After I had crossed the border, a sudden change took place. Instead of bumpy and busy road, there was a comfortable, flat cycling path along the coast. It cut through numerous beach resorts and led me into Klaipeda exactly when the sun was going to set.
Path with a carstopper
Reaching an ATM finally, I could spend some Lits for a camping, but in the city itself there was none. Therefore I headed to the nearest green area, a forest, which actually they call a city park. It looked good, except for occasional trash, which marked places of recent drinking parties. Trying to find some hidden place for my tent, I reached railway tracks. Crossing them with fully laden bicycle is not an easy task, so I left the vehicle and walked around a bit. Soon I spotted someone coming along the track in my direction. After while he came closer, and a look at his face made me feel sure he couldn't be a bad man. Quickly and sincerely I explained what I was willing to do. Valdas — as I would learn his name soon — was quite surprised, because I had not been the first foreigner asking him for the same thing that day. He started explaining where I could go to camp safely, drawing a map on the sand. While we were talking and the sand drawings grew, another cyclist arrived to the same spot in the middle of the woods, and... asked for directions in English.
That was Agris, a Latvian studying English at summer school there. Soon, the international meeting moved from the forest into Valdas's garden, where he set up a bonfire and prepared a herbal tea from homegrown plants; and I picked up the tent there. His mother was quite surprised by the party she encountered after coming back home, but greeted us cheerfully in English and Russian.
My intuition about Valdas had not deceived me. He proved not only to be a good and hospitable guy, but also a man of interesting hobbies and good musical taste. When I entered his room in the morning, I heard sounds that seemed old and familiar. In fact, Autechre's "lp5" was playing.
During a delicious breakfast (first eggs since I left my parents in Norway) and coffee, we talked a lot, also with Valdas's mom, who publishes a multilingual periodic about maritime economy and traffic and also travels a lot. Agris arrived soon, and after long farewells it was time to go.
Many bikers will fit on the spit
For the first time I had someone to cycle with. Together with Agris we took a ferry and cycled all the length of the Curonian Spit up to the Russian border. Sand dunes and sleepy villages dot this narrow land, which separates two bodies of water. A comfortable cycling path goes all the way to Nida. Cycling together was fun, but my speed was quite limited by the baggage. With headwind, well after the sunset, we had to say goodbye. Agris rushed to catch the last ferry to Klaipeda, and I camped on nearby dunes.
Sheep in a fishing village
The biking infrastructure ends in Klaipeda. Deceived by my GPS I entered a sandy road going along some channel. For most of the distance it was good, but sometimes the sand was too deep and forced me to push the bike. One of such moments I spotted a nice place with access to channel's waters. Just to relax a bit, I took out the fishing rod. At the second cast I felt a strong hit and pulsating weight on the other end of the line. There was no much fight, however. A beautiful perch quickly appeared on the shore. Having 32cm and probably over half kilo, it was the biggest one I had ever caught. Had I not eaten a meal just a moment before, the fish would probably have finished on a frying pan. Instead, I released it and felt good for that. Perches grow slowly and that one must have been at least 15 years old. Too old to be just eaten.
Maybe for that reason I myself was spared only few moments later, when a car slowly overtook me just to turn right while being next to my front wheel? Somehow I predicted the trouble and managed to slow down, avoiding the crash by a few millimeters. A bunch of worst Polish curses followed the female driver, but that idiot seemed to be as deaf as blind.
The Lithuanian countryside doesn't look interesting too much. At least not enough for me to take the camera and shoot. It does not look bad, actually. Maybe it is just too similar to what I know from Poland, or I became used to the flat landscape? I cycled after the sunset, to the delta of Nemunas, which I didn't see on that day because the mosquitoes were too dense there.
Although I saw the river on the next day, there was not much joy from it. It's banks are mostly covered with reed and other lush vegetation, and just after the first sight of water I was stopped by a border patrol and told that the road is the limit. For wandering on the riverbank I should have a special permission. Interesting. The border itself is heavily guarded, with lookout towers. Apparently, the Schengen zone must keep it's frontiers tight. Anyway, there was no good access to water, so I even did not discuss with the soldiers. Keep that reedland for yourself, if you need to.
The day was a constant play with passing dark clouds — if I manage to find a shelter or not. The bus stops are the best, but I can also recommend maples and especially lindens, which withstand quite long showers before leaking.
