The 2018 Lithuanian Cemetery Tour

While sandwiched between my father and a non-English speaking relative I had never met before in the backseat of a stuffy, late model BMW, I saw storks standing in soft rolling fields and neatly tiered cemeteries and had the certain thought this must be a dream. We aren’t really here.

But I have never been uncomfortably warm in a dream nor registered smells like sunbaked dashboard and smoldering diesel. Twelve plus hours of travel and we really were in Lithuania.

At a stoplight, the driver offered my grandmother a dusty tin cup rummaged from the glove box. She said something in Lithuanian and he wiped the cup with a marginally less dusty rag before filling it halfway with mineral water. My grandmother gave a shrug and tipped her head back to drink and I, thirstily in the back seat, thought she’s home again.

We stopped in the town of Trakai and ate Kibinai, a pastry with a neatly fluted crust and meat filling. We waved away bees at an outdoor café overlooking a lake and 600 year-old castle I had only ever seen before in a painting in my grandmother’s house. I’m sure I never thought it was real.

My dad and I followed one of the relatives inside the castle and climbed an incredible labyrinth of stairs leading to warm rooms, always stuck behind a large foreign-speaking tour group. This would become a theme for the week: not understanding what anyone is saying and sweating and thinking I can’t believe we’re really here!

My grandmother was pretty amazing. She will be 92 next month and easily boarded countless shuttle buses and climbed more stairs in a week than she has all year. She visited 9 family graves in 4 cemeteries and climbed into and out of a Volkswagen Vanagon something like 18 times. And she was the life of the party at the 7 mini-reunions we had over the course of 8 days.

She always had an arm to hold onto and help when needed. Her (my) family was so good to her (us). In one of the bigger cemeteries, one of the men we were with turned a collapsible walker with a seat and his leather belt into a makeshift wheelchair he and another man pulled along the paved path.

Let me tell you about the cemeteries. I always thought my grandmother’s preoccupation with visiting graves and planting and pruning flowers and bushes around them was a bit unusual and, well, unnecessary. Then I saw a woman carefully washing the marble border around a graveside shrine after raking the stones inside and understood.

It turns out Lithuanian cemeteries are nothing like US cemeteries. They are like serene parks in heaven or some other majestic planet. It might be a European or Catholic thing, but cemeteries are revered and holy and pristine.

You are never alone in a Lithuanian cemetery, even if everyone has their head bent down pulling weeds or lighting candles. The dead are gone but visited often. Many graves featured photographic images of loved ones, not unlike the kind you can get printed on t-shirts at the beach. I saw a sign at one cemetery with the word Fotokeramika in big letters and worried it prohibited photography. But I google translated the rest and realized it was just telling people who to contract to get photographs of their loved ones printed on graves.

I took a lot of pictures in cemeteries. I photographed relatives’ names and dates on markers for future genealogy searches. I photographed living relatives standing around or behind graves, my grandmother in every picture, no one smiling exactly.

Truthfully, my father and I were a little tired of cemeteries by the third one. But that was the one where my grandmother gave a tearful speech, only partially in English, about why she fled the country, her home, after the Russians had run out the Germans and called it liberation.

She cried again when we drove down a gravel road crammed with houses that used to be her parent’s farm until the Soviets took it. We sat inside the church where she married my grandfather. Their marriage did not last and while the original church survived WWII, it was dismantled and repurposed by the Soviets before being rebuilt in the early ’90s.

I didn’t love the village like I thought I would. The people were wonderful but I expected to feel some connection to the town since my mother was born there. Knowing the dark history – the genocide and suffering – left me feeling a bit heavy and flat.

I was more than ready to move on to the Devil’s Museum in Kaunas. Everyone wanted to understand why it was so important to me. Why have I wanted to go there ever since I was a little girl? I don’t know, why did I buy a small skeleton devil at CVS yesterday? Why not? It’s like asking why you love cats or dogs or musicals. You just do or you don’t.

