a few days in france

Europe Trip, Part 9

In Arles.

We were walking along the twisting, cobbled streets of Arles looking for a place to have lunch. "That looks good," Jon said, gesturing toward a diner's plate. "It is good," she said. We stopped. She was sitting alone at the sidewalk table. I asked if we could join her for lunch. "It's been two weeks since I've spoken full sentences with another woman!" I said. It was a strange realization. Traveling with two guys through countries where each word spoken to a stranger was a challenge, I didn't use many to talk with other people. It was a sensory deprivation of sorts. Jon and Janis had their guy talk, and while I enjoy their company, I really missed having one of my girlfriends to hang out with!

We sat at the table and introduced ourselves. Shirley was a software developer from Israel. When Janis said he was from Latvia, she told us she is of Lithuanian descent. (Lithuania is between Latvia and Poland so we'd spent a few hours driving through the small country.) She was on a daytrip from Avignon, having traveled the short distance by train. She told us that traveling solo after a friend had backed out of the trip gave her an opportunity to improve her French. I envied her that she had a few weeks to explore France while we were just arriving with little time to soak it in. After we parted, I continued searching for my idea of Provence, of van Gogh, of the places that make Arles such an attraction.

I've admitted before that I love fashion, though am not usually very fashionable. Working in a bike shop means knowing that whatever I wear could get grease-stained or snagged, so I tend to wear t-shirts and jeans or shorts most of the time. I saw an adorable skirt on a mannequin outside a shop. I had to go in and see what else they had. The racks were filled with skirts and blouses in beautiful patterns and colors. Jon pointed to the back of the store where a woman sat at a sewing machine; an assistant stood nearby. I tried on the skirt, then a different one. Soon, the woman was wrapping a blouse around me, tying the lace ties. I felt fabulous. I could have spent an hour in the tiny shop, but I made my purchases and left happy. Something unique. Something handmade by the designer right there in Arles!

We walked around the Roman theater and arena, ducked into a few more shops selling textiles and ceramics, then wound our way back to the other side of the Rhone River, where the car was parked. We were soon on the road trying to reach Lespignan before dark.

Roman ruins in Arles.

The narrow, twisty one-way streets of the old part of Lespignan almost did us in as Janis and I tried to navigate Jon to the house. We missed one turn and ended up climbing a hill. We knew we were very close, we just couldn't quite figure it out. I got out of the car to try to walk the route... and to see if we would even be able to drive the car around a corner and between the buildings without scraping the sides of the car. We could see where plenty of drivers before us had failed. Jon made the tricky corner and drove down to an intersection. I started walking up a hill and that's when I saw Pierre. He was standing at the intersection uphill from me, waving us onward!

I think we squeezed the car thru here! In Lespignan.

In Lespignon. Vineyards and fields on the horizon, then the sea.

If you have ever driven in any foreign countries that have these single-lane streets that were designed for walking and maybe a narrow wagon, you will appreciate just how frustrating it can be to squeeze a car around a corner. I have a new appreciation for our two-lane streets and well-signed intersections, however I must confess the tiny village streets were very appealing for the sense of revelation we experienced rounding each bend. I would prefer to experience them on foot or even bicycle.

That evening, we went to one of the local restaurants (there are two, and one pizza take-out place). We shared tales of adventures and caught up on what Pierre and Cheryl have been doing since returning to France last year. Pierre and Janis had lots to talk about, especially when it came to bike tools and how they could be made better.

The next day, we all went together to a couple of towns: Aigues-Morte and La Grande-Motte for sight-seeing before returning home in a downpour that almost washed the streets clean back in Lespignan. By "almost" I'm referring to the dog poop on the cobbles which pet owners for some reason don't pick up. Gave a different meaning to the term, "watch your step."

A balcony in Aigues-Morte.

Jon climbs along the fortified wall of Aigues-Morte...

...and took this shot of the wall and the roof lines.*

Outside the wall.*

La Grande-Motte.

