Well...not exactly. It would not be the complete truth to claim that, as I write this post, I am 'on' a 'boat'. Or any kind of water craft, for that matter. Where I actually am is sitting at my desk in my room in Flogsta on Christmas morning, pondering just how bad I have been at keep this blog up to date. Obviously there is a limit to what I can cover here, especially given my rather long-winded writing style, and the fact that some things are better not committed to the inter-webs...but even so, I think I've posted perhaps six times in 18 weeks? Not so great...
But I have had these notes lying around for about 6-8 weeks now, so perhaps it's time to turn them into something constructive. Or something to fill some time before Icky Matt makes French Toast in any case.
So, I'm on a Boat. Or rather, as we have discussed, I am not. But I was! In fact, since arriving in Sweden I have travelled on no less than 5 boats! Except that strictly speaking, one of those was twice on the same boat. Does that count? Oh, and I also took a trip down the Fyris River on the King Carl Gustav way back in September. That was out and back...one or two boats? Any rules regarding number of boats should be applied consistently, I feel. And then their were two trips on the Djurgården ferry in Stockholm...but I have no idea if it's always the same boat, and anyway those trip were 5 months apart, AND in different directions, so that could easily count as two and...
*ahem*
...I feel I've gotten bogged down in unnecessary details. I've been on a number of boats, some of them were very big boats, the kind you can use to cross seas...like the Baltic Sea, or Östersjön ('the East Sea') as it's called in Swedish. And that was actually the point of that lead in – I have visited three of Sweden's cross-Baltic neighbours by ferry in the last 2 months, and I would like to share some of my experiences with you all.
Riga, Latvia: 29 October – 2 November
At Swedish universities, it is common that rather than taking four or more subjects ('courses') concurrently as we tend to do in Australia, students instead take their courses intensively and consecutively, spending 4-5 weeks on each one, taking an exam or completing a major essay and then moving on to the next course. As there are no centrally mandated start and end dates for each course, gaps tend to appear between courses. This was the position I found myself in over the long weekend between my Swedish Economic History exam (Thursday morning) and my first lecture in Comparative Welfare States (Tuesday afternoon). Crossing the Baltic to visit beautiful and atmospheric Riga, the capital city of Latvia, as well as nearby Kuldiga/Goldingen (the town in western Latvia where my Mum's Jewish ancestors migrated from in the late 19th century) seemed like too good an opportunity to miss.
Excited, I began rounding up friends to take along – but Simon had no money, and Jonas had no time, and Matt had just been somewhere and Inken was about to go somewhere, and Mike had his girlfriend visiting him from England. Of course (being both an engineer and a northerner) he said he'd much rather come with me than have to cuddle and talk about his feelings...but I wasn't willing to be responsible for that. And so only Lucy was free, and (after soup lunch at VG and a quick stop at a supermarket for Pringles and Kanelbullar) we set off together for Stockholm and the ferries to Riga.