I almost didn’t get to see the Devil’s Museum at all, but mentioned it as an aside to one of the younger, English-speaking relatives and the next thing I knew all 12 of us were crowded into the lobby buying tickets for 3 Euros each or something ridiculous like that.

It was awesome and so was the Devil’s Museum. I took 5 million photos (all of which I am going to show you right now…) and when I missed a good devil, a cute little 3 year-old spitfire we were traveling with pointed her chubby finger and said Fotografuok and I did. And then I had to show her the photo on my phone screen and she would nod and then we could proceed. It was her first visit to the Devil’s Museum too and she will probably not remember it but may one day want to go back and not be able to explain why.

My grandmother got to see her cemeteries and I got to see my devil’s museum and my dad got to see his KGB museum, which sounds cool and was, but it was also very sobering. When I think KGB, I think eavesdropping room (pictured above), but not necessarily basement prison and execution room for resistors. The execution room had bullet holes in the wall and a glass floor with personal effects like jacket buttons and wire rim glasses on display below.

As an American, I take freedom for granted. When Lithuania fought and regained independence in 1990, I remember a festival in Baltimore I didn’t go to because I was in high school and had to work or smoke cigarettes in the woods with my friends. It meant little at the time except there goes my grandmother with her fierce Lithuanian pride. I was and continue to be an idiot, yes, but I get it now.

And oh, the spirited hospitality of Lithuanians. We slept in comfortable beds (you get no top sheet but do get your own duvet in a double bed!) while one host slept on a bedroll in the kitchen. We were driven a maddening number of kilometers by men who would only occasionally and then begrudgingly accept reimbursement. Even their cats were attentive and sidled up for pets, purring in Lithuanian.

We feasted on garden grown fruit and vegetables and salmon caught on a fishing trip to Norway. We slathered backyard honey on homemade cheese. I never ate so good and craved so little, except maybe water. It started with the dusty tin car cup and an unfounded fear of tap water and ended with me falling in love with the salty mineral water which tasted like warm ocean the first time I drank it but became my favorite thing that I can’t get back home. Our mineral water is a joke.

We spent our last couple of days in Vilnius at the airbnb apartment I wrote about last post. It was excellent, by the way, and I don’t think anyone looked in our windows because they had some special anti-peeping tom coating. It also had metal shutters you could put down at night that were very Get Smart. We never did since air conditioning and fans aren’t a thing over there that I could tell. As for the streets of old town Vilnius, google street view couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

On our last day in Lithuania, my dad and I climbed a steep cobbled hill to Gidimenas Tower, where I coughed up at least one lung due to some ailment I picked up just before my trip even though I hadn’t been sick in 2+ years.

That reminds me, I’m glad I didn’t take this trip newly sober. I was offered shots of strange liquor at least a dozen times. I had to put my hand over my coffee cup once to keep a well meaning but not-getting-it host from pouring in booze to help my cough. They like to drink over there and no amount of polite refusal seemed to reduce their bewilderment or suspicion. I insulted them by not drinking and experienced the irony a teetotaler knows well.

Our travel went remarkably well until the final leg home, most of that after we landed at Dulles. There were extra long lines at customs due to new face recognition technology and then some guy took my suitcase and didn’t realize until after he got to his hotel. We were all fried by the time my dad and I dropped my grandmother off and drove home.

I was a little nervous about talking to my grandmother on the phone after a few days of recovery. I wanted her to be as satisfied with the trip as I was.

The first thing she said was my father and I left her house so fast after the airport, it was like we were on fire. We didn’t even sit and have something to drink, which I now know to be a great insult to a Lithuanian.

Also, she couldn’t believe she didn’t come back with any Lithuanian bread or cheese or candy. We didn’t get to see the Hill of Crosses either, she reminded me. I couldn’t tell if she was complaining or trying to prepare me for another trip.

