As can be ascertained from the title, today was fairly lethargic. With Riga being the fairly small city it is, we managed to accomplish most of the sight-seeing on Monday. This is of course with the exception of those attractions that fall under the Monday curse.

First thing’s first though, and after a pub crawl we needed a lie in – it was an interthink record of 1130 in the morning until we clambered out of bed. So late that we were in fact the last ones left in our hostel dorm. Breakfast was egg, bacon and hash brown at the local coffee shop to force out the last remaining dregs of Zelta beer in our system so we were ready for the off.

The first on the itinerary was St. Peter’s Cathedral Tower. This was easily accessible by a lift with an old lady in it and at 121m above the city provided a great panorama. The shutter on Nick’s camera clicked incessantly as we ingested the sights around us. Although only a brief stop, it was a worthwhile one none the less.

After this was a trip to the Museum of History of Riga and Navigation. A small but enlightening museum that gave a look back into the city’s past that went further than just the Soviet and Nazi occupations…and to the periods under German and Swedish rule. You can’t help but feel sorry for a country that has effectively been annexed more times that it’s declared its independence.

After this it was the customary pancake house stop for more 45p pancakes. This time we were smarter though, getting pancakes one at a time and separately so that we could maximise the time we could stay inside without appearing to be taking the proverbial.

By this point it was late afternoon so we returned to the hostel for some R&R. The Belgian bar that we had visited the previous night was the venue for dinner tonight, where we had the Latvian speciality of a beef burger and a steakwich (don’t complain, we ate local on the first night).

Admittedly it was not a busy day, but after the fast-paced, high-octane, rollercoaster ride that was Russia, I felt we deserved and very much needed our rest day.

Arising free from the burden of any stressful border crossings, we scrambled to the industrial bathroom (two showers, single sex, side by side – nice.) of our large orange-walled hostel and moseyed on downstairs to see what Latvia’s capital might offer us.  We’d already sampled the local brew (”Zelta”) last night and we were thirsty for more.

Briefly getting caught in the rain, it was hot for the rest of the day.  This anomalous downpour was to probably remind me that I still didn’t have a functioning waterproof.  Thanks.

Breakfast was had at Double Coffee – a sort of Starbucks-meets-Wetherspoons-meets-inexpensive-and-up-market-food.  I had caramel pancakes and NM had a salmon crépe.  Total bill?  About £12.

A wander around the compact Old Town, we went into the inevitable Museum of Occupations, where photographs of Prince Charles, the Queen and other worldly dignitaries visiting the museum greeted us on arrival.

The museum itself was informative and contemporary, with a lot of information about the Soviet/Nazi/Soviet occupation.  God, were we glad to be out of Russia.  I had to stop The Other One boiling over with Russian Rage.  Although we’d been to a similar museum in Tallinn, this one was slightly newer and had another interesting perspective on this Baltic nation’s repression.

At some point on the way, I also dropped a large wad of excess Rubles I’d been carrying around to change into real money.  This leftover memento from our extra night in Russia was anywhere from £20-80 and I was pretty pissed off to have lost it.  It just goes to show that everything that connects us to Russia is doomed.

A few churches later, the Dome Cathedral and garden, a quick peek at Riga Castle and what do you know, it’s time for a beer (Zelta, of course) and lunch.  We didn’t go in Riga Castle because it’s the President’s residence.  And there was a heavily-armed soldier standing outside.

Rounding off the afternoon with a stroll through the park near the Freedom Monument (with more solders standing guard), we found a delightful array of atmospheric pleasures.  There were the child prodigies playing instruments on every corner, and an OAP native who was inexplicably dancing in knitwear, on her own. Expect to see her on Latvia’s Got Talent in the near future.  (Quick proposal:  Baltic nations try to impress Simon Cowell, called ‘Latvia’s Got Tallinn’ – wha’d'ya think?)

Minutes away from our hostel, we stumbled across our personal Mecca of Riga: a 45p pancake café.  Cream cheese, regular cheese, mushrooms, meat, banana….these were just some of the pre-prepared options you could buy for less than £1.  An assortment of jam was an extra, though, at a pricey 15p per preserve.  We ate and ate and ate and ate.  Then we got a hot chocolate (for about 60p) and ate some more.

