It's Too Early for Christmas (So, how about those fruit vendors...?)

When we arrived in Kaunas, we saw the very first signs of Christmas market set-up. On November 15th. See, Europe doesn't have Thanksgiving, so there's really nothing to stop people from jumping headlong into Christmas as soon as November begins. The white, cobweb-looking light structure at the left of the building will soon sell wooden toys, hot wine and angels made of every material imaginable.
There's no doubt that these two little girls are very excited about ole Santa coming to town, but I just can't let myself get in the spirit just yet. It's too early. So, let's switch subjects.
These standalone produce kiosks reminded me of home. While candy, soda, magazine, cigarette stands have been around in almost every European city we've been to so far, these were the first fruit-and-vegetable stands where you could - say- grab an apple on the way to work.
Here's another one of the stands. You know this kid is staring off into the distance towards the Christmas lights....
Once you're done with your piece of fruit (or candy bar, if you've opted for the crap kiosk) you get to discard your core, peel, wrapper into one of these awesomely camoflouged trash receptacles. They are about as tall as a curb and have these removable metal containers that extend down into the ground. At least, I figure that's how it works, there being a little handle and all. They're perfect for the person who wants to feel the evil thrill of polluting. Go ahead, throw that balled up receipt on the ground. Just aim for the hole.

Gypsy Kitchens: Šaltibarščiai (Lithuanian Cold Beet Soup)

Rebecca and I have been eating a lot of soup in Lithuania - in the past month, really. One of my favorites has been the Šaltibarščiai, or cold beet soup. It is, of course, a borscht variant - like basically every recipe in this part of the world. The Lithuanian version is actually a summer soup, and it's characterized by the addition of kefir ("kefyra," in Lithuanian) and raw cucumber. It is one of the easiest soups I've ever made, even in someone else's tiny kitchen. Rebecca made a delicious mix of sauteed vegetables. She interpreted Brooklyn bacon-mania with an interesting, pescetarian twist, and it was great.
One starts with beets, which is pretty obvious. I started with three medium sized beets, but found that I really only needed two of them. It didn't disappoint me that I had an extra beet, though, because I love beets. Cook the beets well, boiling or roasting them whole. I would have preferred to roast the beets, but our oven didn't function well enough. Boiling had one great advantage: leftover cooking liquid.
Here are the beets - cooked, peeled and accompanied by a cup of beautiful beet-water. At this point, the cooking is done, which is awesome. It's good to do this a while before you want to eat. It could be three or four hours before, or up to a few days. Boiling beets is extremely easy to do, especially when it's the most difficult thing about a recipe.
Okay, so there are a few other steps. The most time-consuming is hardboiling eggs, though, which is about as difficult as pouring a glass of wine. The rest is grating and chopping, which goes quickly. Basically, the beets are grated into a pot (like I said, two medium beets were enough). Add a quarter cup of diced scallions, the yolks from two hardboiled eggs (smushed), one julienned cucumber and about a half gallon (less, really, because we're working with liters here - say one liter) of kefir. You can also use buttermilk, which is probably easier to find outside of Lithuania. Around here, kefir is big.

The final dish was pretty delicious: cold, rich, tasty and beautiful. The color is one of those shades that one expects never to find in nature. When garnished with the dill and egg whites, the dish has a nice mix of taste and texture accents, but the Lithuanians take it a step further. They serve the soup with hot boiled potatoes, which give the soup a nice hot-cold feature, but add about fifty percent more effort to the dish.

Here's the full recipe, which I adapted from a few sources:

Lithuanian Šaltibarščiai (Cold Beet Soup with Cucumber and Kefir)

Ingredients:

Two medium beets, cooked, peeled and chilled

One large cucumber, julienned

Two hard-boiled and chilled eggs

One quarter cup (about six roots) minced scallion

One third of a gallon kefir, or one liter

One cup cooking liquid from the beets

A lot of dill

Cook the beets in salted water for about forty-five minutes, peel them, put them in the fridge. Save about one cup of the cooking liquid. Hardboil your eggs to get that step out of the way - then go do whatever for a couple hours. It's very satisfying to know that you have a soup almost made, sitting in the fridge.

About twenty minutes before you want to eat: smush up the egg yolks with the scallion in a pot or bowl that's big enough for all of the ingredients. Grate the beets into the pot, then add the cucumber and the cooking liquid (which also should have been chilled). Mix it all up, then pour in the kefir until you think it's liquid-y enough. Give it a good dose of salt. At this point, just let it sit for about five minutes to let everything soak into itself - then ladle it into bowls. Garnish with the cut-up egg whites and a large dose of dill. Leave the dill and egg floating at the top because it looks great.

