Lithuania, whose biggest city is Vilnius contains a population of approximately 2.8 million. Latvia’s population numbers about a million less, and Estonia’s is just a skosh over 1.3 hearty northern souls. Finland, which is not part of the Baltics but which lies just north across the Gulf of Finland, boasts 5.6 million industrious inhabitants. Taken together, the population of the Baltics numbers about the same as Colorado’s, and when added to Finland, doubles it. By another metric, all four together number less than the population of metro Los Angeles.

What they all share, besides their eastern flanks being hard against the western Russian border and a history of invasion and dominance by their Scandinavian neighbors, Russia, and in the case of the Baltic states, the Germans during the Second World War, is the midnight sun, the near lack of sunlight in the winter, proud cultures, complicated languages, and forests, a further word about which is in order.

When I claim the forests, which cover approximately 40% of the Baltic states and nearly all of Finland, are transparent, you may think that I have lost my mind. How, you may rightfully ask, can the dense and overwhelming pine forests be transparent? The answer lies in the understory or, in the case of these northern boreal holds, the lack thereof.

Unlike our Rocky Mountain forests, those in the Baltics and Finland, while replete with what we call lodgepole pines that stretch high into the sky, the undergrowth is so low that standing at the edge of a forest, one can see between the trees seemingly forever. Other than the magnificent trees, little is taller that knee height and, as if the trees refuse to topple, there is startlingly little deadfall. Whereas here, your eyes might probe fifty or sixty meters into the thickness, there, to borrow from The Who, one can see for miles and miles.

What undergrowth is there is delicious. Blueberries, wild asparagus, and mushrooms of every conceivable permutation are free, in the right season, for the pickin’.

A further word about the midnight sun and its wintery inverse. We visited in the last weeks of May and the first week of June, not quite, but near the peak of the stretched out summer days. Sunrise was before 4:00 AM. In theory, sunset was about 11:00 PM. In reality though, the skies were light except for about two hours in the wee of bars-just-out early morning. One night, when we were driving back to our Helsinki hotel, past the beach at Hetaranta, an active volleyball game was underway. Under natural light. It was past 10:30. When the workday ends, the offices pour out onto the public lawns and squares where the winter vitamin D challenged soak up the sun, knowing that when the workday ends at 5:00, they’ve got another nearly 8 hours to enjoy it.

In the winter, though, it is another story. A friend in Espoo, Finland, shared with us that when she goes to work at 7:00 AM, the sun has not yet nosed up and when she heads home at 3:00 PM, it is already settled in for the night. In the thick of winter, the sun doesn’t visit even for the briefest cameo.

Voyaging from south to north, Lithuania was first on our itinerary. Of the Baltic capitals - Vilnius, Riga, and Tallinn - only Vilnius is landlocked. Like all the Baltic capitals, it consists of the well-preserved old and sparkling new, each set off in their own districts. The Vilnius old city, a hub of Jewish scholarship and culture for centuries before the Nazis, is abuzz with life. Restaurants, boutiques, artisans, narrow cobbled streets, and ancient buildings are admixed among the impressive cathedrals, university, and presidential palace which, to our sensibilities seemed strange as one could freely enter the courtyard of the palace and the only guard in sight was a slender young woman with a walkie talkie and a pair of handcuffs snugged in her duty belt.

What else Vilnius boasts, hard beside the scenic Vilnia River, is the Republic of Užupis, a Haight Ashburyesque hippy-dippy tongue-in-cheek free state located in the old town with its own ethic, flag, unofficial currency, president, cabinet of ministers, constitution, anthem, and an army (since disbanded) of 11 men. The residents of the self-declared republic celebrate its independence annually on Užupis Day, which falls on April 1. Artistic endeavors are the main preoccupation of the Republic; the President of the Republic of Užupis, Romas Lileikis, is himself a poet, a musician, and a film director.

The Constitution, posted on reflective panels in 23 languages, can be found affixed to a wall in Paupio Street. Some of its articles would be unremarkable in a constitution; for instance, Article 5 simply reads "Man has the right to individuality". Others are more idiosyncratic. A few typical examples can be found in Article 1 - "People have the right to live by the River Vilnelė, while the River Vilnelė has the right to flow past people”, 12 – “A dog has the right to be a dog", and 37 - "People have the right to have no rights".

The food was marvelous. Throughout the Baltics, every dinner was a feast. While I have been a non-red meat eater for decades, what could be regularly found on the menu were boar, bear, reindeer, elk, and moose. The fish and veggie offerings were delicious!

From Vilnius to Trakai and the Trakai Island Castle which, as the name suggests is a largely restored 14th century castle surrounded on all sides by Lake Galve on the shores of which are a lovely lakefront and the quaint town of Varnikai. After visiting the castle and a boat ride on the lake, we sampled kibinai, a traditional empanada-like baked pastry for which the region is renowned.

Back in Vilnius, we happened into an annual folk festival in which hundreds, if not thousands, participated, flooding most areas of the old town with traditional song, costume, and dance.  And, oh yeah, the Vilnius half marathon with all the swag and hoopla was going on as well.

