The flaneur

Yesterday I went and had a look at the kenesa in Vilnius, one of (allegedly) only three surviving active ones left on the planet. A kenesa is the religious building of the karaite, a peculiar sect of Judaism who were believed to have broken away from Rabbinic Judaism in the mists of time in Baghdad. The karaite were bought to Lithuania by the Lithuanian Grand Duke Vytautas (Polish, Witold, 1350-1430) as bodyguards and who still remain in small numbers, notably in the old Lithuanian capital at Trakai (Polish, Troki). Resplendent in their pointy boots and Oriental attire, the karaite represent much that has more or less vanished (or been removed) from the cultural makeup of Lithuania. They’re mentioned in the City of Strangers book, briefly, as are the Tartars, who once had a large community in Vilnius in what’s now known as the Lukiškės area of the city. Incidentally, this explains the Islamic graves I found in Vilnius (see earlier post). The book is doing an extraordinary job at recreating the recent past of this city, and is both helping and muddying my quest. The book is really a history of the city as told by outsiders who visited over the centuries, some of them famous authors, others more humble visitors. I’ve just been reading about Paul Otto Heinrich Fechter (1880-1958), a German submarine pilot during WWI and, under the pseudonym Paul Monty the author of a guidebook to Vilnius during the German occupation of the city from 1915 to 1918. Wanderstunden in Wilna (Wandering in Vilnius) speaks volumes about the way I feel not just about Vilnius but about my own fascination with cities. I’ve called myself an urban rambler for a long time, and I suppose it’s this obsession (or partly this obsession) that drove me into my current line of business. Paul Monty’s book is written for occupying German soldiers, and appeals directly to the flaneur, which is another word for urban rambler I suppose. Anyway, get from the book:

In this world, the right to conquer foreign cities in a privilege reserved only to a few mighty rulers and military leaders, but every traveller can successfully master unknown cities if he perfects the art of wandering. If the traveller is a clever strategist, he will certainly consult various maps and chronicles before he ventures into a strange town. If the traveller is an artist - and wandering is the freest form of art - he will approach the city from a completely different perspective. Without any hesitation, the urban wanderer will let fresh air guide him through the unfamiliar streets of the far-flung city. This form of travelling has the potential of breaking every kind of fortification. Fortunately for the traveller, our good old Wilna is blessed with a perpetual breeze, creating perfect conditions for endless roaming through its streets and squares.

It’s almost as if this was written for me.