Bardu Festas (Published in Draugas 11/10/12)

THE BARD FESTIVAL – A CELEBRATION OF SONG FOR THE HEART AT CAMP DAINAVA

A commemoration of the life of  Ramunas Underys

By Ann Petroliunas

Born to a Lithuanian father and an American mother 31 years ago in Chicago, I spent the better part of my life rejecting all things Lithuanian—pickled herring, accordion music, and polka steps, and even that song they sang me every birthday around my grandmother’s dining room table.  At 19, my father took me to Lithuania for the first time, and I found a part of me I hadn’t even realized was missing.

Over the next 10 years, the more I embraced my heritage, the dearer the Underys family became to me.  Those who were once the distant relatives on my aunt’s side, with whom I shared an occasional Christmas eve, became my aunts, uncles, and cousins.  I learned to eat pickled herring, dance the polka, and despite my floundering language skills, the words to many more songs than the standard birthday tune.  As more guitars and Lithuanian songs started appearing in my life, my love for Lithuania grew.

It became a running joke at the summer camp we volunteered at in Lithuania.  Vitas Underys would introduce me through as many relatives as possible.  “This is my sister’s husband’s brother’s daughter.”   I still laugh every time, but it’s really not so funny.  I’ve come to realize that as Lithuanians in North America, we are all brothers.  We are all sisters.  We are all family.  And high on the list of things we share, after height and a love for sour cream, is music.  We can all sing.  Or at least pretend to. 

On the weekend of October 19-21, over 160 members of that family gathered at Camp Dainava in Manchester, MI for The Bard Festival, to celebrate the life of  Underys in the way he should be remembered.  In song.  Much like my first trip to Lithuania, I didn’t know what to expect.  The average age was not 60.  Instead there were 4 generations represented, some contributing to the weekend with guitar chords, other with their infant coos and cries.  The camp was not stark and shabby as my father warned me from memories of his youth, but warm, well cared for, and inviting thanks to the care this Lithuanian family has puts into maintaining its home away from home.  I was not isolated by my limited Lithuanian language skills.  And while I may have missed some of the jokes, or the details in the speeches of organizers, Vitas, Taura, and Vija Underys, the music spoke to all, regardless of our command of the Lithuanian language.

From the moment we arrived, we felt Taura’s creative touch and attention to detail. We were greeted by a large banner with a logo, specially designed by Taura for this occasion, baskets of fruit, candy, and homemade “baravykai” (pastries shaped like mushrooms). All who participated in this special weekend, found a mug in their rooms with the Bard Festival logo and their name on it (cleverly thought out, to be used in place of nametags), a bottle of water, and a bag of trail mix. Taura organized a long list of volunteers, who provided refreshments for each evening, as well as all of the meals.

Over the course of the weekend, voices from all over the US and Canada came together to fill the hall in the camp’s Damušis building as well as the hearts of many who still mourn the loss of their brother, husband, father, uncle, and friend, . He touched the lives of many with his music throughout his lifetime and his spirit shared the space many times that weekend in the guitar chords, drum beats, and lyrics that echoed through the camp. 

Vitas Underys estimated that 95 % of the attendees had never been to a folk music show before, yet no one seemed out of place. The stage saw touching performances by: Jonas Beržanskis, Michael Hough, and David Tamulevich  (Ann Arbor, MI), Lina Kuliavaitė, Liudas Kuliavas, Marius Polikaitis, Tomas Strolia, and Vija Underytė (Chicago, IL), Eugenijus Dicevičius (Cleveland, OH), Vitas Underys (Detroit, MI), Romas Zableckas (Evans, CO), Saulius Gylys (Kalamazoo, MI), Rimas Polikaitis (Manchester, CT), Aliukas Gylys (New York, NY), Rūta Pakštaitė Cole (Purdys, NY), Jonas Nakas (Stevensville, MI), and Audra Balytaitė, Stasys Kuliavas, Mindaugas Gabrys, Valdas Ramanauskas, and Vaidotas Vaičiūnas (Toronto, ON).

As talented as each performer that stood before us was, this festival encompassed more than those who braved the spotlight.  Saturday morning came with a booklet of Lithuanian folk songs and one of  Ramunas’ own.  The hall filled with laughter and tears as the entire family sang together, on key and off.  Any break between performers was filled by a member of one of the many choirs represented starting the audience in a new song.

