Journey to the center of Riga
Riga has always remained outside my horizons. Although I have relatives living there (albeit not the closest ones), the traditional phrase at the end of our conversation has always been “well, it’s better you come to us. ” So we lived peacefully for decades, until fate threw me in transit through the Latvian Republic. The benefit of a multivisa eliminates scrupulous dialogues with representatives of the Latvian border, about which I heard not at all flattering emotions. I have always put off such a fight for the future until we are ready to take the whole family on a cruise to the Baltic countries. Then you will have to fight not for life, but for death and certify all copies 2 times and stomp at the thresholds of the Latvian consulate with the same constancy as homeless intellectuals choose places for alms.
But this is all in the future, but for now, hello, bye, and we are passing through.
The night light shone in a small village 140 km from Riga - Salacgrī va. And only a real couch potato could not resist the temptation to rush to the capital. With 3 armor in my palm, I boarded a comfortable bus at lunchtime. The distance of 140 km was covered in 2 hours, and harassment of two young ladies in Russian-English did not lead to anything. So I didn’t know how to make a cheaper call to my mobile phone and what kind of SIM card to buy for messy contacts using a mobile phone. Offended at the world and at myself for not taking the Russian-Latvian phrasebook with me, I looked through the window for the rest of the road. Small villages floated past with not at all small houses. In the midst of cedar groves stood well-fed condominiums that could more than realize a dream in the spirit of a “house in the country”. Here one could calmly reread the collected works of Dostoevsky, rewrite the entire “War and Peace” in a box in the theater, or simply spend the last 40 years of one’s life in complete harmony with nature and the layers of one’s subconscious.
Comfort bribed with bright pictures, and the surrounding nature in the rays of the sun beckoned with accessibility. For such bright thoughts, I entered the city with an 8-century history.
Leaving the bus, I headed deeper into the bus station, where I decided to pre-purchase a return ticket. The last bus to Salacgrī va left at 21.45, which was very convenient. A slight embarrassment in the Baltic countries arises from the fact that it is not clear in what language to conduct a dialogue. I have nothing against English, but it can be silly to drag out and complicate a conversation with someone who speaks Russian perfectly. At first you look closely at a person and try to check his reaction to the phrase “Excuse me”, and then you either calmly ask the right question, or you begin to assert yourself with the help of English phrases and tongue twisters.
There was a travel agency at the station, where I got a map and figured out how to call a mobile. Or rather, if everything I found out were paid at the same rate, then I would have capitulated long ago, recognizing independent travel as incomparably expensive. The good old coin-in-the-machine method was unforgivably expensive. I spent 1 lats (consider 2 dollars) just to introduce myself and convince my relatives that this is not a joke. Just the same amount to listen to the address and find out by editing down the drain. The final pirouette “I'll be right there” was already sounding under the long cold hums of an ill-mannered-greedy apparatus.
Having dined in a family circle and having received a couple of tips, I went for a walk around Old Riga. The bus was over 4 hours away. Visiting museums was postponed to the next call. It remained to see as much of the old stuff in Old Riga as possible and to document it all without fail.
The city was ablaze with joy. The matter is that it was Friday on August, 17th - a preparatory day of celebration of anniversary of Riga. Stages for concerts were built everywhere, cafes were bursting with visitors, and an artisans' fair functioned in the center. Having taken a program for the whole holiday of fun in one tent, I realized that the scope would be impressive. The city will walk like an adult with a bunch of concerts, family attractions, museums open until late and free transport. Yes, and Lady Gaga promised to drive up. If all this information would have fallen into my hands earlier, then I, accordingly, would have adjusted the program for visiting Riga, and so, I had to enjoy the “night before Christmas”.
I do not pretend to a thorough coverage of the cultural fund of the city, I organize only a slight flirtation with the streets and the sights inhabiting them, the names of which, I confess, I can still confuse.
First of all, I was literally amazed by the huge park area in the middle of the city. Boats peacefully passing by, fluffy fountains and bright front gardens removed poisons and nitrates from the mental bins worse than any medicines. The park is enlivened by an ornate canal that runs along the entire old town.
At the head of the canal stands the National Opera, and on the wide boulevard that crosses it is the Freedom Monument. The girl holds 3 stars on outstretched hands - a symbol of 3 historical regions of Latvia: Kurzeme, Vidzeme and Latgale. By the way, the monument was built on human donations.
After briefly saying goodbye to the canal and the park, I dived into the old city itself, which, having suffered, by the way, 2 world wars, managed to save a whole complex of old buildings. The Dome Cathedral and the huge St. Peter's Church are Lutheran churches built at the beginning of the 13th century. The House of the Blackheads, restored in 2001 in honor of the 800th anniversary of Riga, dates back to the 14th century. Printed publications claim that the Brotherhood of Blackheads was an association of young unmarried foreign merchants. Since they needed somewhere to gather and share information about whether any of them got married, they purchased this building with a Gothic facade from the townspeople.
Wandering the streets, you will easily come across the Powder Tower, the only remaining tower of the Riga fortress wall, after the city fathers decided to abolish this fortress wall in the middle of the 19th century, and set up a park in its place. In the Middle Ages, gunpowder was stored in the tower, and now the Military Museum is stored there.