Our next day’s travels took us to Riga, on the way to which we stopped at the Paneriai  Memorial, a beautiful, forested area on the Vilnius outskirts which pay homage to the 100,000 Lithuanian Jews murdered by the Nazis in its killing fields. We stopped too for lunch and beer tasting in the small town of Birza, rightly famous for its beer-making tradition, and Anykscia Park where the main attraction is a stroll along the Laju Takas, a breathtaking treetop walkway.

Riga on the Daugava River, where our first night we celebrated our older son Ascher’s birthday, is a grand cobblestoned capital. The Dome Cathedral where we listened to an organ recital played on the second largest church organ in Europe, Riga Castle, the picturesque House of the Black Heads, the old town walls, and the soaring be-glittered Byzantine Russian Orthodox Church afforded contrast to what lay in the newer part of town, the spectacular Art Nouveau district, often referred to as the Paris of the North. We explored the bustling and expansive Central City Market, then, from the towering spire of St. Peter’s Church, took in the sensational far-reaching view.

We decided on an excursion to Jurmala, a beach town on the Baltic where the sun was hot, the waves were nonexistent, the beach was wide, the water cold, and the crowds were essentially non-existent. What, I suppose, would one expect in a country so unpopulous with a coast so long? After beach time, we wandered the long esplanade through town, then back to Riga for a medieval feast at Rozengrals, an underground, dungeon-like space that has served as a public establishment or one kind or another since 1293. Yum!

Off the next day to an eco-farm in Parnu, then the Kaetase Ciderhouse for a tasting, and at last to Tallinn in Estonia, the Old Town of which is a World Heritage site and one of the finest and most well-preserved medieval towns in Europe. Spectacular understates it. Soaring spires, fortresses built into and upon the rocky cliffs, the impressive Kadriorg Palace founded by Russian Tsar Peter I, well-preserved town walls in which one could - and in which we did - explore, and the Byzantine Russian Orthodox Aleksander Nevsky Kathedral, with its golden onion domes, Zakomara, and Kokoshnik.

We took a day to visit the pastoral manor homes at Plamse outside the city, then Lahemaa National Park, followed by a beautiful forested coastal walk to the rocky Baltic shore at Altja, and the impressive waterfalls at Jägala.

The next day, we boarded the Tallink ferry - the size of a standard cruise ship - for the comfortable two-hour, 80 mile ride to Helsinki. With its magnificent harbor, Helsinki begins at the sea, beside which is the bustling outdoor market. Narrow medieval streets bend from the harbor to Cathedral Square, one end of which is occupied by the Helsinki cathedral and which remains the beating heart of town. Although much was destroyed during the Second Great War, there remain the ancient cobbles, slender streets with breast-held secrets, enormous squares, abundant parks where the sun-worshipping Finns gather in abundance, and lively shopping districts. The central Helsinki library, a flowing modern masterpiece imprinted with the soul of Scandinavian design is not to be missed. Contained within it are restaurants, a coffee shop, an indoor playground, and – oh yeah - books, and one may check out basketballs and soccer balls for use on the adjacent playing fields. The Russian influence exerts itself again in the imposing Orthodox Cathedral which looks down from its high perch on the city. 

We took a harbor cruise on a beautiful sunny day which took us to, among other destinations, the old fort which, for centuries, guarded the mouth of the harbor. Ringing the harbor, which is circumscribed with rock instead of sand, Finns were nestled in the stone, sparsely outfitted for a day at the “beach”. We toured with an old friend, a Finn who lives in nearby Espoo, and were welcomed into her home where we had dinner, Finnish style, and caught up into the night. The next day took us by train to Turku, about 100 miles to the west, where we reconnected with another Finnish friend who calls Turku home. 

The beautiful River Aura runs through the heart of the city and out to the archipelago - reminiscent of the Thousand Islands in upstate New York and, ultimately to the Gulf of Bothnia. We boarded the Rudolphina for a lunch cruise to the archipelago. That night, we again dined with old friends in their home before a late train back to Helsinki where we spent a last day taking in what we had missed: the Stone Church, the Esplanade, a bit of shopping, exploration of the indoor market at the harbor, and a “last supper” at the greenhouse-like glass pavilion Kapelli restaurant.  

What is strange and challenging about the Baltics are the languages, which are so different from one another that Lithuanians speak to Latvians who speak to Estonians in either English or Russian. English is understood and spoken in all three countries and Finland, especially among the young. What is nearly universal about them is their hatred for the Russians and for Putin in particular. Before the Russian embassies in all three Baltic countries are protests over Ukraine, blue and gold Ukrainian flags, unflattering comments and caricatures of Putin, photos of Navalny, and casts of pseudo blood. In Riga, the Latvians have gone so far as to rename the street upon which the embassy resides as Ukrainian Freedom Street so all postage mailed to the embassy must bear that address. The Baltics and Finland are modern where they should be modern, ancient where they should be, clean, free of crime, and despite Russia knocking next door, safe - at least for now. The countryside is beautiful, the pace unhurried, and have I mentioned? The food is great!