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“Now spread your feet and face the wall,” my guide barked at me just hours after landing in Vilnius. “You can tell this is your first time in jail.”
It is not the most festive way to begin a Christmas city break with your mum and step-dad. The lights are flickering, not twinkling, and there are no carols or mulled wine. Instead, there is an order echoing off concrete walls inside a former Soviet prison, delivered with enough menace to make me play along.
