Sculptures on the facade of the Lithuanian National Opera and Ballet Theatre. Photo by Jaime Silva/CC
I went with my flatmate to the opera on Friday.
It wasn’t planned, and I only had 15 minutes to get ready, so I threw on a skirt and some flats, which I sincerely hoped would make up for the fact that I had spent all night on the train from St. Petersburg and hadn’t washed my hair.
I am not sure that the other patrons felt like my dressing efforts were up to par, as they all looked effortlessly elegant and I sort of felt like a fraud, like a little girl pretending to be cultured. Next time I will wear a scarf and some bracelets, I think that will make a much more convincing disguise.
If only the other opera patrons milling around the lobby knew that not only was I under dressed but I also know absolutely nothing about the opera, I might have been removed for sheer ignorance. Americans are not known for their devotion to high culture, and Idahoans even less, so I haven’t had a lot of exposure to such things until I came to Europe. Note to my fellow Americans: high culture is pretty interesting, we should start to care about it more.
It was only after it was over that I found out that “Pasiją Pagal Joną” is not an opera at all, but something else entirely. Having admitted my ignorance, I can see why people like to go to the opera or the theatre, and I am going to try to take advantage of the opportunity to do so while I am in a place with so much going on.
Back to the opera: the costuming and the set design was really minimalistic, with the differences between men and women obscured under baggy dresses (and man dresses, what would one call those?). It was all very monochromatic, done in shades of white, black, and grey, with the odd (and oddly shocking) bit of purple.
It was done in the original German, with subtitles in Lithuanian. I could get the occasional word from the subtitles, but all in all, I am really lucky that I went to Lutheran school, so I was able to follow the story.
Attending “Pasiją Pagal Joną” at the Lithuanian National Opera and Ballet Theatre constituted the entirety of my Easter celebration in Lithuania, and I think it was a good celebration at that. I would have liked to have seen a church service, but all of my Catholic roommates were out of town doing family things, and I know significantly less about attending Mass than I do about attending the opera.
On the way to the opera, walking by a Maxima, I was accosted by a tall man speaking very quick Lithuanian.
“Aš nesuprantu Lietuviškai, atsiprašau” I replied. He made it clear that he wanted a cigarette, so I said “да, да” and gave him one.
It turns out that he spoke Russian, so he continued his monologue in Russian about how he is not an alcoholic or a drug addict (two words that I didn’t know before, but the context was clear), but he needs some money.
I seriously doubted his story, but he seemed kind and it’s not my business to judge what people need money for, so I gave him a handful of change. He thanked me, and walked away. It wasn’t until I was well on my way home that I realized I had forgotten to be afraid. He was probably a foot taller than me, and a good deal broader in the shoulders, and I just spoke with him human-to-human.
I guess this means I feel safe here again, that I am well and truly back to the person that I have always been. It feels better to give money because I can’t stand people to suffer rather than giving it to them simply because I am afraid of people.
Charissa Brammer is an American student that has been studying at Vilnius University since the fall. Read more of her writing here.
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Views expressed in the opinion section are never those of the Baltic Reports company or the website’s editorial team as a whole, but merely those of the individual writer.
