Hansa, Baby Hansa

Once, when my dad sold my Eagle Talon, I changed my Facebook status to "Trading a Talon for Talinn" assuming the proceeds would be used to finance a trip through the mighty Hanse and beyond.  So far I have not yet been to Talinn but the ferry from Helsinki to Talinn overnight sounds like a cheap and very reasonable proposition compared to the staggering price of even breathing in downtown Helsinki.  The Baltics are just such a place of intrigue and circumstance.  Being in Riga made me feel like I had really accomplished something in this life.  Probably similar to how Peter the Great felt when he did all that stuff and then founded St Petersburg.  Who wouldn't want to have command of the Baltic littoral?  Riga is such am important city in history, and indeed in my own life, that it was pretty symbolic for me to be there.  I even had a Lego city that I called Riga when I was 7 or 8, so that definitely means something.  I also find it very flattering when someone asks me if I'm from the Baltic because it's like being Scandinavian but with a touch of realism.

loooool

So you can imagine how fresh and bright-eyed I was when I staggered off the bus at 5am on the waterfront in Riga looking like one of those leperous mole people and just wanted to throw myself into the Baltic and drift off in a nice deep sleep.  Instead I collected my things and made my way to the hostel where I was way too early to check in.  I then went to the market which is composed of hangars from the 30s and is quite the sight to behold.  Those Letts were so resourceful before the takeover by the Soviets.  I ate shashlik and cabbage rolls for breakfast with mini donuts, apple strudel and lots of coffee.  Yeah, I'm a fat mess.  Deal with it. 

I'd love to identify each of these items for you but I have literally not idea what any of this is aside from that red thing which I only know the Hungarian word for, almapaprika.

Anyway, I was so tired in Riga and throughout the entire day I was becoming increasingly sick, culminating in a terrible fever that kept me up all night with sweats and delirium.  Part of this may have also been due to the fact that there were some truly atrocious people in this hostel, like a guy from Spain who kept hitting on these two Swiss German girls who were trying to ignore him and talk to each other in their native tongue.  After he took his shirt off and did a bunch of pushups right in front of them while they were talking, the following conversation took place that made me wish the Anglo-American axis hadn't been quite so exuberant in their push to overtake French as the global lingua-franca:

Spanish Guy: Yeah I really like Riga. Tomorrow I'm going to go clothes shopping, check out what they've got here.
German Girl: Where will you go?
SG: Oh, probably Zara. They have a Zara in the mall.
GG: Don't you already know all about Zara?
SG: Why?
GG: Because it's Spanish, and you're from Spain.
SG: I know! I get all of my clothes at Zara.
GG: So wouldn't it just be better to buy it in Spain?
SG: I want to see what they have here.
GG: But isn't there better selection in Spain?  Won't it be the exact same thing?
SG: We'll see.

So yeah, that was a treat.  Apart from that my time in Riga was spent buying vintage postcards, handkerchiefs from old ladies, wandering around the Occupation Museum, and also conversing with a man at the hostel I thought was Kim Jong Ill but later turned out not to be. 

Don't even start with me.