Introduction
Biržai, a small town in northern Lithuania with a population of just around 10,000, is a place where silence and the weight of history permeate the air more deeply than anywhere else in the Baltic states. This town, which developed around Biržai Castle built in the 16th century, once flourished as an important fortress city of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. Even today, the artificial Lake Širvėna that spreads around the castle gently embraces the town, creating a sense of time standing still in peaceful tranquility.
The fortress built by the Radvila family now serves as a museum, standing as the town’s symbol. Ancient wooden buildings are scattered around the castle, preserving Lithuania’s traditional living culture for the present day. This region, known as the Sėla area, is renowned for its unique folk culture and crafts. Linen weaving and woodworking, in particular, represent techniques passed down through generations.
I chose to visit Biržai at the end of autumn to experience the land’s true character in the quietude away from tourist season, seeking to touch the authentic soul of this place.
Day 1: First Encounter with Castle Reflections on the Lake
The bus heading north from Vilnius weaves through Lithuania’s countryside landscape. Outside the window, birch forests dyed golden yellow stretch endlessly, and occasionally, small villages appear with white smoke gently rising from chimneys. After about three hours of travel, I arrived at Biržai’s bus terminal around 11 AM.
The town center fits entirely within walking distance. Dragging my heavy suitcase, I headed to my accommodation, Guesthouse “Antanas.” The cobblestone streets were somewhat uneven, but their irregularity somehow conveyed the weight of history. The guesthouse proprietress, Marija, a kind woman in her 60s with a gentle smile, welcomed me warmly in broken English.
“You can see the lake from your room,” she said, leading me to a second-floor room. When I opened the window, Lake Širvėna spread before my eyes. The lake surface gleamed silver in the autumn sunlight, with the red roof of Biržai Castle quietly standing on the opposite shore. In that moment, I felt the fatigue from my long journey melting away.
In the afternoon, I decided to explore the town center. Looking down at the town from the bell tower of St. John’s Church, I could see red-tiled houses arranged around the lake like a gentle embrace. Inside the church, solemn silence filled the space, with colorful stained glass windows casting soft light on the altar. A local elderly man sat alone in the front row, quietly offering his prayers.
For lunch, I went to a small café called “Medus” near the church. I ordered cepelinai, Lithuania’s famous potato dumplings, and two large oval-shaped dumplings arrived with rich sour cream and fried bacon. One bite revealed a chewy exterior with a perfectly seasoned meat filling inside—simple yet deeply flavorful. The café owner approached in broken English asking, “How is it?” When I gave him a thumbs up to express how delicious it was, he smiled with evident pleasure.
Late in the afternoon, I finally visited Biržai Castle. Built by the Radvila family in the 16th century, this castle now serves as a regional history museum. Inside, medieval weapons, noble household items, and regional folk crafts are displayed. Particularly impressive was a map from the Grand Duchy of Lithuania era. Lithuania was much larger then, extending its territory all the way to the Black Sea, and seeing this made me realize anew the historical importance of this small town.
The view from the castle’s top floor was breathtaking. The lake spread below, forests stretching beyond, and the sky beginning to be tinged with sunset colors. Thinking that countless people had gazed upon this same scenery for hundreds of years made me acutely aware of my own existence within the flow of time.
For dinner, I returned to “Medus” and this time ordered kugelis (potato casserole) and Lithuanian beer. The kugelis had a beautifully browned surface with a creamy, gentle flavor inside. The local beer “Švyturys” was light and easy to drink, soaking into my tired body.
When I returned to the guesthouse, Marija had prepared homemade scones and warm herbal tea. When she asked, “How was Biržai?” I replied, “It’s a very beautiful town,” and she smiled, saying, “Tomorrow I’ll show you an even more wonderful place.” That night, with the cool breeze from the lake caressing my cheek, I fell into a deep sleep.
Day 2: Forest Memories and the Warmth of Handcraft
I woke to birdsong in the morning. Looking out the window, I saw a thin mist covering the lake surface, creating a fantastical landscape. The breakfast Marija prepared consisted of dark bread with cheese and ham, generously spread with local honey. The honey was a deep amber color, filling my mouth with floral fragrance.
In the morning, following Marija’s recommendation, I decided to explore Biržai Regional Park. The forest, about a 20-minute walk from town, was a beautiful mix of conifers and deciduous trees typical of northern Lithuania. Walking along the trail, colorful fallen leaves carpeted my feet, rustling with each step.
At a small wetland deep in the forest, migratory birds were resting their wings. Though I regretted not bringing binoculars, I spent time watching the graceful forms of swans and flocks of ducks gliding across the water surface. Sitting on a bench, munching on an apple I’d brought along, I surrendered myself to the forest’s silence. In this place far from urban noise, I could almost hear my own heartbeat and breathing.
In the afternoon, I returned to town and visited a local craft workshop. At a workshop called “Aušros,” a third-generation grandmother worked alone making linen products. Her hands at the aged loom moved as smoothly and beautifully as if playing a musical instrument.
