Riga

Day 123, 10:38am

''Fuck me the weather is grim.'' - Rob Atwood, Whatsapp

We arrived in a very rainy Riga to meet up with my old mate Rob, who'd flown out for the week. My dad was due to arrive a couple of days later. We wrapped up, left the van and made our way into the centre.

Rach was once again stroking the bobble of the woolly hat I got her for her birthday. She says it feels just like our cat, Moo's head. And I thought I was missing her!

We met Rob outside City Hall and after a big two armed hug (Rach) and a handshake hug (me) we made an immediate bee-line for the nearest pub, The Queens Arms, where we had a few drinks, and breakfast. It was great to catch up. Rob gave Rach the nose warmer I'd secretly ordered her off Amazon for her frosty nose, and our new power outlet for the front of the car (Rach ordered that one), while talking us through the quirks of the hostel he was staying in.

The Queens Arms (or was it The Queens Legs?) was reminiscent of a few well frequented Birmingham establishments, although my Full English was a reminder that we were not in the UK. It was fine, it's just that a few of the ingredients were a bit 'alternative'. That's just how fry-ups seem to come on the continent. I once had one on the Amalfi Coast where the 'beans' were Italian white beans, the mushrooms were uncooked and the 'sausages' were more like bread sticks. Travesty.

The Queens Legs (or was it The Queens Head?) also had basketball on the TV. Basketball is BIG in the Baltics. They have it on everywhere. In the next bar, it was Denver Nuggets versus Dallas Mavericks. Rach was supporting the nuggets. I think she was won over by their superior branding.

Later, we visited an underground bar-restaurant at the recommendation of a friend of Rob's. Rob ordered their 1kg Pork Hock. I normally do quite well with my ordering but I was pretty jealous when that one arrived.

There are underground bars a plenty in Riga, but you have to keep your eyes thoroughly peeled. If you see a mysterious old door along one of the many picturesque medieval streets, you should try opening it, even if it doesn't look as though it should be opened, because chances are it leads to an amazing underground bar or restaurant.

We had 2-4-1 happy hour cocktails in a ground-level bar while we taught Rob our favourite table top game, Hive. Rob's first experience was a privileged one - he got to witness me pull off one of the all time great comeback wins against Rach.

The next day we saw a couple of sights before deciding we'd save the rest for when my dad arrived. The added bonus to this was that we got to carry on drinking and eating.

Arrival of the old man

On Wednesday my dad arrived. After lunch time drinks (without lunch), we met him at the completely glass walled 'Rockabilly bar' which was playing a selection of 70's and 80's rock classics. My dad was sat there in his dapper green coat, supping a hot wine with lemon when we arrived. We all sat in the over-heated, toiletless Rockabilly greenhouse, catching up and telling anecdotes, like the one where my dad paid 25 quid more than Rob did on the same taxi journey in from the airport. Classic. He said he'd nearly shat himself as he sat in the car and watched the meter ticking over at an alarming rate. He used his finger to illustrate the ticking.

It rained into the evening, which only added to the beauty of the Old Town, as the wet cobbled streets reflected the glow of the street lamps and neon-signed bars and restaurants above.

We finished the night drinking in another cocktail bar and singing along to that song about Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain (what the hell is that song on about?). I had a Pina Colada, like the impressionable twat I am. Upon leaving the bar, I noticed some kind of commotion behind me as I walked out onto the street. My old man had missed a step (and drank 3 large brandys) and was flat on his back on the floor. I grabbed his hand and tried to yank him up but instead of lifting him up onto his feet he just twizzled 90 degrees on his back. Eventually he got up, having a go at me for trying to help him up 'too quickly', and strolled away. The back of his dapper green coat had somehow remained dapper and unmarked. Legendary.

We walked my dad back to his hotel where he said goodnight, then went inside to check in (that's right, he hadn't bothered checking in when he arrived in the afternoon - he'd just gone straight to the Rockabilly sauna bar).

Curses and tragedies

The next day, whilst wandering round the Central Market, a wizened old crone appeared to mutter some sort of ancient Polish curse at me as she slumped past us with her checkered plastic bag. It worked immediately, as we spent the next 2 hours failing to find my dad, who we'd arranged to meet there. His phone battery had clearly died, so we gave up after one last search and decided to head to the Holocaust museum until his phone was back on. The museum mainly focused on the many German Jews who were deported to the 'Riga Ghetto' during WWII and later massacred at the nearby forest of Rumbula. Reading about the history and seeing some of the memorials was fascinating but grisly.

When we eventually caught up with my dad back in the old town in the early evening, he complained that he ''must've walked 50 bastard miles today.'' Hearing about his ordeal really helped to put the holocaust into perspective.

We revisited the 1kg Pork Hock place. I had been looking forward to it all day. To my stunned amazement, a particularly bold waitress told me I couldn't order it because I'd also ordered the pork rib starter, and that was ''too much pork''. Like a little boy, I tamely ordered the stroganoff instead, then sat there in a mood for the next half hour. Why I didn't just say, ''no, you're alright, I'll still have it'', I still don't know. It was a sad episode in every conceivable way.

After the meal, my dad found another little underground bar. It was basically a converted cave. When we got in there, I wondered why they hadn't taken down their Halloween decorations yet, but we soon learned that they weren't decorations; the candelabras, smoke machines, spooky green and red lighting and medieval props were just part of the usual decor. I can't deny that it was a very cosy, atmospheric place. And top notch service, as is the norm in Riga's old town.

We had a nightcap in The Kwak Inn, located exactly opposite my dad's hotel. Their drinks menu was basically a thick catalogue of first class beers (mainly Belgian). Rob, who I had crowned 'champion orderer of the week', picked an attention grabbing miniature yard of ale served in a fancy wooden contraption. That man really does know how to order.

Goodbyes

Before his departure the following day, we met Rob for breakfast back where it all started - The Queens Arse. It had been a great four days. After breakfast we said our farewells, then Rach and me headed to my dad's hotel to sneak through the back and steal a couple of showers in his room (with his consent, of course).

My dad had one more evening with us. As a birthday gift to Rach, he treated us to a great meal in a restaurant called 'Key to Riga', where we were serenaded by two blokes playing the lute while we ate. Before that, we'd had drinks in the craziest bar of the week - another underground place, but this one had small, dark, candle-lit tunnels linking its separate rooms. Again, the place had been sniffed out by the old man. He seems to have a real talent for finding all these hidden gems. He's a right nosey bastard.

Next day we met for lunch before my dad's flight. A friendly waiter came over to say hello after recognising dad from the day before, when he'd grilled him on the local climate. This time the brief chat was about how close we were to the coast.

We said goodbye to my dad, before bumping into him in the street 20 minutes later as he was in the middle of a panic over his taxi not yet turning up. It did turn up, and off he went. This driver obviously didn't see him coming, as apparently he only charged 9 euro.

It was quite a sad feeling saying bye to Rob and dad. I suppose it was like saying bye to home again, as we had when we waved off Rach's family in Lille.

Rach and I had one final evening in Riga. We went back to the van for a nap before wandering back into the old town, where we ate in the loudest and hottest pub in the world. That wasn't their brag or anything, it just was.

Recommended park up for Riga:

http://park4night.com/lieu/125673/