Don Curry returns

Don Curry loves the new, the unexpected, the mysterious, the undiscovered. But sometimes he is also drawn back to where he has been before. Whether it's nostalgia or the desire to consciously experience changes and developments, Don Curry cannot say. It creates a whole different feeling when you can experience familiar places again with some distance in time, sometimes even completely new.

Today in many ways would mean a return, for example a return to the brutal breakfast dictatorship of Hotel Honey Bridge. Once again, Don Curry was helplessly exposed to the early morning calorie masses, even though things were different today: the English-speaking receptionist was missing, but Don Curry's Russian vocabulary was slowly growing. He could now easily order a coffee with milk from the young waitress, even though she probably asked him something completely different. Surprisingly, today he also got freshly squeezed orange juice served and instead of yesterday's massive onion cake, he got a triple fried egg with peppers and tomatoes, followed by cream-soaked oatmeal with nuts and berries. Somehow, Don Curry's stomach seemed to have already expected this abundance of food, this traitor! But Don Curry decided to continue to confront this enforced breakfast obligation with massive indignation and rejection.

He quickly packed up his room, received some incomprehensible requests from the Russian-speaking receptionist, and laboriously worked his way out of Kaliningrad towards the Curonian Spit.

The Spit was also a destination of return. In 2005, Don Curry had already traveled the entire Lithuanian part, only to have to turn around at Nida. Even then, he wondered if he would ever be able to experience the Spit in its entirety. An individual trip to Russia seemed unthinkable to him for a long time. But today, that once dreamt of day had actually come: 98 km of the Curonian Spit were right in front of him, with the Russian-Lithuanian border facility almost exactly in the middle. What would his border experience be like today?

A similar experience was spared him: he had read that there was always a police control when entering the Spit. Indeed, after the first kilometers, an officer was standing on the road, but he didn't want to control anything, he just wanted to point out to Don Curry that he had to pay the national park fee in the building by the road. Don Curry paid €3.80 to a German-speaking cashier and was able to continue driving unhindered and uncontrolled.

His first stop should be the lighthouse of Lesnoj, the only place on the Spit that extended from the Curonian Lagoon to the Baltic Sea. All other settlements were located exclusively on the lagoon. The lighthouse stood directly on the Baltic Sea coast, and once again this sea revealed itself in its powerful and stormy form. Here too, the Baltic Sea had recently destroyed parts of the beach and shore fortifications. Don Curry would experience how powerful the sea could be a few kilometers further: this was the narrowest point of the Spit, with only about 400 meters of land separating the Baltic Sea and the lagoon, and it was exactly at this point that the Baltic Sea broke through in 1983 and washed away the road.

The breach in the Spit was quickly closed, the dunes towards the Baltic Sea were better secured, and the road was even raised slightly. But Don Curry went even higher at his next destination: Müllers Höhe, with 44.4 meters one of the most outstanding dune peaks of the Russian part of the Spit. A nature trail that was created as an educational path led comfortably to the densely wooded dune plateau, and only in the last part did the lush sand soil make progress a bit more difficult. Once at the top, a German-inscribed memorial stone reminded of the former forest ranger Müller, and a comprehensive observation tower allowed wide views towards the Baltic Sea and the lagoon.

Don Curry slowly had to start paying attention to time, because the way to Vilnius was still far. So he only visited the 'Dancing Forest' on the Russian side, a small forested area where the majority of trees have grown in quite bizarre, curved forms: some in spirals, some in wave shapes, burying themselves in the ground and coming out again. Highly strange and still unexplained scientifically. The speculations range from a secret nuclear waste facility under the forest floor to secret military experiments to an old landing site for extraterrestrials. In any case, the 'Dancing Forest' attracts busloads of tourists, who move almost in a single file on the designated paths and capture the motionless dance of the trees in photographs.

This place didn't entice Don Curry to dance for joy, he now wanted to get out of the Kaliningrad area. Not far away, the border area already began, and an outpost checked his visa in advance to ensure that he was actually allowed to drive to the border. Here, the four stations of clearance awaited him again: first he received a plastic strip as a passport insert, then his documents were thoroughly checked and copied, then came the actual customs control, and finally the removal of the plastic strip from the passport. Don Curry was pleased to note that he didn't have to write or fill anything out here; he was only relieved of the entry card and the double customs form - 'Write! Twice!' - that he had to fill out. The young customs officer, however, was extremely committed in his smart uniform. Don Curry not only had to open all the vehicle doors and hoods. He also had to make the glove compartment and the covered spare tire storage area accessible. Finally, Don Curry was even allowed to open all the windows to prove that there was no smuggled goods stored inside the doors. What is surprisingly never checked is the luggage. Don Curry could have smuggled the entire travel bag full of cigarettes and vodka bottles to Lithuania, but the Russian customs officers couldn't care less. Fortunately, directly behind the last Russian checkpoint was a small duty-free shop, where Don Curry could have stocked up on enough smuggled goods at Euro prices. He only bought a Russian bisongrass vodka for €2.70 and drove to the Lithuanian border station.

Things were much more relaxed here. Although his documents were carefully checked, the customs officer was satisfied with a brief glance at the trunk and the backseat. He also asked to see the vodka that had just been bought at the duty-free shop, which was sticking out of a plastic bag. However, this did not inspire him to conduct a thorough search for more alcohol. So Don Curry was back in the EU and at the same time back on familiar territory. However, he once again had to pay a national park fee: the Lithuanian part of the Spit had also been declared a national park for a long time, and since its value is obviously much higher, the fee for a car and driver was €20.

