Wilno: a mesmerizing melange of the east and west. Traces of Belorussian and Polish qualities spellbind me, along with those distinctly local. The preserved pale brownish bricked buildings characterize more the former Russian occupied territories. Some commercial streets outside the center sparked an eerie deja vu of similar Minsk neighbourhoods. The park and river infrastructure impresses no less than the Polish. But the Old Town is distinctly Lithuanian.
Now I’ve remained largely ignorant to the long shared Belorussian-Lithuanian history since the times of the Duchy. But the subject appears to raise certain contention between sides. What do I know …
I admit that the cultural mishmash (along with the Jewish populations) over the centuries inspire certain romanticism within me, however unsubstantiated. Need to read more Sienkiewicz and Mickiewicz. That is, not more, but simply. Though the two probably chronicle more the era of the Commonwealth.
Speaking of which, Adam Mickiewicz, the national, Polish-language bard, is claimed and heralded by all three nations (Pl, Bl, Lt): born, grown up in present-day Belarus and Lithuania, respectively; and ethnically Polish however little the time spent in present-day Poland. The 2.5-century lasting Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth had much impact on this intermingling of ethnicities.
A seamlessly accessible outside library in the midst of a public park boasts comfortable arm chairs and no stipulation but to limit activity to the reading of those books, among which, across the non-Lithuanian shelves I’ve found both Mickiewicz’s Pan Tadeusz and Cervante’s Quijote in the originals. That’s a first that I’ve seen a library of the likes this impressively equipped and managed.
The main bus station features a contact lens dispensing machine. Never seen that before.
Anyway, concerning the national language. However comparatively few speakers (in Lithuania and the diaspora) sport it (2-3 Million?), I’m highly pleased it remains, considering the overwhelming Slavic/Russenian territorial influence over the centuries. I have a soft spot for indigenous languages.
A beautifully sounding language it is; to the unaccustomed ear like mine, no less than Polish; and despite the distinct Baltic morphology, not devoid of Slavic traces.
Wilno preserves one synagogue out of the one-hundred plus before the great war, if one is to believe the description plaque. Compare to say, Bialystok, where remain not a single synagogue of the supposedly four-hundred plus [!?] that existed.
About sixty-thousand Jews perished in the Vilnius ghetto, a phantom territory covering the old town, which one wouldn’t suspect but for the sporadic signs, memorabilia, museums and cultural centers. Effectively ever since arriving in Poland this summer season I’ve found myself tracing the former Jewish populations and their influences over these eastern European corners.
Catholic, Polish and Belorussian Orthodox, and even Lutheran churches (or at least one, inconspicuously situated per older decree) share liturgical grounds.
Apple trees abound per the neighbour countries and willfully share their sour, non genetically-modified stock. Lithuanian potato pancakes triumph in size over the Polish, which, in turn, triumph over the Belorussian. But much of the cuisine is otherwise shared among the three neighbors in varying forms.
Now the nature of the Belorussian community really appalled me; which, between the political refugees and other-category expats, numbers something upwards of sixty thousand, many of which actually speak Belorussian, the language I’ve not had this much concentrated interaction with possibly ever until now: not in spoken form nor written.
While a similar population also spreads across Poland, Vilnius sees a particularly high concentration. Between my conversations in both territories and the unforgettable visit to the local cultural center, I’ve gained far clearer insight into the affairs of the last four years than over the entire period.
The trip to Wilno surpassed my expectations.
Questions, comments? Connect.