Hubby has been working in Latvia, thousands of miles away on the coast of the Baltic Sea. We were offered a free airline ticket so that I could visit him, but were uncomfortable leaving the children with both parents out of the country. Hubby only had one day off anyway, so, it was decided that I would leave late Friday evening, spend Sunday with him, and return home on Monday. I was gone a total of seventy-six hours which included forty hours of hard travel time and a mere thirty-six precious hours with my beloved.
I arrived in the Latvian city of Riga on Saturday evening, stiff, exhausted, and starving, but it was all forgotten the instant I locked eyes with hubby. Nineteen years ago, we didn’t have the money for a honeymoon, and since we started having children right away, our time alone has been practically nil. At the hotel, I quickly showered and we had a lovely dinner in the restaurant overlooking the city. The live entertainment was a Flamenco band, which I found highly amusing, and made me feel more as though I were back in Central America rather than Europe. But then, through a sliding door to the right of the band, I saw men in white bathrobes, mingling with wine glasses in hand and sampling hors d’ oeuvres. That was definitely more European.
Back in the hotel room, we got reacquainted, and then, as if on cue, there were fireworks outside the window. We lay there, watching fireworks and marveling at the wonder of being so far from home, until drifting to sleep in each other’s arms.
My slumber was deep and peaceful, and unlike any I’ve known in my eighteen years of motherhood. I awoke refreshed and anxious to discover this new place that I am unlikely to ever see again. I was eager to visit the Baltic, as I am fascinated by the various bodies of water around the world. It was cold, and the sand was thick and smooth. I noticed immediately that it did not smell like the sea, and was told that is due to the very low salt content.
We spent the day exploring old Riga, a town that boasts churches built in the 1200’s. The cobblestone streets lined with vendors and musicians added to the old world feel.
We had a candlelight lunch in an authentic underground medieval restaurant. The passages and rooms were first mentioned in records dating back to 1293. It is said that the Knights Templars used the passages to transport their treasures from the harbor; treasures that might very well have included the Holy Grail.
I opted for the stewed rabbit and prunes because it was the dish served at the wedding of Isabel of Bavaria. Isabel was my seventeenth great-grandmother, so as a genealogy buff this truly was my only option.
After lunch we strolled hand in hand through the streets, enjoying the brisk autumn air. We toured two of the ancient churches, one of which offered an elevator ride up the tower. The view was breathtakingly beautiful. The tower cast a perfect shadow over a section of the colorful rooftops reminding me of a 1000 piece puzzle.
We examined ancient artifacts and learned more about the history of our faith. Our love for one another and our children ties us together, but it is our shared faith that produces the deepest bond. It is what allows us to forgive when one of us does something that seems unforgiveable. When all else fails, when the chips are down, when life is against us, we have our mutual faith. And that produces a deep, abiding understanding of one another that cannot be forgotten, overlooked, or eradicated.
We left old town and wrapped up the day with a visit to the Apple Festival, dinner at a mall restaurant that serves authentic Latvian cuisine, and a quick run through the supermarket. You learn a lot about a culture when you visit the supermarket, so that is always on my list of things to do when traveling.
Back at the hotel we talked into the wee hours of the morning, savoring the uninterrupted conversation, and willing time to slow down.
All too soon, I was back on the plane, wedged between a crotchety Russian woman, and a silent computer Greek. I closed my eyes and savored my memories, burning every scene deep into my mind so that I would never forget.
Someday, when I’m an old woman and my children come to visit, I will tell them again about my one day love affair in Latvia. Hopefully, they will pretend as though they are hearing the oft repeated story for the very first time, because it is one that speaks to how much I cherish their father. And much like the traditions of Riga, that is a legacy that should be handed down for generations to come.
Leave a Reply