Don Curry had to thoroughly enjoy this and he knew of an absolute highlight. Shortly after the border, the access road to the 'Great Dune' started, which, at 52 meters, is the highest dune of the Spit and one of the highest wandering dunes in Europe. Don Curry had stood on top of it before and enjoyed the view of Nida and the lagoon. With almost nostalgic feelings, he directed his car down to the town of Nida, which now looked even more touristy and almost hyper-perfectly restored. He briefly visited the old Lutheran church and the surrounding cemetery with the old Curonian gravestones, photographed a few skillfully made Curonian flags fluttering in the wind at the lagoon shore, and soon rushed on towards the north.

There was no longer any time for the planned visit to the Thomas Mann House, because Don Curry had realized with horror that he had entered a different time zone since the border: it was already one hour later in Lithuania. Days ago, the landlord of the holiday apartment in Vilnius had inquired at what time his guest would arrive there - for the purpose of handing over the keys. Only now, after the border, could Don Curry make a serious statement: he had written 8:00 PM in an email to the landlord to have some buffer time for the drive and further sightseeing. But that was before the shock of the time zone! Now there was hardly any buffer left - Don Curry had to go! So even the photogenic Witch Hill in front of him was spared, and Don Curry could hardly believe his luck when he was allowed to board the ferry to Klaipeda as one of the last passengers; this saved him a lot of waiting time. Now he still had to drive about 300 km across almost all of Lithuania - but mostly on a highway. In Vilnius, the navigation system led him directly to the only access road to the old town street where the apartment would be located. When he finally reached the street, it was blocked for all vehicles except residents, and it was used as a pedestrian zone.

Not only the crowds of people on the street confused him, but also the numerous outdoor restaurants that had set up tables in front of their establishments, some even extending onto the street. Should he really drive through there? Don Curry decided to park his car first and walk to the destination. But as soon as he got out of the car, two policemen approached him and very kindly made it clear that he was not allowed to stop here; if he continued 100 meters further, there would be a parking lot on the left. If even the police want me to drive through the pedestrian zone, then I want to do it now too, Don Curry thought with newfound courage. Carefully, he maneuvered the car between the many pedestrians the 100 meters further, even found a free parking space, and walked the last 80 meters on foot. It was 8:05 PM. He immediately recognized the Gothic brick house where his apartment was supposed to be; it was the oldest building far and wide. A street musician had just positioned himself in front of it, and quite a few of the passers-by stopped and listened to the pop-like singing with guitar accompaniment. Was his landlord here? There were many people standing around. What does a landlord look like? Since Don Curry had come without a travel bag, he also wouldn't be recognizable as a willing tenant and overnight guest, he realized. So he sent another short email to his landlord: 'I am here now'.

Suddenly, a very tall man approached him. Don Curry is not exactly small, on the contrary: he is rather noticeable because of his height, which is quite above average. If Don Curry perceives someone else as a 'very tall man', then he is almost a giant, at least taller than 2 meters. The very tall man asked cautiously if he was the guest from Germany. Don Curry had found his landlord. He asked him to bring his car so that it could be parked in the backyard of the house. So Don Curry drove through the increasingly busy pedestrian zone again to the old building. With a remote control, the landlord slowly opened the two wooden door wings, revealing a narrow passage - and 'narrow' is the emphasized word in this description. Don Curry had no idea if and how he would get his Golf through there. But the landlord remained optimistic, gave Don Curry helpful instructions on how far he had to drive past the passage before operating the steering wheel - actually too late. Surprisingly, it worked. Millimeter by millimeter, Don Curry's Golf crawled through the needle's eye, but only after he folded in the mirrors. Without this trick, there would have been scratches. Then the backyard was reached and Don Curry immediately swore not to move the car until the time of departure; he would never want to drive into it alone again.

The landlord explained the operation of the wing door remote control, then the number code on the courtyard door, so that pedestrians could pass through, and in addition to the remote control, he also handed over the key for the front door and the apartment. The apartment is on the 1st floor of the Gothic house, so Don Curry now lived directly above the street musician. 2 rooms, kitchen, bathroom - all nicely furnished, although a bit worn. But what mattered to Don Curry was the location of the apartment: in the middle of Vilnius Old Town, maybe even a bit too 'in the middle'. The very tall man gave some helpful tips, collected the money and said goodbye. Now Don Curry was the master of the 'Cozy apartment in a gothic style house', as this property was officially marketed.

Since it was now getting close to 9:00 PM, he only had one goal: dinner! The forced breakfast in Kaliningrad had long been digested, there had been no time for lunch - so he went for Lithuanian specialties. The landlord had mentioned a restaurant in his tips that served good beer and good Lithuanian food. Although it wasn't listed in any of his guidebooks, the recommendation from a local seemed promising to him. So he set off on the short walk and soon found himself in a quaint pub that was completely lined with old, black wood: ceiling, support beams, stairs, bar counter, tables, and chairs - all black. It would not have been a place Don Curry would have spontaneously gone to, but as soon as he looked at the food and drink menu, he realized that he was absolutely right. The place called itself Lithuania's first mini-brewery and offered four home-brewed beers on the menu. Don Curry quickly ordered his first beer, along with the soup of the day, a hearty chicken soup, and a dish with the mysterious name 'Bremen Town Musicians'. He actually got a stack of animals on his plate; but thankfully, not the real ones, but a beef steak, a pork steak, and a chicken schnitzel, each separated by a thick potato fritter and the whole tower covered with a rich cream sauce. Several more beers tasted good with that!

Afterwards, Don Curry wandered somewhat aimlessly through Vilnius Old Town, recognizing many things again but also discovering changes. He was back!