish).

Anyway, here are some of the intriguing little tidbits that have caused me to draw this conclusion about the fatherland:

1. Much like Poland, if you ask someone if they speak English, they ALWAYS say no. However, if you just keep talking to them anyway (in English), they understand. THEN, they make fun of you.

This morning I asked these two girls if the building behind me or the building across the street was the bus station. They stood there and repeated “Bus, bus, bus” to me (in my American accent – where we say “Buhs” and not “Boose”) over and over, laughing and laughing. “Yes, it's very funny,” I said to them, “But is it this one or that one?” One of them pointed across the street, “That one.” and I could hear them behind me, “BUS STATION” in an over-exaggerated and super-slow version of my accent and chortling and guffawing as I walked away.

This brings to mind a different angle: If they're this starved for entertainment in Lithuania, you could make a real killing with some half-assed stand up comedy here. Hell, just bring in someone with a Boston accent or a New York Jew to talk about nothing, and you'd have them rolling in the aisles. Sheesh!

2. If they want money from you (panhandling, begging) or to bother and hit on you, they speak great English. Until you say no, and they get pissed. For a split second, I thought this one guy (about my age, and kind of pudgy around the middle – who wanted money for 'the hospital') might spit on me.

3. The streets are very narrow and almost always made of cobblestone. The sidewalks are literally 7 inches wide, and no one will ever yield the right of way. In three days, I was always the one who had to step out into the street. In all fairness, the women here all wear 3 and 4 inch stilettos – even the old women and even in 40 degree weather and rain. They're quite the fancy dressers, maybe they're trying to compensate for the sixteen different patterns at once folk outfits of 100 years ago? Anyway, I love high heels and miss mine, but stilettos in a town of nothing but cobblestone? Even I would not be so bold.

So back to the jerks: The first day I got there it rained like crazy and was no more than 45 or 50 degrees. As I was walking down the road back to the guest house, people were coming down said narrow cobblestone roads in their cars at like 50 or 60 mph. I swear I'm not exaggerating. You would hear the engine gun and it was like a drag race. The cars (always nice ones like BMW or Lexus or Audi) would cut extremely close to the sidewalk, hit the giant puddles gathered there, and unload a wave of filthy puddle water onto my pants. This happened THREE TIMES. It was like the scene in the opening credits of Sex and the City (the early years), except it wasn't warm out, I wasn't wearing a pink tutu (thankfully), and by the third time it didn't seem to be accidental. Now you can also see why I had to go ahead and hire them to do my laundry.

4. They act as though you've come to rob them blind. I saw these Lithuania baseball caps in a shop window and went in to see how much they were (I'm fairly convinced I won't be back any time soon, so figured I might break my 'no space or weight capacity for souvenirs' rule and maybe get my dad, my brother, and I some gaudy hats. The Lithuanians share their color scheme with the Jamaicans – so you can imagine these are some pretty tacky numbers in red, yellow, and green). Anyway, I get in there and this young woman is right up on me within seconds. I mean she was within a foot of me, staring me down. First I smiled at her. No reaction. Then I said, “Yes?” Nothing. “Do you speak English?” Nothing. Then I started inching back toward the front of the store, darting looks over my shoulder, and she stayed on me. They had a whole section where they were selling all this amber jewelry in lit glass cases as if amber were really precious and not super cheap (HELLO) and everywhere I went, she stayed on me. I mean, the stupid stuff was behind glass!? However, when I went back outside she stayed put, presumably off to make someone else so uncomfortable that they decide not to buy anything. Hopefully she's not working on commission...

This trend continued at the National Museum. In every room, there's a woman working on her knitting or standing in the corner looking harmless enough...until you pull out a camera. They had these cool Lithuanian folk outfits (some really fun and funky get ups), and i thought it would be neat to take a picture of them, and about four middle-aged women came at me and nearly tackled me to the ground. A simple picture of a camera with an “x” through it would have sufficed. They also had these cool dioramas of the log huts where people used to live until the turn of the century [so my great-grandparents would have likely lived in a place like this] and English captions, so that was really interesting and photo-worthy. But alas...

