After a pleasant morning at sea, National Geographic Orion made her way into the Daugava River and docked in Riga, the capital of Latvia. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, a perfect day to begin our explorations of this lovely little city. As usual we had several options of walking tours, a biking excursion and a visit to the Central Market before we came together again for dinner in a lively cellar pub where we enjoyed a huge feast, two performances of traditional music and a chance to participate in some Latvian folk-dancing.
David has worked for Lindblad Expeditions-National Geographic since 1993 on six continents and in over 65 countries. David is interested in many of the natural sciences, particularly ornithology, geology and marine biology; he most enjoys contrasting...
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Early this morning, we anchored off the tiny island of Christiansø, which is part of the Ertholmene Archipelago, a group of islands that today belong to Denmark. With Zodiacs, we landed on a small wharf near the colorful, picturesque, and quaint village that is inhabited by just 120 people. It is easy to understand why this has long been a favourite place for poets and writers. Christiansø and its sister island of Frederiksø are dominated by the impressive fortifications built here in 1684 by Christian V. In the 18th century, this site was used as a penal colony, but this dark episode is now evident only in the small museum on the island. The two islands are joined by a small bridge, and we had time to explore both islands and enjoy the quiet solitude of the area as we observed lots of birds, including herring and common gulls, mute swans, red-breasted mergansers, pochard and mallard and eider ducks, robins, white wagtails, hooded crows, house martens, swallows, pipits and more! People were also impressed with the wildflowers and small gardens. As we returne d to the ship, everyone got a chance to cruise just offshore the neighbouring islet of Græsholm, which is a nature reserve for breeding sea birds (including the aforementioned gulls, as well as razorbills and guillemots) and grey seals. We hoped to see some of the seals, and we were not disappointed. There were dozens of animals both swimming and lounging about on the coastal rocks. It was fun to see many bobbing heads in the water facing our boats as they watched us watching them. In fact, many seals actually approached the Zodiacs to get better looks at us when we turned off the engines and just drifted. During lunch, National Geographic Orion lifted anchor and sailed 11 nautical miles to the much larger island of Bornholm, which also belongs to Denmark. This seems odd, because it is just 23 miles (37 km) south of Sweden and about 100 miles (160 km) east of Copenhagen. The island has been prized as a strategic military and trading outpost since the early Middle-Ages, and has therefore been the focus of bloody territorial disputes between Danes, Swedes, Germans, and Russians. This lush, green island is now home to about 45,000 peop le and has an economy very much dependent on fishing, herring-processing, agriculture, ceramics, tourism, and the production of commercial clothes-pressing machinery (yes, you read this correctly). We landed by Zodiacs in the small, protected harbor of Gudhjem, where we divided into groups in order to enjoy many aspects of the island. Some took a coach tour through the countryside to see the sites, including the 12th century round church of Olsker—one of Bjornholm’s four characteristic round churches, as well as the ruins of the medieval Hammershus Castle set along the edge of the island’s northern cliffs. It is reputed to be the largest castle in northern Europe. A few of us even wanted to sample smoked mackerel with beer and schnapps—a typical Danish snack. Many of us wanted to experience Bornholm on foot and were able to hike on forest trails on the northern end of the island. This was really fun, and we were able to get right into the dense forest and see the incredible early spring blossoms of the wild cherry trees and hawthorn trees. Most other trees were either still bare or were just starting to leaf out. The wildflowers were abundant, but almost everyone seemed most excited about the tiny, aptly-named early purple orchid. Once we were all back aboard, National Geographic Orion lifted anchor and began the overnight voyage to Copenhagen, where we planned to complete our epic voyage within the Baltic Sea. Over just two weeks, we have visited eight countries and ten different sites, and experienced an amazing amount of culture and history along the way … pretty darned impressive!