I might be able to find the bread and candy online, I said. I just want to enjoy this trip for awhile. She wanted to know if I ever wanted to go back. Definitely, I said. One day I will take my daughters so they can take theirs, and so on.

My dad and grandmother with a cousin. My grandmother never said goodbye, just til next time.

19 thoughts on “The 2018 Lithuanian Cemetery Tour

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  1. Wow! Wonderful! And the keeping up cementeries is not a European thing, could be a East European thing though.
    I looked up the bread and found this recipe online. It takes 2 days to make and proof and add to that the days for having to make the sour dough starter. 🙂 So I guess she was right about just flying it in. 🙂 Would be fun to make it together though. 🙂
    LOVE your hair, beautiful, you look great. 🙂
    xx, Feeling

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Hey, thanks so much for sending this! I have never made so much as a sourdough starter, but this recipe looks great. I may start with something storebought – I found a couple European grocers in her area and mine – but this is definitely something to work towards. Thanks again!

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I did not see any cemeteries like that in Poland, so maybe it is a Lithuanian thing. What a great read! My grandparents too were run out of Eastern Europe by the Russians and Germans, and one of the things I like a lot and don’t know why is that diesel smell you describe. Sounds like you had a fantastic time, I hope you get to go back. Make sure you see the Hill of Crosses next time! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The Hill of Crosses would have added about 4 hours (round trip) onto an already lengthy travel day. Google maps is not accurate over there in giving time estimates I’m told. It was impossible or at least unrealistic and yet still it kills me that we didn’t go. So I will go back. I also want to see the Hill of Witches and who knows whatever other good hills I don’t know about yet.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. The trip sounds great, I am so glad for all of you that you could make it!
    I have to tell this story:…
    my mother in law was such a character, and one year they took a trip back to Norway, where my father law was from. They had a great trip, but her one big take away was how amazing it was that “the dogs understood Norweigien!””
    No one explained to to her for a long time….

    Liked by 2 people

  4. I’ve been wondering how your trip went! This certainly sounds familiar. In 1998, my mom and I visited relatives in Kaunas. We saw the Devil’s Museum, and also toured around to a few other places. We went to Trakai and the Gediminas tower in Vilnius, as well as a cultural song and dance festival that happens every few years. Also the Horse Museum (in some town whose name I don’t remember). And we did see the Hill of Crosses (which I found rather weird). I know what you mean about cemeteries. The ones we visited were very well kept. My mom’s family came from a village near Kupiskis, so we spent some time there too. Reading your account brought it all back.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes! I thought of you and the trip you’d mentioned taking. I wish we’d been there longer, but only in theory. It was a taxing trip in many ways. We visited Klaipeda and Palanga and spent our first two days in Alytus with relatives. That actually may have been my favorite part bc we got to see how people really live. The small village with the turmoil was Vilkaviskis, near the Polish and Russian (Kaliningrad) border.


  5. This was an enviable experience, and how well you reported it! Your grandmother is quite a character, and so beautiful. That hair! Thanks for a really enjoyable read.


  6. Thanks for sharing. Wonderful story and I am certain a very memorable experience. Your point about working or smoking cigarettes when there was a liberation event in Baltimore resonates with me – we can miss so much in our naive youth, that fortunately, can be resurrected when we are ready and able to appreciate.


  7. What a phenomenal trip. I remember my mother’s ling friend, a German, insisting they go to Berlin as the wall came down. She was determined to get a piece. Yes we in many countries take our freedoms far too much for granted.


  8. Hi there! I popped over for a minute and came across this post, which I absolutely loved! My grandfather’s family was from Lithuania and I’ve always wanted to visit. Neither my mom or grandpa are alive to ask questions, so there’s a bit of mystery surrounding that part of my heritage. Reading about your trip gave life to the images I have in my mind. What a special trip for you and your family!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It’s honestly such a beautiful country and many people speak English, so I would recommend a trip without hesitation. I plan to take my daughters one day, though it will be a very different trip without my grandmother and that “link” to our heritage.


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