Unfortunately, after that I was branded a criminal, and I had my own personal attendant with me through the entire museum. No matter where I went, she was within two feet of me. At first I felt self-conscious and would stare at the old books (under glass) and since the captions were in Lithuanian, muse to myself that I don't really know if I could tell the difference between a book from 1902 and a book from 1616. ”If I found this in an attic, would I recognize it as museum-worthy?” Or I would study these millions of boring paintings of monks and priests by “artist unknown” and try to look intellectual. Then the pressure started to get to me, and I turned rebellious. There was this inlay table from the 1700s that some guy maybe signed some religious proclamation or something on, and I touched it. Not a little bit either. I ran my hand across the whole top, and turned to the woman and smiled, “Nice table.”. She looked at me, aghast. I had to fight back urges to tear some ugly painting by “artist unknown” off a wall and run for the exit as fast as I could just to show them who's boss, and I put my hand through some KGB prison doors (I really wish pictures were allowed, because standing behind one clutching the bars would be a good one) and realized I could unlatch the thing. Now, if there'd been a padlock on it, that'd be another story, but my hands and forearms are small enough I could wriggle them through the bars and get to the latches. She didn't like that either, and said something angry in Lithuanian. Seriously though, they had about ten of these doors hanging around and they were just welded re-bar painted gray. Give me a blowtorch and I could probably make one of them myself. Seriously.

5. The toilets. I know they know about real toilets because my hotel has them. Normal human toilets where you can sit down and there's a lid and running water and toilet paper mounted somewhere in the vicinity. So that's why it baffles me that I had to pay about $.80 US today at the bus station to basically pee on a broiler pan. A really, really, REALLY bad smelling broiler pan. Oh, and I had my frigging bag on, so crouching down super low like that is INCREDIBLY hard. You will only find that move in the most advanced of strength-training classes. Since I'm a total freak about personal cleanliness now, I got all worried about splash back. I was freshly showered and laundered and feeling fine...I don't want to spend the day with my own pee on my legs. I briefly eyeballed the trash can (paper would absorb. No splash!) but decided to crouch even lower. it's not easy to relax when your thighs are trembling with strain, but I toughed it out and get my $.80 worth. But I had to work for it, and I think in that case it should be free.

6. They stole my damn guidebook.

However, I'm off to a new part of Lithuania, and maybe things will improve? It was raining in Vilnius, and now that we're about halfway there, the sun is out. No one is bothering me on the bus, I don't have to pee, and in the big picture, things are looking up...

Bad Russia! Bad, bad Russia!

In an earlier blog identity I posted flags of Abkhazia and South Ossetia on the right column, as I generally support the idea of ethnic self-determination. You may notice that I have now posted the flag of Georgia.

While I understand the desire of the Abkhazians and Ossetians for political autonomy, I also appreciate the principle in international law that is it vital to respect the territorial integrity of sovereign states. While Saakashvili made a tactical error in using military force on Ossetian rebels, it was not lawful for Russia to then invade, not just South Ossetia, but the rest of Georgia.

Unfortunately, the Russians will continue to violate the territorial integrity of Georgia for some time, thanks the to deal brokered by the French president. The only way to get the Russians out would be for a military force bigger than the Russians to kick them out. There's only one military big enough to do the job and they are mired in a couple of other situations. \

Truth be told, this situation is not unlike the cause of the First Gulf War - one sovereign state invading another. And even the goal of controlling the energy supply is not dissimilar. Saddam wanted Kuwait's oil fields and Russia wants to further it's ambition to control the flow of energy into Europe.

However, on top of this is Putin's anger that so many countries bordering Russia and formerly conquered by Russia don't want to have anything to do with Russia. Russia's leaders see themselves as having a right to a sphere of influence in the region. Why? From whence to they derive this right? Why do sovereign states like Georgia, Ukraine, and others not have the right to choose their own alignment?

The Russians believe they have some sort of right to punish the Georgians for wanting to join NATO and strengthening ties to the US. Frankly, I think this is almost enough reason to go to Georgia and kick some Russian ass.

Now Russia has threatened Poland with a nuclear strike for hosting US missiles on its soil. I think Russia should be thrown out of the United Nations for that. How dare they. Again, Poland has the right to choose its allies. If the barrel of one Russian tank nudges across the Polish border - which it would have to do from it's oblast around Kaliningrad - I think the US should just take Kaliningrad and split it between the Poles and Lithuanians. They should take all of Russia's many nuclear warheads pointing at NATO, scrap them and send the remains to Moscow.

