Riga, Latvia: Where the beer is cheap, the casinos glittery and the nightlife vibrant

Rozengrals is an 800-year-old wine cellar that has been turned into a medieval restaurant. (Photo by Bogdanov62 via Wikimedia Commons 4.0))

Riga, the Latvian capital, wakes up at night and stays breathless until morning. At 9 pm, Riga stretches out of a slumber – men daub after-shave, mousse-tidy bed hair; women hook their tiny black dresses, buckle their boots; nightclubs open their shutters; waitresses wriggle into stockings and corsets, and strippers hide cellulite behind concealer and glitter. There’s a legit reason for Riga's nocturnal mien. It is a stag haunt - beer is cheap, the casinos glittery and the nightlife vibrant.

In Riga, the air is crisp and ripe, the taxis are red, the landscape green, the harbour bustling, the music folksy, the men strapping and women the tallest in the world (this according to a 100-year height study which began in 1914). There’s flowing beer that could make a river and there’s history in the art nouveau buildings that could fill a thousand coffee table books. There’s the black balsamic drink to get high, there’s the amber jewellery to die for and there are countless churches to beseech the lord. Riga doesn't sleep!

Once upon a time Riga was the Baltic’s most important seaport and people so monied that women wore two fox furs, bathed in perfume and even the French envied their patisseries and boulangeries. Everything stayed ornate and embellished until the two World Wars. A Communist regime took over, old buildings were pulled down, and on the streets, nobody walked perfumed, and everything ritzy made way for strife and the heavy-booted Russian soldiers who patrolled with shrill goosesteps.

I decided on a hop-on hop-off tour first that drives through the main thoroughfares and monuments, pausing for moments as the audio guide spoke of the history of the town that sits by the Daugava River - legend has it that the river was dug by heavenly animals on the orders of the gods. There is the Suspension bridge, the canary yellow Riga Castle where the Latvian President still lives, the TV tower that scrapes the sky, Hotel Latvija which was once the haunt of KGB officials who kept an eye on all foreigners, the brown-bricked Academy of Science which is known as Stalin’s Cake, the Laima Clock where lovers meet, the Freedom Maiden that holds three stars in her hand, the street where the executioner was poled, the bridge where couples kiss and lock locks in the hope that they stay locked in love and the countless churches that shine even on a glum, grey day.

On the way, I heard the mellifluous dainas packed in quatrains that lend Latvia “the singing nation” sobriquet. I heard the 70-year-old trolley buses chortling down curling tracks and the old clock tower announcing the hour vociferously. I passed by the Metropole Hotel, Riga’s oldest hotel, where room numbers are hand painted on wooden doors, the carpeted elevators have numbered buttons that look like tiny piano foot pedals and the housekeepers wear laced apron and caps that seem borrowed from Red Riding Hood’s wardrobe.

Riga Central Market comprises five pavilions constructed by reusing old German Zeppelin hangars. (Photo by Jorge Láscar from Melbourne, Australia, via Wikimedia Commons 2.0)

Riga’s old-fashioned markets housed in Zeppelin hangars can confuse a first-timer. Women draped in downy coats sell fresh flowers and crunchy apples. Inside, dead pigs hang on colossal hooks, cheese blocks look as humungous as the melons and the sausages so large, they could feed a starving nation. I remembered what the guidebook said, “Beware of pickpockets!” and clutched tight my money.

Riga’s old town is ancient to the last brick but walk a few steps in either direction and the city will reveal its modernity. Sushi restaurants, ritzy bars, swanks shops, futuristic buildings.

For me, the antique is more fascinating. Like, the ubiquitous thick-as-custard inky black balsamic drink supposedly simmered by someone impious in a huge cauldron. Orange peel, lindeti blossoms and oak bark make that dark drink which has been Latvia’s staple since 1752 (I am a teetotaler, so I didn't drink). To satisfy the hunger pangs, I hopped past oak barrels and gingerly walk down dimly-lit creaky stairs into Rozengrals, an 800-year-old wine cellar that has been turned into a medieval restaurant. The women are in puffed sleeves, bread is wrapped in coarse cloth, huge bells hang on the parapet, rabbit meat is served with roasted garlic and the washroom looks like a Victorian John. I am famished and slurpped on the wild mushroom broth that is infused with fresh herbs.

After four days, Riga did not feel like a stranger. There were common grounds - Boriss Avramecs of Riga’s Oriental Music Centre who knows a note or two about Indian music; Karlis Egle who translated Rabindranath Tagore; Latvian poet Rainis’ love for Indian philosophy, Professor Viktors Ivbulis who wrote Shiva Dances and Destroys The World, and that exotic dance studio called Alegria where one can shake a Bharatanatyam leg.

Riga and I have different sleep patterns. But I was beginning to love it. I walked up to the bridge where lovers lock locks for eternal love. I locked one for Riga and, in the night, whispered a gentle I love Riga.

On October 1, 2023, Riga will host the inaugural World Athletics Road Running Championships. Events will include the World Athletics Half Marathon Championships that was last held in 2020.