In the afternoon program, the bards gathered for an impromptu session of singing, with ad lib accompaniment. Sitting in a circle, the bards took turns leading a song (both English and Lithuanian). Everyone else, sitting in the outer circle, were invited to sing along or simply revel in the talent of all of the musicians/singers. 

I was not the only person there with a story of finding Lithuania in my adult life.  Saturday evening brought folk singer David Tamulevich to the stage with a story of his first trip home.  An American musician with roots in Lithuania, he spoke of finding his grandparent’s hometown through letters and travelling there.  His voice filled with tears as he recounted sitting at the table in the village of Zervynas and being told “Now you’ll drink the water that your grandfather drank.” He continued his story in songs both in English and Lithuanian, sharing with the audience that he too carried Lithuania in his heart. Following David’s and Michael’s performance, were the performances of all of the other bards, a program of almost four hours. The audience had no complaints, however, and received each performer with great enthusiasm and loud applause.

Saturday night brought a different kind of homecoming.  As 20 or so men circled around the piano, singing folk songs and lifting their mugs, Jonas Nakas commented, “ I never thought I’d see all of these faces in this camp again.”  Music has the power to do that.  It united them with their brother  in their youth, and reunited them, late at night, in a hall some of them hadn’t seen in decades. Their big bellied laughs filled the hall with sounds of longing for the days spent singing these same songs, so many years ago. 

The weekend program ended on a reflective note with a song sung by the Pensive Christ sculpture and a visit to the chapel in the woods. Ramunas was remembered while singing several hymns. Taura read a passage from Kahlil Gibran about friendship – that wondrous of life’s gifts, which has sustained their family through their sorrow and made possible this weekend’s celebration of Ramunas’s life.  With arms around each other, as a loving family, all sang the closing song written by Ramunas, whose words still echo in our hearts:

“Ei, ei, ei drauguži, eisime kartu, tuo skaidriuoju ir baltuoju stovyklose keleliu…”

BeTogether

As I clutched my $1.80 1/2 liter of beer and stood, well swayed, well ok, more like bounced in a sea of Lithuanian, Russian, and Belorussian youth, I thought "My god, I really am the luckiest girl in the world." Just a few days before, I sat on a descending airplane wishing I had a few more hours in the air because I wasn't ready. I lamented my decision to once again forgo a Chicago summer in favor of volunteering with teachers and students with disabilities in Lithuania. I didn't have that nagging feeling that I needed to get back to my roots and that spending the summer exploring Lithuania and visiting with my family would make me feel more complete. Instead, I was sad to leave new friends and my new home and let Chicago summer without me.

I forgot one thing though. This is fun.

I am a child of routine. There are about 8 bars I frequent in Chicago, and one that gets 60% of the visits. The cafe around the corner from me knows my name and my order. I can eat the same thing for lunch at work every day for weeks. I go to dance class on Tuesdays and Saturdays and Sunday mornings are for watching Dr. Who On Demand. Sure, I am capable of being spontaneous, but Chicago Ann is about as predictable as they come.

There is nothing predictable or routine about finding yourself dancing in a field (literally....a hayfield) of strangers on a Friday night while a man dressed in a cerulean lycra unitard and a

Montezuma meets peacock meets Star Wars headdress sings falsetto while his shiny white back-up dancers repeatedly do the lawnmower. Lithuania is a tiny country, and I mistakenly thought I had seen all there was to see. Chicago music festivals eat your heart out, you have never seen this before.

BeTogether is a 3 day festival in a field adjoining the grounds of some dude's rehabbed castle on the border of Lithuania and Belarus. While "free" from Soviet rule, Belarus is a communist country. There is no free travel between Lithuania and Belarus, but Lithuania allows Belorussians to come in to the country for these 3 days. They still need permission from their government to leave the country though, so some serious advanced planning is required. Passports are necessary as the Lithuanian border patrol checks you in and out about 20 km from the festival as the border at this point is quite fuzzy. Nobody carded me for beer, but an armed soldier made sure I wasn't a Belorussian trying to immigrate.