In general, Riga is simply flooded with museums. It's no joke to publish a pamphlet with a brief mention of at least 30 of them. Not everyone will be able to visit them all. But the old-timers recommend doing at least a minimum program - the Museum of History and Navigation, Foreign Art and the Ethnographic Open Air Museum. Let's go further.
The old city, paved with paving stones, really looks very colorful. Bright streets, harmoniously combining monuments of art with boutiques of large retail chains and charismatic restaurants, simply beckon with a promising walk. Eyes and camera will be given a well-deserved rest only if you go to the second circle. Only then will the emotions subside slightly, replaced by a more reasonable contemplation of beauty, and the neck joints, strained in the first half, will be able to go to the locker room for a break.
If you take a little away from the old city, then the streets will gradually become younger, but in no case lose their attractiveness and originality. Riga, like most other cities, in the Soviet period acquired on its balance some monotonous building complexes, called by the names of our former rulers. Various "Brezhnevka" and "Khrushchev" houses exist here side by side with the masterpieces of Art Nouveau (luxurious decoration of buildings), which in Soviet times received almost no attention. But all this happens far from the city center, somewhere in residential areas, through which the intercity bus passes just before leaving for the suburbs.
So in the center you can safely turn into any turn that attracts you, without fear of spoiling your taste with a nondescript five-story building, which basically carries a capacious load.
The walk was coming to an end and, after spending the final half hour in the city on the lawns of a wonderful park, on the crowns of trees of which darkness was gradually falling, I rushed to the clearly visible landmark of the central market - huge pavilions. In the old days they served as hangars for airships, and now the airships, extinct as dinosaurs, have given way to food and enterprising segments of the population leading the sale of these same products.
There, next to it, was the Riga bus station for 24 pirons (well, no less).
Here my fatal mistake guarded me, which made my stay in the Latvian capital so memorable.
Nothing foreshadowed danger, there were 10 minutes left before landing, which I planned to devote to admiring the city, falling into the dark blue abyss of the sky, and local women. Here, on the piron number 12 indicated on the ticket, a suspicious bus drove up. There were still 8 minutes left until 21.45, and I, thinking that the bus had arrived in advance, approached it from the rear. Having shown my paid ticket with seat number 5, without a shadow of a doubt, I took a position at the window in order to review my entire return journey in a childish manner. It is worth noting that, unlike the Crimea, in Riga, with the onset of night, the temperature ceases to be comfortable and slowly drops to cool 12-13 degrees. I had a faithful pita and a player with me, so such metamorphoses did not frighten me. Suspiciously quickly, the bus slammed the doors and, without waiting for 21.45, set off. The road after 30 minutes ceased to capture me, as blackness gaped outside the window, occasionally illuminated by infrequent lanterns. My attention was occupied by passengers, as well as thoughts about tomorrow. The bus, as it approached the final one, was empty, and when it stood lifelessly on a small slope, the last travelers left it. The driver fixed the handbrake and began to collect travel documents.
Outside the window was not Salacgriva. Not losing my good mood, I jumped up to the driver to find out when Salacgriva would be. And when his face contorted in surprise, and he uttered the cherished word Maipils, I realized that things were bad. The situation was aggravated by the rather dark rural landscape outside the window, the cool air and the absence of at least some signs of life at the bus station. Such a Pyatnitsky farm in the late hours. The driver, realizing the depth of the situation, began to look at my ticket. The web of my failure was woven by 2 mistakes. The first, mine, there is nothing to sit on the bus from the rear without examining it for signs, and the second, the driver, although my ticket said that he was in Salacgrī va, but I took a seat with the same 5th number of an inefficient comrade from Maipils who, having bought a ticket, was simply late.
The silence was frightening, and the search for a solution was delayed. Having asked the driver to schematically explain how Maipils is located in relation to Salacgrī va, I realized that now my snoozing friends and I are now even further apart.
The driver, showing concern, offered to give me a lift to Riga on my return to the depot, where I could walk until the morning and board the first flight in the morning. The idea of waking relatives at 2 a. m. with the question: “Hi, what are you doing? You can spend the night, ”smelled of aggravated relations, and even simple impudence. I left it as a fallback. It was about 160 km on foot, which, in the freezing fog on the street, looked like madness. Then I made a knight's move and asked how much the driver would charge me if he quickly rushed back and forth in his personal car. By pressing that he was also an accomplice in my failure and that his wife, it turns out, was also from Ukraine, I urged him to take action. As a result, his partner was found, who was more convenient to carry out such a plan. The partner announced the minimum amount of 50 lats, to which I answered “no problem” and showed him 42! And for greater persuasiveness, he turned out both his pockets.
So, at midnight, I raced in the back seat through the silent foggy streets of the Latvian Republic, wondering who exactly decided to play such a joke on me and who would benefit from taking away my last 42 lats. Still not finding the culprit, I said good night to my nocturnal savior and went to my unsuspecting comrades to make them laugh at breakfast with my ridiculous adventure.
Well, since the presentation is still not about me, but about Riga, I will end it with the wish of all the best and prosperity to this wonderful city. Having learned one more lesson and filled my bag of knowledge with another "experience", I remembered Riga as a very hospitable and vibrant city. You should definitely come here again and find out in more detail why cockerels sparkle on the main churches of the capital instead of the more familiar crosses and what other villages buses can go from piron number 12.
