So I went to Latvia this weekend. Turns out there's not much there, but now if anyone ever asks "hey, have you been to Latvia?" I can say yes. Similarly, if anyone ever asks "have you ever been to Estonia?" I can say no, but I've been to Latvia and they are very near to each other.
Latvia was actually very beautiful and very... Slavic? There's nothing like leaving Western Europe Proper to really feel like you're not in Kansas anymore. The signs are completely unintelligable. You know how when you're in Amsterdam and you're looking for the bathroom and you see a sign that says something like "VonToileets" you think oh, that must be it? Well, that doesn't happen in Latvia. I was in the train station trying to figure out where my hostel was on the map, and I had to choose from three streets dubiously named Brivibas Bulvaris, Valku iela, and Strienieku iela. It seems to me that when the powers at be set about naming the streets in Riga that they just let their cat walk across the keyboard a few times and went with it.
I walked to the tourist information center (on Ratslaukums iela?!) to get a map and change some money. The streets in Riga are amazingly serene. I had a great stroll through the city and was struck by the number of people walking along with smiles on their faces. No one was talking on a cell phone or listening to an ipod. They travelled in twos and threes, conversing pleasantly and generally enjoying the late Saturday weather. And they have a reason to be happy -- Latvia celebrates its 37th year of independence in 2006. They have been conquered and reconquered so many times over the years that the last 37 have been the longest stretch of freedom the country has ever had. Isn't that amazing? Riga is pretty much the only city of note in the whole country, but it makes up for it in street after street of beautiful Art Nouveau architecture and Soviet Realist sculptures.
I got to my hostel as the sun was setting, and, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but it was called Friendly Fun Frank's. You can check out their website here. The hostel is run by a group of fantastic aussies, and I got handed a free pint with my room key. Amazing! I met some great folks in the commons (French Canadians and a South African) and went out for a drink with them. We went to a place called Pulkvedim Neviens Neraksta (say THAT three times fast after a couple cocktails!) and I tried the Latvian national liquor called Balzams. Balzams, they tell me, is made from berries and herbs. I find this hard to believe, however, because I've had lots of berries and herbs in various combinations throughout my life (even those red ones your mom tells you not to eat in the woods) and I've never had anything that tasted quite so much like cat piss. It was awful! I should have known better, seeing as it was the French Canadians who were trying to get me to drink it and you know those Canadians will drink anything. Even cat piss.
Anyways, we staggered back to the hostel (passing Riga's only gay club called -- get this-- XXL! You have to ring a buzzer to be let in through the "back door." Heavens!) and said our goodbyes for the evening. I snuggled up in my sleep sheet and slept like a lamb.
The next morning I decided to have a walk around the city Lonely Planet-style before catching my flight back that afternoon. I walked along the river to the Freedom Monument (Brivibas Piemineklis), passing old Soviet monuments on the way. There is a rather striking monument to Lenin's bodyguards called the Latvian Riflemen Monument (Latviesu Strelnieku Laukums) . It is severely carved from a big block of granite and looks very much like something a Soviet would make. I felt oppressed just looking at it:
I wandered around for an hour or so ruminating on the Soviets... Latvia is the closest I've ever been to Russia and it was kind of exciting. I took a Russian history class at UNC and grew up with a father (a Russian history major) who would buy me books like War and Peace and Nicholas and Alexandra if I promised to read them (I did). So, being this close to Russia was kind of like being in New York City and knowing that someone famous was in at least a five mile radius of you, it was just a matter of getting to where they were.I stopped for lunch at a small shop that I could not tell you the name of, but it could have been something along the lines of Ujfdkyslhhaiela Sandwich shop. I had a delicious dough pocket filled with meat, potatoes, and carrots. I also had one of THOSE conversations (you know the type where you look ignorant) with the owner that went something like this:
Me: (non-verbal pointing at sandwich under glass)
Owner: You want this?
Me: Oh! (flustered, he speaks english!) Yes, please.
Owner: Where are you from?
Me: (pause) ...I'm French Canadian
Owner: Ah, oui? Vous parlez francais?
Me: Oui, oui!
Owner: (something totally unintelligable, could have been French)
Me: (smiles benevolently) er, um...How much?
Owner: (Holds up five fingers) quatre LS.
Me: Ok, thank you very much! Goodbye!
Owner: Au revoir! Bon chance!
I am always doing this. Telling people I am Swedish or French Canadian and then digging my own grave. It was nice though, he was very sweet and his sandwich was excellent. After gulping down my dough pocket I had a few more hours to walk around so I strolled haphazardly through the city looking at the architectureand groping produce in the market.
Anyways, I'll end there. My flight back was uneventful, and it turns out the most expensive thing I had to buy all weekend was my bus ticket back to St. Andrews! Would I go to Latvia again? Probably not. Am I glad I went? You betcha.
Do you know what I heard the other day? You can travel to Iran now. Who's up for it?