The festival grounds are divided into a camping zone and the party. As my cousins have a 3 year old, we didn't spend the night. A day pass gets you in from 11 until 5 though, so we made good with the time we had (yes, that's 5 am). Sometimes being a music snob and being half deaf by 19 limits me to the Chicago music scene, and getting out to see mostly friends' bands these days makes my lense even narrower. Ahhh, my routine. How refreshing to pay the equivalent of US $32.27 (US 43.54 would have gotten me in for the whole weekend) to hear things I never had and maybe never would all while drinking deliciously cheap beer in 65 degree weather (no rain for the first time all week!) and dancing my ass off with new friends and family . We went because my cousin's wife wanted to see the aforementioned Australian band, Empire of the Sun. I didn't bring my camera as it threatened to rain, but here is a short and terrible video of a band I just can't wrap my head around.

Norway's Casiokids ( being released soon in the US on Polyvinyal) and Lithuania's own Skamp also topped my list of bands I would maybe never have thought twice about if I'd seen their US equivalent, but made me jump up and down and wave my hands around with my new comrades. I wish I could have seen Lithuania's DJ collective, Silence Family, but I guess I'll have to wait until next year. When the last band finished around 1:30 am, 10 or so discos appeared out of nowhere. On second thought, they were formerly food tents, but to someone who assumed security would start hurriedly corralling people out, it seemed like nowhere. So from 1:30, until our DD decided it was time to make the trek back to Vilnius, we bounced from tent to tent dancing to everything from live Russian ska to Belorussian hip hop to Salsa to my personal favorite, the tent playing 50s and 60s American music complete with snuff surf movie films projected in the background. Deejay Intel would be huge in Belarus, they were crying out for good, classic, American dance tunes.

The whole night was refreshingly free from advertising. Sure there was a Camel VW bus selling cigarettes, some goofy ride in the middle of the field painted with some phone company's logo, a dance club tent sponsored by a local radio station, and a monopoly in the beer tent, but other than that, one could wander freely enjoying the smells and sounds without.... The program even includes "promotion and advertising printed material" along with "racist, nationalist or any other kind of offensive slogans, posters, etc" and "umbrellas and any other potentially dangerous things that might be used as weapons" on its list of things to "leave behind when entering the territory."

We left a little after 3. I felt a rare sense of excitement and freedom that could have kept me there until 5, but we had another journey ahead of us. Andrius promptly passed out in the backseat (the Lithuanian vodka was his idea). I managed to stay awake through border patrol and until the sun came up (not that impressive, 4:30ish in these parts). I've spent the last few days trying to figure out why it felt so great to be there and what really made it that much different from US music festivals other than the novelty of it all (and the cheap and awesome food and beer). I'm left with the thought that not a single person there took a moment of it for granted. Whether they were enjoying 3 days away from their communist leaders, enjoying a once in a lifetime chance to see a foreign band, dancing to spite decades of Soviet oppression, or just grateful for the opportunity to break their routine and experience something new, the festival's name rang true for everyone.

World Domination by Frito Lay

Frito Lay™ has conquered the worldwide market on potato chips.  I got off the plane in Toronto and was greeted by Salt & Vinegar and Original.  Kinda boring, Canada.  Especially after Forest Mushroom and Thai Sweet Chile.

            My obsession with potato chips started last summer at camp.  After 3 mess hall meals of bread and potatoes,, Laima, Vitas, and I would have a nightly snack of chips with beer or champagne (depending on the occasion).  In Lithuania, the favorites are Spring Onion, Fromage, Dill, and Tomato. Vitas talked our ear off about the existence of mushroom flavored chips, but despite a month of searching, we never found them.  This summer though, they jumped off the shelf at me the first time I set foot in a grocery store.  The 54 clerks we asked for them last summer must have called up Frito Lay and told them a bunch of crazy foreigners wanted Mushroom chips.  Oh, and this summer, we also tried Chicken.  Yuck.

            In Latvia, they keep the Spring Onion, Fromage, and Tomato, and add Cheese to the mix, which seems a little overkill with the Fromage, but I guess they needed to use that Yellow #5 somewhere.

            Germany was pretty boring with its Lays, Cheese & Onion, and Paprika (double yuck!), but Amsterdam brought some surprises.  Barbeque Ham?  Bolognese? Thai Sweet Chile?  Hmmm…..Too bad I didn’t get enough Amsterdam to try any of them.  

