Day 82. Leanne here.

A pilgrimage leads us to remember what’s most important

Almost every day of our around-the-world year-long trek, I wake up a bit dazed and confused.  Now, where am I again?  Today I arise in the airbnb on the 7th floor in Riga, Lativia, with clear views of Riga’s tallest spires and signature Art Nouveau rooftops.  This flat is worth every one of the 182 steps we tackle to get to this flat - its affordable, uber-clean, contemporary, spacious, with super fast WiFi (10 out of 10 for the Kyle find!) Venturing outside for that fresh morning air, I attempt a wide morning stretch on the bonus mini-makeshift-rooftop deck just washed by an evening’s rainstorm.  However, I’m stopped in my tracks by four barrel-chested grey birds, one positioned at every corner. In unison, they stare me down something fierce. Their stares say “if you don’t have breakfast for us, you are breakfast.”  Clearly I’m in their space, so I head back in quickly. After that wood pigeon in the bird aviary flew into my head in New Zealand, I am a bit bird-shy.  

John has booked us a private tour to Lithuania today.  Our tour guide Krista is a Lativian with a passion for traveling.  Heading out in the large van on the narrow cobble stoned streets from Riga, we learn Krista is single, studied Travel and Tourism in Scotland for 5 years, and just got back from a 2 month trek in Southeast Asia.  She’s already been to 38 countries at tender age of 28.  Actually, Krista states she lives to travel so much that she is foregoing buying a proper bed so she can save towards her next trip.  We deem Krista has caught the same incurable bug we now have - the travel bug.   

Even though Krista was born in the year of Latvia’s independence from Soviet occupation, we still pepper her with questions about it and its impact on today’s Latvia.  She shares that some feel their lives were easier, but most Lativians realize that indpendence is worth fighting for and sacrificing for.  It is just one more firsthand lesson to our kids to appreciate the freedoms we enjoy readily in the United States.  Here given both the German and Soviet occupations are fresh in their societal mindset, freedom is not taken for granted.   (Just in case you don’t know, the Baltic States were given back their independence in 1991 — bloodlessly, in fact by singing.  Google the Singing Revolution for more!) 

We have booked Krista for a three stop day -  Bashuk Castle, Rundale Palace, and the Hill of Crosses.

The first two castles were quite different.  The first being more of a ruin in the midst of some upgrades but more reminiscent of some open-air ruined castles we visited in the U.K. and Scotland.  However, Bashuk Castle is flanked by two important rivers and we traverse lush green hills with great views to grab some great photos. 

The second, Rundale Palace, was a restored castle from the Russian Imperial days that nearly fell into the same fate as Bashku.  In the 1970s, the Soviets had let it go into such despair, once using this beautiful castle for a school and even storing grain at one point.  But in the decade or so before Latvia gained its independence, Russia started a process to renovate it to its original early 1700s glory.  The result is simply a masterpiece with mural walls and ceilings, restored wooden floors, huge blue/white ceramic heaters in the corners (see pic), stunning ceilings and wall coverings, Rococo furnishings, and even a billiards room.  The highlight was the formal French garden that made me feel as if I was in the pages of a Bronte novel.   

Rundale plays a fascinating place in history.  It was the summer palace of a German duke from humble beginnings whose power, wealth, prominence and ego grew as he served as the Empress of Russia’s confidente and her secret lover.  After the Empress’ death and a coup d’etat, Ernst Johann von Biron (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernst_Johann_von_Biron) was exiled to Serbia for decades, and only late in life returned to his palace and family.  

Our third and final stop involved crossing into Catholic-dominated Lithuania, the third and final Baltic country we visited.  This stop is the highlight of the day for all.  Sometime between 1830 to 1850, local residents starting placing crosses on a random hill in the middle of rural Lithuania.  Literally in the middle of what you could imagine was just fields and fields for miles at the time.  Today, this place is aptly called Hill of Crosses.  Over the centuries, thousands if not millions of people have come here to place crosses there for loved ones.   There’s several legends around how it all started but one popular one is that a farmer was desperate to save his daughter from severe illness after several treatments failed.  In a dream, a saint came to him instructing him to leave a cross on a specific hill.  Despondent, the farmer followed the angel in his dream as a last resort.   When he returned home, his daughter ran into his arms apparently cured.  

Since the story of this miracle spread over the last nearly 200 years, more and more people came to visit this site to leave crosses of hope for healing, protection, strength, etc.   On three occasions, as USSR was anti-religion, Soviet troops tried to destroy or stop this memorial from growing.  And on all three occasions, despite fear of repercussions, people immediately kept coming back to add to or replace crosses.  Pre 1993, the site was only well known in Lithuania but, after the fall of Communism, a Pope John Paul visit, and the rise of the Internet, it is now an even-more-popular global shrine.  

As we walk this now-well-travelled Catholic pilgrimage on its rolling paved road through a random field, the view of the published 200,000 estimated crosses slowly comes into view.  To us, the cross count seemed drastically underreported.  From crosses that range from an inch to more than 30 feet high, it is hard to even guess how many continue to this collective display of faith.  

Our family alone just added 13 to the count.   We have several family members and friends battling for better health right now - as well as a few that left us too early we wanted to remember.  So, we purchased several crosses, marked them up with Sharpies, and held a sweet impromptu family ceremony to offer them to the Hill.   

Just walking towards this monument of faith was breathtaking, humbling, andinspiring, all at the same time.  What made it extra special for us is that for some reason, the Hill of Crosses was empty for the 10 minutes we arrived (however not typical) — making it just a bit extra surreal.   

While you can purchase a basic cross at the parking spaces, many bring their own personalized and handmade cross.  As we pursue the countless crosses, we notice how personal this place is to those who came before us.  Several bore NATO symbols left by troops stationed nearby asking for protection during their stationing nearby.  Firefighters ask for protection too.  A former USA Volleyball player had a remembrance plaque devoted to him of the life lessons God gave to him through his disability.  At least 30 crosses bore messages regarding “Free Hong Kong”.  A large sign celebrated the first 1,700 years of Christianity in Armenia.  But perhaps the most memorable cross was made from shiny exhaust pipes of a Harley Davidson.  Man, someone even gave up part of their Harley for this place!

Before we place our own crosses down, Krista leads us on a short stroll to a Franciscan monastery currently housing five monks.  Five monks we don’t see but I don’t think you are supposed to see them either, right?   In the monastery, the altar is a huge clear window with a view of the sacred Hill.  The kids spread out in the chapel and find a spot for their own reflections, thoughts and prayers.   

Afterwards, we journey back to the hill and the teens lead finding our perfect spot for our family of crosses.  After carefully lining each cross under the large 5 foot tall family cross, we stop to pray.  During this reflection, I am reminded of how the faith of our children has grown significantly and organically — through their experiences of expanding our family to include another, through our pilgrimage to dozens of places of worship on this trip so far, and their religious education back home.  It has been a journey, requiring a ton of faith for sure. Feeling incredibly blessed and grateful (my faith bucket so filled), I head back to the van for some final questions for Krista, whom by now - after witnessing us for a few hours - seems in complete awe of our trek.   

In the morning, we will fly from Riga to Munich.  Now if I could just remember that when I awake!