In the meantime, the US Navy should find a couple of spare aircraft carriers to park next to Russia's Baltic Fleet. Put one at Klaipėda and one at Gdańsk. Then just line up a blockade between the two.

O 5,6 maršrutus kažkaip sugebėjau nepilnai nufotkinti, tai vienas iš jų (jei kairės su dešine nesumaišiau) yra:

Iš regitros į dešinę, Šilutės pl., Šilutės pl./Vingio (į dešinę) ir Vingio g. už sankryžos su Smiltelės g. apsisukt, Vingio/Smiltelės(į kairę), Smiltelės/Taikos (į dešinę), Statybininkų/Taikos (į kairę), Statybininkų/Minijos (į dešinę), Minijos/Naikupes (dešinę), Debreceno, Debreceno/Šilutės pl. (dešinę) ir į Regitrą.

O kitas:

Iš Regitros iki Šilutės pl/Vingio, ten apsisukt, Šilutės pl/Statybininkų(kairę), Statybininkų/Gedminų(dešinę), Gedminų/Debreceno(kairę), Debreceno/Taikos (kairę), Taikos/Statybininkų(dešinę), Statybininkų/Minijos(kairę), iš Minijos į Smiltelės gatvę, Smiltelės/Taikos(kairę), Taikos/Statybininkų(dešinę), Statybininkų/Šilutės pl((kairę) ir sankryžoj su Debreceno gatve apsisukt ir grįžt į Regitrą.

Asmeniskai, man tenka apsilankyti skelbimu puslapiuose po kelis kartu i diena, tad gerai zinau 'geras' skelbimu svetaines.

Efektyviausia skelbimu lenta lietuvoje - www.nskelbimai.lt - tai isties patogi skelbimu lenta. Skelbimas idedamas greitai, nereikia pildyti papildomos registracijos formos. Skelbimas iskart itraukiamas i sarasa, taip pat netrukus atsiranda jis ir Google paieskoje, tad galima nusauti du zuikius vienu metu.

Siame bloge apzvelgsiu dar ir kitas skelbimu lentas Lietuvoje. Savo Nr 1 jau atskleidziau!

Startavome mes gan vėlokai, maždaug pirmą. Sekmadienis... nuostabus jausmas... rytoj darba diena, o tau nereikia sukt sau galvos kaip keltis šeštą ryto ir pan. Trumpas sustojimas degalinėje, padangų patikrinimas, pora sumuštinių ir Red Bull'as - šlykštybė baisiausia, bet darbas pripratino prie šio baisaus skysčio. Važiavom truputi padidintu greičiu... supraskit, naujutėlė bmw 3 galinga, gyva... Ir va 350 kilometrų per tris valandas su visais posūkiais ir greičio apribojimais.

Palanga...

Ir sovietų laikais Palanga buvo pačiu mylimiausiu Baltijos kurortu. Palangoje gydo pati gamta: jūra, pušies kvapas, saulė, smėlis... O žinote kad privers jūs su džiaugsmu prabusti net po bemiegos nakties, net po sunkios darbo dienos, išlipti iš lovos, nusišypsoti ir pragyventi dieną su gera nuotaika? Paukščių čiulbėjimas už lango... Ir štai pabudimas saulėta diena, už lango dainuoja paukščiai, toli nuo civilizacijos - štai yra paprasta, žmoniška laimė.

... būna kad sekasi... na, tiesiog nerealiai sekasi. Ir tąkart mums sekėsi, gal todėl, kad prieš išvažiuojant, kelią perbėgo juoda katė arba likimas nusprendė palepinti, bet sekėsi. Visų pirmą, žydras dangus ir ne vieno debesėlio, o tai yra labai retas reiškinys Lietuvoje. O čia taip gražu, taip gražu, kad akį rėžia. Ir nesvarbu, kad šaltoka, nesvarbu, kad žemė šalta ir šlapi po lietaus. Mes juk neieškom lengvų kelių :) Išnešėm iš kambario apklotą, patogiai įsitaisėm kopose. Vakarui artėjant visi kartu nusprendėme nuvažiuoti į Klaipėda.  

