Mid-July 2019.
Summer was in full swing, and I had just completed my two-week Odyssey across Greece—just in the nick of time, too. The brutal heatwave that followed would have likely ruined any attempt at traveling there afterward. My summer plans included one last adventure before leaving Europe, but first I needed some rest. I returned to Romania for the rest of July to spend time with family and old friends. With my new life across the Atlantic looming on the horizon, who knew when—or if—I’d see them again.
The Things That Stay Behind
This would also, sadly, be the last time I saw my beloved cat.
The super-chatty Siamese little beast I had grown up with for nineteen years had visibly aged while I’d been away in Denmark. Silver-white strands dotted his once pristine black-and-beige fur. His high-energy, hyper-playful antics had been replaced by a sober, tired, and overly cuddly demeanor. By this point, he was no longer just a pet but an integral part of the family—and perhaps the strongest reminder of time passing.
He would have about one more year left to live before my mom had to make the tough decision—reluctantly, heart-wrenchingly—to put him to sleep due to organ failure. I would be far away in Canada when it happened.
Canada, however, was still a couple of months away.
I spent the rest of July trying to revisit some of my old hiking and cycling spots in Romania. Apart from one or two spots, I mostly failed due to the oppressive heatwave and the endless small things that kept popping up and eating away at time—a theme that would repeat itself every time I returned. Before I knew it, the month was over, and I was boarding a series of planes to embark on what would be my last European adventure of the year: EUGEN, Lithuania.
One Last Adventure Before Leaving Europe
This would be my fourth time attending EUGEN (the European Geoscience Network) summer camp, following the wildly successful 2018 event in Austria. Considering that the PhD position I had landed in Canada came from an advertisement posted in the EUGEN social media group I’d joined the year before, I felt like I owed the organization this trip.
Besides, one final week-long gathering—equal parts science, chaos, and celebration—with a group of like-minded geologists felt like the perfect send-off before leaving Europe. The only truly annoying part was getting to Lithuania.
When searching for flights from Romania, I quickly realized that most routes from the nearest international airport in Cluj were aimed at Mediterranean holiday destinations or Western Europe. Nothing toward Poland, nothing toward the Baltics. I eventually found myself flying in the complete opposite direction—to Turkey—spending yet another night in an airport (my third one that summer), and then catching a next-day flight to Vilnius.
As far as overnight airport survival goes, Istanbul Airport was definitely better than Geneva, though still not quite on par with Athens. It was massive, with plenty of long benches to lie down on, but I couldn’t find a properly quiet, dimly lit corner the way I had in Athens. Still—Turkish Airlines was decent, the prices reasonable, and I eventually made it north.
And so began my Lithuanian chapter.
Arrival in the Baltics
I arrived in Vilnius a tired zombie.
Poor sleep and a long chain of flights had taken their toll. I’d booked a small room for one night at Ecotel Vilnius, and with just a single day to explore Lithuania’s capital before heading to camp, I decided not to waste it napping.
The fresh, cool Baltic air was a gift after weeks of oppressive heat in southeastern Europe. It was sharp, clean, and quietly energizing — just enough to keep my tired ass alert and moving. Vilnius immediately felt different. Less rushed. Less loud. A city shaped as much by forests and rivers as by empires.
Lithuania itself has a surprisingly complex history for such a compact country. Once the core of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania — one of the largest states in Europe during the Middle Ages — it later entered a long union with Poland, endured occupations by neighboring powers, and eventually found itself folded into the Soviet Union. Vilnius, sitting at the crossroads of Eastern and Northern Europe, carries traces of all of it in its architecture, languages, and rhythms.
Gediminas Hill and the Birth of a City
As I wandered the streets, occasionally checking Google Maps for nearby highlights, I slowly made my way toward Gediminas Hill — the symbolic heart of Vilnius.
At the top stands Gediminas’ Tower, the remaining octagonal brick structure of the 15th-century Upper Castle, crowned by the Lithuanian tricolor. According to legend, Grand Duke Gediminas dreamt of an iron wolf howling atop the hill — a sign interpreted as a call to build a great city whose fame would echo across the world. Whether myth or propaganda, Vilnius was born here.
Small groups of visitors appeared near the tower. Judging by the languages floating around — mostly German and French, a few Nordics, and locals — it was busy enough to feel alive, yet spacious enough to breathe. Nothing remotely resembling the dense, relentless crowds of the Acropolis in Athens.
A Quiet Capital
Vilnius struck me as a genuinely calm city — easily the most relaxed capital I’d visited up to that point. The contrast with Athens’ chaos, and even Copenhagen’s perpetual tourist season, was stark and welcome.
From the tower, the city opened up below me. Among the landmarks I could identify was St. Anne’s Church, a late Gothic masterpiece in Vilnius Old Town, built entirely from red clay bricks. Its intricate façade stood out sharply against the skyline, with modern buildings quietly receding behind it. As the sun dipped lower and my stomach began to complain, it became clear that sightseeing would soon give way to something more urgent.