(This recipe is adapted from a version by Birutė Imbrasienė, found in "Lithuanian Traditional Foods," a cookbook that was lying around our rented apartment in Kaunas, Lithuania.)

I'll let Rebecca describe how she made her accompanying dish.

Rebecca: "I bought the salmon above at the fish counter of a tiny gourmet store in Kaunas' New Town. Merlin had his beet soup all figured out and I was looking for some inspiration for my accompanying dish. I really wanted to make a Stuffed Cabbage Head from the cookbook, but the recipe called for bacon. When I saw this fish, I thought it would make the perfect substitution.

Rebecca: "Unfortunately (or fortuitously), our oven was too finicky to try to bake the cabbage head, so I had to come up with something else. As a riff on the common Lithuanian "cabbage and bacon" model, I shredded some brussels sprouts and sauteed them with shallots in butter. Then, I added some baby spinach leaves, let them wilt and sprinkled in the diced up salmon jerky. It was very strong, so a little went a long way. Lastly, I added another ingredient we've seen a lot of, plums, half of one, thinly sliced. It was a really under-ripe plum, but the cooking fixed that."

Castle Hunting: Trakai Castle

Lithuania doesn't have a large number of castles, and a lot of the fortifications that they used to have are completely ruined at this point. Trakai is definitely the crown jewel of the Lithuanian castle scene. It's only forty-five minutes (maybe half an hour, if you speed - which, if you read on, you'll learn is a bad idea) outside of Vilnius and it's heavily publicized by tour groups, guidebooks and the Lithuanian government. It is, like so many castles, a majorly reconstructed building. During the postwar period it was essentially rebuilt from the ground up.
It is situated here in the middle of Lake Galvė. We got there early enough to avoid the swarms of tourists that were arriving as we left, but not before a number of vendors and beggars had congregated around the entrance to the bridge. There were kids playing recorders, people selling amber and carved wood - and one old man selling smoked eel. I wondered if he was selling the eel to the tourists or to the other profiteers.
This castle was almost completely rebuilt. It was initially built to help protect the Vilnius region from the Teutonic Knights (Malbork Castle was their headquarters) during the fourteenth century. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Polish and Lithuanian owners of the castle largely ignored its upkeep because it had ceased to be strategically located and was expensive to take care of. It fell into disrepair and was largely a ruin by the beginning of the twentieth century. After WWII, Lithuania began to rebuild the keep and the upper walls - it was seen as an important landmark in the new republic. During the soviet period, the reconstruction project was halted for twenty years after Nikita Khrushchev declared the castle a symbol of Lithuania's feudal past, saying that it glorified inequality. The final touches were put on in 1992, after independence.

One thing about our trip so far: we've been mostly in very low-lying, flat lands. This means that we've seen a lot of brick castles. Lowlands tend to have limited supplies of rock, especially in wetter land. It's not what one thinks of when thinking about castles, but I think they're actually very pretty. In addition, brick allowed the architects and masons to build smoother lines and more complicated angles. It's interesting to contrast the clean cylinder of the above tower to the rougher walls of many stone examples from the same era.
We left Trakai on our way to Kaunas, feeling lucky that we had an hour of good weather in an otherwise ugly day. About five minutes out of town we got pulled over by a pair of policemen. They weren't TOO surly, but they weren't overly friendly either. A warning to travelers: Lithuania is very strict about speed limits, especially around tourist attractions. Not that it does much good: they have the highest vehicle fatality rate in the European Union. I was luckily able to pay the fine on the spot and make one of the policemen laugh, so we were free to go (very slowly) on our way.

Made in Lithuania

These signs were all over Vilnius' old town, outside linen shops. Like most of the shops and galleries in the city, the goods were made right there in the store, by the artisan. Tourists go into the workshop, maybe look around at the process and then purchase something to remember it by - or just if they happen to be in the market for a traditional wedding sash.
The only thing more popular than linen was amber. Along with the requisite jewelry, there were figurines, sculptures even massages with "amber oil." I have a feeling that the "number 1" may have been an approximate translation of something that means official, authentic, endorsed or "top," because almost every store was "Number 1."What do you do if you can't decide between the Number 1 Linen Shop and the Number 1 Shop of Amber? You go to the Number 1 Linen & Amber in Lithuania of course. I'm curious to see if these are Vilnius-specific or not. I'm kind of hoping to find a Number 1 Beef sign outside a farm in the countryside.