Aura Klaipėdoje kažkokia keista - kiekviename pastate, kiekviename akmenėlyje matai istoriją, o namai tarsi prisigėrė vokiškos kultūros ir tai nesunku pastebėti - fasadai, langai ir t.t. Restoranų čia mažai, dauguma iš jų jazz klubai, alaus barai, bet ne to lygio, kur bastosi girti vyrukai, o tikri, vokiški, su gyva muzika, filtruotu alumi, paslaugiomis ir apkūniomis padavėjomis. Į vieną tokį mes užėjome pavakarieniauti. Mums pasiūlė vietą antrame aukšte prie didžiulio lango. Pro langą buvo matyt gatvelę, savybingą senoviniams Lietuvos miestams. Puodelyje - kapučino. Taip patogu, kad net nenorisi, kad šis vakaras pasibaigtų.

Antradienio rytas - priešpaskutinė mano trupių atostogų diena. Paprastai tokiomis akimirkomis pradedi daug galvoti, kažką mąstyt, liūdėt, kažką nespėjai padaryti, kažkur nueiti, kažką pamatyti, be to ir pasaka kada nors baigiasi, vėl miestas, vėl šiokiadieniai, darbas... BET... liūdesio nebuvo... buvo džiaugsmas, ramus ir patenkintas džiaugsmas. Gal todėl, kad diena, dar visa diena priekyje ir ją reikia pragyventi. Bet kaip? Po ilgų apmąstymų mes nusprendėme nuvažiuoti į Klaipėdą ( vėl ) ir aplankyti jūrų muziejų. 

Jūrų muziejuje buvau vieną kartą ir tą prieš aštuoniolika metų. Pats stebiuosi, bet puikiai viską prisimenų, bet labiausiai... pingvinus. Juokingi gyvūnėliai. Ir štai antras kartas po tiek metų... išties įdomu. Automobilį palikome stovėjimo aikštelėje prie uosto, nupirkome bilietą į keltą. Ir štai mes Kuršių nerijoje. Nuo karietos mes atsisakėm. Iki muziejaus du kilometrai pėsčiom. Bet kam be reikalo gailėti savo kojų?=) 

Taigi. Anksčiau muziejus buvo fortu. Dabar tai muziejinis kompleksas: Jūrų muziejus ir akvariumas; Kuršių nerijos gamtos muziejus ir delfinariumas. Delfinų pasirodymas prasidėjo trečią. Užsiropštėm truputi aukščiau ir matyt geriau ir nesušlapsim=) Kažką jie ten išdarinėdavo... ir krepšinį su furbolu žaidė, ir šoko, ir serfingo lentas vaidino, ir dainavo... labai miela iš tikrųjų=) Puikiai praleidę laiką grįžtam namo. Vėl keltas, pietūs eiliniame restorane ir pirmyn. Nuotaikos buvo tiesiog puikios, todėl sėdėt kambaryje mes nesiruošėm ir visą likusį vakarą praleidome paplūdimyje.

Na, va, trečiadienis. Dvyliktą turiu grąžinti raktus nuo kambario. bet kol aš dar čia, nusprendžiau parašyti kaip man sekas=) Po to greit atsisveikinsiu su jūra bei draugais ir... ilgas kelias namo!=) Organizmas prigyrditas jodo, o siela maloniais prisiminimais. Namie busiu jau vakare, bet po keliu užsuksiu pasiimti bilietą į Turkiją. Ryt anskti ryte išvažiuoju... Bet tai jau kita istorija...

Štai tokia maža ir maloni sielos šventė =)))

Bręsta tik gyvas alus, pasterizuotas arba filtruotas ne - tiesa, alų įmanoma filtruoti/pasterizuoti jau dalinai subrendusį. Brandinama buteliuose arba statinėse (angl. cask conditioning), ir dėl skirtingo mielių kiekio šiose talpose rezultatas yra gana ryškus. Tiesa, iki šiol man sunku paaiškinti, kuo skiriasi alus, brandintas skirtingais būdais. "Bačkinis" turi daugiau charakterio, "gyvybės."

Šio proceso metu po pirminės fermentacijos likusios mielės toliau gyvena, perdirbdamos likutines saldžias medžiagas į alkoholį bei angliarūgštę, tokiu būdu gėrimą natūraliai "užgazuodami". Procesas būna toks stiprus, kad senoliai tebepasakoja istorijas, kaip "alus bačką drasko", "bačka vaikšto, ritinėjasi."