The buildings of La Grande-Motte reminded me of cruise ships.

A little color in La Grande-Motte, a city like no other.

The following day, while Pierre and Cheryl visited friends in another town, Jon, Janis and I set out to walk to the coast. What I didn't know was that when Pierre told Janis the directions, he made it sound like it was about five kilometers away. It was not. 

We walked among vineyards.*

It was a clear, beautiful day. But, eventually the joy of walking past vineyards and fig trees degraded into somewhat of a death march. Don't get me wrong; I enjoy a good hike. But this was to be an afternoon outing, 5k each way. None of us had planned for such a long walk, or the wrong turn that dead-ended at a no-trespassing sign. We were quickly going through what little food we had packed (at least we'd stopped in a local shop for some cheese before starting). After a few hours, there was nothing I wanted to do more than just sit in one place and watch the world go by. I wanted things to be stilled. Instead, I became frustrated.

When we reached a bridge over a river and there was no sea nor beach in sight, Janis volunteered to run to the house to get the car. Jon and I also turned around. We watched cyclists ride past at their Sunday pace and wished for bicycles; we tried to hitchhike and watched as full cars drove past, the drivers shrugging their shoulders in apology. I kicked myself for not having studied a map before leaving the house. It was not the day I had wanted.

We were almost halfway back to town when Janis arrived with the car. We all agreed that after having walked so far, we should at least drive to the seashore. When we finally arrived, we knew we'd made the right decision to get the car. We walked along the sand beach as waves roared in, too rough and chilly for us to swim. We looked at sea shells and weathered glass that formed a jumbled band of debris along the beach. I tried to relax and enjoy being in that place. To watch other people. I tried to put the long walk in perspective. I guess I was done with the pace, done taking wrong turns and done with long days. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I cooled my feet in the wet sand, let waves wash over my feet and ankles. Jon tried to get me to smile. Finally, we were ready to return to the house and, even more important, have some dinner.

Janis finally reaches the sea!*

We made it. Cooling my feet.*

At the sea.**

Up the hill from the house was a restaurant we'd seen that first night when we were trying to find the house. It looked pretty fancy. I put on my new blouse and we arrived just as they were opening. Neither the waitress or the chef spoke much English so we went down the menu ordering a different starter each and a different main course for each, unsure of what would arrive on our plates. We shared a bottle of wine and the relaxation began. That's the beauty of sharing a meal and a bottle after a rough day. The edges wear down; we can laugh at our miscalculations; we can take note of how far we've traveled - not just that day, but since leaving London. We know we will remember our walk toward the sea for a long time!

As we were finishing our meal, Pierre showed up at the restaurant. He and Cheryl had arrived home and he wanted to see how we liked the restaurant. The food was fantastic (though since I didn't write it down, I'm not sure what everyone had. I had enormous prawns and remember that they were great. The next morning, we would leave Lespignan and our friends for the long drive to Paris. Our adventure was coming to a close.

*taken by Jon
**taken by Janis

to italy and france

Europe Trip, Part 8

The biggest challenge of this trip (after the airport incident) was traveling long distances on our driving days so that we could spend time in one particular place. It was a tasting tour: we sampled things here and there, then dashed off to the next place. The biggest challenge in recounting this story is that I sometimes get confused about what happened when. Despite good intentions to keep an accurate journal, often I'd fall asleep at night mid-thought. Other times I'd try to write in the car, but the scenery and the navigating were more important than jotting down the details that might have helped me remember something. I piece together places by looking at my photos, but who takes pictures of gas-station cafes? Maybe I should have...

After leaving our campsite just inside the German border we drove south into Italy on a road that took us through deep valleys framed between the mountains. We saw villages perched high on the slopes. Churches and castles, sometimes grazing cattle. I'm not sure how many places we stopped in for coffees or food. Sometimes the memories merge into a mix of gas stations with great bakery or a cafeteria filled with regional food and coffee that would put our local roasters to shame. Or was it just that we had been drinking instant for most of the trip?

