Riga - Adventure

Today was an adventure, a challenge and an endurance test.  I had determined earlier in the week to go to Sigulda today, as it seemed to be the only opportunity, weather-wise.  The forecast was for a cloudy, but dry day and for snow the rest of the week.  The adventure was in heading out of the city on my own, trusting to railroad and map.  The challenge was to accomplish this with time to spare before class.  The endurance test was what happened when the weather didn’t behave as predicted.

I headed to the station, not far from the hotel, far earlier than necessary but figuring it wouldn’t hurt to have all the time in the world to find the ticket counter and the platform and get a bottle of water.  Those chores done, I sat stony-faced and staring blankly ahead like everyone else in the terminal until it was close enough to departure to face the cold on the platform.  The train was a commuter-type train, narrow, two seats on either side of the aisle, not one of the European compartment trains.  No sooner had I taken my seat than a man walked into the car, plopped a shopping back reeking of cigarette smoke on the seat next to me, and began a spiel in Russian for some flashlights he was selling.  He moved on seamlessly to shill woolen gloves.  He was followed by another peddler, who offered superglue, some hardware and a magnifying glass.  I don’t know if either of them made any sales.

As we headed north on the Riga-Cēsis line, snow began to swirl down and across the window.  The view was virtually entirely pine and birch forest, 60’ trees on spindly trunks, the pines tufted with green.  The sky was dull off-white and snow began to coat the ground thinly.  At Krievupe, I took a photo.  At Silciems, the train doors got stuck closed, people vainly banging to get in (and out).  A lady sitting next to me, who had got on the train a few stops before, exclaimed “Nightmare!” in Russian and we traded barbs about the efforts of the crew to fix the problem.  After maybe 10 minutes, someone finally figured out what to do.

I had not expected to hear Russian outside Riga, but the Russian population pervades the area.  Even in Sigulda, on the station platform—although not in the café I stopped in for a quick cup of soup.  More on that later.  Sigulda is only 30 miles or so from Riga but from the vast swathes of forest separating them, it might well be in another province.  There’s little urban or suburban sprawl here; each village or town is isolated amid the forest.  Or at least, that’s the way it appeared from the railroad.  It might be different if one takes the highway.  Occasionally I glimpsed cultivated fields.  On parallel tracks, we frequently passed Russian freight cars.  The tanker cars, labeled “oil” or “gas,” were invariably stained black, betraying faulty filling safeguards.  Great concern for the environment, I thought sarcastically.

Sigulda is a popular tourist spot in Latvia but I doubt anyone from elsewhere needs to make a special trip to Latvia to see it.  It is located at the edge of the Gauja National Forest, and is the site of a variety of outdoor activities more suited to summer.  The caves were recommended to me, but I limited myself to checking out the castle.   At one end of town, there is a remnant of an old castle with a newer castle just across the (dry) moat in front.  After some aimless ambling in a picture-postcard snowfall, I realized that the map I’d got from my hotel reception wasn’t going to be useful.  I stopped at a local hotel and got directions.  The train schedule left me no more than an hour and a half to see Sigulda on foot, so my options were few.  The castle was one kilometer away, said the young lady at the hotel.  I did a quick calculation: I had arrived in Sigulda shortly after noon and the next train to Riga was at 1:49.  The train after that was two hours later and would not get me back in time to change for class.  Thus, heading out of the hotel, map in hand, I figured that wherever I was at 1:00, I’d better turn back.  I marched on, practically the only person on the street, past low, comfortable-looking houses, a modern-ish apartment complex and parkland, getting somewhat anxious.  Every clump of birches and pines, with their high crowns, seemed to hide a church steeple or a castle tower behind them.  Snow sugared the sidewalk, creaked softly under my hiking boots.

I passed a white-steepled church that would not have looked out of place in Vermont.  Rounding the back of the church, I saw a gate in a wall about 500 feet ahead.  It had that  “castle” look and indeed, it was the entrance.  The sole visitor, I walked down the tree-flanked avenue from the gate, imagining I was the mistress of the place.  There didn’t seem to be any museum, so after a circuit of the front lawn, and a gaze behind the new building to the ruins of the 13^th-century structure, I retraced my footsteps—literally stepping in the prints left in the snow, just for the fun of it.

I made it back to the town center with time to spare for a meal, which I hadn’t bothered with all day.  The cafeteria, in a small brownstone building, clearly catered to locals; a clutch of schoolkids wandered in just after I sat down with my bowl of solyanka.  It’s a meat borscht, with the traditional dollop of sour cream, and it satisfied more than a gourmet meal could have.

Back in class, feeling as if I'd covered everything and had nothing more to add, I had an inspiration.  Near the end of the period, I put my cards on the table, telling the students we were going to have extra time tomorrow and Friday because most of the stuff I had planned to cover would be of interest only to lawyers, and was there anything they might like me to prepare special?  They brightened up at the idea: they want to hear about cases, interesting ones—like kids asking for stories, it seemed.  One student missed my jury presentation and asked for a repeat.  Another asked for information on immigration (hmm, there’s a sub-text there…).  So I have something to work with.