Per laiką mielės gerai išvirtą alų taip pat nuskaidrina, "išvalo" nuo drumzlių, nuskaidrėja, suapvalėja ir skonis - ypač apynių kartumas. Užsienyje kartais dar ir brandinimo metu apyniuojama, į bačką pridedant kvapiųjų apynių (taip vadinamas "dry hopping"), taip alučiui suteikiant ypatingai šviežų aromatą.

Skaitydamas apie brandinimo subtilybes (žr. craftbrewing.org straipsnį), aptikau įdomią detalę. Pasirodo, iki II pasaulinio karo geriausios medinės bačkos angliško elio brandinimui būdavo iš... Mėmelio ąžuolo. Ąžuolas taip vadintas, nes buvo plukdomas pro Mėmelio (dabartinė Klaipėda) uosto - tikriausiai, netoliesė ir išgaunamas. Tas pats ąžuolas buvo naudojamas ir vyno bačkoms. Po karo ir okupacijos, Mėmelio ąžuolo tiekimas pasauliui nutrūko.

Ima aiškėti paslaptis, kodėl 80% TAD steigėjų artimai susiję su Klaipėda...

I like the way this bottle looks. It stands out from the crowd. The stubby neck, foil wrapping light-gold colour scheme mean its hard to confuse with any other bottles on the shop shelves.

The foil around the top, and the bottle top itself have the Švyturys name and coat of arms. A coat of arms that seems to consist of an eagle, hops and some sort of tower. There's also a date. A year to be exact; 1784. Is that the year this Švyturys brewery was established?

The big label on the front of the bottle is an unusual shape. It looks like an ordinary roundel from a distance. But look closer, and you see it's actually made up of three bulges.

Around the top of the label, it say, interspersed by writing I can't understand; "Brewed by Švyturys-Utenos Alus, Klaipėda, Lithuania". Not knowing who, or what a "Klaipėda" was, I hit Wikipedia. Klaipėda it transpires is a Lithuania town, historic port and, presumably, home town of this brewery. The coat of arms of the town also offers some clues as to the origin of Švyturys coat of arms.

Around the bottom of the label, it says "Lithuania's Most Popular". A good sign if Lithuania is overflowing with choice. Not so good if this is Lithuania's only beer.

Under the big Švyturys logo is the name of this particular brew; "Ekstra". Which I think is supposed to be read as "Extra". Underneath that, we get several indications of how much is in this bottle. 500 millilitres, 1 pint or 0.9 fluid ounces in case you were wandering. And the alcoholic volume; which is a slightly above average 5.2%. Not worth getting excited about, but more than the boring 5% that seems to be everywhere these day.

Under that is what looks like a selection of medal. Most are too small to read. But one that is readable says "World Beer Cup 2000". It looks then, like this is an award winning beer. Albeit, of an award no one's ever heard of.

The back label is a jumble of text in several different languages. Not an inviting block to try and read. The main English language paragraph describes Ekstra as a "golden beer". A beer made from hops, barley malt, yeast and rice so pure, they could be used to cleanse even Cliff Richard. Rice is an interesting addition. Cobra Extra Smooth is the only other beer that I've seen to have it. And I found it much full-flavoured and interesting than other bland Asian beers. Maybe Ekstra's unique blend will turn out to be more interesting than the bland East-European beers?

There's also some more detail about the awards we barely saw on the front. Apparently, this was the "Gold Award Winner of the 2001 World Beer Championship and Silver Medal Winner at the 2000 World Beer Cup". I might not have heard of them, but they're recent enough for these them to mean something.

There's also a web address. And that address is www.svyturys.lt. A bit of hunting takes us to their English language version, which is at http://www.svyturys.lt/en.

Under that is something that's easy to miss. And hard to understand. What is looks like is a couple of descriptions. One is how to pronounce the name Švyturys, with the text "[shvee - to - rees]". And the other is the word "Lighthouse". It's a leap, but I think that's a reference to that mysterious tower on the coat of arms. And it makes sense because Klaipėda is a port on the Baltic coast.

There's an ingredients list and... not much else worth describing. Which means that it's time to answer some questions. Principally, is Švyturys Ekstra any good?