I will never get over the fact that in some countries, you can't get clean drinking water, or it's more expensive than beer, but you can always find Coca-Cola™ and Lays™ potato chips.  I guess if I ever want to take over the world, the trick is high fructose corn-syrup and trans fats.

Is Amerikos

You just denied a 94-year old man his basic rights as a hospitable Lithuanian.  He tells you it's a victory for him to get out of bed in the morning as his eyes shine with happiness at your visit. You won't even let him make you coffee.  Lithuanian Culture 101: Rules of Hospitality -- when visiting a member of the older generation, he / she will consider him / herself a failure if you leave without eating or drinking till bursting point.  You wouldn't even let him make you coffee, yet you forced your American dollars into his protesting hands.  

Mostly this trip has made me more grateful to be an American.  Not the result I was expecting, but it happened.  In this moment, I hate it.  I tried to help restore some dignity by showing extreme interest in the bowl of saldainiai ir sausainiai that he put in front of us after your third denial of Kavos, but one can only stomach so many stale cookies before indigestion trumps manners.  You considered it an act of kindness not to make the old man get up.  I consider it a cultural atrocity.  You speak the language, I don't.  Does that make you right ?  This is not the first time I've hung my head in shame at the mention of the words, Amerikos, Amerikiete, or Amerikoje.  

On my first day of classes at the University, a bubbly young Emily from Connecticut came around to our table at the welcome party and invited us to join her and some other students for a beer later that evening.  I had just met Laura (US) and Piri (Germany) and we decided to spend a few hours showing the nearly arrived and Vilnius virgin, Piri, around old town and then meet up with our new classmates.  We did, and all started well with about 8 of us (6 US, 2 German) enjoying a 1/2 liter of Svyturys in the central square.  Then came the second round. The volume, which was already heightened by the first round, got turned up.  And up. And up. I can imagine it kept going up, but Piri, Laura, and I excused ourselves and headed for our respective busses to get home.  

These American students are perfectly nice people.  They are all like Laura and me with one or two Lithuanian parents, but varying degrees of understanding of the language and culture.  Like us, they came to this course to connect.  They also came to drink beer.  They are young. I felt old.  And embarrassed.  I like beer too, but I don't like being so "visible" in a foreign country and I don't like filling a bad stereotype. Later, while discussing my new acquaintances with my cousin, Andrius, he shared with me his theory of why Americans are so loud.  He explains that the heightened volume has to do with the big distances in the US.  Big apartments.  Big cars. Big tables.  Big cheeseburgers.  All of these require near shouting for any chance of communication.  Andrius has an explanation for everything.  Over the next 4 weeks, he shushed me more than once.  

In a language lesson on how Lithuanians greet people, our teacher explained that you ask "Kaip jus sakasai?"  This means "how are you?" She went on to explain that unlike in America, when Lithuanians ask this question, they really want to know, and so they wait around to hear the answer. Ouch. However, this conflicts with another professor's explanation that in Lithuania, people don't waste their time with small talk.  So I guess here, it's all or nothing.  If someone bothers to ask, then they want to know. But most times they don't ask.

Having Barackas Obama as president made being abroad much more comfortable this time.  Never once did I pretend to be Canadian or see anti-American graffiti.  We did get spit on by a group of middle-eastern teenagers in Amsterdam, but I haven't yet processed what that was about.  In general, I behaved as a respectable, non-stereotypical American (although I still cannot control the volume of my voice) and my country's actions during my time abroad gave me no reason to be ashamed.  Yet, the guilt and self-consciousness was still there.  Thank you, George W.  I guess the part of the self-consciousness that lends itself to cultural sensitivity is a good thing, but the knots in my stomach at the mention of oil are not.  Despite my intentions to represent well, most of what is "American" is out of my control. The best I can do is sit here and eat his cookies and candies and try to help him to feel like Lithuania's most successful host. 

Goodbye Lithuania

July 25, 2009

My tenure in Lithuania ended appropriately with my own version of fleeing.  After almost 6 weeks of respectable behavior and lovely family time, Saturday morning went like this:

8:37 am  Not packed.  Leaving for airport in 2 hours 53 minutes.

Knock knock. 

Me: Eehhhhh

Jurga: Do you want to get up? (Hands me a glass of water.)

Me: Thanks (Take a drink) Bleechh.  Not water!

