The Ones I Met Along The Way

by Leanne Chan (Singapore)

Making a local connection Lithuania

To the astonishment of the passengers on board, a foreigner hauled her suitcase onto the local bus, shoving it between two seats as it wheezed like an elephant straining to squeeze into a pair of skinny jeans. “Klaipėda…?” A sweet old lady in yellow ventured to say, gesturing to check if I had gotten on the right bus. Tourists typically did not take these buses, and it showed. My alien-green suitcase took up some serious real estate in the cramped bus, and I only hoped that my apologetic grimace sufficed. Just the night before, I had discovered that the ‘official’ buses from Liepāja to Klaipėda only made the journey twice a week, and the next one would leave for my destination two days too late. The Latvian host whose apartment I stayed at in Liepāja had come to my rescue, offering this miraculous alternative that seemed more like a local secret, really. “Yes.” The old lady smiled kindly. Help has arrived, I thought to myself. One should never underestimate the power of an ally. Just moments before getting on the bus, two shady characters had steadied themselves to approach, raising their voices menacingly. (Did they want money? Were they being racist? What were they threatening me about?) I had put on my best steely-eyed expression and moved away to place some distance between us. Surprisingly, that had sufficed, but I was still relieved when they did not follow me onto the bus. Two hours later, I arrived at Klaipėda and took a car-ferry to Smiltyne for just €1. Local kids in their family cars waved cheekily at me and I caught myself waving back wistfully, wishing that I could talk to them, to forge a connection – something, anything more than just waves and smiles that meant goodbye. I had been on the road for three weeks now, and the little connections forged with various individuals along the way made me feel less alone. Ten minutes later, I alighted at a deserted ferry terminal far from the main town, Nida. A quick walk around confirmed that there were no public buses there. I was stranded. A man emerged from a solitary black cab with dark windows, bellowing repeatedly, “YOU COME! I DRIVE YOU!” – all for the mere price of daylight robbery. “Thanks, but I’ll take my chances,” I huffed, hurriedly checking ride-sharing apps. None of them operated at this part of Smiltyne. The persistent cab driver, assuming his aggressive touting had been too subtle, revved his engine as obnoxiously as a teenager showing off his first Harley. Brilliant, I thought. That’s sure to make me fall at your feet and take your cab. Two minutes of deafening honks and unwanted attention later, I fled the scene, taking the same ferry back to Klaipėda. As it turned out, a different ferry could take me to the less secluded side of Smiltyne in under 15 minutes. After a mini wrestling match with a ticketing machine that choked on my €2 coin, I caught the right ferry and arrived at the populated side of Smiltyne. Pooling together €35, six strangers and I hitched a ride in an old man’s van to get to each of our destinations. The old man reminded me of my grandfather. He played old-school Lithuanian country music on the radio and his van smelled like a tobacco. Exhausted, I drifted off to sleep, waking 20 minutes later to find that the affable blond Lithuanian sitting in the front passenger seat had turned behind to smile at me. He had a twinkle in his eye – the kind of twinkle I wished more people had when they smiled. I returned a grin, half expecting him to say something lovely or to tease me about my slumber. Our silent exchange was abruptly interrupted by the old man, who mumbled something in Lithuanian as he pulled the brakes, pointing to a sign that revealed that we had arrived at my destination. 'Welcome to the Curonian Spit National Park,' it read. 'Adventure and magic await!' I paused as I alighted, holding the blond stranger's soft gaze once more, memorizing his smile. Why wait? Perhaps the adventure and magic were already right there.