I had come to Latvia after an invitation from Ernest and Ljeta, friends from London who had recently returned to Riga where they both grew up. Their invite had anchored the entire Northern European (cf. 'Scandinavian'!) part of my journey, presenting an opportunity to see more of this lovely part of the world in its best season.
I had a very enjoyable guided walking tour of central Riga, and learned that the height of an embassy's fence is proportional to how competitive their ice hockey team is in matches against Latvia. The British Embassy had no fence; the Russian fence was quite impressive:
Ernest offered me a large choice of Sunday activities, and I inadvertently designed a real 'adventure day': after driving north of Riga towards Sigulda, and the first stop was a bobsled course built in the Soviet era. In winter this is one of Latvia's premier training grounds for luge and other winter sports; for summer the concrete course entertains tourist families and young locals. There were two families with primary school-aged kids before us, and when the first set finished their ride and exclaimed that it was 'gentler than we expected' I was utterly lulled into thinking this would be a quiet jaunt, so much do that I went to fetch my phone from the car to take some scenic footage of the valley below. Even when we realised that we wouldn't be steering ourselves (the same lady was at the head of the car), I didn't grasp why. Even when the cheerful man fitting our helmets told me to 'keep neck strong' I thought nothing of it, until five seconds after we set off, when we began hurtling down the much-steeper-than-expected course and I tried my best to emulate Milo Kerrigan from Full Frontal. When I get back to my laptop I'll compress the video that I took; needless to say the first third of it does not contain the best camerawork.
After the bobsled, we drove to the 'Aerodium', which is basically a jumping castle with an enormously powerful fan beneath it, propelling willing visitors upwards so that they can fly like Superman. Perhaps because the safety demonstration was much more involved than at the bobsled and an instructor was nearby the whole time, the experience itself was much less terrifying, though certainly more exhilarating.
By far the most memorable experience of the day was the Indiana Jones-style high-tree ropes course. The course cleverly escalated in difficulty, We tackled the gentle blue course and the manageable red course, which left the black course remaining. I had neglected to calibrate the color codes before we started, so although I had a vague awareness that black was harder than red, I didn't really know by how much. I have never attempted a black ski run and can't imagine doing so any time soon, but for some reason I didn't think of the black ropes course in the same terms (i.e. severe pain), so I climbed the rope ladder to start the black course.
Yes, those circular blocks spin
I cannot remember being more afraid, as we navigated the system of ropes high above the ground below. To the extent I could rationalise it, the terror was not so much freefalling (since we continuously strapped ourselves in to the safety wires) but rather falling five meters and hanging suspended and helpless by the safety harness, unable to climb back up. I played M83 on the loudspeaker on my phone to try to calm my nerves, and when my legs started shaking after an improbably successful maneuver I craved a strong drink of the sort action heroes swig to calm their nerves, typically after surviving a gun fight. (I confirmed, not for the first time, that I wasn't cut out to be an action hero.) When I took the final flying fox back down to ground I felt a huge rush of triumph and relief. Despite some ropy moments on monkey bars and vertical ropes without underfoot wires, I had survived without falling. I took many grateful gulps of water, then collapsed in the car. Ernest joked that we might have to leave the bungee jump to the following day (bungee was the one adventure option I had not jumped at).
We ate dinner at Aparjods, the best restaurant in the district and as Ljeta pointed out, mouth-wateringly good value compared to London. They thoughtfully provided throw blankets to guard against the dvening breeze so we installed ourselves at an outside table, wrapped up in the blankets, and exchanged war stories and some footage from the ropes course. I had the chance to try rupjmaizes kartojums, a tasty traditional Latvian dessert containing fine rye breadcrumbs layered with berry coulis, fresh berries, and whipped cream; it tastes somewhat similar to Eaton Mess. Afterwards Ernest drove us to Ljeta's parents' stunning country house, which looks out onto the Gulf of Riga (which in turn leads on to the Baltic Sea). The sun had at last set, and not for the first time this trip I was unable to stay awake (the jetlag having worn off, I claimed post-traumatic shock). I was grateful that Ernest was still so alert.
The next day brought the first lazy Monday morning in a long time. After a simple brunch, featuring more tasty Rye bread as well as some edamame-like Latvian beans, Ljeta and Ernest taught me a new board fame, Kingdom Builder, on the beach. This reminded me of Settlers of Catan, which Ernest taught me last year, after having started a board games club at work. I resolved to play more board games at grad school over the next two years: they're social, they don't require a screen or wifi, and they have more novelty than card games like poker. Coupled with the backdrop of the Gulf of Riga rolling lazily onto the mostly-empty beach with its auburn sand, our game of Kingdom Builder was wonderfully relaxing. (I finished last.) By the time we finished, the afternoon had crept up on us so we drove back to Riga and did not detour for the bungee jump. (Ernest was doubtless keen to keep this up his sleeve as a 'hook' for my next visit, but in truth some of the many sore muscles above my hips might not have survived the thrill of the bungee cord.)
We had a tasty afternoon tea at Ljeta's favorite coffee house, where the portions of apple strudel were generous and not too sweet, followed by an afternoon nap and dinner at an excellent seafood restaurant. After a midnight stroll back through the Bastejkalns Par, along the Pilsetas Canal, it was time for bed; I had an early start the next morning for my journey onwards to Estonia. I hadn't realized that Tallinn is only four hours by car from Riga; Ernest cheerfully told me that if the flight went awry he'd happily drive me up there, and even though I wouldn't dream of saddling him with an eight hour round trip, I did wonder whether I should have rented a car instead of flying. That daydream drifted away as the wheels of the turboprop Air Baltic plane lifted off the runway, and we pierced through the low, damp clouds over Riga.
