On group trips I am leading, the first thing to check out, even before you've left the UK is - where's the nearest hospital. The second is generally - where's the beach (we even manage this in landlocked countries); the third is - where is Lidl?
I realised yesterday that there is a beautiful stretch of beach a train ride away from Riga. I'm not one who will lay toasting in the sun, but there is something very beautiful about walking along a beach, marveling at the stupendous beauty of the seascape, juxtaposed with the strength of that water. This is more powerful when a beach is deserted, not when the population of Latvia is covering it.
After my square scrambled eggs (it can't be comfortable for those chickens laying square eggs), plums and coffee, I asked the curious man on reception how to get to the train station. He pointed me in the opposite direction to the one I was anticipating, which was discombobulating.
I set off wandering in a direction sort of between what he said and what I thought. I started to recognise bits from my guided walk the other day with Krista the tour guide - I'm realising that most women here are called Krista, it's like Avas at Brownies.
I passed the Medieval Restaurant with the curious medieval monk man outside - maybe he was on the way to a fancy dress party, or maybe he always dresses like that - who knows.
I then passed the Swedish bridge. I then happened upon one of most famous statues in Riga. From Krista's description, it is a bronze representation of four animals from a fairy story who had to run away to the circus because they were going to be put down. They all climbed on top of each other to make a tower of animals. Legend has it that the higher the animal you can touch, the more luck you will get. Well - firstly, what a load of nonsense; secondly, that's heightist; thirdly, the animal at the top is a... flipping cockerel!!
I carried on walking and realised that I could actually see trains, so I couldn't be far from the station. I walked down a huge underpass but took the wrong exit, twice.
The curious man on reception had said something about Omega, and I'd assumed he'd been talking about fish oil. When I eventually emerged out of the right exit of the underpass, I realised that the station is part of an enormous complex called Omiga which contains a plethora of shops, restaurants, and, predictably, a KFC.
In case you're wondering, another very famous statue in Riga is that of the 42.7m high Freedom Monument, which consists of a woman some know as Milda holding three stars which represent the three historic regions of Latvia. She overlooks the Old Town at the edge of which is MacDonalds, so useful if she fancies a quick McFlurry.
I purchased a train ticket with some trouble -
'Please could I have a return ticket to Majori';
'So you want to go, then come back';
'Yes, I won't come back until I've been';
The ticket office lady grimaced. My humour doesn't work in any language, hence why my stand-up career failed.
'So you go - you stay - you come back'.
'Yes please'.
'Four Euros'.
This struck me as quite a bargain as it was about thirty minutes each way. The train was waiting and was very exciting as it had stairs, which most trains in the UK don't. I think I was meant to validate my ticket on a bleepy thing, which I duly did. Later in the journey, my ticket was checked by a girl who looked the age of one of my Brownies, albeit an older Brownie.
The train had electric points and a series of helpful signs - you can charge your mobile, your laptop, but not any household appliances. I swiftly unplugged my kettle and iron and hoped that no-one had noticed. The sign also implied that you can't plug in a baby - fortunately I didn't have one of those.
On arrival at Majori station, which is more of a pavement than a train station, I followed the surge of people with beach-bags and soon found myself on a perfectly sandy beach stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction - it is in fact 21 miles long. I didn't walk all 21 miles, but did a reasonable Helen walk westwards before settling at a beach bar for Coca Cola (which I only drink when abroad, so it's a little treat, though disappointingly they don't stamp 'Latvia' on the rims of the lids), a pastry, then a coffee, whilst sitting reading my Jesus book.
I fell into conversation with an Italian couple backpacking their way from Vilnius to Helsinki, but they weren't very interesting.
They asked if I'd been to Estonia - I said that I'd taken my Girl Guides there on a trip in 2018. They asked what we had done there. I tried to explain that we had gone for a long walk on a wooden path through an enormous bog.
'What is bog?' she said.
'Well, it's, erm, like a big expanse of water which is, sort of boggy, and still; but you can walk through it, on a wooden platform. It's fun!'
She wasn't convinced.
'It was a few years ago though, but I don't think bogs move, it's probably still there'.
She nodded with trepidation, still not convinced. I went back to reading my Jesus book.
After a few hours at the beach, I took a wander around Jurmala then went back to the pavement train station and took the next train back to Riga. I navigated my way back to the Old Town without incident, google maps or cockerels and was quite proud of myself.
Feeling hungry, I installed myself at a quirky cafe overlooking St Peter's Basilica and asked if I could order. 'Is here', came the brisk reply, as the waitress thrust her finger towards a QR code stuck to the table.
'But it's things like that which epitomise the breakdown of society - I want to place my order with a human person, not via a QR code', I protested.
'Is here', she pointed again, and walked off.
Begrudgingly, I placed my order via the QR code. Meantime, three elderly German ladies arrived and sat at the adjacent table. I smiled and they looked away.
The waitress championing the breakdown of society arrived at their table - 'Here is for you a menu', she said to them as she handed them a paper menu.
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