At midday, we detoured off the autostrada to the town of Riva del Garda. From the map it looked like we could drive along the road that skirted along the shore of Lago di Garda, maybe stop for a picnic before continuing south. But the lake was far below the road and it did not look promising for a lakeside picnic. Instead, we took off on a side road that twisted and switched back-and-forth up a steep hill through a few farming villages.

Church at Ustecchio dates back to before 1566.

The little car that could!

Above Lago di Garda, at Ustecchio.

A haze settled in over the lake and we stopped several times to look back at the view. In places the road became a single lane, threading into tunnels before opening into another view over the water, the horizon disappearing behind the haze. Cars honked horns before going around the next bend, sometimes even backing up to allow another car to pass. I hung on and wondered just where the road would take us, fluctuating between being annoyed that we had to spend so much time in the car yet awed by some of the sights. I think we were all a bit more relaxed when we got back onto a standard two-lane road.

S. Lorenzo at Voltino dates back to before 1187.

We continued west and south until night had fallen and we were done driving. The town we stopped in had a pizza place in a hotel but they had no room available for us. After dinner we backtracked a few miles and found the hotel that the clerk had recommended to us. It was kind of pricey and was in a water park that was closed for the season but we were happy to get some rest in the spartan room.

In the morning, the only staff person in the hotel was a woman making breakfast. I struggled to order anything beyond a latte, then pulled out my phrasebook. Egg. Ova. Of course. Cooked in olive oil and served with bread it was one of the best eggs I've had! Soon the guys joined me and repeated the process. Seems we were the only guests besides a traveling salesman!

That day, we packed up and headed for Genoa, on the sunny Mediterranean (technically, the Ligurian Sea, but I didn't know that at the time). From a description on a map we chose a place to explore. We parked the car and "strolled around in one small seaside neighborhood for about an hour and a half, sun, hot sun! Felt so good after cool and cold days, rain days. Up and down narrow staircases that connected (or didn't connect) one lane streets or alleyways."* I rolled up my pants to allow the sun to hit my legs and wished we could just kick back and spend the day.

Jon meets a friend at a public drinking fountain in Genoa.

Jon on a narrow stairway in Genoa.

Jon in Genoa.

Genoa

Leaving Genoa, we traveled along the coast toward France, passing through tunnel after tunnel. I sat in the back seat and plugged in my headphones. It would be awhile before we arrived at our stop for the night. I was overwhelmed by the trip. My senses were full, filled with sights and sounds and the feel of the road under us. But a part of me was sensory deprived. I wouldn't realize this until the next day when we were in Arles...

As we neared Frejus, I paid closer attention. We almost made it to the hotel, but for some reason the address of the hotel was not the address provided to us by the listing service. We ended up in a narrow, almost dead-end cobbled street (not the last time this would happen), with Jon trying to negotiate the car without scraping the corners of the old buildings. A little more navigating and a stop at a visitor center and soon we arrived at our little hotel.

A 10-year-old boy was doing homework in the lobby. He called his mother on the phone, then handed the phone to me. He would give us the key and show us the room, she told me, adding that she would return soon from her errand. That evening we strolled around yet another old town, found a sidewalk cafe where we ordered dinner without knowing what we would get (not the last time this would happen, either), and found our way back to the hotel for another good night's sleep.

Enjoying the late afternoon sun in  Frejus.

In the morning, I was again up before Jon and Janis and headed downstairs for coffee and breakfast. I sat outdoors on a sunny deck, enjoying my quiet morning time alone with my books and coffee. That day we would drive to Lespignon to stay with our friends Pierre and Cheryl. Pierre made a couple of suggestions for places to visit on our way to their place, but I'd been reading about the area and already knew where I wanted to go. I wanted to see Arles.

