Leaving Pärnu, we drove from Estonia on well-maintained highways to Latvia. We meandered through an ode to unspoiled nature: Forests, farmland, parks—blue skies with puffy clouds; green landscapes with occasional pops of fields of yellow canola. And, always beckoning was the lovely, accessible beaches, waving at travelers to stop and enjoy the view. They served as a reminder to Seas-the-Day and make the best of the sands of time.
Our Lonely Planet guidebook said Latvians love arts, festivals, and have “a merry, devil-may-care-attitude—well, a subdued Nordic version of it.” It described Latvia as a small country with enormous personal space. Indeed, Latvia felt like a place to find both connection and solitude. We fantasized about buying a camper to join the ranks of the festive-nature-loving-Latvians. Then, we remembered WINTER and that Latvia is known as the birthplace of the Christmas tree for a reason. B-r-r-r! Ne Paldies!
We arrived late on a Monday afternoon in Riga, Latvia’s capitol and only major city. Immediately, we noticed that LOTS of people were milling about and the vast majority of them were donned in attire and/or waving flags that proclaimed LATVIA! Initially, we thought, “Wow! These people are very excited about their country!” We soon learned that the previous Sunday evening, Latvia’s team BEAT the U.S. team to gain the Bronze in the Ice Hockey World Championship. Since Riga dubs itself, the CITY OF HOCKEY, this win was a BIG DEAL. The National Government leaders called an emergency meeting Sunday evening to declare Monday a National Holiday. It was quite fun to be amidst the festivities: On that day, We were Latvians!
For a couple days—from our comfortable, centrally located apartment—we ambled through Riga. We walked alongside the beautiful river Daugava, which flows through the city’s parks with meaningful statues, gorgeous blooms, and locals enjoying the long days of sunshine. Then a maze of cobblestone streets winds through interesting architecture, fun markets, myriad restaurants, and historic sites. Notably, the black cat is a popular symbol of Riga; it has an infamous (and fictional) “Cat House” revenge story. As the story goes: In early 1900s, a guy was upset that the local (prestigious) Guild turned down his membership request. So, he bought a building nearby and had a black cat with its butt pointed toward the Guild building put on the roof—as an insult. The Guild sued him and the settlement was that he got to keep the cat, but must turn it away from the direction of the Guild. Talk about “catty.”
Leaving Riga, we drove toward Ventspils, stopping for a wonderful forest-bathing in Kemeri Park. We spent one night in Ventspils, where we had a subpar AirB&B, delicious local meal, and a meditative beach walk. Then, with a fairly long day of driving, we headed to Klaipėda via Liepāja, where we visited the Craftsman House—which ironically was all women artisans—and bought one of our few souvenirs, Antrai Kalejai’s wood and willow creations. After cruising through the local, huge outdoor market and having a yummy lunch of the local specials at a restaurant in a former post office, we got back on the road.
Throughout this trip—amidst the splendor and serenity of nature, as well as, the ease and vibrancy of these countries—we saw the oppressive remnants of Soviet invasions and Nazi Holocaust. A history of hostile occupations, forced deportations, and incredible decimation lingers. We visited historical sites and were both informed and moved by them—particularly those that authentically reflected on the atrocities of war.
In particular, we were compelled to go to the Skede Dunes Holocaust Memorial, which our guidebook described as “off the beaten path.” Ten kilometers north of Liepāja off a long dirt coastal road, it certainly was hard to find and we were the only visitors. It seems like a local place of remembrance, rather than a tourist site. As the guidebook stated, “The beauty obscures the horror.” Amidst a sandy, serene beach and dunes with wind-song evergreens, the local community built a large contemplative area that includes marker stones dedicated to the 3000+ local Jews killed by the Nazis—along with an area honoring those allies who tried to aid their Jewish neighbors. In this isolated memorial, it was deeply moving to contemplate how this horror (and courage) occurred in recent history amidst “ordinary” lives and even such extraordinary beauty.
