So let it be! Travelling solo to Riga, Latvia! Before choosing Riga as the final destination of my short trip around the Baltic Sea, I did not expect much. I knew Latvia is one of the three Baltic Countries along with Estonia and Lithuania. Since I have visited Estonia, why not continue to try this Baltic combo?
I also knew in Latvia they produce nice vodka, which is acclaimed by my alcoholic friend, as the best in the world; Russian and Polish ones even need to step aside. I also knew two NBA players from Lativa: Dāvis Bertāns and Kristaps Porziņģis. Porziņģis is much more famous and skilful, but I prefer Bertāns, simply because he played for the San Antonio Spurs. Nevertheless, I have no interest in visiting their birth cities or any other places they have been to. They are just a connection I strenuously built with Latvia that will give me more reasons to travel. I hope.
When the bus was driving in the countryside in Estonia to Latvia, I didn’t pay too much attention to the view over the window. It was sunny that day. The sun's rays projected through the foliage of the forests, onto the green fields that stretched into the distance. It was beautiful, but having watched it for three hours, I inevitably got bored. I started to check my moving location on Google Maps, to see how far I was to the border of Latvia. When the bus was about to run across the border, I screen-captured my Google Maps. Here I am, Latvia.
The view of Latvia was no different from that of Estonia — as I was jumping to this easy conclusion, the weather turned grey. I supposed it was a huge cloud, but it turned out to be a weather front from which a small bus couldn’t escape. Everything became gloomy and murky since then, except for some small colourful houses across the woods. The depressing feeling got even stronger when the bus was approaching the outskirts of Riga. Many groups of shabby buildings in concrete loomed beneath the viaducts of the highway. They were evidently inherited from the Soviet Union, not from the modern architectural experiment of Le Corbusier. This building style is not strange to me, because I grew up in this type of building, yet in China.
In China, when these buildings get old and corrupted, they will be repainted into high-saturated colours such as orange and yellow. I used to think this way of rejuvenation was cheap and corny, but now I know at least they boost my morale. No building is more suffocating than a brutalism Khrushchevka in drab colours and being devastated by age.
Another evident architecture in the suburb was a rocket-like tower, the Riga Radio and TV Tower. I was surprised that it is the tallest tower in the European Union; what’s unsurprising, it was built in the Soviet Union period. It reminded me of the gigantic white tower in the anime “The Place Promised in Our Early Days” by Makoto Shinkai, even though at that time I hadn’t watched it but only knew its setting. I couldn’t help creating a lunatic story such as “aliens left their spaceship on the Earth which connects two worlds”. In the context of an apocalyptic wasteland, I found the existence of Khrushchevkas making more sense.
I got off the bus in front of a marketplace which resembled a warehouse. The rain became less heavy, so I didn’t take out my rainbow-coloured umbrella, which was given by my Dutch friend. I hesitated when receiving it, but she managed to persuade me that it was merely an umbrella. Functionality over symbolism. Nevertheless, I was a little worried about being mistaken as homosexual here, for I didn’t know how well the LGBT groups were received in Latvia.
My hostel was situated in the centre of Old Riga next to a rectangular square which, according to my poor knowledge, could only be found in low-land countries and Germany. I wasn’t totally wrong. I learned from Wikipedia that Latvia was under the influence of Prussia for ages before being ruled by Russia. So it was quite natural that the buildings here are German-like — I said so to save myself from the agony of being ignorant.
When I got into the hostel, I was received by an Asian-looking receptionist with a discernible Russian accent in her English. Her presence made me feel at home, given at that time, I hadn’t been able to go back to China for three years, due to the expensive flight ticket and the absurd confinement policy. According to this policy, upon my arrival in any of the three designated big cities, such as Beijing, I will be locked into a hotel room for two weeks. Two weeks later, if I return to my home city, I will be locked in another hotel room for another week. Only after this twenty-one-day detention can I move freely in my home country. Luckily, this policy was abolished when the invincible COVID-19 finally infected almost all the Chinese.
My bed was in a wooden container. Looking out of the window, it was still raining. I hesitated between two options: lying on the bed and watching some silly videos; or going outside without any plan. Since it was only one o’clock pm, I went to the square that could be seen from my room. It was not the biggest one amongst the others, but there was a cathedral on the far end and a solemn building around the corner whose front reminded me of a bank. I couldn’t be sure, because I couldn’t read Latvian! But the next minute, I was stopped by a stout man who kept his head low. He said something to me, which was intelligible, but not in English. It was in German: he asked if I could give him one euro.