Thanks to Lucy's mad organisational skillz we made it to the Silja Line terminal at Frihamnen, a little to the north-east of central Stockholm, with time to spare. After dealing with the surly young woman at the check-in counter (who seemed personally aggrieved that not just one, but BOTH of us wished to pay for our journey) we scanned our boarding cards and made our way out along the passenger bridge, the ferry looming huge and motionless in the water to our left. Our cabins were on deck two, which as it turned out was below the entry deck, both the car decks, and the waterline; a part of the ferry where tight stairwells and cramped corridors twisted into dead ends peopled by bands of drunk, seedy Russians in spandex and tracksuits, where watertight bulkhead doors sealed behind us when the ferry got under way, and where brown portable-classroom carpet, beige linoleum walls, flickering flourescent lights and constant yet irregular machinery noise served as a constant reminder of our station in life. Still my cabin was quite comfortable (even if it did on my arrival contain two naked Lithuanian men) and in any case Lucy and I spent much of the 18 hour journey exploring the rest of the ship. We wandered in the duty free shop listening to the alcohol bottles vibrate against one another, watched the full moon rise over the Baltic from the upper deck, took in the evening's free entertainment (drunk Russians falling over a lot while trying to dance/walk/climb up and down stairs) and 
ate some of our haul of Pringles, sandwiches, pastries and chocolate in an alcove near our cabins.The next morning we climbed to the upper deck to get our first view of Riga. Passing the outer channel markers quickly, we entered the mouth of the Daugavapils with hordes of seagulls diving and swooping in our wake. The wide brown river looked oddly beautiful in the morning light, its banks choked with all manner of post-Soviet industrial debris; decaying factories, silent smokestacks, abandoned cranes, empty slipways and rusting cargo ships listing gently in their berths. Twenty years ago Riga was one of the Soviet Union's most important ports, ten years ago it was the rising economic star of the Baltic states, enjoying its new-found freedom for all it's worth, and now, amid the latest financial crisis, it seemed all but abandoned. The light and subject-matter were certainly quite extraordinary, and I took lots of photographs, but the grim grey concrete flats which rose out of the morning mist beyond the docks and warehouses served as a reminder of the human cost of the changes which had created this landscape. And gazing up at the ultramodern cigarette lighter-shaped Swedbank skyscraper which stood opposite the ferry terminal, it was difficult to assess what kind of changes were ahead.
Lucy and I spent our first morning in Riga as we would much of our time – in happy yet fairly aimless wanderings. We took a wide circle from the ferry terminal down to the old city via the architectural treasure-trove of Elizabetes iela and its surrounding streets. We took in the grand mansions of Embassy Row, the fearsomely blockish Soviet-built government offices, the fantastical facades of the Art Nouveau houses which Riga is famous for, the picturesque grandeur of the Russian Orthodox Cathedral and just about everything in between. We wandered in grand parks where I imagined shady Cold War dealings going down and Lucy dived into huge piles of autumn leaves (which she spent the rest of the trip picking out of her hair) and we both marvelled at the strains of accordion music wafting between the trees. The gentle arch of Elizabetes iela brought us eventually to the eastern edge of the Old City. Crossing the wide avenue in front of the railway station, we bravely crossed under the railway viaduct to the 'wrong side of the tracks', headed for the Riga Central Market.
The market is one of the outstanding highlights of Riga, filling five huge old Zeppelin hangars the Latvians bought from the Germans for the purpose in the 20s. They are connected by small intervening buildings and passages, and Lucy and I wandered through each in turn, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the market, which were different in each hangar because each houses a different sort of produce – meat in the first, followed by deli goods, then bread, pastries & cakes, fruit & vegetables and in the final hangar, fresh and preserved seafood of all kinds. The whole complex is at least twice the size of the Queen Vic Market, perhaps larger, and spills out into the surrounding area – even in late autumn with the daytime temperatures under 3 degrees, the hangars were surrounded by stalls selling flower arrangements, fruit & vegetables, knitted goods, handbags, knives, luggage, hats, lingerie, pet food, pastries and just about any other commodity you can think of. The narrow aisles teemed with people – overwhelmingly locals doing their regular shopping – and the noise and colour and energy of the place kept us entertained for at least a few hours. Lucy impulse-bought a pomegranate the size of her head (“They just look so inviting!”) and I managed to make a middle-aged Latvian lady understand that I wanted a few slices of some kind of smoked ham. We bought some pizza rolls and pastries from a rather surly girl in a corner bakery, and next door Lucy also got very excited to discover a stall selling little deep-fried pastries she calls 'Piroshki' – apparently a Russian delicacy on offer in her own beloved Adelaide Central Market. Riga is approximately fifty per cent Russian, so it's likely it was the same thing.