In the glass, Ekstra is a light-yellow colour. And, as promised, it has a head. But after a few moments, not much of a head.

There's not as much to say about the smell as I had been hoping. A weak aroma of malted barley is all that awaits. It's a tiny bit different to the smell of others beers I've tried recently, but not very much.

A few gulps down, and Ekstra isn't bad. It tastes of a light blend of malted barley and hops that leave a light, lingering sour bitterness at the back of your mouth. The tastes and flavours are very light indeed. You're far from overwhelmed by strong flavours.

Ekstra is clean and crisp. At least this bottle is after I stored it in the freezer compartment for 45 minutes. And the inoffensiveness of the flavours makes this a very easy-to-drink drinkable beer. And the quality of the blend is more than evident.

Sadly, it does have its downsides. Some people, myself included, won't appreciate how subtle the flavours are. In fact, I'd go as far as saying that Ekstra is dull and uninspired on the flavour front. The blend might be quality, but is certainly is boring. There are simply no big flavours to give it character. And it's a little gassy, but that's a minor gripe.

How can I try to sum up Švyturys Ekstra? Well, it reminds me of the Asian beers I sampled a few weeks ago. They were all trying to be ‘beers'. And in so doing, that's what they became. Well made, yet indistinctively tasting generic beers. And that's what this is. Ekstra is a quality blend of indistinctive beer.

By all means try this to say that you've had a Lithuanian beer. If I were visiting Lithuania, I'd happily drink Ekstra by the keg load. But on a shop shelf full of distinctive and full-flavoured beers and ales, that are also cheaper, it's hard to find many good reasons for you to buy this.

Rating: 2.85

Have you tried Švyturys Ekstra? What did you think?
Can you translate anything on the bottle? Do you know what reputation this has in Lithuania?
Corrections, comments, thoughts, opinions, ideas and suggestions in the comments please!

Ich hatte in der Zwischenzeit aber auch schon herausgefunden, dass ich auf einem auf meiner Karte nicht eingezeichnetem Weg lief, welcher nicht ganz so direkt nach Juodkrante fuehrte. Nach 5 Stunden war ich dann angekommen, alles in allem war Juodkrante so ungefaehr 25 Kilometer von meinem Ausgangspunkt entfernt, wie mir auch von meiner "Kulturbeauftragten" aka Sprachlehrerin bestaetigt wurde. Sie sah mich im uebrigen auch sehr merkwuerdig an, als ich ihr von meinem Trip erzaehlte.

Wenigstens ein ganze Menge beeindruckender Natur gesehen :)

Am Strand der Nehrung, der Sonne entgegen!

Ein Blick von der die ganze Kueste entlanglaufenden Duene!

Nicht die ganze Nehrung ist bewaldet. Baumrodungen und Waldbraende sind eine grosse Bedrohung fuer die Nehrung!

Hier hat es wohl vor einiger Zeit gebrannt, wie auch Brandspuren an Baeumen zeigten.

Aufjedenfall hab ich mir dann noch kurz den Raganos Kalnas (Hexenberg) mit geschnitzten Maerchenfiguren angesehen, doch da es langsam dunkel wurde und ich keine Lust mehr auf Laufen hatte brach ich nach kurzer Zeit ab (die ganze Tour dauert ca eine Stunde), war mir doch etwas zu gruselig und anstrengend.

Fuer die Rueckfahrt nahm ich nach den Strapazen doch lieber den Bus. Weil es wie am Meer ueblich ziemlich windig war, wurde es auch entsprechend kalt, und so trat ich in eine Gastwirtschaft ein um mich aufzuwaermen und ein wenig zu staerken.

"Der Hering mit Kartoffeln war auch wirklich lecker!"

Der Bus der mich zurueckbringen sollte, kam erstmal eine Viertelstunde zu spaet, der Busfahrer aber war gewillt, verlorene Zeit, durch eine rasante Fahrweise auszugleichen.

So fuhr er bestimmt geschaetzte 80 ,(Achtung! Schaetzung is ja anscheinend eine meiner Staerken, siehe Entfernungsschaetzung), statt der erlaubten 60. Der Bus knarrzte auch ordentlich und alles, inklusive Fahrgaeste schwankte hin und her und musste sich festhalten. In Kurven wurde mir Angst und Bange, besonders wenn der Gegenverkehr mit Fernlicht meinen Busfahrer blendete.

