RIGARIGARIGARIGA

Let it never be said that romance is dead
'Cos there's so little else occupying my head
There is nothing I need 'cept the function to breathe
But I'm not really fussed, doesn't matter to me
RIGARIGARIGARIGA
Do ya, do ya, do ya, do ya
Know what ya doing, doing to me?
RIGARIGARIGARIGA
Due to lack of interest tomorrow is cancelled
Let the clocks be reset and the pendulums held
'Cos there's nothing at all 'cept the space in between
Finding out what you're called and repeating your name
Could it be, could it be, that you're joking with me
And you don't really see you with me
Could it be, could it be, that you're joking with me
And you don't really see you with me
Do ya, do ya, do ya, do ya
What ya doing, doing to me?

Here's the thing about Riga in February. It's still pretty effin cold, but not cold enough for all the built up snow and ice to stay solid. Thus, it is a frequent daily occurence that large snowbanks will slide off of their precarious perches atop Riga's stunning art nouveau architecture and crash to the street below, cars and/or pedestrians be damned!
Most of the sidewalks directly in front of buildings were taped off and unsafe to walk on. Sometimes a doorway was even taped over, which made me wonder, what do you do if you live there?
The answer, apparently, is simply to duck under the tape and risk life and limb for the moment you are exposed to flying ice chunks, such as this:

Or entire colonies of ice chunks such as this:

That was the fate of one poor station wagon who we witnessed being beaten into submission by falling ice-snow. It bleated its alarm in protest but it was already dented up.
Anyway other than imminent death by ice Riga was really awesome. I happened to be there for the Art Academy's annual carnival party and this year's theme was Black & White. It was pretty effin insane. Let's just say I saw one naked guy too many.
The next night the friend I was staying with DJed at a small party in a vintage clothing store. No one else was dancing so I had to do double duty tearin up the dancefloor all by myself. After three hours of that, I decided to take a "rest" and ended up falling asleep on a vintage couch watching the Olympics in black and white on a vintage television. Yep...I know how to party hard.
Then it was Sunday and we ventured into the countryside to my friend's Dad's house. All four of her brothers were in attendance for a large family meal complete with traditional Latvian black bread and hard cheese with carraway seeds. Afterwards, we watched the Latvian version of "So You Think You Can Dance" (riveting) and then headed out through the snow across the backyard to...
the SAUNA.
Yes, they have an old wooden hut at the back of their property which contains a large collection of Latvian antiques and a state-of-the-art sauna.
I was assigned a robe and we got all hot and sweaty. Apparently it's no good unless you turn lobster red, which we did. We went in the sauna three times total, and the last time we slathered ourselves in honey. When we came out, a big earthenware jar of fresh mint tea was waiting for us, as well as a big fluffy gray cat named Cola (for Coca-Cola). The truly traditional experience. It was wonderful.
I fell asleep to the sound of their husky dog howling at the moon and awoke when it was still dark to catch my early morning flight.
Here I am foolin around in the lobby of a cool old school movie theater in Riga. Which one is me? I know it's kkinda hard to tell:

Random statues outside the contemporary art museum, the Arsenal:

A statue on the street illustrating both the snow and ice all over everything and the caution tape stretched across all the sidewalks:

It was awesome seeing the typical tourist stuff, the capital's crazy nightlife, and a glimpse into normal suburban family life. I'm so glad I took the opportunity to visit Riga with a local!
Bis bald,
D.