Riga, Latvia

The friendly Lithuanians on the train to Siauliai had recommended that I check out an area to the west of Lithuania called Neringa. It contained a feature called the Curonian Spit, a unique area of sand dunes forming a lagoon between the mainland and the Baltic Sea. My bearded friend was particularly enthusiastic about it, being an ecologist, as it was home to unique wildlife ecosystems.

It sounded intriguing, but at the same time I had some time pressure to consider. I had committed to reach Japan by the beginning of April to meet a friend and ex-workmate who would be on holiday there at that time. Allowing for a month in Russia, it meant I would need to be up in Finland within three weeks, and before then I wanted to get in a good amount of work as well as arrange a Russian visa in good time, a process I figured might take a while. Because of this, I decided to pass on Neringa for the time being and continue my march north.

I boarded a plush new coach for the journey out of Lithuania and up into the next Baltic state, Latvia. Like Lithuania, its language was of Baltic origin, although the country’s demographics were far more mixed; over a quarter of the population were Russian. In its capital city Riga, to which I was headed, the demographics were closer to 50:50 Latvians and Russians. In the post-Soviet environment after Latvian independence, this mix has caused some tension.

On arrival, I could tell almost immediately that Riga had a different feel to the previous Baltic capital I had visited. Riga felt busier and edgier than innocent little Vilnius; it was thrumming. The cobbled thoroughfares of the old town were lined with ornate, grand buildings, and my hostel was slap-bang in amongst them.

Once I was settled I wandered down through the town to the river’s edge. It didn’t look too appealing this time of year. Weathering the whipping wind were the Latvian Riflemen, looking out to sea for any nasty Germans approaching. Although the Riflemen were enlisted during the First World War, when the Bolsheviks came on the scene many Riflemen apparently sided with the Reds, and so nowadays in these times of independence the statue’s presence is hotly debated, with a number of people seeing it as an unwanted Soviet relic – as unwelcome as the Soviet minority living there, one might say. Another Soviet reminder that loomed was the building constructed post World War II that now held the Academy of Sciences, which the locals wryly called Stalin’s Birthday Cake.

Riga definitely had a pulse. It had experienced an economic boom since coming under the European Union fold, and like Vilnius, it had top-drawer cafes, restaurants and nightlife options. It was the kind of city I would normally love. But in the short time I was there, it never did quite win me over. Its edginess reactivated my spider senses after the warm, fuzzy safety of the city of Vilnius.