We returned triumphantly to the Old Town and, after some trouble finding our hostel 'The Naughty Squirrel' (we had walked past it at least twice without seeing the tiny sign) we climbed the four flights of stairs and rang the bell. We were greeted by the smiling bearded face and pleasantly surprising Australian accent of Jarrod, who runs the place with his Latvian girlfriend Ieva, who checked us in and gave us a quick run-down on Riga. Stowing our bags in the room, we settled down to enjoy a late lunch of market goodies, only to be interrupted by Jarrod, who uncorked a brown earthenware bottle and poured us two generous shots of the local speciality 'Riga Black Balzams' – a vile tasting brown viscous concoction which we later learned is made from grass (picked on 46 different days of the year) and a secret recipe of over 200 herbs, seed and oils, all drowned in vodka for that 45% alcohol taste we all love. It was apparently created as a health tonic in the mid 18th century, and according to legend cured Catherine the Great of a mysterious sickness. I can only imagine it has remained secret for so long because no one else in their right mind would want to produce the stuff. “Aw sorry mate, I probably ruined your lunch!” Jarrod apologised, going on to tell us how much the locals love the stuff, so much so that in Winter they can be seen in cafes all over the city, pouring shots of it into their coffee. Still someone must drink it – while walking around Riga you are never more than 200m from one of the 'Latvias Balzams' alcohol stores which make their living selling the stuff. The pomegranate was much tastier, although opening it was somewhat of an issue – I got some decent purchase with my pocket knife, but soon got a bit impatient, applied too much force and the thing exploded in my hands, showering myself, Lucy, the table, our lunch, the kitchen, and the Germans sitting at the next table with juice, bits of pulp, and tiny scarlet seed pods.
Recovering from our shock we set out into the evening streets of Old Riga. Listed by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site, the Old Town is a melting pot of architectural styles influenced by the many invaders that have made this key Baltic port their home away from home over the centuries. Fragments of medieval walls built by the Swedes stand should to shoulder with the Teutonic castles, German guildhalls, Russian cathedrals and (mercifully rarely) Soviet office buildings, constructed between the every style imaginable. The spires of some of the city's many churches can be seen from anywhere you stand, and give Riga an impressive skyline uncluttered by modern skyscrapers. More prosaically, Lucy and I were thrilled to discover that the twin joys of espresso machines and opening hours which extend past 5pm have made their way to this weird little corner of the old Inner Empire, even if they are yet to penetrate our own dear magic land on the far side of the Baltic. To celebrate this find we had a Riga Coffee (like a Vienna Coffee but with Balzams) at one of the ubiquitous Double Coffee stores (it's the former Soviet Union's answer to Starbucks – but actually good) and were surprised to discover that we didn't immediately regret our decision.
Crossing the river into a newer part of the city, we made our way across one of the city's many parks to Elizabetes iela in search of a restaurant called LIDO which had been recommended to us at the hostel. Despite our initially slightly dubious reaction to the prospect of 'Buffet-style chain restaurant serving traditional Latvian food', we realised only shortly after walking through the door that we had in fact struck gold. Huge pans of fresh cut chips sizzled before our eyes as a friendly chef in a white hat and apron directed us to grilling meats of all kinds, delicious shish-kebabs, potato pancakes, bowls of sauces, salad bar, drinks and desserts. Tossed between Germans, Swedes, Poles and Russians (not exactly the continent's finest chefs) Latvian cuisine typically features a lot of pork, cabbage, potatoes and dill, but this was so fresh and delicious that we happily stuffed ourselves (for about 4 Lats each – around AUD$8.80) and rolled gently back to our hostel through the evening streets.The following morning we headed out early. With an assignment looming in her Geology course, Lucy was leaving on that afternoon's ferry, and I had planned to spend my last day tracing my roots in Kuldiga. Alas we soon discovered that the Sunday buses were too slow and infrequent for me to get there and back without missing my 5:30pm ferry back to Stockholm, and so I had one more day to spend in and around Riga. We set a course back to the market to collect more bread, pastries and fruit to sustain ourselves, before a little souvenir shopping among the knitwear-purveying babushkas whose stalls huddle around the edges of the market halls. “Baaaaah” one tiny old woman burst out, her fingers curled like horns beside her head as another rather dumpy one furiously mimed hand-knitting. Lucy was impressed by these attempts to cross the language barrier, and bought herself some cosy mittens and some purple mohair socks.