Lock Bridge

We came across this bridge when crossing over the Vilnia River into Užupis, the bohemian neighborhood of Vilnius. The neighborhood declared itself "an independent state" in 1998, appointing a president and drafting a Constitution that guaranteed running water and the right of a dog to be a dog.
Anyway, when we spotted all the locks hanging from the bridge, we assumed it was some sort of quirky and/or radical installation piece and started snapping away.
When we got home, we looked it up and discovered that it was "Lovers Lock Bridge" which was much quainter and sweeter than we had imagined. Newlyweds affix a lock to bind their union and then return to saw it off if they get divorced. Though, I'm not sure every divorcee would love to stand on a bridge with their saw-wielding ex.

Something Old, Something New

Every European big city we've been to has had an Old Town and a New Town, one of which has any pre-war architecture that has been preserved and the other has H&M. Vilnius' Old Town is one of the largest Medieval centers in all of Europe and its New Town has the corporations responsible for about 25% of Lithuanian's entire GDP. Looking out over the River Neris from atop the Vilnius Castle ruin, I could see the vast difference between the two places, but what I'll always remember about the capital city of Lithuania was how old and new smashed up against each other, sometimes beautifully, sometimes jarringly in the outskirts.
As soon as we started wandering outside of the city center, we noticed this old, wooden house and the Soviet-era neighbor sitting in its backyard. Both remnants of past eras in Vilnius, in Lithuania, in this entire part of Europe. It sort of reminded me of layers of wallpaper, pasted one on top of the other, a hint at what the previous owners were like.
These two houses seemed like they were right out of a Scandinavian design catalog, reminding us that we are actually very close to Scandinavia right now. We snapped this picture and then turned around to see what was directly across the street.
The fact that each house has a view of the other is so intriguing to me. This was just one of the many homes that were in serious disrepair, but were still lived in. While we didn't see anyone go in or out, we knew there were residents because of belongings left on their porch and the two cars parked in their driveway.
Between the two vehicles was a working well and disconcertingly close to the old-fashioned water source was their outhouse.
There was an outhouse outside of this building as well, though it looked like they had still found some of the creature comforts of modern living. More satellite dishes were strung up on the side as well. Sometimes a picture really just says it all better than words.

Vilnius Markets

We're in Vilnius, which seems very much like an affluent, Western European city - until you stray out of the old-town center. We drove out to a laundromat yesterday (they are surprisingly hard to find in the center of town) and discovered the concrete, soviet-era outskirts. One of the nicer things about the district was the little market that was going on behind a large Eki supermarket.
One thing about European markets: they tend to be outdoors. It's strange, to me, that they haven't been covered in more cases. The stalls are semi-permanent, and they house the same purveyors regularly. This market had fruit and vegetable sellers on one side (at right in the photo above), and meat vendors on the other (at left). The vegetables were out in the open, the sausages and steaks were sold out of little windows.
Vans crowded around the market square - really a gap between buildings. It's difficult to tell if these potatoes have just been bought or are waiting to be sold.
Today we went into a cavernous, covered market near the train station. There were a large selection of smoked and otherwise-cured meats. Also fish, cheap clothing, cigarettes, alcohol, chinese paper parasols and even a few vegetables - though not many.
The Lithuanians definitely like their sides of pork. As you can see, there's a nice range of fattiness.
It was quite crowded, it smelled like salt and it was a little too warm. We left without buying anything - dinner plans - but wished that we had.
Outside, other booths were set up in a much more makeshift way. Here were the fruits and vegetables.
And mushrooms. They seem to like their mushrooms dried instead of fresh, but that may be a function of supply and not demand. We think that the basket on the ground was full of cranberries, but that's just a guess. We've seen similar berries all over. Does anyone know what they might be (if not cranberries, which are a popular addition to foods here)?

Things Polish People Like

Drinking beer through a straw. Almost every female bar patron we saw drank their beer out of a straw. The reason behind this was that they weren’t just drinking plain beer but rather piwo z sokiem, beer with juice or grenadine in it.
A few squirts of syrup would be dispensed into a glass before filling the rest from a beer tap. The straw allows you to sip the sweet stuff first. I tried the drink twice and it wasn’t really my thing, but I can’t say it was all that horrible either.
Merlin and I also drank from straws when we ordered “hot beer,” which basically took the mulled wine recipe of liquor plus sugar plus cinnamon and an orange slice plus heat. I think I enjoyed that strawed drink better.

