It’s so petite and pretty that Napoleon wanted to take it back to Paris in the palm of his hand. That is reputedly the sentiment the French ruler expressed upon laying eyes on the exquisitely graceful St. Anne’s Church in Vilnius’ old town for the first time. It’s easy to understand that feeling as we stand in front of this masterpiece of flamboyant Gothic architecture — its rhythmic composition of red bricks dancing along the front facade in vertical and curved lines.

My cousins Ruta and Linas, native Vilniusites, are our proud guides on a walking tour of Vilnius’ old town. We start where Vilnius started, in Cathedral Square at the foot of Gediminas Hill, where the Upper Castle stands guard over a remarkably unchanged landscape of majestic church spires and red-tiled roofs. The Lower Castle, once bound by the Neris and Vilnia rivers, sits at the bottom of the hill in the throes of reconstruction — a cause of concern for many who believe in leaving it as a historic site and active archaeological dig. A fairly recent discovery there yielded 62 silver coins dating to the late 14th century, each featuring portrait of Jogaila, one of Lithuania’s former rulers.

All this is part of a wide, flat, granite-paved plaza where the remarkable French-classicist cathedral and its oddly simple oval four-story bell tower stands. The belfry actually is built on an old defensive tower of the Lower Castle. Long-ago pagans chose this spot for their worship and, in 1251, Grand Duke Mindaugas of Lithuania was baptized and built the first cathedral here. Upon his death in 1263, pagans denounced Christianity and reclaimed the spot for their rituals. It wasn’t until 1385 that Christianity regained its hold in Lithuania. In 1419, the cathedral was rebuilt into the spectacular building it is today, the result of influence by various schools of architectural influence (Renaissance, Baroque) and a series of fires and restorations. In 1950, the cathedral was closed and the Soviets used it as a picture gallery. (Hopefully, they enjoyed the many marvelous works of art encased in its 11 unique chapels.) Today, the plaza is a popular gathering spot for young and old and a spacious haven to bask in the all-too-short warmth of the sun.

Embedded in the granite halfway between the bell tower and the cathedral is a small tile engraved with the word stebuklas, miracle. The tile marks the spot where in 1989 approximately 2 million Lithuanians, Latvians and Estonians formed a human chain of protest against Soviet occupation. The chain stretched more than 400 miles — all the way to Tallinn. It has become a symbol of freedom and hope. If you stand on it, make a wish and turn 360 degrees clockwise, legend says your dream will come true. It ultimately worked for the three Baltic countries.

Sufficiently awed, we start our walk up Pilies Gatve (Castle Street), Vilnius’ main thoroughfare. Pastel buildings line the narrow street in an architect’s paradox of Baroque, Gothic, Rococo, Classical, Empire, Modern and Post-Modern styles co-mingling in charming multi-architectural diversity.

Ruta directs us up Mykolo Gatve, where we find the Amber Museum and Gallery, housed in a medieval building. If you love amber, this is the place. The main level showcases exquisite amber jewelry crafted by local artisans, while the basement and excavated sub-basement takes you on a journey through amber’s history and evolution. To wit, amber is ancient hardened resin that once oozed from primeval trees, dripped onto the forest floor and journeyed through rivers and streams to make its way into the Baltic Sea where it hardened, fossilized and washed up onshore. It’s interesting to note that not all amber is “amber colored.” It can be blue, green, opaque or even black. It can be solid or speckled — or even have insects entombed within it (remember the movie “Jurassic Park?”).

Vendors galore inhabit every twisting alley in Vilnius and spread out in the central squares offering tempting pieces for you to inspect. Not all are real, and it is hard to tell the difference between authentic amber and a well-crafted piece of plastic. If something catches your eye and the price seems low, it may be suspect. But even price isn’t a telling factor — expensive fakes abound. At the Amber Museum and Gallery, we learned one method of telling the difference. Placed in a bowl of salt water, real amber floats while plastic sinks. Still, this particular test doesn’t always work for larger pieces that have silver or gold crafted on them.

So how can you tell if amber is real? Bite it (not advised) or burn it. Real amber gives off a whiff of its origins — it will smell like a pine forest. Or rub it vigorously on your jeans or some other rough fabric to heat it up and release the scent. The best way to be certain of your purchase, though, is to shop at a certified amber vendor (credentials will be displayed outside the shop) who will include a certificate of authenticity with your purchase.

We continue our walk exploring courtyards and alleyways, skirting the impressive Presidential Palace, the multi-arcaded, golden-toned Vilnius University (the oldest university in Eastern Europe, founded in 1579), and make our way to the Ausros Vartai — the Gates of Dawn. Part of the city’s original fortifications in the 16th century, the chapel built into it in 1671 by Carmelite nuns now serves as a pilgrimage site for hundreds of people daily. It houses a holy image of the Virgin Mary that is said to have miraculous powers. People queue up quickly in an orderly and seemingly unending line to light candles and pray for a miracle. Standing in that small space, lit by the incandescent glow, it is easy to believe miracles can happen.

By now, we are visibly drooping, and Linas whisks us away across the river to Uzupis (which actually means beyond the river), an artists’ enclave just behind old town. Uzupis has declared itself a breakaway republic, boasting mottos such as “every dog has the right to be a dog.” The rest of the world seems to be declaring it the “Montmartre of Vilnius.” We step gingerly inside a rather drab looking doorway to see that the entire back wall has been cut away and tables and terraces sit on a hill overlooking the Upper Castle on Gediminas Hill and Vilnius’ old town just across a narrow branch of the Vilnia River. Delighting in the afternoon breezes at the Tores restaurant while quaffing a few bottles of Svyturys (a particularly tasty Lithuanian beer) we gaze down on the now truly petite St. Anne’s Church and realize one day is hardly enough to begin to explore the complexity of Vilnius.