Aber wir kamen da irgendwie wohlbehalten durch. Die Faehre war zum Glueck auch noch da so, dass ich zurueck nach Klaipeda uebersetzen konnte.

Es war ca 19 Uhr also ging ich zurueck zum Busbahnhof um mein Rueckfahrticket zu loesen. Zu meinem grossen Erstaunen musste ich feststellen, dass ein Ferienfahrplan galt und mein naechster Bus erst um 23:45 fahren wuerde. (Sollten in den Ferien nicht eigentlich mehr Busse fahren?)

Also war Beschaeftigungsfindung fuer mich erstmal oberste Prioritaet. Weil mir total langweilig war unterhielt ich mich mit einer auch wartenden Litauerin, die irgendwie auch nicht so ganz wusste, wann ihr Bus fahren wuerde oder ob er ueberhaupt fahren wuerde. Ihr Bus kam dann aber nach 30 Minuten so endete mein erster Beschaeftigungsversuch.

"Aber ich waer ja nicht ich wenn ich nicht einen Plan B in der Tasche gehabt haette."

Wie wir wissen ist Klaipeda eine Hafenstadt und da ich Geld, Langeweile und Lust (drei Hauptvorrausetzungen in Fachkreisen bekannt als GLL) hatte, beschloss ich mich in eine ganz ranzige Hafenkneipe zu setzen (wollt ich schon immer mal machen) und mein Geld in alkoholische Getraenke umzusetzen.

Nach 20 minuetiger Suche hatte ich dann auch ein ansprechendes Objekt gefunden:

Ich trat ein, platzierte mich direkt an der Bar und hatte keine grossen Schwierigkeiten meinem Anliegen Ausdruck zu verleihen. Meine Aussage: "Alus" und ein Laecheln reichte aus und man reichte mir bereitwillig ein erfrischend kuehles Hopfgetraenk vom Fass.

Im Fernsehen lief irgendeine Russische Musikshow von der ich kein Wort verstand. Also beschaeftige ich mich intensiv mit der Speisenkarte, die sogar in Englischer Uebersetzung vorlag. (Die Bedienung sprach aber kein Englisch)

Einen Vodkashot gab es in 3 Preiskatergorien, 2,50 Lita/0,72 Euro, 3,00 Lita/0,87 Euro und 8,00 Lita/2,32 Euro ich wunderte mich ueber diesen grossen Preissprung, war aber nicht gewillt eine etwaige Rechtfertigung herauszufinden.

"Ich blieb lieber beim billigsten."

Ungewoehnlich fuer eine Hafenkneipe wurde schon um halb 10 geschlossen (auf dem Bild kann man erkennen das die Oeffnungszeiten 10-23 Uhr besagen), lag vielleicht auch daran das ich der alleinige Kunde war. Also stolperte ich raus auf die Strassen Klaipedas, fand aber kein mich ansprechendes Etablissement mehr und zog wieder zum Busbahnhof um die restliche Zeit mit warten zu verbringen.

Alles in allem war ich dann um 3 Uhr nachts wieder in Kaunas, an Schlaf konnte ich im Bus nicht wirklich denken weil es ein Express-Bus nach Minsk war und mich wohl keiner darauf aufmerksam gemacht haette, waere ich zu weit gefahren.

"Es gibt erfreulichere Dinge als am Morgen unverhofft in Weissrussland aufzuwachen."

Vom Busbahnhof aus, lief ich durch den spaerlich beleuchteten Stadtpark zu meiner Unterkunft, weckte die Empfangsdame und fiel so gegen 4 Uhr nachts todmuede ins Bett.

Damit verabschiede ich mich schonmal ins Wochenende, ich erwarte noch hohen Besuch heute. Wir haben grosse Ziele!

I'm sitting in a hostel in Prague, Czech Republic, at the moment, while Thad and Beccie have gone on a pilgrimage to Plzen, home of Pilsner beers and Claire is upstairs in the shower.

The past 3 weeks or so have been pretty crazy. We left Vilnius on a train to St Petersburg, which was incredibly fun. We ate too many lollies and got really hyper and giggled the whole journey, much to the dismay of the other train passengers who were trying to sleep. We hit the Russian border at 11:30 but, because of the time difference we were pushed to 12:30am - Thad's birthday! After heaps of border control coming through we left again and went to sleep.

