Most people apparently find some way to ride from the train to points of interest. We walked. Of course, we didn't rush, but it was an eighty-minute walk, including walking a kilometer *down* an 11% grade on one side of the valley and then a kilometer *up* an 11% grade on the other. The bridge we crossed over the river has bungee-jumping in the summertime, but apparently this isn't considered the summertime yet.
Mark smiled at a passing middle-aged woman who immediately looked the other way rather than smile back. We suppose the people are suspicious of strangers after repeated invasions, and fifty years of Soviet occupation when being friendly with foreigners, especially Westerners, got you in trouble with the police, but most seem unfriendly. Not all. Some of the younger people are nicer (not surprisingly). On the train on the way in, we sat opposite a young family. The parents were probably not yet thirty and they had a son about six years old. We passed by a complex with armed guards and barbed wire and were talking about whether it was a prison. 'Jail,' said the young mother. It was uncharacteristic of the people we met. Mark thanked her. Mostly we just smiled. But we do run into a few people who are not shy about strangers.
Sigulda turned out to be more nice walk than anything else. In fact it was a walk right out of Sigulda into neighboring Turaida. At the end of the walk is the Turaida complex. By this point we were thirsty and sweaty, so after we bought our tickets (50 santimu each), we went into the shop to get Pepsis. This gave us enough energy to continue.
First is the grave of local legend Turaida Rose. Now we know what you are thinking. But, no, she is not someone who made radio broadcasts in Russian playing Russian music and telling the Russians why they'd rather be home. No, she was from much further back than that.
In 1620 Maija, the Rose of Turaida, was a young girl in love with the castle gardener. An invading Pole lured her off to a cave to rape her. Rather than face dishonor she told the Pole that her scarf was magic and she would give it to him if he let her go. She offered to demonstrate its protective powers and put it around her neck, telling him to try to behead her. He swung his sword, beheaded her, and fled. Death before dishonor is what she is remembered for.
What Mark asks (and a darn good question it is, too) is, how does anybody know what happened? Maija didn't tell the story. The Polish soldier probably didn't. Mark supposes there could have been witnesses, but it seems unlikely.
Then there was a church with a few exhibits, but no interesting legends or history connected to it that we could tell. Luckily most of the exhibits are self-explanatory, since the only English words we saw were on a box that said, 'For Donations.'
There is a castle with a tower and a museum showing artifacts of the Livs, a people who lived in this area. There is a mannequin of a Liv woman. She has a small spherical bell on a necklace. Mark told Evelyn this was a 'Liv tinkle-bell.' There are exhibits of Kurzemewoven ribbons an inch wide used in decorating. However, unlike Trakai, which had artifacts from all periods, this museum seems to have a surplus of prehistoric bronze artifacts, a lot from the early inhabitants of the region, and then nothing until some modern handicrafts.
We climbed the tower (139 steps), which gives a marvelous view of the river valley far below. The fact that the weather was beautiful helped, of course. (Actually, considering all the walking we were doing, it might almost have been too warm, but better that than too cold.) Again, the castle is restored in red brick to show what is and is not original. You climb with about seven levels of floors. The tower is maybe seventy feet high.
After climbing the tower, we walked through the nice modern sculpture garden. If that seems a bit odd, it's because it was created to commemorate Krishjanis Barons, a local collector of folk songs (dainas), and daina concerts are held on the hills around it during the summer. The sculptures reminded Evelyn a bit of those in Vigeland Park in Oslo, though the latter has considerably more and considerably larger sculptures.
Leaving the Turaida complex, we took the 126-step flight of stairs down the side of the hill rather than walk all the way back to the entrance and double back on the road.
On the walk back we walked along the pedestrian path rather than the road, and stopped in two sandstone caves. Gutmanis' Cave, where the Rose of Turaida met her fate, is the bigger, but still only about thirty-five feet deep. The smaller is half that size. The soft sandstone shows carvings going back four hundred years, though we saw nothing older than 1820. Mark was a bit disappointed in the smallness of the caves. 'It doesn't even get dark!'
'What did you expect, Carlsbad Caverns?'
'Well, no, but at least something like the Batu Caves [in Malaysia].'
We walked back to Sigulda. Oh, they have a peculiar insect here. It looks a lot like a mosquito, but it is the size of a small fly. It seems to bite right through pants cloth. At first Mark thought the bites were his imagination. Days later he had large red welts where he itched and a few places where he didn't. We hope this is not a malaria region.
We had planned on walking to Krimulda Castle and then taking the cable car back across the river, but we couldn't figure out which path led to them, and all the choices involved fairly steep climbs. In the end we opted to walk back across the bridge. The 11% grade on the road was less than the paths, and we knew this would get us back. Even on the near side, we couldn't seem to find the cable car station. (We thought we might just ride across and back.)
We looked for lunch. Nothing seemed all that inviting and we were really more dehydrated than hungry, so we bought a box of juice and shared it. We waited for the next train back (the 15:37) and rode back. Zemtiani is apparently a section in the eastern part of Riga. So on our return we found ourselves in some unknown part of the city. What to do?
