We've been stuck in Klaipeda, Lithuania, now for three days, waiting for strong, persistent northerlies to turn. Until they do, we cannot proceed. We learned the hard way last season that fighting upwind is not much fun. So, we wait. The GRIBs suggest a wind shift in two days.

Meanwhile, we get a good look at this former Soviet state.

Initial reconaissance revealed a delightful Old Town, complete with an open air market and cobblestone squares. We found a quaint coffee shop where we are now regulars.

There is much to relate, but time is short(hence, the title of this entry -- a Lithuania Part Deux is coming). So I will leave you with one short vignette.

Yesterday, while browsing the marine shop (my favorite shoreside pasttime), I asked the proprietor if he had stainless steel screws. I needed a few to mount some hooks in the head for hanging wet foulies. He said he did not, but knew where some could be found.

Then, a Norwegian moment. Like so many times in Norway, he did not stop with simply offering directions. Knowing I was a foreigner not familiar with his town, he offered to drive me to the specialty shop, about 15 minutes away. When I politely refused, he insisted. So I had about an hour with him.

He was a fit, 40-year-old Lithuanian man with a short cut to his salt and pepper hair. As we drove, I asked a few open ended questions about life in Klaipeda. He informed me that the town had around 240,000 residents and, though not as big as other cities, "you can get anything done here."

Being from a nautical background, the example substantiating this claim had to do with boats. He told of an engine starter problem that would have required three weeks and 600 English pounds to accomlish by normal means, but through the innovation of Klaipeda craftsmen, the job was accomplished in two days for under 100 litas ($30).

We passed some older apartment buildings. With contempt in his voice, he declared them, "Soviet construction." He said the apartments inside were very small and only lower income people lived in them now.

I asked him how it was growing up in those times. (He was about 20 years old when the Berlin Wall fell.) He said it was OK, but there were many soldiers around all the time, and sometimes friends would leave for military training in the north. He complained about restrictions on travel out of the country and general lack of freedom. He said he much preferred his life today.

We returned from the hardware store and I bid him adieu, thanking him profusely for the tour.