Most writers can be defined as drunk, debauched and perpetually broke. Lithuanian writers manage to wobble that extra step. Proof can be found inside the first floor bar of the Lithuanian Writers’ Union, a legendary venue entered through a gloomy corridor glistening with remnants of tsarist excess. Set across two rooms, evenings here tend to involve lots of falling over in between trips to toilets that positively drip with slime. Chaos is rife and encouraged, as poets and wannabes of all ages shatter rules of conduct, the pandemonium overseen by the matriarchal Regina who flies into action when it all gets too much. The interiors are a must see, but not half as much as the characters inside them. Unmarked, look for the door to the left of the Lietuvos Rašytojų Sąjunga plaque.
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