On my way down the hill, I passed the Monument to Grand Duke Gediminas, depicting the city’s founder beside his horse, sword in hand, gesturing forward. Nearby stood Vilnius Cathedral, a neoclassical landmark with its grand columned portico and separate bell tower. Beautiful in the fading light, it somehow felt even more imposing once illuminated at night.
Sour, Dill, and Satisfaction
It was finally dinner time — and time to try some local cuisine.
I started with Šaltibarščiai — a very hostile-sounding dish, packed with angry-looking letters. As it turned out, it was simply a sour beetroot soup. Refreshing and pleasantly sharp, it proved far less aggressive than its name suggested. The ingredients included grated beets, kefir, cucumbers, dill, and green onions, often accompanied by boiled potatoes. Odd at first glance, but surprisingly fitting after a long summer day.
Next came pickled herring, topped with onions, sauce, tomato, and greens. By this point, I was beginning to notice a clear pattern: Lithuanians seemed to have a strong and unapologetic relationship with sour flavors.
Finally, cepelinai — traditional potato dumplings made from grated raw and cooked potatoes, usually filled with meat or cheese. Served with sour cream and dill. Of course. Sourness and dill once again. I felt I had gotten the message.
And honestly? I really enjoyed the new tastes.
It was a stark departure from the warm, aromatic Mediterranean blends I’d grown used to — heavier, sharper, and deeply satisfying in its own way.
With my belly full and sleep finally winning the internal argument, I returned to the hotel and passed out almost instantly. The following morning, I would board a bus heading southwest — toward endless Lithuanian forests and the EUGEN campsite.
Into the Woods
The campsite lay somewhere in southern Lithuania, in the Alytus region. I don’t remember the exact name — Lithuanian place names have a way of refusing to stick — though it may well have been Baublio Krantas campground. In any case, it was exactly what you’d want for something like EUGEN: dense forest wrapped around a lake, a large wooden cabin for cooking and gatherings, and plenty of space for tents scattered among the trees.
That year we had around 120 participants from 15 countries. When introducing myself, I went with the returning Romanian–Hungarian from Denmark. There were plenty of familiar faces from the previous year. Among them were my two closest EUGEN friends: Moritz from Germany and David from Spain. Before long, a third joined our little orbit — a fun, down-to-earth English bloke named Magnus.
The four of us quickly fell into an easy rhythm — less a gang and more a loosely organized alliance held together by shared humor, curiosity, and questionable decision-making.
First Night, Worst Night
We kicked things off the traditional EUGEN way: with a mandatory party that started sometime in the early afternoon and dragged on well into the night. Alcohol once again flowed like it had been tapped directly from a spring beneath the campsite.
I don’t remember exactly which night it was, but given my long-standing habit of getting absolutely plastered on the first evening, chances are it was that one. At some point late at night, I realized I had completely forgotten where I’d pitched my tent.
There I was — fumbling clumsily with my phone in the pitch-dark Lithuanian woods, shivering from the cold yet far too drunk to properly register it. I very nearly crawled into someone else’s tent before a sudden epiphany struck: I remembered exactly where mine was.
The Mystery Tent
To avoid being swarmed by late-night visitors — a mistake I’d made in Austria in 2018 — I’d intentionally placed my tent a bit further away, down a slope. Peace and quiet, I’d thought. Brilliant planning. I finally collapsed inside and fell asleep instantly… in the worst position imaginable. My head was on the downhill side of the slope.
I woke up early the next morning nauseous, bladder bursting, and with what felt like the worst headache of my life. I stumbled out, relieved myself, crawled back in, and passed out again — still in the same position. This cycle repeated several times before I finally woke closer to noon, still feeling like death and slowly realizing that gravity had been sending every last bodily fluid straight to my skull all night.
I eventually flipped around, lay there motionless for a while, and attempted to reassemble myself. Recovery took most of the day, and from that point on I kept my drinking to a strict minimum for the rest of the week. Lesson learned. Again.
Field Trip I: Wood, Sand, and Swamps
As with every EUGEN event, we had three field trip days.
The first took us to the sandy plains of southeastern Lithuania around Marcinkonys, deep in Dzūkija National Park. We explored traditional pinewood constructions, local wood-carving practices, and an artist’s museum filled with large wooden sculptures.
In this region, wood carving is still a living tradition. Villages like Marcinkonys preserve ethnocultural practices where elaborate carvings adorn homes, roadside shrines (koplytstulpiai), and public spaces. I remember visiting an outdoor gallery of striking wooden sculptures in an ethnographic village — works that blended pagan folklore, Christian symbolism, and nature motifs, typical of Lithuania’s dievdirbiai (“god-carvers”) tradition.