Colorful Fiats. Without a doubt, this particular model of Fiat (anyone know exactly what it is?) was the most ubiquitous vehicle in cities and countries alike.
Almost always, they were painted some wonderfully vibrant color. For about the first eight days in the country, I would go "Look at THAT cute car!" and Merlin would respond, "it's the same one again." It's probably because they were so common that people went out of their way to add their own personal flair.
(Poland is also the car theft capital of the world, so the paint jobs may just be a brilliant method of dissuading anyone from swiping their completely conspicuous automobile).

Roadside Altars. No matter how small a town we passed through was, there was always at least one church, if not two. However, the true testament to the religiousness of Polish Catholics were the altars and shrines all throughout the countryside.
Sometimes, it was simply a clump of prayer candles, other times it included a statue of Mary or a saint. Most often, they were crosses adorned with colorful ribbons and a sort of fenced off pedestal where people could place bouquets.

Mushroom Cheese. Mushrooms in general were featured in soups, sauces, even deviled eggs, but it’s to be expected in autumn a.k.a. forest forage season. However, mushroom cheese took the fungi loving to a whole new level.
If you’ve ever had Laughing Cow or some other soft cheese that comes in small foil packages, just imagine having little bits of mushroom mixed right in. Not only were there different brands of mushroom cheese, we also saw more than one billboard touting the product along Polish highways. (for the record, we also saw salami cheese, onion cheese and pepper cheese, made by the same companies, but mushroom cheese was definitely the most widely available).

KFC. When it comes to chain restaurants, KFC definitely reigns supreme. Kentucky Fried was everywhere and easily outnumbered McDonalds and Burger King.
Pizza Hut, which had been pretty popular in every other country we’ve visited, didn’t pop up once in Poland on our travels. But that, of course, is because they have zapiekanka.

Honorable Mentions

Drinking things other than vodka. We read, over and over again, vodka is what people drink. We brushed up on the correct way to order it, the correct way to drink it, the different varieties in different regions, etc. and then found that everywhere we went, all anyone drank was beer. Maybe vodka is just something people drink in the comfort of their own homes?

High Heels. All around Europe, high heels have mostly been shorter and stumpier than the city stilettos I’m used to. This, of course, is due to the cobblestones which are next to impossible to walk on in three-inchers. Polish women, however, have mastered the art of wearing high heels in any and all terrains. Even when we drove into the countryside, middle aged women walking along the side of the road with bags of groceries would still be wearing high heeled boots. I tip my hat to you, women of Poland.

Over-the-Knee Boots. I’m not entirely sure why, but Merlin and I have found it amusing that over-the-knee boots, which were the toast of the fashion world about a year ago, never really caught on in New York. Well, they definitely swept Poland by storm. Any pair of shoes that weren’t high heels were over-the-knee boots. I think part of the reason they’re more popular here is because most women also wear short skirts or shorts over brightly colored stockings. So, the more of their leg they can protect against the cold, the better.

Jesus. Polish people really really like Jesus. The population is more than 90% Roman Catholic and you’re likely to see JC looking down serenely anywhere you go.

A Truly Super Market

Back on our third day in Poland, I took a walk around Wroclaw by myself and went in to explore what I thought was a train station. Truth be told, I was looking for a bathroom, but when I walked in I found one the largest, most impressive indoor markets I've seen in Europe yet.
Not only did the produce, flowers, dry goods, etc span across the enormous space, there were also two more floors circling above, packed with kitchenware, cheap underwear and the like. It gave me a good birds-eye view of the offerings.
Then, while basically hanging from the rafters, I realized that I was finally in a position to take pictures of people without them seeing me. So, I seized that opportunity.
The only men working in the market, aside from the cobbler on the second floor and the security guard near the gambling machines, were behind the butcher counters, which were set off into the dark corners of the buildings. This was the only female meat-server I came across and she also had the most unique selection, organs, appendages and the like.
So many of the stands sold the exact same things, the same candies and juices, the same tobacco products and sodas. I wondered if these two women (above and below) who were situated right next to each other got competitive. What sounded like a cowbell started to ring at about this time, which I took to mean it was time to close shop. Part of me wanted to stick around to see how clean up commenced, but the bigger part of me wanted to navigate my way home before it got too dark.
This is one of my favorite pictures from Poland, simply because I caught someone smiling. Just seventy-hours into the country, I still believed the hype that Polish people don't smile until you really get to know them. I continued to believe this, until Merlin and I made our flashcards and learned a few greetings. Instantly, people began to smile, grin and sometimes chuckle just a little bit at our attempts to speak their language. So, while it may be true that smiling at strangers is seen as a sign of stupidity in Polish culture, being comfortable looking/sounding stupid yourself is always a sure fire way to get someone else to go out on a limb and look stupid, too.