Vacation by bike: the best route along the Baltic coast of Lithuania

When you cycle through the seemingly endless pine and birch forests of Lithuania, all kinds of thoughts go through your head. For example this one: Why do we know so little about the Baltic States, about the trio from Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia? That is lumped together as gladly as willfully, even though the three young states are so fundamentally different?

Perhaps it is because we Germans were very concerned with ourselves, with our own revolution, in the turbulent years from 1989 to 1991. It was precisely at this time that Lithuania took its fate into its own hands, and in 1990 became the first Union republic of the USSR to declare itself independent. The newly won freedom was then once again on the brink when, on Bloody Sunday in Vilnius, January 13, 1991, pro-Soviet forces tried unsuccessfully to overthrow the young democracy with tanks.

Sparkling city life and extensive natural landscapes

That was three decades ago. Vilnius has long since shaken off its Soviet muff and presents itself as a lively and self-confident capital, in which the never-ending summer evenings are carefree Mediterranean. You could easily spend more time here. Explore the surrounding area by bike during the day and then plunge into the lively life of the winding streets of the old town. And of course you will be amazed at the many luxury cars that park in front of the stylish pubs, clubs and bars.

But then you would only get to know urban Lithuania, the center of the turbo-economic miracle with its many start-ups. But not the vast, rural natural and cultural landscapes between the capital and the coast: this mostly flat and sometimes hilly mosaic of meadows, fields, moors, rivers, thousands of lakes and an infinite amount of forest. In late summer, so many chanterelles and porcini mushrooms sprout there that half the nation goes hunting with their heads bowed, infested with foraging fever.

National park idyll and underground launch systems

If you have a lot of time, you should therefore cover the 300 kilometers from Vilnius to the Baltic Sea coast by bike, let yourself drift away from the hustle and bustle, perhaps visit one or the other nature reserve such as the Žemaitija National Park, where a 24-kilometer cycle route around the Plateliai -See and you should take a look at the wooden church of St. Peter and Paul.

The greatest attraction of this region, however, is hidden deep in the forest not far from the lake: an underground launching system for nuclear medium-range missiles from the Soviet era, which in 2012 was converted into a "Cold War Museum". Here, in the sparsely populated area, the nuclear missiles were easy to hide and conveniently stationed close to their targets in the enemy west.

You can visit the entire facility and look into the missile silos that are now empty, unique in Europe. What remains is a queasy feeling. Hasn't a new Cold War started long ago? And how safe can NATO member Lithuania feel given the annexation of Crimea by Putin's Russia? The European-minded Balts do not trust their big neighbor in the east.

Amber museum or treasure hunt on the beach

Then finally, at Palanga, the almost one hundred kilometers long Baltic coast of the small country is reached. While families make the pilgrimage to the sandy beaches with bags and bags, we cycle to the nearby Amber Museum to immerse ourselves in the world of fossil resins. If we had more time, we would go on a treasure hunt for the "Lithuanian gold" ourselves: Due to the cold and the associated greater density of the sea water, the Baltic Sea can transport the amber relatively easily, which means that the treasures are sometimes washed up on the beach become.

However, we marvel at particularly beautiful stones that have so-called inclusions, i.e. inclusions of animal or plant remains, in the museum. The star here is the three and a half kilo sunstone, the name of which indicates that the Lithuanians long worshiped gods of nature and were only the last people in Europe to be Christianized. Today the majority are Catholic, but make no secret of the pagan character.

Curious encounters in the former Nazi bunker "Memel Nord"

Through sometimes dense, sometimes sparse pine forest it goes to "Dutchman's Cap", the only steep cliffs along the coast. A few kilometers further you can wade into the shallow water again to refresh yourself. If you don't know your way around, it is best to wear swimwear, because the conservative Baltic republic is morally strict. Nudism is only available on specially designated and strictly separated men's and women's beaches. The mixed “textile” area is usually in between.

The remains of the bunker and ammunition depot of the artillery unit "Memel Nord", a defense system built by the Nazis in 1939 with several artillery emplacements, can be found in one of the most beautiful sections, near the small town of Kukuliskiai. We are greeted by an older man in Wehrmacht uniform, who dug up the bunker largely on his own and turned it into a small museum, with which he earns something on the weekends. His tour in bumpy English is as weird as his appearance, but we learn: You can't get by with German history here. The sign "Attention Mines" above the entrance could well be meant symbolically.