Waddling back to Friendly Fun Frank’s Hostel (with Frank still nowhere to be found), we signed up to the 8pm Bar Tour.  Five Bars, Five Beers, Five Lats.  Another bargain.  Before we knew it, we were off again, sampling the gaseous delight of Latvia’s hops-and-barley concotion again.

A lot of Zelta later, and a lot of talking to the eleven people we were with (among them a Polish guy who told us about our Krakow/Warsaw destination; a Swedish brother-brother duo; our sober Latvian guide who wants to study in London…), at some point I believe we staggered home, after a hastily-gobbled McDonalds 2am treat.  Then we blacked out.

A pretty city, pancakes and plenty of beer.  Perfect.

“Let’s just get the fuck out of this place.”

Day breaks over the Russian-Estonian frontier at about two o’clock in the morning. From here on the sleep is intermittent at best. Sharing a bed certainly did not help and neither did being in a sleeping bag liner (due to appropriate fear of bugs etc) in the radiator-less chill.

Eventually the 0830 alarm went off and we were up – we avoided showering, as we didn’t particularly wish to further endanger our health.

As instructed the night before by the border guards we “went to bank for 0900″ (unfortunately contradictory to what we were told, it didn’t open until 0930) and unintentionally had a rendezvous with the drunk Russian from last night, who was considerably more sober and fairly chatty. Once we finally reached the counter we pointed at/showed forms to the clerk and had our new friend (Dennis) speak very loudly and continue our gesticulation.  Between the three of us (and some help from the elderly locals) we eventually managed to get the visa elongation(?!) we needed. The actual piece of paper that caused us so much trouble was only the size of a receipt from a small shop.

Off we plodded down the road, holding our passports so tight that our fingers went white. Over the next hour we were fairly silent as Dennis did the loud and admittedly slightly confrontational talking. Keeping our mouths shut was seen as the best policy to get this palaver over as quickly as possible as the general Russian viif you can’t speak Russian then that’s tough and they probably don’t consider you worth talking to.

The tones of the voices conversing varied wildly as we received mixed messages from Dennis, who had assumed the role as local fixer and translator. It might be worth mentioning that the man we met last night who had claimed to be able to help us was nowhere to be found, but had apparently invited Dennis back to his house after we’d left, for a cup of tea and a hamburger…

At various points we thought we’d be able to leave and at others we thought that we might well be staying in the customs building for another four hours.

Eventually, though, they’d had enough of us and we were escorted to no man’s land – the bridge of the dividing river to Narva (which boasts some gorgeous scenery.  Probably because it’s outside Russia).

Again, we started to fear the worst as we approached the Estonian border and another set of officials, but after less than twenty seconds at the immigration desk we were waved through with a smile (something many Russians seem to lack) and we were in Estonia. Again.  The air smelt fresher and sweeter, filled with the aroma of the Schengen Agreement, the wafting scent of globalisation and of the subtle musk of the European Union.

From this point on things got comparatively simpler. We obtained some money (from an ATM, obviously) and after some long deliberations using a pen and paper with the booking office lady at Narva bus station, we discovered the fastest way to Riga was not direct but via our current-favourite stop, Tallinn, and then we’d have 15 minutes to make a change to another bus to Riga.

We received a mild form of compensation for the early morning’s events in the from of the bus to Riga from Tallinn being a ‘Lux Express’. However it wasn’t just this that made us smile, but also the 4 chairs and a table we had to ourselves at the back of the coach that helped lift our pretty dampened and weary spirits.   We spread out our Lion Bar, our M&Ms and our water from the kiosk, stretched back and watched the Estonian countryside give way to Latvia.  I couldn’t tell you when we crossed the Latvian border – it was just that easy.

Upon arrival in Riga we found Friendly Fun Frank’s Hotel and got a free beer – with that sort of compensation for our troubles, it seems like a pleasant place. Having said that, anything is better than our exit disaster from Russia.  The hostel here seems massive, with a fully-stocked bar downstairs broadcasting The Ashes on not one, not two, but FOUR TVs.

We’ve just had dinner in a Latvian style buffet in town and I’m now being forced to write this blog but I am well and truly exhausted and the man (who makes up one of four foreign roommates) below Nick is snoring very loudly so it may be a night to sleep with the iPod on.

Executive summary reads: We’re alive, we survived, and we’re never going back to Russia again. However, this probably isn’t an issue because we’re almost certainly blacklisted for another visa anyway.