Vilnius and religion

Vilnius is a city of quirk. A city of cute cafes and arty independent shops. A city of pastry lovers.  A city with considerable character in that not-too-many-people-know-too-much-about-us way.  Maybe that's what keeps in real--tourists come but they blend into the background.  It's off the Americans-go-to-Europe tourist path.  No disrespect to Paris or Barcelona or London, but it kind of feels like people have more set reasons to go to Lithuania; they're not merely aiming to fulfill the tick list.

Alas.

Vilnius is also a city of religion. So a bulk of tourists we saw wandering around were middle aged prayer-type folk.  They did the Pope John Paul tour.  Being the first pontiff to visit the country in its history afforded him a series of plaques, statues and camera-happy snapping stations.  With roughly 80% of the population identifying themselves as Catholic, I suppose it's no big surprise.

The churches were everywhere though. Dotted across the old town, on the outskirts and hidden behind soviet-era council blocks. Gothic, modern, every style.
                                    

And like most Catholicly religious buildings, their grandeur was immense.  

 Towering (pardon the pun) above the old town

What was more surprising then was the richness of other houses of worship across the city.  I took my first peeks into a Russian Orthodox Church adorned with a gold shrine, without pews and centered around an (admittedly creepy) glass box encasing two long-dead masters of worships covered in cloth with their skeletal feet clad in purple velvet slippers peeping out.  

                                               

                                   

                                               
And most saddening, perhaps, was the dearth of synagogues in a city whose population was once 50% Jewish.  What remains is one temple, on the outskirts of old town located directly across from the yarn shop.  A pointy fence and locked gate shield the entrance from intruders; a doorbell is the only indication that the synagogue admits visitors--worshiping or otherwise.
                                    
Luckily, Judith and I were in the right place at the right time.  A woman who worked there rang the bell for entrance and a small, short man wearing a white yarmulke admitted both her and us. We were ushered to come in, look around and take pictures if we wanted.  And i don't know why it surprised me so much, but this remaining temple looked a whole lot like a church.
                                     
                                                 
 minus the Hebrew and many memorials to family members lost during the Holocaust.

 So maybe that sums up a city of quirk. A city of cute cafes and arty independent shops. A city of pastry lovers. A city of tolerantly-minded religious and non-religious people.