During one of the dry periods I met three cyclists going the opposite way. A flag was saying it clearly: Poland! With a dog sitting in the trailer, they were going to Tallinn. Being hurried by a short holiday, they apparently had little time to talk. Well, I again felt happy for not having a fixed return date.
As if there had been not enough meetings, in the town of Viešvilė some local boys waved to me from a pier on a tiny lake. That was a good place to stop, and they invited me to fish together. In Lithuanian, but I already recognize how is "fishing" in that language. Otherwise, our conversation was limited to waving hands and drawing portraits of fish species on the sand, while talking about our recent results.
After some time of playing together, a local polyglot appeared. His English was incredibly fluent and correct as for 16 y.o. boy who had been learning it only at Lithuanian school. Beside that he also spoke some Polish and knew my country quite well. I was impressed, but the best was waiting for me in the nearby shop.
As I saw the clerk, a woman in 60s, I decided there is probably no point in trying to explain anything in English. Expressing my needs in Polish — just to make some sound and not look dumb — I pointed at the shelf with soft drinks and simply rushed behind the counter in order to find what I wanted. Suddenly, a small girl, perhaps the clerk's granddaughter, stopped me with clear question: "Do you speak English?" I smiled and explained that I wanted a drink with no artificial sweeteners but sugar. My request was not only understood by this 6 or 7 years old girl, but she instantly started to take bottles off the shelf and read the labels. I was shocked. A proper bottle quickly appeared, together with a chocolate I ordered too, and I heard the final price in English. Handing over the money I thanked the young lady for help and complimented her great language skills. I don't know if grandma understood it, but shone with proud.
Actually, the next day meeting was even more odd. I had started late, due to long rains, and headed to Kaunas with a plan to stop before the city and enter it the following morning.
In Vilkija, a small town on the bank of Nemunas, there I found a ferry. It was after hours and closed, but a French camper waited there for the next day, and a bunch of locals were occupying tables, drinking beers. They were actually finishing the party and going away, but the last two approached me when I was picking up the tent in a nearby park. In rudimentary English they discouraged me to do so. "Bandits, your bike lost" — they explained - "Come to my home!". They were like 20 and 15 years old, quite drunk, but seemed very friendly, so I followed them. The younger one did not speak any English, and the older one probably had worked at the classes as hard as I did at German lessons. The phrase he had mastered the best was "I don't understand".
We approached a house in the town. They had asked me to wait for a moment and entered there. Soon I heard shouting and saw them being thrown out by some old woman, and followed by a long and energetic monologue in Lithuanian, probably critical about their drunk state and the idea of hosting a tourist.
"Lithuanian people crazy. Now, come to my house", said the older one. I must have seemed surprised, but he explained instantly: "This, a house of my girlfriend". Brilliant!
I followed them, ready to turn back to the park if another similar situation occurs, but eventually we entered a garden and I was shown a place for the tent. Doubtful, I just waited until they opened the door with a key, proving that it is finally the right house. Just after I had installed myself there, I was invited upstairs. For the first time I showered in a cabin which played music, and refreshed by that I enjoyed a simple drunk man's meal: sausages, potatoes and salad. Then, the hosts just wished me a good night and fell asleep. On the next day I left before they would wake up, not willing to see them with a hangover.
A headstrong stork
Following the river I finally arrived to Kaunas. The city is wonderfully placed upon three rivers, but seems to have fallen in disrepair. Streets are in bad condition and many buildings look ruined. On the other hand, the old city, however small, is beautifully restored. I left quickly, after a short meal on the main square. Trying to avoid the evening storms again, I headed south.
With storms towards Poland
There I had the first flat tyre. A small piece of steel wire penetrated the protective layer, that numerous pieces of glass had not managed to. Having ridden 5000km without a puncture (the tyres weren't new when I started) I feel obliged to put a small advertisement here. I use Schwalbe Marathon Supreme, and for those who ride mostly on asphalt, these tyres are worth every cent of their significant price.
The agriculture in southern Lithuania thrives, leaving almost no place for camping. After a short sleep on a pasture, I headed to the border. My homeland awaits, and finally a planned meeting — my friends are going to join me, at least for the Polish part of the journey!
Poland begins, the asphalt ends