Nice Klaipéda with boutiques and a German past

In the evening we roll into Klaipéda, which was called Memel in Prussian times and was Germany's northernmost major city until the end of the First World War. Klaipéda is also a jewel case, just not quite as dressed up as Vilnius. Cobblestone streets with restored half-timbered houses and warehouses, in which chic boutiques display the latest fashion and amber jewelry, are reminiscent of the great times of Memel, two-thirds of which was destroyed in 1945 and closed to foreign visitors as a trading port during the USSR.

Today tourists flock to the Theaterplatz, where a sculpture of "Ännchen von Tharau" has been standing again since 1989: the pastor's daughter Anna Neander from nearby Tharau, to whom the Memel-born Baroque poet Simon Dach dedicated his most famous poem in 1636. The "Ännchen" is a symbol that the German past of the city is no longer concealed. We eat in a restaurant called “Friedrich-Passage” and then listen to a really good AC / DC cover band. We wonder how close the present and the past are here.

The next day we take the ferry across the Memel to Smiltyne and thus to the Curonian Spit, the peninsula made famous by Thomas Mann that separates the Curonian Lagoon from the Baltic Sea and which is only 3.8 kilometers at its widest point. The northern 52 kilometers belong to Lithuania, the southern 46 since 1945 to the Russian enclave Kaliningrad, the former Königsberg.

Anyone who wants to go over there needs a special permit. Dovile Venckute, our local companion who grew up very close by, seems to suspect our thoughts and, as a precaution, warns us not to test the Russian demarcation line: “The external border of the EU is not an adventure playground. Please refrain from the exclusion zone kick. ”No problem, 40 kilometers still separate us from the enclave anyway.

Sand in the gears – Along the Sahara along the Baltic Sea

We take a break in Juodkrante, enjoy smoked fish and fresh turbot. In the Amber Bay, where 75 tons of fossil resins were mined annually from 1860 to 1890, we observe cormorants, gulls and gray herons. We are happy about the sand sculptures on the waterfront and climb the Raganų Kalnas (Witch Mountain), on which wooden statues were placed to the associated Lithuanian fairy tales.

Then the Sahara of the Baltic Sea begins. More and more often we literally have sand in the gears during our slalom through the pine forest. We leave our bikes for the first time and climb the dunes in the Naglis nature reserve. Park ranger Karolis Rasalas (29) enthusiastically tells us how many species of birdies breed here. He deliberately quit his job at a startup in Vilnius to spend the summer out here. He doesn't yet know what he's going to do in autumn.

To visitors on the shifting dune and in the Thomas Mann Museum

In Pervalka we pass the picturesque wooden houses of the fishermen, many of which are rented out as holiday homes in summer. Dovile tells us about the cures, the natives of the lagoon: “They were as strong as the Vikings.” The relationship to Northern Europe, to Scandinavia, is always noticeable in the Baltic States. If you climb the Parnidis dune near Nida, one of the largest shifting dunes in Europe and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, you might really be able to see as far as Finland.

German visitors do not come to Nida, the former Nida, primarily because of the 54 meter high dune, but because of a holiday home on a hill, which is now a small museum. “I'm already looking forward to our next year's stay in Nidden. The peculiar character of this area has nothing ingratiating it, it is not beautiful in the conciliatory sense, but it can grow dear to your heart, I can tell you a thing or two about it and I tried it today. "

The lines are from Thomas Mann, who had a holiday home built in Nidden in 1930, spent three summers there with the family and wrote his trilogy "Joseph and his brothers". One must not forget: Lithuania had been independent from the Russian Empire since 1918. Mann's decision in favor of Nidden was therefore also understood as a decision in favor of the Republic of Lithuania, which unfortunately only remained a few years before the Soviets and Nazis attacked it.

Lots of storks, but no moose

On the last day of our journey we thoughtfully push the bikes onto the ferry that takes us from Nida to Ventaine, where we continue our tour of the Curonian Lagoon. We long ago stopped counting the storks that hunt frogs in the swamps along the way. The proud birds, as long-legged as the Lithuanian women, are as common here as sparrows in Germany.

The only thing we don't see are moose, which supposedly still roam the woods. But maybe we're just walking in the wrong forest. Here, on the lagoon, pine trees dominate. Their needles are certainly not part of the favorite food of antlers. Such a moose needs delicate birch shoots. There is a beautiful book by Olga Grjasnowa with the title “The Russian is one who loves birch trees”. Perhaps one should change the title to "The Lithuanian moose is one who loves birch trees."