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| Now the river has, as rivers are wont, a large bend in it - the upshot being that the two bridges diverged as they spanned the river. on the city side they were just a few hundred metres apart. On this side however...... you get the idea? Nevertheless we decided to walk the "short side of the triangle" over to Bridge #2 rather than crossing back. How far could it be? we reasoned. Bloomin' miles is the answer. If only that were the end of the tale. But, oh no. There was plenty more in store for we hapless bufoons. After a couple of hours wandering around in the less than hospitable nether regions of the city, toting our backpacks (of course) we reached the second bridge. Signs were looking promising - placenames and streetnames were making sense, but still no sign of this blasted university. Well that was it as far as I was concerned. I sat down on a wall outside some grey municipal building on the intersection of two purposeful looking main roads and in the falling dusk decided to have a darn good sulk. Possibly including, but not limited to, pouting and muttering. I consulted the black book, but in true Lonely Planet fashion was completely at odds with the Rough Guide over which bridge we were to cross. So at least we weren't the first set of happy wanderers ever to be confused by such a simple seeming task. Anyway, to move this story along we ended up accosting a rather bewildered looking chap who must've been on his way home from work. Thankfully he spoke a little English and in the end volunteered to guide us in the right direction. We'd walked staight past it (kind of) - it was on an island in the middle of the river masked by a small wooded area - so you wouldn't have been able to findit UNLESS you know what you are looking for. So, thanks to this friendly if bewildered chap we found the Technical University. But the story ain't over yet. |
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| It was definitely a University campus, of sorts - the only difference being, it was an ex-Soviet, crumbling to the ground crippled from lack of funding sort of campus. In short, it was a dump. If we'd wandered into something that looked such a sorry state back home, me and Ade would have run away like the big girls blouses we surely are. However, we are seasoned travellers, and we were in a relatively poor country, therefore this particular episode merely added to the piquancy of the experience. |
| Is this a patronizing attitude? I don't know any more. And to be honest, after far too long fretting about such matters, I'm past giving a f*ck. There were no rooms available at Riga Technical University. The aged old crone sat on the desk eyed us quizically as we entered. She spoke no English. We gesticulated enthusiastically. She eyed us like we were morons. We felt like morons. There were no rooms. We left. "Where's the Tram, Ade? We're going back over the river." It was full-on night time by the time we got to the city side of the river, and the city was still looking big, bad, strange and intimidating. We were both a bit tired and grumpy by now but it still took another couple of hours of schlepping to find a place to stay. Our final destination was a good mile and a half from the centre of the old part of town, just round the corner from the national footy stadium, and featuring copious guards who were dressed in black and worryingly carrying sidearms. They glowered at us as we wandered in looking scruffy. One chap, who looked disconcertingly Aryan, fixed us with a smug gaze as we set down our backpacks and slumped on the check in desk, and with great relish told us how much our room was going to cost. I locked gazes with him, slapped down the Gold Card and said "no problem". Tosser. Everyone was very polite after that. It was somewhat more expensive than the Technical University. A stroll back into the old town for dinner that evening paid dividends. The place was attractive and bustling, and like it's sister capital Tallin undergoing renovation. Food was good, beer less so, then we returned to hotel mafioso to sleep the sleep of the righteous. August 30th - Footballo? - No! Another bright, warm day, and we made it for the hotel breakfast about five minutes before it finished. For which we were rewarded with what can only be described as a "hard stare." Breakfast was rubbish. But considering we were paying through the nose for the hotel room we were going to make the most of it. They cleared away all the remaining food from this neglected little bar area we'd been ushered into, at bang on 10 O'clock - no moreski. Fortunately, I was able to steal another cup of coffee, and was again rewarded with a severe eyeballing. Customer service? Niet. I guess it's somewhat racist these days to come out with all the old Soviet/Russian cliches, after all the Latvians have their own unique culture and language. But, dammit, it's just so appropriate! Just like the coach that brought us to Riga, the hotel had a complex set of rules and regulations that forbade pretty much anything at all going on in the rooms other than sleeping, on pain of expulsion (and probably a bit of a pistol whipping by the gorillas on the front desk). Now it just so happened that our hotel was just around the corner from the National (association) football stadium, and it just so happened there were some international matches looming. Latvia would be playing at home to Scotland. |
| More Photos of Riga |
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| Riga (by day) - full of Art Nouveau surprises... |
| Renovation work already completed on the temple of the Blackheads, one of the oldest buildings in the city |
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| Now there's nothing that me and Ade like better than a good game of footy, but we decided we'd go and see if we could get some tickets any way (ho, ho!). Upon enquiry, however, the match turned out to be the following Saturday (today being Wednesday). We'd be long gone by then. So, dodging the occasional beskirted Jock, we wandered off in the direction of town to see just what big, bad old Riga really had in store. It was Art and Architecture. Adrian had a field day and used up several hundred rolls of film as we went into Eisenstein overload. The rest of the day was spent roving around the old town, checking out the buildings and the ladies, and generally indulging in a little "cafe societe" - which is one of my favourite things about life in Europe. Unfortunately, although not through want of trying, this enjoyable aspect of life isn't as prevailent in the UK due to miserable weather, pollution and the fact that every other bastard is a pleb. It was on reflection that I decided I liked Riga very much. I like the majestic old buildings, the old town, mid renovation, the nasty Soviet style housing projects, and the Zeppelin hangars where they were holding the market. I love walking round markets and this was a doozy. Although for some reason you couldn't take photographs indoors. Go figure? One things for sure, there's plenty of eating going on in Riga - whether your average Rigan could afford it though, I couldn't say. Another highlight was the Meeting house of the blackheads. The blackheads were some shady Knights tTmplar kind of organisation all funny handshakes and bizarre trousers. There meeting house, was being renovated in time for Riga's 800th anniversary - which happens in a couple of years. The building looks good. Dinner time we got some good kebab type nosh in a "pick your own meat" bar and grill place. Most acceptable. The rest of the evening was spent dodging Scottish people in the bars around town. August 31st - More soon... |