We had heard about a free walking tour of Riga from a poster in the hostel, but we had a little time to kill before it began so we wandered up through the Old City again, this time to have a look at the Anglican Church. Built for the small British ex-pat community in Riga in 1857, it was constructed on a shipload of real English soil brought out for the purpose. Lucy and I made a video for our British friend Simon, who we thought would appreciate the minds behind that endeavour.
The walking tour began at noon below the clock tower of the St Peter's Church, and was lead by a short young woman of about our age with bright reddish-pink hair and a lemon yellow beanie. She was a local, and shows tourists around the 'off the beaten track' parts of her city for the tips she can collect in her hat at the end of the tour. She started by leading us over to the Central Market – Lucy and I felt a little smug for having already ventured over here – but soon we moved off into the area beyond. Known locally as 'Little Moscow', the run down inner suburbs to the south of the central market are inhabited mostly by the city's large Russian population. Struggling to keep up with our guide's breakneck walking pace and shooting photos from the hip in the bright Riga sunlight, we wove past Riga's 'other' central market – “Here you can come to buy 10 sacks of potatoes at 3am in the middle of the winter, no questions asked” our guide explains – and down streets which, so it seemed to me, captured perfectly the impact of Soviet and particularly of Russian culture on this city. Standing at one intersection waiting for a light to change, the four corners housed a tumble-down wooden house which looked to be straight out of Tolstoy, a Soviet apartment bloc in pebble-crete and rusting metal, an intricately carved yet rather decrepit wooden Russian Orthodox church with babushkas praying fervently at a small shrine by the gate, and the towering 50s edifice of the Academy of Science,
known locally as 'Stalin's Birthday Cake' for the plans to top it's 108m height with an enormous statue of Old Joe to celebrate his birthday. Luckily for Riga's citizenry, the old bastard carked it just before it was completed, but the hammer & sickle symbol can still be seen near the building's top – something which chafes with many Latvians.Our next stop was the Jewish memorial, beside which stands the remains of the Great Choral Synagogue, which the Nazis burned to the ground with around 300 Jews locked inside. I found it a chilling experience – the realisation that this peaceful tree-lined street in a quiet corner of Riga had seen something so horrific, and worse, that that had been only the beginning of the suffering and slaughter that would follow for Jews under the Nazi occupation. Carved into the columns of the monument are the names of Righteous Gentiles (mostly Latvians, but a few Germans and Russians too) who risked their own lives to save around 250 Latvian Jews by hiding them from the Nazis, though this number seems tiny however in comparison to the more than 30,000 Jews who had lived in Riga before the war.
Next stop on our tour was another market, this one distinctly seedier and well...distinctly more illegal-looking then those we'd seen so far. Crammed into a vacant block between two run-down wooden apartment buildings were a hundred or so stalls piled high with every conceivable variety of suspicious goods: car stereos, electric motors, mobile phones, electric and hand tools, car parts, old Soviet uniforms, medals and badges, old clothes, shabby children's toys...the place would have made the set dressers from any post-apocalyptic movie hang their heads in shame at their inadequate attempts at recreating a dystopian junkyard society. Needless to say, we did not take photos – anyone with a pile of car radios approaching two meters high doesn't want his picture taken – but our guide informed us that the place was technically legal...only the dozens of men and women with their eclectic bundles of junk that we had walked past on the footpaths outside were genuinely on the wrong side of the law. As if to illustrate the point, less than twenty minutes after arriving we returned to the street outside to find them all gone, the only evidence of their industrious sub-legal commerce the single toothless old man frantically piling rusty drill bits into a sack, goaded on occasionally by a couple of Latvian police constables.