We had the warmest day of the voyage so far for our visit to the Polish Baltic port of Gdansk , the former Hanseatic city of Danzig . It was here in September 1939 that the first shots of the Second World War were fired, as German troops occupying the “Free City” caused Britain to declare war on Germany for violation of international treaties. A monument at Westerplatte near our berthing marks the spot to this day. Destroyed by the advancing Soviet army in the closing stages of the war – for Gdansk housed the latest model U-boats, much feared by the Allies – a section of the old city was rebuilt in the lean years of peace after 1945. It is a story we have seen repeated in many places around the Baltic, the loving restoration and preservation of heritage right down to the last cobblestone, a necessary bridge to their past for people traumatised by the catastrophic destruction of two world wars. In Soviet times, the Lenin shipyard was a major employer, one of the world’s great shipyards. It was here in the latter quarter of the twentieth century that Lech Wałęsa, a shipyard electrician stood up to the country’s communist government and demanded, firstly, trade union rights and then free elections. The election of a popular Polish Pope, sympathetic to the aims of Solidarnosč (the name given to the movement led by Lech Wałęsa) added a crucial international dimension to the mix. Visiting his country for the first time as the leader of the Catholic Church, Pope Jean Paul II threatened to return immediately to Rome when his planned meeting with Lech Wałęsa was abruptly cancelled. An embarrassed government reversed the decision and, within months, it had conceded the demands of Solidarnosč, precipitating a domino effect within the Eastern Bloc that saw communism collapse from within, even as Mikhail Gorbachev was introducing his perestrioka reform agenda back in the USSR. Today, a remarkable museum dedicated to the ideals of the European Union tells this story in a modern building designed in rust-coloured metal to evoke the former shipyard. Ironically, in a free market economy, work at the shipyard has shrunk dramatically due to Asian competition. Other optional visits included a visit to the Cathedral at Oliwa, a reminder of the depth of religious faith in this predominantly Catholic country. Here, we were privileged to hear a recital on a remarkable organ featuring mechanical bells-and-trumpets. Many guests enjoyed free time in the old city, walking beside the river to view the medieval crane and historic gateways as well as taking time to enjoy the cafes and amber stores.
Our only stop in Lithuania took place on a particularly fine day. Spring has finally arrived. Guests were greeted by a full folklore orchestra of twelve plucky musicians, braving the early morning chill. Klaipeda is Lithuania’s largest (and only) seaport. It lies at the mouth of the “Curonian Haf,” the lagoon that is formed by the river Nemunas, shielded from open sea by the extraordinary geological feature that is the “Curonian Spit,” a very narrow strip of dunes, stretching from Kaliningrad in the south. Most of today’s excursions focused on that peninsula, with buses going off to see the “Hill of the Witches,” a charming path through the forest with dozens of sculptures, carved in wood, displaying the wealth of Lithuanian legends. Others crossed the lagoon to bike through the dune landscape, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elk that live here. My trip went deeper in land and deeper into Lithuanian history. Our small group travelled an hour and a half to the Žemaitija National Park, near the town of Plateliai in the northwest of Lithuania. It is a beautiful green area, peppered with lakes and sparsely populated; the European lynx can still be seen here. But in the middle of that greenery, the Red Army constructed an underground base for long range nuclear missiles, the Plokštinė missile base. In operation from 1961 until 1987, its missiles were able to hit any target in Europe, including Turkey and southern European countries. This is the kind of location where the Cold War was at its coldest; the missiles that provoked the Cuban Missile Crisis came from this very base. The base is now deserted. The army barracks have largely vanished and the site has become a well-designed historical site. Our guide was a young Romanian stationed in the park as part of her Erasmus exchange project, one of many instances of European Union influence. The base consists of an underground complex with four launch silos, 30 meters deep, covered by massive steel roofs. We entered the underground system – a chilly place (they don’t call it “Cold War” for nothing). The exhibits showed Soviet soldiers stationed at their desks, prepared for the unthinkable. Other rooms showed – in rather a balanced way – the face of the Cold War conflict. Propaganda of both sides, manuals preparing the population for the Great Day, energetic film clips of the officers at their clunky 1960s machinery, ready to launch. It didn’t take much to feel the actual chill of those times. Our Lithuanian guide, Lilija, was on hand to supply her personal story – how she had to have Kalashnikov lessons at school, how she felt that in Soviet times it was better not to smile at people you didn’t know. When one of her students (she taught English) mentioned his interest in the priesthood – she was told she’d lose her job, and he was arrested and lost a few fingers. Strange contrast: the weather was lovely, the park bursting with spring, birds everywhere – mostly storks. Every farm has a stork nest, high on a pole, and the mighty birds were actively patrolling the grasslands. Lunch was at a delightful place, very popular with locals. The menu was as Lithuanian as it comes: beautiful pink Šaltibarščiai (a cold soup of beetroot), gherkins and kefir, followed by cepelinai, or “zeppelins.” These are substantial masses of potato mash – zeppelin-shaped – filled with pork, accompanied by ubiquitous sour cream (and a small glass of suktinis, a strong mead nectar that is 50% alcohol). Within half an hour we were back in Klaipeda for some leisurely shopping. The Curonian lagoon is a prime location for finding amber. The town itself has been badly damaged over the years – contested by Germany, Lithuania and Russia over the centuries – but it has regained its charm and awaits an even better future. National Geographic Orion sailed away at 7.30 PM, heading for Gdansk. After a seven-course dégustation dinner we were given a special treat, a lecture by one of our guests, Tom Perera, Emeritus Professor of MSU, and a world renowned expert on the Enigma machine.
