Latvia and its love for Garlic

We rounded off our Baltic State holiday and delighted in finding last minute culinary and cultural delights the city had to offer.   From the outset of our trip, I was happy to note that Baltic cooking in all three nations delighted in garlic infused treats, particularly deep fried rye breadsticks served with a garlic dipping sauce. It was in this spirit that we came upon a simple restaurant on a cobbled side street in Riga's old town: the Garlic Pub. 

For those of you who know me, you'll know that garlic is in my top five of foods to adore and cherish.  I was ready for the garlic experience and the menu was chock full of choice--from garlic beer to pickled garlic, ranging across from garlic soup to garlic ice cream. 

Since the summer hadn't officially died yet, a few tables were strategically placed outside.  Inside, the rest were a collection of wooden benches and tables, to the effect of a Scandinavian Sauna effervescing garlic.       

                                      

The three of us opted for the garlic mezze--'a medley of garlic delights', their words not ours.  The plate came loaded with garlic stuffed olives, roasted garlic, garlic flatbread, pickled garlic, garlic infused green beans and garlic cheese.  

                                     

 Rosa and I, but not Judith, then made the further decision of washing it all down with a pint of garlic beer.  The beer, brewed in Latvia, was stored in casks infused with garlic.  It was then served with little flecks of pickled garlic to enhance the taste. Finally, it was topped off with a skewer of roasted garlic to nibble on in case you forgot what garlic tasted like.  

I got through about half my pint before the indigestion set in.  Heartburn shortly followed. A series of man-sounding and smelling toxic fumes escaped Rosa's and my mouth before we could put the whole ordeal behind us.  

Now this isn't to argue that the restaurant was bad. Far from it.  The service was delightful, the food that other people ordered looked and smelled like good food should look and smell, the prices were reasonable and it wasn't at all gimmicky.  Tripadvisor disciples swear by it: Tripadvisor Garlic Pub. None of these critics appear to be vampires.

I have to respect Latvia's love for the garlic but as for the beer, we'll agree to disagree. And my final opinion of Latvia as a whole still stands.  Go! Visit! You'll fall in love.

Riga by Boat

We got lucky with the weather on our last day and Rigans came out of the woodwork to enjoy the warmth in the park.  In this way, we encountered a small stand next to the city's tiny chain bridge, The Bridge of Love, advertising boat rides for cheap.  We paid 5 lat to hop on a boat with a small group of strangers and ride through the city via water.  

                                      

                                                  

The boat slowly meandered through Bastejkalns park which circles the city's old town before cutting under the central shopping mall, past the central market and onto the Daugava river which offered some stunning views of Old Town before slowly circling back in.  

Riga Rail Bridge

                                      

Magic Sand Riga, the sand castle park on the west side of the Daugava. 11 sand-carved sculptures stand on the side of the river whilst people build, play and throw sand around.  A pretty spectacular idea, actually. 

                                      

The ride was a fitting farewell to a city rich in quirkiness.  We topped it off with a stroll through old town, drinks and dinner.  

                                                
Where we found the above.

Vilnius (what remains)

What remains of my memories (and photos) of Vilnius are relatively mundane but beautiful in that things-are-really-old kind of way.  With the remnants of the day's light, we climbed up series of slippery cobbles to Gediminas Castle, which is less castle and more lookout tower with some pretty stunning views of the city. 

 For 5 lita, you have the opportunity to peruse various historical artifacts before perching atop the turret and commanding the attention of the universe from a universally exceptional vantage point.  

                                                

To the one side, the Hill of Three Crosses stands as a monument to seven Franciscan monks who were tortured by a group of pagans before Lithuania converted to Christianity.  Apparently it's meant to symbolise the importance of Christianity to the Lithuanian nation.  

                                    

From another side, you face the Neris river and the financial district of Vilnius.  

And from the most stunning side, you've got a view, through an old stone window which only seeks to increase its charm, of the city's old town.  

                                                

Finally, I close the Lithuanian chapter of my blog with a few scattered photos of things I found whilst looking for nothing.  Including: 

An artisan's lodge and the man who made everything, EVERYTHING, out of wood. 

The central town square 

The creepy headless woman.

And a high-school aged band who really knew how to play American blues.  

So Vilnius really is a city after my own heart.  Give it a chance; you won't be disappointed. 

Vilnius and religion

Vilnius is a city of quirk. A city of cute cafes and arty independent shops. A city of pastry lovers.  A city with considerable character in that not-too-many-people-know-too-much-about-us way.  Maybe that's what keeps in real--tourists come but they blend into the background.  It's off the Americans-go-to-Europe tourist path.  No disrespect to Paris or Barcelona or London, but it kind of feels like people have more set reasons to go to Lithuania; they're not merely aiming to fulfill the tick list.

Alas.

Vilnius is also a city of religion. So a bulk of tourists we saw wandering around were middle aged prayer-type folk.  They did the Pope John Paul tour.  Being the first pontiff to visit the country in its history afforded him a series of plaques, statues and camera-happy snapping stations.  With roughly 80% of the population identifying themselves as Catholic, I suppose it's no big surprise.

The churches were everywhere though. Dotted across the old town, on the outskirts and hidden behind soviet-era council blocks. Gothic, modern, every style.
                                    

And like most Catholicly religious buildings, their grandeur was immense.  

 Towering (pardon the pun) above the old town

What was more surprising then was the richness of other houses of worship across the city.  I took my first peeks into a Russian Orthodox Church adorned with a gold shrine, without pews and centered around an (admittedly creepy) glass box encasing two long-dead masters of worships covered in cloth with their skeletal feet clad in purple velvet slippers peeping out.  

                                               

                                   

                                               
And most saddening, perhaps, was the dearth of synagogues in a city whose population was once 50% Jewish.  What remains is one temple, on the outskirts of old town located directly across from the yarn shop.  A pointy fence and locked gate shield the entrance from intruders; a doorbell is the only indication that the synagogue admits visitors--worshiping or otherwise.
                                    
Luckily, Judith and I were in the right place at the right time.  A woman who worked there rang the bell for entrance and a small, short man wearing a white yarmulke admitted both her and us. We were ushered to come in, look around and take pictures if we wanted.  And i don't know why it surprised me so much, but this remaining temple looked a whole lot like a church.
                                     
                                                 
 minus the Hebrew and many memorials to family members lost during the Holocaust.

 So maybe that sums up a city of quirk. A city of cute cafes and arty independent shops. A city of pastry lovers. A city of tolerantly-minded religious and non-religious people.