Redheaded Runaway
 The now or never kind Had Vegas been established under travel conditions similar to the cheap flights that now abound around Europe I doubt its early years would be much different from Riga today. Sure the location on the other side of the Atlantic would have meant the Bachelor party weekends would have had American accents and far less chatter about “Wayne Rooney, mate! The striker in the world, mate!”, but otherwise I can’t imagine much would have been different. There would still be the lecherous bachelor parties, ogling all the scantily clad women, purchasing free drinks for anything female that had a pulse, gambling away tons of money, getting ripped off royally at the strip clubs and out all night at one of the many clubs. Mind you this is the early Vegas when things weren’t so well organized as they are today. From what I understand the taxi drivers in Vegas are less likely to rob you and the strip clubs are well regulated. As I wasn’t there on a British Stag Doo or Hen Doo, I skipped a few of Riga’s more Vegas-esque features. I did however get to partake of the sights with a few of these gents and the rest of the throngs of males that descend on the city regularly. My one day stay a week and half earlier had been in a different hostel, but this time I rucked up to the one that gave you a free beer as soon as you walked in and had free admission to at least one club somewhere in the city every night of the week. It was a bit of a lads’ place, as I glanced around the hostel bar only to realize I was the only female non-staff member in the place. I can’t think of any other time I’ve been the absolutely only female in a bar, except of course for the occasions when I’m one of two people closing it down. Eventually, I took up with two Norwegian boys and we joined the group migration to the night’s Latvian club. Returning to the traditional backpacking requirement of sleeping a mere 3-4 hours a night before running around non-stop into the early hours of the next day, I was the only person awake to watch Tri-Nations after going out for breakfast the next morning. A few people strolled in about half-way through the first half. But since it was an Australian hostel with guests primarily from the rugby nations I was a bit surprised. It’s unusual to pass on the early morning drinking excuse that is a rugby match. At least Italians are following me everywhere I go; I surprised two guys from Milan when I interrupted their conversation to ask where they were from, but mostly I thoroughly enjoyed watching the All Black slaughter the Springboks. Not to ignore the rest that Riga has to offer I wander through the city a bit before getting down to the Soviet nitty-gritty and headed to an old bunker. A few of the British lads were still there from their Stag Doo and my recently acquired friend from Elm and I had only just read the epic guestbook entry of their group. It chronicled the history of the friendship to present day. After reading it you really felt you knew the lads. As much as I would love to recreate it, the final line gives the spirit of the entire piece: “P.S. Eddie got head.” Isn’t that beautiful? And yes it did prompt you to look back to the beginning to see when Eddie joined the group. It was during Uni… Then, as you do, we went and shot some guns. Probably the first and last time I do that, unless I end up in Laos or Cambodia, which would be quite nice. We gained a few more girls in the bar that night, one who, along with her boyfriend, joined up with the expanded group of mates for a few days. It was off to the traditional spot of Latvian buffet for dinner before the night’s Russian club, also the largest one in the Baltics. Luckily this made the music no better than your standard club, but we remedied the tedium but simply mocking everyone on the dance floor by mimicking their moves. It was absolute brilliance. No one ever knows it’s what you’re doing so they take you seriously while you just have a big laugh with your mates. After the requisite 4 hours of sleep I caught a train to a neighboring town and the national park, where I sort of accidentally climbed a fence and ended up on the large estate free of charge. Hey I thought it was a path in the woods, seriously… Back to the night life I skipped the clubs and headed to the Skyline bar with an Irish girl I had met in Klaipeda and run into again that day. (This was apparently the right decision as my friend from Elm showed up for last call and informed me that Club Essential was not essential.) As the name suggests it was at the top of the tallest hotel and completely windows. Going up in the glass elevator she marveled, as did the other passengers, at how high we were getting. I even caught myself with that thought for a second, only to have it displaced by the fact it was only the 26th floor and how many of my mates live on floors higher than that. Still I’ve not been in a skyscraper, or so much as seen one, for a year now. How quickly people renormalize… For the last day in the Baltics I took a relaxed wander, napping in parks and even catching a film. Being out of touch with pop culture I went to see a film I’d never heard of, but it was in English so what did I care. And I walked out having momentarily forgotten I was still nowhere near the English-speaking world. It lasted until I stepped into a torrent of Latvian And a final note for the Stags, a group of 30-40 something Brits took me along in their taxi to the airport. They had pulled a royal trick on their stag and gave him Viagra for his headache. Cruel, but hilarious.
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Diary Photos
| 22nd Jul 2006 | |
| Riga | |
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