When it’s raining in February and snowing in March, it’s nice to know that I can get fresh tulips (they claim they are grown in Lithuania!) at the flower market on Basanavičiaus gatvė. There’s nothing like a large bunch of bright yellow tulips on a wet, gray day to put a much-needed smile on a person’s face!
Kaziuko Mugė (St. Casimir’s Market) was bigger than ever this year. It extended down Gedimino prospektas from McDonald’s to the Cathedral—yes McDonald’s is used as a landmark in Lithuania too! Stalls were not allowed on Cathedral square, but they lined the road a long way past Užupis, and were packed in all the way up Pilies gatvė in the Old Town. Marceliukės Kletis, a popular restaurant serving excellent Lithuanian food, had two cafes set up this year, grilling sashlykai (Lithuanian shish-kebabs) on pitchforks over a fire made in a pair of giant shoes. The grill masters, wearing traditional work clothes and straw hats, stood around with very serious looks on their faces and a bottle of water in their hands to tame the fires. There must be an explanation that I’m not aware of, but Kaziuko Mugė for some reason loves really big things. Besides the giant shoes, there was a giant chair, giant coffee cup, a giant window and giant pot of tulips. A few years ago, they had a giant chicken; I wonder what happened to him?
In Ignalina, Lithuanian Independence Day, Vasario 16-ają, is celebrated with a festival of winter sport called Sportas Visiems at the Lithuanian Winter Sports Center. I went for the alpine ski races, but there was also cross-country skiing, ski orienteering, biathlon, target shooting, ice skating, and a very impressive winter triathlon which consists of cross-country skiing, running and mountain biking through the ice and snow.
I was eating lunch a few weeks ago with a couple of British ex-pat friends who were recounting the events of a recent business trip back to London. They spoke of traffic jams and commutes, the astonishing price of a simple cup of bad coffee and the security hassles at Gatwick. They finished by declaring how happy they were to be back “home” in Vilnius where good coffee is cheap, a trip to the airport is never more than a quick in and out, and work is only a ten minute walk from home. The traffic jams are the same though. The work abroad business is booming in Lithuania with hoards of young people—some educated, some not—lined up for the chance to work in London or Dublin. On the other hand, Vilnius has become a haven for British, Danish, Dutch, and French businessmen looking for lucrative emerging markets and cozy lifestyle.
It was a blustery day on the South Arm of Lake Charlevoix for the annual Ironworks Regatta. Sailing from Boyne City to East Jordan brought the boats with their spinnakers across the lake in front of our house around 3PM. With the nice northerly wind at our backs, we decided to join them. We hadn’t raised our spinnaker in almost 2 seasons, but what the heck, we got it out of the garage and gave it a try.
I felt right at home on board the pseudo-Swedish boat, Helsing, that calls a slip in Boyne City home. It’s captain, Dennis, had placed an advertisement on the Boyne City Yacht Club‘s website for crew, and since I’m up on the lake without any particular daily schedule, I thought I might do a bit of sailboat racing.
The BCYC hosts its weekly race series on Tuesday evenings. A stiff wind was blowing all day down on my end of the lake and I was getting excited. The short drive from East Jordan was spectacular as I crossed the wide-open fields in the late afternoon sunshine, diving and rolling over the hilly landscape to the “big part” of the lake. Our house is on the South Arm of Lake Charlevoix, and though it’s over 10 miles long, it’s only a mile or so wide, dwarfing it in comparison to the main basin. Stretching from Charlevoix to Boyne City, in some sections it’s more than five miles wide and up to 122 feet deep. The winds there normally blow harder and longer, the waves several feet high. Owing to the size of the waves and the length of the trip from our house, we rarely sail on that side, and I was looking forward to the change of place.
There are ducks in New Zealand—I don’t remember their name—that mate for life. The female has a white head, and the male a black one and we first saw them while kayaking in Milford Sound. In Christchurch, they stroll through the Botanic Gardens in pairs, resting in the sun on the banks of the Avon River.
Sailing is like cycling in the sense that one climbs a mountain for the pleasure of the steep descent down the other side. The work that goes into a sailboat to prepare for a sail is rewarded by a windy day and the chance to heel the boat over so far its sails and sheets are nearly dragging in the water. And like on a road bike, there is a fine line between exhilarating and terrifying: I’m peddling like I’m in the Tour de France peloton at 43mph, and hitting the breaks at 44.
To say that it was gusty today would be a bit of an understatement. Black water spotted the lake like a dirty Dalmatian—gusts of wind broken up only by even stronger gusts. I was running with a beam reach, my preferred point of sail, and the best for heeling the boat over, but especially today, I had my limit of what was fun, which quickly became frightening. Though I’d like to lose 15lbs, my weight was barely enough to keep the boat upright (any and all bodies are invited to come up and add some weight to my boat, just give me a call!). With one hand on the genoa sheet and the other on the tiller, I hiked out as far as I could to hold my course. It was like doing yoga to save my life. Two hours of that every day and I’ll have my six-pack in no time.
It is a luxury for most people to quit their job and spend a summer on the lake reading, writing, painting and of course, honing their sailing skills. Indeed, I count myself among those people—but that is exactly what I’m doing this summer.
It was a calm afternoon when I arrived at my family’s cottage on Lake Charlevoix in Northern Michigan. Without any wind to tempt me towards the water, I spent the time unpacking and setting up my workspace. The next morning was equally calm, and so after fixing a hearty Sunday breakfast, I sat myself down in front of the computer, anxious to start crossing things off my To Do list.
A second whole winter away from Lithuania, but somehow Kalnų Ereliai lives on, if not exactly in practice (most of the kids are now part of the national ski team and train with those coaches), but always in spirit. One of my skiers, Ieva Urbonavičiūtė, again took it upon herself to create the 2011 team video. Enjoy!
It is a luxury for most people to quit their job and spend a summer on the lake reading, writing, painting and of course, honing their sailing skills. Indeed, I count myself among those people—but that is exactly what I’m doing this summer.