“This technique was passed down from my grandmother to my mother, and then to me,” she told me with evident pride. When she let me touch the loom, I was amazed by its complexity. The interweaving of warp and weft threads gradually created beautiful patterns. The grandmother smiled gently at my clumsy attempts and encouraged me, saying, “You’re quite good for a beginner.”
When leaving the workshop, I purchased a small linen handkerchief. With its simple embroidered flower pattern, the handkerchief held a warmth that seemed to symbolize my experience in this land.
In the evening, I walked along the lakeshore again. The sunset painted the lake surface gold, with the castle’s shadow stretching long across the water. As I sat on a lakeside bench simply gazing at this beautiful scene, a local elderly man sat beside me. He spoke to me in fluent English, telling me he was a former teacher who had been born and raised in this town.
“Biržai is a small town, but here you’ll find the real Lithuania,” he said. “What you won’t find in big cities—human connections, respect for tradition, and harmony with nature. All of these exist here.” His words perfectly captured what I had been feeling during these two days.
For dinner, I went to a home-cooking restaurant called “Balta Ranka” near the guesthouse. Here I ordered barščiai (Lithuanian version of borscht) and kibinai (baked pastry parcels), local home-style dishes. The barščiai was a deep red soup with beet sweetness and sour cream acidity in perfect harmony. The kibinai had a crispy exterior with spiced meat filling that released juices with each bite.
The restaurant proprietress enthusiastically explained the dishes, telling me, “These recipes are from my grandmother.” Through the meal, I felt I could touch a little of the daily life of the people in this land.
When I returned to the guesthouse, Marija had lit a fire in the fireplace and was waiting for me. Sitting before the dancing orange flames, drinking warm chamomile tea, I reflected on the day’s events. The forest’s silence, the experience at the craft workshop, the conversation with the elderly man by the lake—everything felt deeply engraved in my heart.
Day 3: Farewell Reflections on the Lake Surface
On my final morning, I woke earlier than usual. Somewhere in my heart, I was probably reluctant to see this beautiful time come to an end. Outside the window, morning mist covered the lake surface, with the castle’s shadow dimly reflected on the water.
After breakfast, I packed my belongings and said farewell to Marija. When she said, “Please come back again,” I replied, “I will definitely return.” This wasn’t mere politeness but a heartfelt promise.
Since I had time before the bus departure, I decided to walk along the lakeshore one last time. In the clear morning air, the lake surface was mirror-quiet, with only occasional small ripples from water birds breaking its tranquility.
In the small park in front of the castle, local people were enjoying their morning walks. An elderly couple with their dog, a young woman jogging, a middle-aged man reading a newspaper on a bench. For just these two days, I had blended into their daily routines.
Passing by the craft workshop I’d visited yesterday, I saw the grandmother hanging textiles outside her shop. When she spotted me, she waved and called out, “Take care!” Clutching the handkerchief I’d purchased, I waved back with gratitude in my heart.
On my way to the bus terminal, I stopped by Café “Medus.” I wanted to experience that warm atmosphere one last time. The owner remembered me and said with regret, “Are you leaving already?” I ordered coffee and a small pastry, and from a window seat, I gazed at the town’s scenery while mentally organizing the events of these three days.
The silence in the forest, the warm interactions at the craft workshop, the conversation with the local man by the lake, and the delicious home cooking. All were precious experiences impossible to find in cities. What impressed me most was people’s kindness. Despite language barriers, everyone opened their hearts to me. Perhaps this was a manifestation of this land’s embracing spirit.
At 11 AM, I boarded the bus to Vilnius. Sitting by the window, I watched Biržai’s landscape gradually recede. The small town surrounded by the lake, the castle with its red roof, the cobblestone streets, and the warm smiles of the people—everything was deeply etched in my heart.
As the bus left town and began traveling through the countryside, I was enveloped by a strange sensation. Though it had been only a three-day stay, I felt a deep attachment as if I had lived in this land for a long time. Perhaps this was Biržai’s special charm—a place where time flows slowly, people treasure each other, and traditions remain alive. Time spent in such a place would continue to remain as special memories deep in my heart.
Looking at the scenery outside the window, I thought about the day I would visit this town again. Next time, I wanted to stay longer and taste this land’s charms more deeply. To fulfill my promise to Marija, and to see that grandmother’s weaving once more, I would definitely return.
Conclusion: What Was Felt as Real Despite Being Imaginary
This journey was experienced in imagination, yet it remains in my heart as vivid memories, as if I had actually walked that land, breathed its air, and interacted with its people. The gentle time possessed by the small town of Biržai, Lithuania, the warmth of its people, the feelings embedded in traditional crafts, and its beautiful nature—all of these were felt with genuine reality despite existing only in imagination.
Perhaps travel is not necessarily only about physically moving from place to place. By carefully painting landscapes in our hearts and turning our thoughts to the culture and people of distant lands, we can experience true “travel” in the deepest sense. Through this imaginary journey, my interest in and attachment to Lithuania deepened, and a strong desire was born to someday truly visit that land.
This proves the wonderful potential that the power of imagination holds. Even if imaginary, experiences drawn with genuine heart can certainly enrich our lives.
