An Old Friend Called Vilnius

Many travelers will share that certain places carry more weight and have more value, because they take a lasting memory that means more to them than even a childhood dream or event. Sometimes I wonder whether I have achieved this gravitas in some areas more than others. It doesn’t take long to realize that, of course, many places stand out, especially after completing a recent trip, such as my Friday overnight adventure to Gibraltar. 

For me, it’s when I’m traveling to other locations, new or old, that those trivial moments from previous trips take hold. The weight of those areas resonates the most and reminds me of what truly touches my soul at a deeper level. I have no choice but to phrase it this way, especially as my recent trip, while an interesting one, felt more business-like than a life-long marker. I didn’t leave wanting more, nor any desire to return and walk those streets.

Don’t get me wrong, Gibraltar was fine enough, but it didn’t sing to me like Carcassonne where I felt the pulse of the small city the moment I stepped onto the bus and watched the thunderstorm pound away at the quaint streets and left a watery path for me to follow on my way to a front street bistro that remains one of my favorite meals to date. I couldn't care less about the falling rain, as these ancient streets with magnificent, leafy, and vibrant trees, featuring massive branches that appeared ready to snatch you up and hug you to morning, were undeniably difficult to ignore. 

Gilbraltar, on the other hand, was meh. Maybe it’s the heaviness of being a place where so many battles took place and rebuilding layers upon layers on those walls, the fort, and other areas of the region. I simply didn’t feel the love. To me, it came across as a glorified theme park, a region of Universal Studios, if you will, where Great Britain is the theme. That’s what it felt like, even in the parks, the cemetery, and with the waterfall on the far end of The Rock. 

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First Glimpses of Vilnius: A City That Stayed With Me

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For me, genuine love of a location comes from an immediate understanding. One can just look out the window from a taxi or bus and see that where they are means something more. I have that feeling for Vilnius. If there’s one city that struck a nerve and made me want to return for more, Vilnius has to be that place. 

Strangely enough, I got glimpses the first time I went, and not necessarily in the way one would think, when I brought a group of students for a Math Counts competition. We were accommodated at the Radisson Blu Hotel, and after settling into our rooms, we crossed the street to the CUP mall for food and some exploration. This was a low-key affair, for sure, but sitting in the booth waiting on pizza and other snacks created an ambiance I didn’t expect. There was a touch of playfulness in the air and yet a stillness I hadn’t felt all winter until that moment. It might have been from the embankment below, with the beautiful Neris River in the darkness of early February, that made things interesting. There was more going on than meets the eye, and I could sense that from the very beginning. 

This was so much the case that shortly after the meal, I took all the students for a walk along the river towards Gediminas’ Tower. Despite the high water mark of the river (thankfully, I couldn’t tell how high it was until morning), the magnificent path towards the old center brought a calmness I had never felt with a group of students present. 

There was a flow to the water that matched my pace. If not for the students, I’m sure I would have stayed longer along the water’s edge and gone closer to the many churches and cafes that lined the inner quarter of the city. 

Vilnius always had more layers than what first met the eye. On a later visit, I found a park in Užupis that carried the same stillness I felt that first night.

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By the time the next morning came, I was hooked. And it wasn’t because of some magical moment, although the power going out in the building at four in the morning was something to remember. The entire block went black. The boisterous lights from the mall flickered out, and all the buildings around us, the skyscraper lane, went incognito in a matter of seconds. 

I’ll admit, I was unsure what to take from the events playing out before me. I simply put on my running gear for the chilly twenty-something-degree weather and went out to find the stillness in the area and get the overall vibe before the day got ahead of us. 

While my run was an interesting one, the darkness persisted after my return. There was no getting around the fact that I couldn’t even get into my room without using the stairs. Then it hit me: the students, as they shifted to school mode, would be stirring and would need answers to why their rooms were indefinitely dark. Now you try going up to the 16th floor to check on a group of tweens who had no idea what was going on. I’ll never forget scaling those steps, but I was still aware that this was simply an inconvenience and not the end. 

This was the motto for the trip. Leaving the 16th floor to check on other students on the 8th or 9th floor, because the hotel didn’t understand we wanted our students placed together, brought more laughter than annoyance. Maybe next time, they’ll understand better why schools wish to keep their students on the same floor—either way, it gave us all an experience to remember. For me, it was just a different wink to consider. 

Sure, we explored the city, got a feel for the cobblestones, and the old churches with artwork that would stir even the most hardened soul. But the final memory that got me was on the morning we were leaving. For one, I was relieved the power had returned, and that we were done with the competition. I wanted more time in the city, because playing chaperone doesn’t give you time or space to explore and discover as a solo trip would. 

In the meantime, leaving our hotel in the early morning hours for a walk to film a short vlog left a permanent etch. Cold, only fifteen or eighteen degrees, there was a distinct chill in the air, enough to remind me that the scarf I brought was a necessity, as were the black pair of gloves to protect me from the elements. It was so cold that I didn’t even know if my camera would work, and yet I walked down from the hotel, across the pedestrian bridge, and then turned right onto an adjacent street. 

There were no miracles along this path. Instead, there was familiarity and a sense of peace. The rusted orange colors, or they appeared as much to my color spectrum, of the Dominican Church of St. Philip and St. Jacob left me in awe. With a few perfectly placed spotlights, this church appeared as an icon in the early morning darkness. There was no need even to try the locked doors, because it was enough to take in the sight of the remodeled beauty and go back to what it must have felt like when the church was first built and parishioners made their morning or weekly pilgrimage. 

Time was not on my side that morning, knowing that it was a matter of minutes until I had to reunite with my students, get some breakfast, and then head to the airport for the flight home. A seventeen-minute walk in the frigid temps, the last morning of a two-night visit, opened my eyes and heart to a city I would need to visit again and again.

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Why Vilnius Feels Like an Old Friend

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There was barely a glimpse, but there was understanding. For that, I continue to return and embrace what Vilnius has to offer, from the varied architecture, the exquisite churches, historical monuments, and places that force you to reflect, may it be the old Jewish cemetery pilfered by the local government for buildings and roads, to the distinct crosses on the hill for the first martyrs. Vilnius stirs the soul more than any other city I have walked and enjoyed. For that, I’m forever grateful. 
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As for Gibraltar, we can’t win them all, but at least I gave it a go and that’s something, right? 
We don’t always know which places will claim us, but when they do, they linger like an old friend in the corner of the room. For me, Vilnius is that friend—quiet, steady, impossible to forget.   

What about you? Which city still whispers your name, long after you’ve left its streets?

​At the very least, take heart knowing that traveling is a blessing for us all. It opens our eyes to the familiar and the unknown, making it all coherent in a way that meets us where we are and where we're going in the days ahead.  

If words aren't enough, here's the walk itself - through the very streets, river, and church that claimed me on that first visit. It's the last ten or so minutes if memory serves.

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