There's nothing quite like the Latvian countryside. Especially not when you're out of your tree from good Russian vodka. I had a get-together recently with some associates of mine in a beautiful old secluded country house. There were about 10 people there all together, including a couple of children who were witness to such breathtaking stupidity from us adults that I can only hope they won't report us to the social services.
No sooner did we arrive at the house than we were at the vodka (not the children), liters of the stuff, which we'd picked up on the way. The weather was pleasantly warm for the time of year, so we sat outside all night long, singing, dancing and generally reveling in a degree of mindlessness that was shocking even to me.
How the time flew. Before we knew it, the birds were singing and the sun was up. The couple that owned the house had the bright idea to grab a couple of bottles of wine (the vodka was gone) and toast the new day from a small hill that was nearby.
So off we went, with me leading the way. But all of a sudden I was up to my stomach in something cold and wet. "What's this?" I asked. "Oh, that's a swamp," the woman who owned the land helpfully explained to me as everybody fell into it. So we waded through it. I carried one of the children on my shoulders, while someone else held the wine aloft to protect it from leeches.
When we got to the top of the hill we realized that we'd forgotten a bottle opener. No problem, the host said, and smashed the bottles open on a rock. And so we toasted the new day, but the delightful child who was with us said that she was rather tired, so we waded back home, put her to bed and...
The next day was even worse. After sleeping for a few hours we woke up, ate porridge (or perhaps it was eggs) and stared admiringly at the beauty of the surrounding nature. Someone even suggested we do a little work on the place. So I sawed two logs in half, but I was so exhausted afterward that I could barely get my Bulgarian Cabernet Sauvignon open. And soon it was the evening and time for a sauna.
What a noble tradition the sauna is. What an invigorating experience. I also hoped it would help my head-splintering headache, along with some more vodka we'd picked up in a nearby village. We all stripped off and piled in there, and then out, and then in, and so on, all night long. That second night had a lyrical, magical, dare I even say mystical quality to it, as people went off and communed with nature.
I even found one young woman sitting high up in a tree. I asked her what she was doing up there, but she didn't respond. And then a little bird told me that she was asleep.
As for me, I staggered around the land, hugging the odd tree, falling down the odd hill, feeling wonderfully alive, or at least I think I did, from what I can recall. The only thing that puzzles me is why on earth I woke up in the sauna the next day.