Easy. We followed the crowds getting off and after a couple of blocks got to some busy streets and trolley stops. We picked a trolley that said 'Central Station,' and sure enough, ended up back at the train station. It did cost us an extra 8 santimi (US$0.14) each, but that beats sitting around the Sigulda train station for another hour and a half.
At the train station, or rather, across the street from it in the angle where Marijas iela and Satekles iela meet, was a market selling books, with a couple of dozen vendors. Lots and lots of books, mostly American science fiction translated into Russian. There is no way to enforce American copyrights, and so Russia and other eastern European countries are taking lots of American science fiction and even some American art and producing these garish hardbacks wholesale. (At ConFiction Robert Silverberg got quite irate at a fan from an eastern European country about these practices, which are winked at, or even connived at, by the governments of those countries. His pleasure at being so popular in that area was certainly diminished by the fact that they were basically stealing his work.) Table after table is full of these books for sale: Kenneth Bulmer, Keith Laumer, Henry Kuttner, Larry Niven, a lot of Andre Norton, and a whole lot of Robert Silverberg, for about 2 lati (a little over US$1) each. Evelyn asked Mark if he thought it was a political statement that there are so many books in Russian for sale at this unregulated market since the government is trying to stamp out Russian. He said you didn't have to look for anything so obscure as political motives. The books are available cheap due to the Russian publishing policies. There is always demand for imaginative writing. The demand is high and the supply is plentiful. That is all it takes to make the market thrive. One of the dealers said something to Mark in Russian, perhaps asking if Mark could really read the books. Mark could only shrug. He is not sure why we are so interested in these books. Perhaps to play the recognition game. The books are certainly too bulky to take as souvenirs.
On the other hand, Latvian books seem to be sold only in the bookstores, and we haven't seen any science fiction in Latvian yet. (Nor did we later.) Of course, there is a much bigger market for Russian translations of English-language science fiction than for Latvian translations.
Back at the room we cleaned up. We noticed that in this deluxe hotel they do not empty candy wrappers from ashtrays or replace dirty glasses with clean ones. We guess you wash your own. On leaving for dinner, Mark asked the maid if we could get some clean glasses. She said she would check, but she didn't think they had any extras.
Our plan for the evening was to visit the synagogue and to have dinner. This takes us through the prime tourist area. From a distance Mark sees a girl about nine years old sitting by a wall with a baby carriage. As we approach, she looks our way, sees us, and starts holding her head and crying. Not surprisingly, she has a tray in front of her with coins. We might have been more moved but she was not a very good actress. She should have been a little more subtle so it was not so obviously an act. Begging seems to be very common, particularly in tourist areas.
The synagogue, despite the times listed on the door, had the outer gate padlocked, which made it even more closed than when it was officially closed (then, we could get into the courtyard to read the sign on the door). Walking to dinner, we heard a group of Americans talking who turned out to be living in the area. They seemed to be mostly fans of the local beer, but they did give us recommendations of where to stay in Helsinki and Stockholm.
Dinner was at the Bistro Argentina (though the music over the speakers sounded more Mexican than Argentina), and it seems to be one of the better places to eat in town. Mark had Beef Stroganoff and a salad that was peppers filled with grated carrot. Both were very nice. Evelyn had a beet salad and a chicken dish, pildita vestas filetij. She just picked something because she had no idea what it was. We think it was chicken breast stuffed with vegetables. Sneaky way to get you to eat your vegetables. That is how you give a dog a pill. Still, it was all very nice. Getting the salads was probably unnecessary, though, because the main courses came with fries, sauerkraut, and a small green salad already. Here a 'bistro' seems to be a sit-down, cafeteria-style place.
When we got back to the room there were two teacups set out on the table. They could not find glasses but they did find teacups.
The evening's entertainment was writing in the logs, since we were a day and a half behind. Mark went to sleep with a bandana tied over his eyes to block out the morning light. However, he went to sleep about 22:00 so it is not surprising that he woke up at 5:30.
May 16, 1994: Well, our luck with the weather came to an end. We woke up to discover it was raining. Since two of our possibilities for the day were the Ethnographic Museum (outdoors) and the cemeteries (outdoors), this was not something we were happy about. We decided to have a leisurely breakfast, pack, and rest a bit, hoping the rain would stop or at least ease up.
Breakfast was the same selection as two days ago. Mark had fish and pancakes ... uh, not together. We have a big meal and then a small lunch. Breakfast is the big meal of the day when we have a good breakfast buffet. Of course, then we are a little sluggish through the morning.
Back at the room Mark took a shower. He reports, 'It is a little difficult dealing with faucets here. In specific, with faucet handles. In the United States we are used to a given handle position corresponding to a given volume of water, either hot or cold. If the water is coming out at a given speed and temperature, and you give the handle one-quarter turn clockwise, then one-quarter turn counterclockwise, the speed and temperature of the water will return to their previous state. |