Our final stop was the Čepkeliai State Nature Reserve, Lithuania’s largest bog and one of its most pristine wetland ecosystems. Spanning over 11,200 hectares near the Belarusian border, it protects a mosaic of raised bogs, fens, black alder swamps, and flooded forests. The peat layer reaches up to six meters thick, with small relict lakes scattered throughout — remnants of ancient glacial landscapes.
Little did I realize at the time just how much bog and swamp I’d be traversing, cursing, and occasionally sinking into over the coming years.
Field Trip II: Kayak Warfare
The second field trip day involved a kayak journey down the Merkys River, in two-person kayaks. The goal was to observe wildlife — rare blue kingfishers, dragonflies, fish — while stopping at various geological points of interest: colored sand layers along the riverbanks, the abandoned Kukiškis chalk pit with its Jurassic chalk, flint, belemnites, fossils, glauconite sand, and black clay, and finally Baltulis Hill, where cliffs preserve geological records from the last ice age, including 13,700-year-old logs and folded layers shaped by earthquakes and isostatic processes.
I had never kayaked in my life.
Fortunately, I was paired with a seasoned master of the seas — or at least rivers — none other than the infamous Captain Elmo. I picked things up quickly, and before long our mission shifted from peaceful observation to becoming the undisputed kayak-ramming terrors of the shallow streams.
With pinpoint precision, we made sure to tactically bump into every kayaker who dared cross our horizon.
It was an absolute blast. Sadly, I didn’t trust my balance enough to bring my camera or phone along that day. Thankfully, Alexandra from Portugal captured our aquatic misbehavior on camera and shared the photos afterward.
Field Trip III: Forests and Grey Skies
The third field trip took us to Nemunas Loops Regional Park, one of Lithuania’s most scenic protected areas. The park follows a dramatic 60 km stretch of the Nemunas River — Lithuania’s longest — where sweeping meanders carve deep valleys through steep slopes, cliffs, ravines, and erosional remnants.
Nearly 70% of the park is forested, including the Punia Pine Forest, one of Europe’s best-preserved primeval pine stands. Some trees here — pines, spruces, and larches — reach up to 46 meters, particularly in the unique Degsnė larch grove.
The weather, however, was atrocious.
A thunderstorm had rolled in the night before, leaving behind a full day of dark grey skies and relentless rain. We slogged through mud, some of us more hungover than others. Yet somehow, the murky conditions suited the ancient forest atmosphere perfectly — lush, dripping green, alive with biodiversity.
Thunderstorms and Cabbage Moonshine
Speaking of storms — one evening began with ominous clouds and a spectacular lightning show, followed by constant rain. This, unsurprisingly, did not stop the nightly party.
People drank, danced, and chatted in rain gear, briefly retreating only during the most intense lightning bursts. Highlights ranged from calm moments around the fire pit to a highly questionable nighttime boat crossing of the lake by four very drunk individuals. Those who know, will know.
Another night — or possibly the same one — featured an incident involving a cabbage stew gone very wrong. From what the organizers later told me, someone had accidentally poured alcohol into the pot. Rather than throwing it out, they decided — in a moment of pure genius — to attempt turning it into some sort of Frankenstein cabbage moonshine.
It tasted absolutely awful. But it was free. And free alcohol, as any Romanian will tell you, must be consumed. I enthusiastically chugged it and soon became the unofficial poster boy for Lithuanian cabbage moonshine.
Druskininkai and the Long Goodbye
On the final day, we took a cultural trip to Druskininkai, a town famous for its spas, mineral springs, and artist markets showcasing Lithuanian crafts. Some of us skipped the spa — possibly due to missing swimwear, possibly due to price, or possibly due to lingering hangovers.
What I do remember is eating some genuinely good pizza — surprisingly spicy — followed by a visit to the Upside-Down House, a fully inverted yellow building where everything inside is flipped. Slanted floors, furniture on the “ceiling,” disorienting perspectives, and endless opportunities for ridiculous photos.
Back at camp, one final surprise awaited us: a local Dzūkija-style folk music group arrived, performed for us, and soon had everyone swept into a traditional Lithuanian dance.
A perfect, joyful way to close the EUGEN week.
Endings
We slowly demobilized the following day, some leaving earlier than others. Magnus and I managed to hitch a ride with a few of the organizers, giving us a couple more hours to kill in Vilnius before our departures.
We stayed in touch online for a while after that, but eventually contact faded. I haven’t seen much of him on social media in years. I do sometimes wonder what became of him.
Magnus — if you ever read this — drop me a comment so I know you’re doing alright out there.
With the end of EUGEN came the end of my grand European tour of 2019. A journey that had taken me from Switzerland to Greece, Romania, and Lithuania, before returning one last time to Denmark.
Only a few weeks remained now. A few weeks to say goodbye to all my friends in Copenhagen.
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Odyssian
An adventurous soul in a never ending quest to find home.