We had finished our lunch of pizza and salads at the streetside restaurant. It was around 2pm and our intention had been to then visit the Museum of Genocide* - an itinerary which both appalled and appealed to our tourist instincts. But back in 2013, none of us had GPs or Google maps on our then rather basic phones and relied on getting from A to B using a tourist map and from directions from accosted passers-by.
On a short educational visit to Vilnius, Lithuania, through the Erasmus Student Network, an international student organisation, the five of us were from very different backgrounds and studying for degrees at Bradford School of Art in West Yorkshire. Three on a graphics design course, one studying drama, and myself on a textile degree course. We comprised two Polish students, a BMX fanatic, a born-again Christian and myself, at 50, the oldest in the group by 30 years. Yet we had gelled and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company while exploring the city, leaving our three accompanying college lecturers to promote Bradford College to various academic institutions.
We had eaten at outside tables of a small restaurant on Gediminas Avenue in Vilnius, Lithuania. Maya consulted her map and announced that she knew which way to go. She had taken on the mantle of leader and, tall and forthright, no-one cared to challenge her so we obediently gathered our things and set off to walk to the museum which appeared to be nearby.
Only, we went left instead of right.
After walking for half an hour or so and realising we had no idea where to go next, we asked for help. The woman responded with some vague instructions and off we set again, turning off the main thoroughfare onto Jogailos Street, reassured that we were not far from our intended destination. The road led us to a park area and we found ourselves climbing high above the city, taking in views of the Neris River. We had somehow walked to Aurochs mountain park and garden by the Tauro Kalnas - and still we had no idea how to get to the museum. Time was marching on - it was now nearly 3.30pm and the museum closed in an hour.
Finally we found the right area and got to the museum with half an hour to go. The woman at the ticket kiosk looked most unhappy to see us and declined our request to use our student cards to obtain a discount. We tried to explain that we had got lost but she couldn’t care less.
Half an hour was not enough to spend there and it felt utterly disrespectful to even stay. But we were leaving the next day and we had all very much wanted to visit this former KGB headquarters to learn more about the country’s past. It was horrific. With little time to stop, we glanced at the prison cells and torture rooms, read and absorbed what we could from the information boards, and spent mere minutes in the basement area where executions were carried out. Here, thousands of members of the Lithuanian resistance had been shot or stabbed in the head. Displayed under the glass floor, right under our feet - as we stood and tried numbly to take in the utter dreadfulness - were pairs of spectacles and other personal effects which had been found with the victims, who were buried in mass graves outside Vilnius.
We stayed until we were ushered out at closing time. Silently we trooped out, lost in our own thoughts.
As we rounded the corner we discovered that the museum was on the same street where we had eaten lunch some hours earlier - only a few hundred yards away. We had simply gone the wrong way, turning left instead of right. We knew we could always return another time to spend longer at the museum, and to have the chance to pay our respects to those brave people who had been abused, tortured, murdered yet who had shown an indomitable human spirit in the face of absolute evil.
But we were nonetheless, in the cold light of fading day, very much aware that we were alive.
* The Museum of Occupations and Freedom Fights, previously the Museum of Genocide Victims, in Vilnius, Lithuania was established in 1992 by order of the Minister of Culture and Education and the President of the Lithuanian Union of Political Prisoners and Deportees.This former headquarters of the KGB (and before them the Gestapo, Polish occupiers and Tsarist judiciary) houses a museum dedicated to thousands of members of the Lithuanian resistance who were murdered, imprisoned or deported by the Soviet Union from WWII until the 1960s. (Wikipedia)
On a short educational visit to Vilnius, Lithuania, through the Erasmus Student Network, an international student organisation, the five of us were from very different backgrounds and studying for degrees at Bradford School of Art in West Yorkshire. Three on a graphics design course, one studying drama, and myself on a textile degree course. We comprised two Polish students, a BMX fanatic, a born-again Christian and myself, at 50, the oldest in the group by 30 years. Yet we had gelled and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company while exploring the city, leaving our three accompanying college lecturers to promote Bradford College to various academic institutions.
We had eaten at outside tables of a small restaurant on Gediminas Avenue in Vilnius, Lithuania. Maya consulted her map and announced that she knew which way to go. She had taken on the mantle of leader and, tall and forthright, no-one cared to challenge her so we obediently gathered our things and set off to walk to the museum which appeared to be nearby.
Only, we went left instead of right.
After walking for half an hour or so and realising we had no idea where to go next, we asked for help. The woman responded with some vague instructions and off we set again, turning off the main thoroughfare onto Jogailos Street, reassured that we were not far from our intended destination. The road led us to a park area and we found ourselves climbing high above the city, taking in views of the Neris River. We had somehow walked to Aurochs mountain park and garden by the Tauro Kalnas - and still we had no idea how to get to the museum. Time was marching on - it was now nearly 3.30pm and the museum closed in an hour.
Finally we found the right area and got to the museum with half an hour to go. The woman at the ticket kiosk looked most unhappy to see us and declined our request to use our student cards to obtain a discount. We tried to explain that we had got lost but she couldn’t care less.
We stayed until we were ushered out at closing time. Silently we trooped out, lost in our own thoughts.
As we rounded the corner we discovered that the museum was on the same street where we had eaten lunch some hours earlier - only a few hundred yards away. We had simply gone the wrong way, turning left instead of right. We knew we could always return another time to spend longer at the museum, and to have the chance to pay our respects to those brave people who had been abused, tortured, murdered yet who had shown an indomitable human spirit in the face of absolute evil.
But we were nonetheless, in the cold light of fading day, very much aware that we were alive.
* The Museum of Occupations and Freedom Fights, previously the Museum of Genocide Victims, in Vilnius, Lithuania was established in 1992 by order of the Minister of Culture and Education and the President of the Lithuanian Union of Political Prisoners and Deportees.This former headquarters of the KGB (and before them the Gestapo, Polish occupiers and Tsarist judiciary) houses a museum dedicated to thousands of members of the Lithuanian resistance who were murdered, imprisoned or deported by the Soviet Union from WWII until the 1960s. (Wikipedia)