Jurga: It's aspirin (We laugh)

Enter kitchen.  Andrius is drinking coffee in his underwear.

Andrius: Good morning

Me: Eecchhhhh. Somebody drank too much wine last night.

Andrius: Yes, I also feel that in my head.

I lay down on the couch. I sit up and get off the couch.  I put the aspirin-water down on the table.

Andrius and Jurga: No! You have to drink it all.

Me: Relax, I will.  I'm just going to the bathroom.

Return.  Finish my aspirin-water.  Lay back down on the couch.

Andrius (smiling devilishly): So, how much do you remember from last night?

Oh, dear, conversations that begin like this are never fun for the subject.  

Red wine.  

Graduation of the four week program at University of Vilnius. Had to crash it to say goodbye to my buddies.  White wine.  The opening of the exhibit that the students of the conference Andrius had been running all week.  Australian scenographer.  Lithuanian professor. I am uncharacteristically good at carrying on conversations with strangers.  White wine. Lithuanian designer.  Bubbly conversation with a colleague of Andrius's.  And here I thought all Lithuanians were hard to crack.  

Opening over.  

The Australian and the Lithuanian want to introduce me to some Spanish choreographer that works with people with disabilities.  I am foreign and have danced.  Clearly this qualifies me to have a professional conversation with a famous Spanish choreographer, Juan Carlos Garcia. \ Time for the last lecture of the series.  It's in the floating green box on the river.  I don't wanna. Just enough time for me to meet Augiene and Vitas for dinner and to celebrate her driver's license. Svyturys.  Back to the green box as Andrius is uttering the last words of the conference.... "Thank you, and now let's drink!"  Red wine.  

Red wine.  Another conversation with the Australian scenographer.  He's explaining yet again that he is from Sydney, but teaches in Zurich.  Why can't I accept this?  Walking with Andrius to the car to put my bag away. "There are stairs for normal people right over there." "Am I a normal person?" Straight up the slope balancing a full glass of red wine. Austrian curator.

  Red wine. Put in charge of the photo shoot for the installation / is it an installation of the "Maxima" guy passing out mayonnaise salad. Red wine from the Austrian curator.  Maybe I should sit down.  Jurga and her friend are in the green box.  Pillows on the floor are a little difficult to steady yourself on.  Red wine.  The DJ is pretty good.  Red wine.  Taking a walk with the Austrian curator.  Making out with the Austrian curator down the river somewhere.  How on earth did that happen? Green box.  Dancing with Jurga.  No more red wine for me.  Is it time to go yet?!?    

They had a good laugh at me the next morning.  Their favorite memory was that every time Andrius introduced me to someone, I would join in the conversation by interjecting "yo, yo, yo, yo" which is the Lithuanian equivalent of "yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah."  This is foggy. 

The good thing about being irresponsible, is that I felt so gross the next day and could barely keep my head up, that I had no energy to be sad or process the good-bye.  Andrius and Jurga were running so late from there own versions of the night before that they pretty much ran out the door to get to her brother's wedding.  There were quick hugs and thank you's and I love you's and tears trying to come.  And then they were gone.  By the time I had finished packing, I  was alone and so embarrassed by my memories / historically fictional guesses at the rest, that all I wanted was to get out of the country.  And that I did.

Latvia vs. Lithuania

I am not an impartial judge.  However, I am not voting for the obvious choice here.  Latvia is awesome.  The people are nicer.  I get why their economy tanked.  At least 3 times someone said to us, "don't buy that one, I'll give you this one for free."  And the waitress told us to go to the bar to order beer because it would be cheaper, and the teller at the bank told me to go away because the commission was too high there.  What?!??!  In Lithuania, the shop assistant won't even say hi to you.  People don't look at each other on the street, let alone chat.  One of our professors told us that in Lithuanian culture, small talk doesn't exist among strangers or customers/ salesfolk, because they think it is a waste of energy.  Once you get to know Lithuanians, they are a warm and welcoming people, but after 5 weeks there, how to crack that shell is still a bit of a mystery.  

Hmmm, anyway, back to Latvia. The guys are cuter, it doesn't look like a soviet tinker toy box , the food is better (or at least there are a lot more choices, although still no latin american food.  I am going to eat nothing but black beans, avocados, and corn tortillas for the first week I am home), Riga's river kick's Vilnius's river's butt, and the architecture is way more diverse.