*Journal entry dated Oct. 2, 2013.

and beyond

Europe Trip, Part 7

Our road trip had begun. Destination: Prague. After that, Salzburg, then, well, we weren't quite sure which route to take to southern France, but the answer would be clear after our first night camping.

It was after our second day of travel, just inside the Czech border from Poland. We'd found a campground on the map. It was well after dark when we drove through an open gate and along a road. Saw camper vans, caravans parked. We set up the tent (yes, unfamiliar tent, in the dark, one flashlight) in the grass under some trees then pulled out the stove. We heated water for tea, pulled out the bread, cheese and other food to make our evening meal. The night was cold, almost freezing, and my sleep restless on the hard ground. In the morning we found that the campers lined the banks of a lake bumper to hitch, leaving little view for those not on the water.

We packed up and with nobody to take our fee, we left the campground and headed for Prague.

On the way to Prague, a stop in a castle town.

Upon entering Prague on a busy Saturday afternoon, we arrived at Prague Castle.

Gargoyles.

So many gargoyles!

I love small details like this rain gutter.

We found a place to stay, then spent the evening wandering the old part of the city. The city was packed with tourists and locals. We soon learned it was Saint Wenceslas Day, an important holiday (both secular and Christian) for Prague and the rest of the nation.

Astrological clock.

The next day we explored, criss-crossed the Vitava River, wondered at sites.

Looking across the Vitava at the Prague Castle.

Boat restaurant had fantastic Italian food!

The Dancing Building, aka: Fred and Ginger.

In Wenceslas Square, site of sadness and joy; protests and celebrations.

After seeing signs for it, we finally arrived at the Museum of Communism. Yes, upstairs from McDonald's and next to the casino. It's a small museum, but worth the visit. (Yes, they made gas masks in youth sizes.) A film gave some of the history, documenting policies that hurt lots of people (including toxins in the food supply) and documenting events that led to the 1989 Velvet Revolution.

Post WWII Communist artwork, at the Museum of Communism.

After another full day in Prague, we found a restaurant offering modern Czech food, sank into comfortable armchairs and enjoyed a meal without a worry about what we would see next. What is modern Czech food? I'm not sure, but Jon had pork wrapped in bacon, with a side of lentils. All our food was delicious and we lingered over wine, then dessert. Ahead of us would be a walk back to our hotel and some much-needed sleep.

The next day, it was on to Salzburg to see the castle.

We rode the funicular up to the castle, then opted for the audio tour.

Safe from our high vantage point.

From a high tower.

Castle museum reveals the ancient walls behind plaster.

Love the doors within doors.

We left the castle and walked down to the city, looking for food (always looking for food) and found a little burger stand that made a simple cheeseburger and fries. From there we planned our next stop, hoping the campground would be easy enough to find. Well, it wasn't, but we found one eventually. Again, the only tent in a couple of rows of caravans, some looking like they had been parked in one spot for years with their little gravel "yards" and potted plants. Maybe it was a good thing we were setting up in the dark because in the daylight our campsite looked pretty sad. But that wasn't what worried us.

In the morning, the gate through which we'd entered was closed. We hoped that by the time we were packed up and ready to leave someone would have arrived to open it. No luck, and with no way to contact anyone we did the only thing we could. Looked for another way out. Finding none, Jon took a chance. Sure enough, he simply lifted the gate high enough for Janis to drive through. Free camping, once again! We were now on our way to Italy.

Some photos taken by Jon.

to jaunkalsnava

Europe Trip; Part 6

As we headed out of Riga late that Tuesday afternoon Marcis asked if we wished to visit the site of a memorial to victims of the Holocaust. I told him I wanted to go, and that's how we came to be at a site I'd not heard about (there are other memorials in Riga), the Salaspils Memorial.

No other cars were in the parking lot. We walked an overgrown path through the woods toward a horizontal cement structure that formed a bridge over the walkway. We walked under the structure, and then through its entire length before entering the field-like grounds. To know that people had been taken there, housed there, died there brought me to silence. From a metal structure partway down a path a faint sound, the rhythm of a heartbeat, pounded. It became more clear the closer we got. Representing the heartbeats of how many people? It's unknown. The sound resonated as we continued.

