What's in a name? Lithuanian names may be the most original in Europe.

            Without a doubt, Lithuania is a country that is proud of its heritage. Vilnius boasts the largest Old Town in Europe, and the area is sprinkled with reminders of the city’s medieval beginnings. From the last remaining tower of Gedimino Castle to Vilnius Cathedral supposedly built on the site of a pagan temple, symbols of Lithuania’s unique heritage are always close by—and this is most apparent when one looks at Lithuanian names.

            Lithuanian names are a blend of the old and the new. Names such as Aleksandras, Monika, and Arturas look familiar to most foreigners as they are Lithuanianized versions of names found across multiple cultures. Biblical names, like Jonas, Lukas, and Marija, have also enjoyed popularity over the centuries into the present day. Some names have a more general meaning—such as Dalia, meaning “fate” (which happens to be the name of Lithuania’s current president, Dalia Grybauskaite). Other names are uniquely Lithuanian. At the beginning of the twentieth century, after gaining independence from a century of Russian occupation, Lithuania experienced a revival of names that beckoned to its rich past. These names span mythology, nature, and history. One very popular name is Vytautas, or Vytas for short. Vytautas was one of the most famous Grand Dukes in Lithuanian medieval history, and to this day the name connotes power, strength, and patriotism. 

Grand Duke Vytautas. See credits for all images below.

          Another historical name is Gediminas, the knight who founded Vilnius (along with the Grand Duchy of Lithuania) in the early 14^th century. Besides the medieval tower that overlooks the city, and the statue of him and his horse near Cathedral Square, the main avenue of Vilnius also bears his name.

Gedimino Prospekt with Vilnius Cathedral at the end. 

        Other names reflect Lithuania’s natural environment; for example, the feminine name Eglė, which means “spruce” or “pine tree.” The name Gintaras (masculine) or Gintare (feminine) means “amber”, a naturally occurring stone that is a popular Baltic souvenir when set in jewelry. The feminine name “Rūta” is also the name of Lithuania’s national plant. 

A rue plant.

         This is just a brief overview of the multitude of names that exist throughout Lithuania. Looking at the meanings of these names gives a tantalizing glimpse of this country’s heritage—and these names ensure that that heritage is preserved and passed on through generations.

The following articles were used as references.

Tracevskis, Rokas M. “The Changing Fashions of Lithuanian Names.” The Baltic Times 21 Feb. 2002. http://www.baltictimes.com/news/articles/6062/

Schmalstieg, William R. “Lithuanian Names.” Lithuanian Quarterly Journal of Arts and Sciences 28.3 (1982). http://www.lituanus.org/1982_3/82_3_01.htm

“Lithuanian Names.” Behind the Name: The Etymology and History of First Names. Mike Campbell, 1996-2013. Web. 07 Nov. 2013. http://www.behindthename.com/names/usage/lithuanian

Image credits

Picture of Grand Duke Vytautas courtesy of Wikipedia at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Vytautas_the_great.jpg.

Picture of Gedimino Prospekt is author's own.

Picture of rue flowers courtesy of Pantry Garden Herbs at http://pantrygardenherbs.com/?attachment_id=11973.

A Fulbrighter Learns Lithuania--and Its Very Old, Very Hard Language

Today's blog post is by another guest writer -- Christine Beresniova, Fulbright Grantee to Lithuania in 2011-2012. 

I have a very special relationship with Lithuania because I am married to a Lithuanian. So when I was awarded a Fulbright grant in 2011 to spend 9 months doing dissertation research there, many people thought that I would have an easy time of things. People assumed that because I could already limp along in the language, and I knew what I was getting into when someone uttered the words "Lithuanian winter” that I was merely going on some kind of extended vacation.

This was hardly true. My husband was not going with me nor was I going to be spending 9 months lazing about on my mother-in-law's sofa. Instead, I was going to have to carve out my own research path and make my own way in a world that neither knew me nor was invested in my success. Yes, I could look forward to a lovely Sunday dinner of buttery cauliflower, lumpy potato dumplings (cepelinai), and freshly made poppyseed cake every week, but my in-laws could not help me build trust with people, nor could they make the subject I was studying less controversial in Lithuania's political landscape. Doing anthropologic fieldwork on how post-Soviet teachers are trained to teach the Holocaust after 60 years of Soviet-occupied silence on the matter was going to be a journey I had to undertake almost entirely on my own.