Deathly sculptures, a wide waterfall and lots of cows

The nights have been getting cold in the Baltic and the second duvet is now on the bed. The autumn colours are well developed and we have awoken to frosty mornings on more than one occasion. It was a touch milder at Lake Usma when we took the spaniels for their morning walk. Unfortunately the path petered out at a boggy reed bed, so we returned to a grassy area for some ball, much to their delight. 

Not sure this would survive a rough sea

From Usma we made the journey west to Ventspils, Latvia's sixth largest city. The port remains ice free during the winter so is very important, not only to the Latvian economy, but also that of Russia. During the Soviet era a pipeline was built from Russia to Ventspils so that oil could be exported all year round. The docks are pretty impressive and large amounts of oil, coal and grain are loaded here. We ambled down the quay watching a massive cargo ship being loaded as well as an impressive floating crane chugging slowly up the waterway.

Bovine charm

The old town was typically Latvian with a large number of traditional wooden houses sitting cheek by jowl with larger, stone built 19th century public buildings. The city was home to one of the cow parades in 2002 and a number of the fibreglass participants remain there. The largest was the travelling cow which was plastered with luggage labels showing where it had been  over the years, from Austin,Texas, to Sao Paolo, Brazil, London to Wyoming. The one that intrigued us most was the cow on a swing, a cute, demure bovine in a dress.

Pagan relic or film prop?

We headed south along an indifferently surfaced Latvian road and parked up close to the village of Zlēkas. The evening was enlightened when a fox wandered across the field next door causing the spaniels to go ballistic inside the van. The fox, which looked to be old and wise, took little notice and sauntered on its way. 

The next morning brought a forest walk safe enough to let the spaniels off the lead. Elsa goes charging off following the scents of whatever creatures have passed by during the night but always returning when called. Max just charges off with no particular intent, often disappearing around a corner before realising he has lost sight of us and forgotten where he is. For both of them it was a great opportunity to let off some steam. The path took us up Karātavu Hill, more of a mound really, which was apparently used in the past for acts of pagan worship. There were a couple of constructions there which may have been pagan or perhaps just yet another set of props for a film. On a more sombre note we passed an obelisk commemorating the 160 local people murdered by the SS because they were suspected of harbouring partisans during the war. 

Never mind the height.......

The town of Kuldīga was to be the last major settlement we visited in Latvia and, in many ways, it was the best. It has a large and beautifully kept old centre which runs on cobbled streets down to the river where the 17th and 18th century frontage is unique in the Baltic. It also boasts the Venta Rapid, which is claimed to be the widest waterfall in Europe at 240 metres. Being wide is its only claim to fame as the water only falls around two metres. It then runs under a stunning brick bridge, built in 1874. We certainly could have spent longer admiring the various buildings but hunger called and we decided to eat out for lunch. A rustic wooden restaurant gave us the opportunity to sit out on a balcony so we could have the spaniels with us. Meals and beer came to €15 which we felt was very reasonable. A short drive south took us to Aizpute where we spent the night, close to yet another lake. The police did a drive-by a couple of times, mainly due to the local youngsters meeting there for a beer, rather than us. 

There is no street art that is not improved by a spaniel

Our journey south the next morning to the Lithuanian border took a little longer than we had anticipated. Each time Google maps wanted to take us off the beautifully surfaced A9 road, it was onto a 12 km gravelled track. Eventually we found a detour along a road that had tarmac, although it must have been laid in the days when the earth was young. We had a very bumpy journey before crossing a small stream and entering Lithuania, without even the pretence of a border. However, the road miraculously improved for the last 3 km when we fetched up in Skuodas which we had targeted as having a decent supermarket for much-needed wine supplies. Lithuania does not seem to do wine in boxes so we have reverted to bottles. 

Our final stop of the day brought us to another bizarre attraction that rivalled that of Cinevilla. In the grounds of a farmhouse stand the most eclectic collection of stone carvings I have ever seen. They were originally made for a local village cemetery by Kazys Orvydas (1905-1989) and his son Vilius (1952-1992). The latter eventually became a Franciscan monk. When the Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev ordered the destruction of religious symbols in the 1960s, the carvings were brought to the house for safekeeping. The Soviets eventually blocked all access to the farm to prevent local people being corrupted by crosses and figures of Christ. Today you can wander through a host of rocks and carvings interspersed by the odd bit of agricultural machinery. The tank sitting precariously on a pile of rocks near the entrance adds a grim reminder of how things were. 

Not sure how this got up there

The road to tonight's stopover consisted of a strip of tarmac so narrow that it was necessary to put the offside wheels onto the gravelled shoulder to pass vehicles coming the other way. We survived the trip to find ourselves parked up by yet another lake. On his release from the van Max immediately dived in for a swim, emerging triumphant with a bit of tree branch. Bodies of water are becoming features of this trip. 




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