From there on the tour got faster and faster, our guide apparently attempting to break the land speed record for guided walking tours. Among the buildings we hurtled past were some fine examples of the Art Nouveau architecture Riga is famous for, some interesting buildings in the Latvian National Romantic style – “Rocks represent strength of Latvian people” our guide informs us – and one very grim structure which was formerly the KGB headquarters in Riga, where the Soviet secret police tortured and murdered many Latvians during their nearly five decades of occupation. We did manage to end on a brighter note though – outside a beautiful Art Nouveau theatre (now a boutique cinema) which stands near the Freedom Boulevard – one of Riga's major arteries and a considerable improvement in name over its earlier incarnations: Stalin Boulevard, Lenin Boulevard and Adolf Hitler Boulevard! At the foot of the street, before it enters the Old City, is a wide open square by the banks of the canal in the centre of which is the Freedom Monument, its guard of honour watching over the carpet of flowers and wreaths at its base. During the Soviet occupation, it was illegal to place flowers here, and those who did were often carted away by the KGB, but still the Latvians would come, in the depths of night if necessary, just to lay their flowers for freedom.
After a little souvenir and postcard shopping, we climbed the hill in Bastion Park for a view of the Old City through the autumn foliage. After a pause to snack on a few more of our Central Market pastries, I walked Lucy to her ferry in the growing dusk. Her boat looked considerably grander than the one we had come out on, and sure enough within fifteen minutes of her disappearing up the escalator in the terminal my phone chirped: “Holy crap. Classy boat! Everything is shiny...taking lots of photos!!!” I returned to the city along the waterfront, taking photos of the Daugava at night as I went. The brightly-lit sky blue Riga trams seemed to fly across the darkened river, the bridge that carried them all but invisible against the black water behind.
It was Hallowe'en, and as I walked back to the hostel the streets of Riga were rather like a scene from Blade Runner: a faint mist rolls in over the city, flickering neon signs silhouette decaying Soviet tower blocks, topless young men wearing animal masks scream as they dash between the trees, wizened old ladies sell flowers under flickering flourescents by the side of the road, women in transparent plastic coats and men in grubby overcoats lean on lampposts, a tiny Napoleon darts out of a side street laughing maniacally before plunging into the park on the other side of the road. Some shish-kebabs with bacon-wrapped potatoes and a large pile of chips with dill sauce from LIDO grounded me a little, and I stumbled contentedly back to my hostel to sleep.My final day in Riga was perhaps the least interesting. With my plans to visit Kuldiga foiled by inadequate Sunday buses, I took in some more of the sights in and around the Old City. I visited the hideous black box which is the Museum of Occupation, which gave a fascinating and detailed account of the Nazi and Soviet occupations of Latvia during the twentieth century and the struggle for an independent state with a minimum of romanticism, even acknowledging the role of Latvian collaborators in the events of Holocaust and the Soviet periods. The descriptions and recreations of the Gulags many Latvians were transported to were particularly chilling. I also retraced part of the previous day's blisteringly-paced walking tour in order to catch a few photos I had missed, spent a while back at the Jewish memorial and the remains of the Synagogue, and checked out some of Riga's architectural landmarks: the Cat House (which has a cat for a sundial and an amazing Art Nouveau facade), the Three Brothers (the city's three oldest medieval houses, which are conveniently located beside each other), the Neo-Gothic Guildhalls and the huge red brick Gothic cathedral (the largest in the Baltics, which sits more than a meter below street level because the streets around have been raised so many times in the intervening centuries). I visited the small but interesting Jewish Museum and was rather disturbed by the extent to which the people in the old photographs looked like my family...there is clearly a 'Baltic Jewish' look which is quite distinctive. Finally I took one last happy wander through the Art Nouveau district, this time chancing on a few streets of incredible buildings that I hadn't noticed before. With my camera batteries finally extinguished from all the architectural goodies, and a backpack full of pastries to sustain me in the 18 hours ahead, I headed for the ferry terminal and the voyage home.
To be continued...
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In Part 2, Ben explores Helsinki and Tallinn, so stay tuned!
