Legends from our own lunchtimes

Monday, July 15, 2013

Poking around.

We were the last to arrive in Salaspils, where the rest of our number, now twenty or so are sharing a house (if you count the ones who live over the road and arrive in shifts), an eclectic bunch to say the least, spanning four generations, originating for from six countries and between us eight languages are spoken, all with lives that intertwine through different circumstance.

It was the first visit to Riga for many of us since Zane and Steve's wedding eight years ago, so we wasted no time in reacquainting ourselves with the old city, which somehow seemed to have matured a little if that's possible in a medieval , a corner knocked off here, some paint lifting there, since the last time when it was in the full fledged post-Soviet cleanup mode.

We tackled it in groups, dividing and conquering, some content to eat and fossick among the market stalls, others intense in their pursuit of knowledge of the recent history of the place, before making our way back by train, itself a stark connection with recent history. 

It was a gentle beginning really to a week which promises little rest!

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