We woke up in St Petersburg, pretty groggy from the interrupted sleep and had a look around. I gave Thad his birthday present - a swiss army knife, which has come in handy so much since. Haha. It's such a beautiful city - wide roads and footpaths with big old colourful buildings with beautiful facades running down the roads. We walked down the main street, Nevsky Propsekt and saw a few of the main sites - beautiful churches, canals and statues and ending with the Winter Palace, a beautiful green building that runs as far as the eye can see. It was the home of the Russian royal family until 1917 when they were killed in the revolution. Inside is the biggest art collection in the world, which we explored the next day, although we only got half way through one of the 4 floors before having to leave - and that took us 5 hours. Good grief. We also took a walking tour on the 3rd day with a local guide. He steered us away from the tourist attractions and showed us more where the Russians lived and worked which was fantastic. We discovered an arts centre that started as a squat but has grown into a fantastic community that produces a lot of non-conformist art and
underground music. We also travelled through the backyards, behind the main buildings, where everyone lives, which saves time and showed us a lot of things we'd never notice if we'd taken the main roads. St Petersburg truly is magical. I'm going to have to go back some day and stay for a few weeks.

We headed on another overnight train to Moscow, arriving at 4 in the morning which sucked cos we had to wait for it to get light before we were bold enough to leave the station. It then took us 3 hours to find our hostel, and no one would help us because we didn't speak russian - like London nobody stops on the street even if you stand in front of them so that sucked. Eventually we were approached by a lovely guy called Peter who spoke english and was working in a local real estate office. He took us to his office, gave us cans of coke and a seat while he printed out a map with the exact
building highlighted, and then walked us to the door. Oh he was so lovely! A saint. We went back later and gave him a cake and a koala to say thankyou.

Seeing the Red Square and the Kremlin was so odd because it's a place you just never expect to find youself standing. It was very nice though - although I think that St Basil's cathedral was a bit overrated - Church on Spilt Blood in St Petersburg was far more impressive. We went into the Mausoleum and saw Lenin's body which was absolutely strange! You have to walk down these completely dark stairs past all these very stern looking, heavily armed soldiers and then file past his embalmed body, swathed in red velvet and lit up. How odd. We went inside the Kremlin as well which, oddly enough, was filled with churches. It was strange being inside a place that
British spies had tried to infiltrate so many times only 15 or 20 years ago. It was pretty boring though - the only highlights being seeing the Tsar's burial places - including those of Nicholas II and his family who were killed in the revolution - we were especially excited to see Anastacia's plaque. The other highlight was accidentally walking on the wrong path and having a guard furiously toot his whistle at us for about a minute before we realised. He was so angry and was smacking his baton into his hand rather menacingly. Eeek.

I also had my 21st in Moscow WOO! Which was fun. The night before we had some drinks in the hostel and then headed to a bar around the corner. The barman was told it was my birthday and made me a present - a sambucca shot with whole coffee beans, set on fire. He told me I had to shot the liquid, coffee beans and all, and then breathe in the fumes that he'd captured while setting the alcohol on fire. It went straight to my head and I didn't need any other drinks all night haha. Woke up on my birthday feeling less than pretty but that's OK. Thad bought me a really nice necklace that has a
Rainbow Moonstone set in it from Tibet. When you hold it to the light it glows this really bright blue. We had a pretty quiet day - did a tour of the Metro system and saw all the stations - which are decorated with mosaics, stained glass and chandeliers - an odd contrast to the greyness of the buildings above ground. We leftthat night for an overnight train to Riga, Latvia, but ended up only spending 8 hours there before catching a night bus to Klaipeda, a town on the coast of Lithuania for some relaxing time. So for two days all we did was chill out on the beach - so nice! We then headed to the Hill Of Crosses, which was really more like two mounds but quite impressive nonetheless... very eerie. Lithuanians have been planting crosses here for centuries - in memory of relatives and as shrines to saints. The Soviets bulldozed them all down when they occupied Lithuania and surrounded the place with barbed wire and soldiers, threatening to send to siberia anyone who put up a cross, but still people snuck through the wire to place them. Pretty incredible.