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by Amanda MacKenzie-McIntyre, Freelance Writer
There’s standing room only in the Church of St. The capital of this relatively new European country, tucked in between Estonia and Lithuania, seems to have it all. It’s brim-full of history and culture. You can eat around the globe without blowing the budget, or party until the small hours without leaving the compact streets of the old town. And for a blissful change of pace, it’s a short trip to the Baltic coast – miles of sandy beach, frequented by people who look like they’ve just stepped out of an advert for Nordic wholesomeness. Riga sits astride the Daugava river, but the city centre stretches out on the eastern side, starting with the lattice of cobbled streets, spires and paint-box colours that leads into Independence S The old town is easy to cover by foot, but an organized tour is a sure way to get to know it better. With our guide, Valentina, in the vanguard, we thread our way through the connecting passageways, looking up all the while as she points out the quirky details and the elaborate facades. Centuries of foreign colonists have left their mark here, starting with the Germans, under whom Riga prospered as a key city in the Hanseatic League. Outside the famous Cat House (she calls it the "House of Cats" for the benefit of any Americans who may have joined us), Valentina has us shading our eyes to admire two elegant felines poised atop the canary-yellow building. Built by a local who was turned down by the German-dominated guildry, the cats were installed with their rear ends waving defiantly at the Great Guild over the road. In a cause celebre of the day, the guildsmen were finally forced to let him join – on condition that he turn around the offending kitties to their present position.
Around the corner, we’re gazing skywards yet again. This time, it is to squint at the gothic steeple of St Jacob’s, which has its single bell suspended, unusually, from the outside. "It is said that the bell will ring if an unfaithful wife walks underneath it," she tell us. It does not toll for us. "Safety in numbers," quips a cynic at the back. Most of Riga’s museums are dotted around this area, including a brace of excellent art galleries and bite-sized exhibitions, such as the Museum of Applied Arts; with its walls of gorgeous tapestries. To make more sense of Riga’s past, I head for the Museum of the Occupation, a forbidding concrete structure near the banks of the Daugava. Which Occupation? Take your pick – the Soviet forces left the country to the Nazis in 1941, only to pick up where they left off four years later. The parallels between the regimes are obvious: conscription, deportations, purges and hardship. Informative and poignant, the museum is a tribute to the Latvians survived, and the many thousands who didn’t. As always, it’s the individual insights that strike home. Among the exhibits, a mute keyboard made by a composer who was condemned to mine coal north of the Arctic Circle; a rag doll made from smuggled scraps for a child left behind. Not surprisingly, ev Riga’s best bargain? It isn’t the honey-colored Baltic amber, though the prices certainly appeal and it goes down well at home. No, for my money, it has to be a night at the opera. For classical music-lovers, Riga has strong credentials. Richard Wagner wrote Rienzi here, and got a head start on his next opera, when he was forced to flee his creditors by boat in a terrible storm. (Who’d have guessed The Flying Dutchman was really about a man on the run from his laundry bill?) Opera and ballet performances at the National Opera House have a world class reputation and, tickets are a steal. Better still, you can bo Eating out is good value, too. Ignoring what must be one of the only queue-free McDonalds in Eastern Europe, I follow the lunchtime crowds to Pelmeni XL, where a plateful of tasty Latvian dumplings topped with spicy sauce and sour cream easily hits the spot. In the evenings, the choice runs all the way from sushi to shashlik, with something for every budget. When it comes to sampling traditional Latvian fare – a close relative of Scandinavian cuisine, strong on fish and rye bread - the Lido chain of self-service restaurants is a city institution Taking a tip from the locals, I hop in a taxi and head out of town. The Lido on Krasta Street is instantly recognizable by the unlikely-looking windmill outside. Inside, a rural theme park beckons, complete with low beams, benches and a rustic children’s playroom. The atmosphere is kitsch, friendly, fun – and the food’s great. To the strains of "You Never Can Tell" from the five-piece in the corner, a host of Uma and John-wannabes hit the dance floor. There’s no resisting a good tune in Riga, after all.
**All Photos by Amanda MacKenzie-McIntyre
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John as the sublime sound of one of the country’s top choirs washes over the audience. It’s not for nothing that Latvia styles itself "The Singing Republic" and, visiting Riga for the first time, I can’t help feeling they have something to sing about.
quare. On national occasions, I’m told, the whole of Riga turns out here to gather under the monument – and, inevitably, that means a singing affair. During my visit, the parks and cafés are in full swing, and the last of the warm weekends has brought out a flotilla of pedalos to cruise up and down the old town moat.
eryone’s keen to shake off the "former Soviet" image, and especially now that they are officially European. Looking around, it’s easy to forget that the city was ever ruled from Moscow. In fact, the most obvious architectural legacy here isn’t a Soviet one at all. A short stroll beyond the old town is one of Riga’s most stunning neighborhoods. Adorned with sinuous lines and curvaceous nymphs, the art nouveau masterpieces in and around Alberta Street are some of over seven hundred such buildings in the city – enough to give Riga a real claim to being the art nouveau capital of the world.
ok before you go.