We walked around the path, then across the grass toward the towering concrete sculptures. Representations of oppression, defiance, protection. All in the Soviet modernist style. Mostly, I walked quietly. Janis translated a few inscriptions for us and his view of the memorial was clear. A memorial about defiance against oppressors built by Soviets during a time they occupied this very nation? Latvia has only been independent from the former Soviet Union since 1991 and it is still climbing out of the years of difficult times. Visiting the memorial with our friends certainly added another layer of meaning that other visitors may not have gotten.

As the air cooled, we returned to the car and the highway to Jaunkalsnava, following the Daugava upstream. The sun was setting when Marcis suggested another stop. The Koknese Castle Ruins stood along the banks of the Daugava, just upstream from a dam. According to the web, the castle was damaged in 1701 and never rebuilt. We gazed at the uneven stones that made up the walls and doorways. We carefully walked through arches, climbed to the top of a wall. The light continued to fade. When I lived in Milwaukee, I met a couple whose son died when he fell from a castle in Germany. I remember at the time wondering, "how does someone fall from a castle?" Between the fading light, my recurring vertigo and that sudden memory of a story from over 20 years ago, I decided to carefully make my way down the damaged steps while there was still enough light to see.

Koknese Castle Ruins.

On our journey between Riga and the village, we learned a little about how people drive on two-lane roads in this part of Europe, in particular, how they pass. If you should wish to pass, just get very close to the driver in front of you. No worries if there are oncoming cars. The driver in front is going to veer onto the shoulder and the oncoming driver is going to veer onto the other shoulder and you, my fearless friend, are going to squeeze between them straddling the center line! I don't know if I could do that, but I suppose if I lived there I would. After a while, I had to stop looking at the road, especially as darkness set in. Soon enough, though, we were safe at Janis's mom's apartment in Jaunkalsnava.

We met Janis's mom, his niece, his nephew's fiancee and their little daughter. All were waiting for us to arrive so we could have a feast together. We offered beers and some dark rye bread we had purchased at a bread factory next to the highway. We ate potatoes, tomatoes, homemade cheese, meatballs. Chocolates. I don't remember it all. So much food, and we were happy to have it after another full afternoon.

Our next day was filled with errands, including a trip to the larger town of Madona where Janis could get new tires for the car and we could get other neccessities for the trip. After spending half the day in Madona on our tire quest, we headed home to the village. But first, a few stops. Would we mind visiting a cemetery? Not at all. We walked to the gravesites of ancestors. Janis's aunts, uncles, grandparents as light sprinkles began to fall. After that, we stopped by an old church ruins.

Janis shared the story as we walked around. When his Mom, Vija, was a little girl of about four years old she and her family attended the Kalsnava Lutheran Church. It was during the time when the Nazis occupied Latvia. But as in other countries, there were many resistors. According to Vija, in 1944 the Nazis bombed the church because its tower was used as a lookout for the resistance. After the Nazis came the Soviet era. The church was never rebuilt. She did tell us, however, that sometimes concerts are held inside the walls of the old church. I can only imagine what it must be like to listen to musicians playing between those walls on a summer's evening!

Vija and Marcis at Kalsnava Lutheran Church.

Kalsnava Lutheran Church ruins.

Back at the village, we picked berries from the garden, ate tomatoes off the vines in a small greenhouse, helped move hay and watched as Vija milked one of the two cows she keeps in a small barn near her apartment. (If I had been raised a farm girl I would have stepped in to help her out, but, alas, this Wisconsin girl has never milked a cow.)

