From Oxford to Vilnius

I feel like I've lived the last 4 days in something in between a fairytale and a movie. Our adventures started like a nightmare road trip: 5 adults and far too much kit squeezed into Si's tiny green car for the two hour drive to Gatwick airport. With stops and detours it took nearly 3, and the chap at the airport carpark said he'd never seen a car so laden down. Says it all really.

A combination of good luck and fast talking saw us check in our 30 kilos per head of luggage without any excess charges. Miraculously, we were allowed to take our helmets through security as hand luggage (altho you should have seen the look on the face of the guy running the X-ray machine!) - hmmm, so although I could headbutt you to death with my 3mm steel helm, it's okay cos there's no sharp edges - but tweezers get banned in case someone loses an eye! Given the all clear, we settled into a bar for a pint 'til our flight. By the time the plane had run two hours late, we felt like we'd already lived half the adventure, but the best was sooo totally yet to come.

It was nearly midnight by the time our plane landed at Vilnius, but our new best friends from the Brethren of Trakai Castle were waiting to collect us - in a military transport van. By 1am we had left the capital behind and were bouncing over dusty grass and spilling out into the parade ground of a ruined fort. We were far from the last to arrive - some of the club members had a gig that night at Kaunas, to the north, and arrived still buzzing from their show. Introductions were made, red wine poured and we hauled our bags up three flights of stairs in search of empty camp beds in the dorm beneath the rafters of one of the fortress towers. We drifted off to sleep surrounded by muttered goodnights in a fistful of unintelligible languages, feeling slightly tipsy and blissfully surreal.
The fairytale dawned properly the next morning, as we realised that our fortified tower stands beside a vast lake (that explains the mozzies then - ow!), with the 'main' castle standing on a distant island in the middle of it, like a red brick beacon. Desperate for coffee, we found ourselved gently commandeered by 14 year old Istus (who likes to be called 'Ice', especially by English speaking people), who was determined to show us the sights while practicing his English. A more gracious host we couldn't have asked for, and it was a pleasure to shout him breakfast after we'd been for a wander past fishing boats and bathing spots and up to the foot of the mighty castle itself. Exploration of that would have to wait 'til Sunday (but was worth it - you'll see!), because we'd just enough time to stock up on beers (at 60p per half litre, a bargain, like lots of things in this country) and check out the market and dancing displays before it was time for the boys to kit up - it was time to fight!