Siiigggghhhhhh. Adventures are awesome and all and I love exploring new places, but maybe you can tell I am starting to get a bit homesick.  Made a Jason Deuchler reference in my last

 post as I found myself still awake tomorrow as he often does and thought, hmm, that was fun, but why don't I do that with people I know?

I missed Kristian yesterday. Riga is full of art nouveau buildings and he dragged me halfway across Baltimore the first time I was there just to see one.  I don't usually sing and dance for architecture, but I found myself looking up and smiling for quite a few hours in the afternoon.  Then there were all the scandanavian looking folks in Riga (long hair on guys is popular too, but K's

been out of that stage a while).  I saw a couple of guys that looked like they should really have been on their way to his house with their guitars to be in a band called Tre Bror. I spent the rainy part of the evening alone at Riga Art Space, and found myself having an imaginary conversation with him about the installations.  He didn't like the photo series on Gypsy living conditions as much as I did, but we both enjoyed the sugar mosque being eaten by ants and found Sasha Huber's Rentyhorn to be a pretty damn good use of art for the public good.  

I missed Courtney today.  Vitas and I were wandering for the sake of not going home yet. We walked into this place with no expectations, and immediately through the door I thought, my god I wish Courtney were here, we would love this together.   Chocolate cake just doesn't taste the same without her, even if it is being

enjoyed with a mid- 18th century concoction of Riga Black Balsam and hot currant juice in the cellar of a building that makes you think that your knight in shining armor is going to walk in any minute.  It feels so authentic in fact, that you realize while sitting in this dark and musty cellar, that his armor wouldn't really be all that shiny.  It would be muddy and maybe a little rusty.  And if he did walk through the door, he probably would actually be coming to see the buxom barmaid and not you, but who could blame him, you like her too.  She's funny.  One could also make believe that you were in the Hog's Head Pub at the first meeting of Dumbledore's Army.  I think you get my point.  Maybe I was just in the right mood, but although it seemed like it should have been a tourist trap, I didn't feel that.  Not a lot of cheese, just a little magic.

So yeah, I'd come back to Riga.  City #1 on the visit at least four cities I've never been before returning home tour gets a few stars. Next up, Frankfurt, Germany.  But first, two more days to say good-bye to Lietuva.  And while I can't say I've lost the travel bug, I will say it's currently competing with all the things I love in Chicago.  

That's you.

Last Night in Pasaka

July 17, 2009

I went to pee and it was light outside.  It was 4:30 in the morning.  The sun had only set at 11:15.  I think I finally get how you can be Jason Deuchler.  When the party ends for you around 6, the choice between an hour and ½ of sleep and hiking to the beach to drink your last beer a top a German WWII bunker on the shore of the perfectly still Baltic becomes clear.

And it is PERFECTLY still.  She is making some noise at the shoreline to let you know she is alive, but the sea looks like bathwater.  I am contemplating using it as such, but it is cold and I’ve already been in the Baltic since I last slept. 

The sunset was beautiful, but now I am on the wrong side of the world for any morning warmth-yet I am still thinking about swimming.  And while the sea is more beautiful than I have ever seen (she is still and she is my own)-the beach is uglier.  When napping on the beach in the afternoon, I notice the waves.  I always liked this bunker. I thought it was an ironic piece of history amidst a beautiful seascape.  But in the morning light from this height, I see at least 3 concrete circles that used to support life sized machine guns.  The dunes behind me are more full of history than  I ever noticed.  Maybe they died waiting for the US too.  Machine gun, bunker, bunker, lookout, bunker, cannon, machine gun, bunker.  In the distance, a runner’s club is warming up, but all I can really see is concrete.  If I force myself to look forward it is beautiful.  If I allow myself to look back, it hurts.

I have to pee, again.  The obvious choice is to go inside the bunker, but I am a little bit afraid of the ghosts.  It is graffiti laden and half full of beer cans and cigarette butts, but there is light coming in from some missing bricks seaside.  I have nothing to look for in the Baltic except a moment of understanding.  The Germans were looking for something else.  I still do not have enough history to explain why this Soviet invaded land has a shore full of rotting German war defenses.  They are fading, but have centuries of ruin left to remind.