In the morning, Vija insisted we go into her storage room in the basement of her building to pick out some food. Jars of food she had grown and canned filled the shelves. Apple juice she had made, pickles, pickled tomatoes, jarred apples, honey. I can't remember all of it. We packed it in a box along with our remaining rye bread, fresh apples and tomatoes, food we'd purchased in Madona, some utensils, herbs to brew tea. Jon asked about cheese. Vija makes cheese with the milk from her two cows. She handed me a warm, dome-shaped mound that was wrapped in plastic curing on the kitchen counter. Wow! The traditional cheese is filled with caraway seeds (which in Latvia is called cumin, but is not the same as our cumin.) What a great gift for our trip! Once the car was packed, we said our goodbyes, too soon, and headed off.

looking up in riga

Europe Trip, Part 5.

Riga is known for its Art Nouveau buildings (it's part of why it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site), so we headed for Alberta Iela (Street) where many of the buildings are clustered. I'm not an expert in architectural styles. We had been calling this Neoclassical, but upon further research, I've learned it's called Art Nouveau, though the architecture of Riga has examples of many styles. Some of them are in disrepair, some being renovated and some look almost new. All these photos were taken by Jon because I was mostly looking around and keeping my head under the umbrella.

This one is not on Alberta Iela, but I love the forest-wizard look of him.

That evening, on our way back to the apartment, we walked past a bike shop that we'd seen the day before tucked in the back of a parking lot. We showed it to Janis and though it was closed, we discovered that upstairs was a restaurant. We walked up to see if there was a menu posted, but instead of a menu we saw platters and bowls filled with food. Beets, salads, soups, pesto, sauce for rice, potatoes. It was all beautiful. We headed back to the apartment to drop off a few things and wash up. While Janis left to meet friends, Jon and I headed back to the restaurant "Eco-Catering." It was so delicious, we ate our fill of the buffet (encouraged by our server to eat more) and then we asked if we could make up a to-go order in case Janis didn't eat enough dinner. The waiter brought a to-go box and told us to take all we wanted, no extra charge, because "you ate so little."

A little bit of magic happens when I travel. There is so much to look at in every direction. Buildings, people, shop windows, streets. All my senses are heightened as I notice smells, tastes, colors. And when I'm only in a place for a short time, there is no boredom, there's no familiar. The mind is always racing and the body trying to keep up. Or is it the other way around? Maybe that's why when you return to a place you've visited before you don't have that same experience; all that newness has had time to become integrated into your compendium of sights, sounds, smells for that place. We had not a moment of boredom in Riga.

The next day we continued exploring and prepared for the rest of the trip. Though it was now Tuesday, Janis's suitcase had still not arrived in Riga. (We'd left London on Friday.) To replace his camping gear we met once again with his friend Marcis who took us to his mother's apartment where he still stored some of his things. (It seems everyone we met in Riga had more stuff than could fit in their apartments.) Marcis picked us up outside a restaurant where we'd had lunch with another of Janis's friends. The opera music again played as Marcis drove along side streets, then along the edge of the city (or so it seemed) and parked near a tall, Soviet-era apartment building. Don't leave anything in the car, they told us.

We pushed the button for the elevator. When it arrived, the sign said "maximum 3." The four of us squeezed into the tiny box and rode up to Marcis's mother's floor. He unlocked three locks on the apartment door, opened it, then proceeded to unlock a second door! Between the elevator and the doors, I again felt like I was playing a role in a movie. Yes, the hapless, unsuspecting foreigner. Where are we going this time? Inside, Marcis dug through his old room (where he lived before he was married), pulling out oddities like a Viking helmet and various medieval implements. We looked at the view from the balcony; I'd momentarily forgotten about the crumbling balconies we'd seen on other Soviet-era apartments and quickly returned to the indoors.

Marcis and Janis gathered camping gear we thought we'd need for those occasional nights when we would camp along the trip. After another stop to pick up our suitcases, we made one last stop before we left the city: Janis's sister called and asked him to stop by her workplace so she could give us a tour. She has studied art and works in a ceramics shop that makes souvenirs that are sold in local shops. At the end of the tour she showed us boxes and shelves of ceramics, all hand-painted, that were ready for shops to purchase. Later, I wondered if we were expected to buy something and I regret that I didn't at least get a little magnet featuring one of the city's emblematic rooftop cats. But we were ready to be on the road and we motored away, with Marcis driving us to our friend's hometown of Jaunkalsnava.

business first

Europe Trip, Part 4.