So the first local I talked to (other than the receptionist), was a beggar. This situation had occurred to me once in Krakow, Poland; but that time the Polish beggar spent five minutes to make his petition clear. Of course in English. Upon hearing my rejection, he grumbled a lot before getting lost. But this time, I really wanted to give this Latvian man one euro, but I happened to have no coins with me. I replied with a simple“Nein”, whose tonality seemed too harsh as a refusal. As I struggled to formulate one more sentence in German to express my regret, he already walked away.
Then I went to see the most popular tourist attraction in Riga (according to Tripadvisor) — the city hall of Riga. Luckily it is near the river, so I still had other things to do after visiting it. To my surprise, the Daugava River reminded me of the Yalu River between China and North Korea. I thought of two characteristics they have in common. The first is that they both have a steel bridge across the broad river, which is also similar to those in Cologne and Düsseldorf; the second one is the deserted view of their opposite river banks, where factories are more discernible than other small buildings whose true functions remained unknown. But for the record, the view of North Korea across the Yalu River was definitely more sorrowful.
Having nothing to do in the downtown, I decided to have a lunch. Due to my tight budget and the unexpected inflation in Baltic Countries back then, I went to a buffet restaurant. I took something like fried chicken legs, grilled vegetables, and of course boiled potatoes. They were tasty, but I didn’t know if they were the food that local people would actually cook and eat. So in the evening, I went to a local restaurant that serves Latvian food. But what I saw on the menu didn’t differ from the German food, so I merely ordered a juicy pork steak. When the waitress took my order, I could feel her despise: That’s it? That’s all you have ordered? Later on, she threw the bread basket on my table— I mean, threw. But I didn’t say anything, because losing my temper would only make me a more pathetic loser. Fifteen minutes later, the food was eventually served. It wasn’t terrible, or impressive; it was just a meal. After having finished the last crumb of bread, I hailed the waitress to check, and it took her another ten minutes to arrive. When she ripped out the receipt from the POS machine, her poker face was even more deadpan.
It was around eight o’clock in the evening when I finished my dinner. The rain finally halted, but the sky remained grey. I went back to the square next to my hostel, having no further plans at all. When I arrived, only ten people were walking by. I shook my head and then opened my eyes again, but the view didn’t change a bit. I was for a minute engulfed by a sense of loneliness. I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I always felt at ease in such a silent surrounding. I decided to take another stroll in Old Riga. I did find something more. I found out with sheer joy that Belgian pubs were quite numerous. I suddenly knew what I should do that evening: have a nice beer. So I walked back to the square.
As I was about to turn onto the road to my hostel, a sound of a cello reached out to me from the distance. I stepped back to see where it came from — it was from the cathedral on the far end of the square, from a man, who put his bonnet on the ground while playing. I was drawn nearer and nearer to the cathedral as the solo playing became more lacrimoso. Or was the music itself really lacrimoso? I didn’t know much about cello works, so after having ruled out Bach and Elgar, I had no idea at all. I had music identification software on my phone, yet I hesitated to get closer to pick up the sound because I had no coins except a bank card. I started to look for ATM machines on Google Maps, but the closest one was four hundred meters away. Would the musician remain there on my way back? Was it appropriate to give him ten euros, which is the smallest bill from the ATM machine? My mind became more messy with the cello playing. Eventually, I stood still in the middle of the square, watching that musician with his back to me fifty metres away, playing cello. There was another audience, who was much closer to the musician. I saw him lowering his body to the bonnet. His action even made me more ashamed to step any further. Muxin once said that music is fragile in the wind (outside), but I opposed that the wind has definitely brought coldness and desperation to it. Having stood there for ten minutes, I found myself unable to hear it anymore. It was too sad. So I began to move my feet in the direction of my hostel, even though I found myself halted every five steps until the music became inaudible.
I walked into a pub next to my hostel and ordered two glasses of local black beer. They were so good. It was only after getting drunk in no time that I suddenly realized I hadn’t eaten too much that night, otherwise I would have stayed sober longer. It didn’t matter. I managed to go upstairs to my bed and lay down. I knew a deep and heavy sleep was waiting for me.
03/01/2024
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