Across the Daugava is the Latvian National Library designed by Gunnar Birkerts. Beyond that, the embassy.

There were times I felt I was in some crazy film where just as the adventure was about to take off, something would happen to complicate things. Each step we needed to take required several other steps just to prepare. On Monday, when it was time to catch the bus for our 10:30 appointment, Janis remembered we needed to get our tickets first (buses don't take cash the way they do in many American cities and tickets are sold in little shops that sell tobacco and newspapers). After about a 15 or 20-minute ride, we stepped off the bus and hurried to the shopping center where we could get our passport photos taken. The morning was blustery, with clouds racing across the sky, threatening rain. When we got to the center, the building wasn't yet open! (Tell me, why was I hurrying? Oh, yes, I hate being late for appointments.) Photos taken, we had time to grab a bite to eat while waiting for them to be printed, then backtracked across the busy street to the new embassy. Did you know there's a new American Embassy in Riga? I guess the old one was in the central city, but the new one sits on a large piece of land, mostly hidden from the main road by a fenced-in wooded area.

We left all our electronics: cameras, iPads, etc. in the security building and then walked down a path to a larger building where we again went through security. We filled out paperwork and submitted it. Paid for our temporary passports (which for no extra charge we can renew for the full 10 years). We waited again, then were called for an interview. Finally, we could meet the man who got us out of the airport. Evan, the consul.

Our interview was conducted from opposite sides of a glass barrier, like what you'd experience when visiting a prisoner, except with a slot to pass paperwork back and forth. Evan told us that ours wasn't an unusual situation for a traveler to be in. Lots of people don't know about the 90-day rule. What was out of the ordinary was that we were allowed into the country. Why? He said it largely had to do with the fact that after being ignored by the airline and then bringing attention to the airline and airport in a way that didn't reflect their images in a positive way, the people running things must have decided they should find a way to let us leave (not to mention the weather).

Evan wasn't the first person to tell us that if we were from another country trying to get into the United States and didn't meet the requirements, we would have never been allowed in. After spending just over a day in Riga, we were even more grateful that people in the Latvian border security and Evan had made it happen. We had a good chat with Evan who has served at embassies in more difficult outposts, including Tajikistan. (I would have liked to hear more about that!) Finally, with new passports signed and Important Paperwork (which I carried with me at all times during the remainder of the trip) in hand, we thanked Evan and the guards and then left the compound.

We had another couple days to explore the city before heading to the countryside. As wind continued to blow and large raindrops fell, we climbed on a bus headed back toward Old Riga and the Central Market.

The five arch-shaped buildings make up Riga's Central Market (the one of the far left is perpendicular to the others). They are made from old German zeppelin hangars.

The buildings that make up the Central Market are enormous and filled with stalls where merchants sell cheese, bread, produce, meat, seafood (seafood has its own building and is pretty aromatic). Some vendors sold clothes, artwork, jewelry, crafts. Everything, really. We bought some food: dark rye bread, cheese, smoked meat, apples and found an unused stall where we could eat. I could have spent the entire day in the Central Market but we had other things to explore in Old Riga. We wanted to visit Alberta Iela.

It's easy to get turned around in Old Riga.

Sunny in Old Riga.

The column in the center is the Freedom Monument. Left of the tall building is the Russian Orthodox church (notice the covering over the dome) and right of the tall building is Old St. Gertrude's, mentioned in an earlier post. (That tall hotel looks really out of place!)

These photos were taken from the steeple in St Peter's church on Kungu Iela. For a small fee we took a tiny elevator to the top to get these views of the area. I recommend it.

(Sept 23, 2013)