The Unofficial Park Ranger of Riga

[José Balido]

In 1992, I traveled to newly-independent Latvia and the neighboring Baltic republics as a tourist, as my partner and I had long been interested in those three little countries in the far northwest of the then recently defunct Soviet Union. I wanted to see and feel the joy for myself, not to mention the beautiful architecture and historic sites -- and, of course, to support their fledgling economies with our tourist dollars.

While sightseeing in Riga, a city I especially remember for its extravagant Art Nouveau buildings, my camera ran out of film (remember film?), and I had to change the roll. Back then, this involved opening my hefty camera bag, pulling out a box of Kodak film, pulling the canister out of the box, flipping the lid off the canister, opening the camera itself... you get the picture, pun fully intended. As this was nearly impossible to accomplish standing up, I plunked myself down on some nearby steps and started the process. No sooner had I opened the bag, though, than a tough elderly crone wearing a colorful babushka started yelling and gesticulating frantically behind us.

Not having had the good sense to take Latvian in high school, I had no idea what she was accusing me of. Was flaunting the innards of a camera in public considered obscene? Did she think I was a Cuban spy, come to lure her country back into the Communist camp? I stood warily and looked over my shoulder, half expecting a platoon of soldiers to rush out from behind the bushes. Nope: just a tall monument, an open square, and the usual pigeons.

I shrugged with that "I'm just a dumb tourist" look people use when they get caught taking pictures in museums that expressly forbid photography. She leaned in, squinted her Baltic blue eyes and wagged her gnarly finger at me: "No sit on monument!" she hissed. "These mans is national heroes!"

Wow. I hadn't sat on the actual monument, of course, as that would have been rather painful and I suffer from terrible vertigo, but I wasn't about to start a discussion with the Unofficial Park Ranger of Riga about where the monument ended and the public steps began. I apologized profusely and removed myself to a nearby park bench, where I finally changed my camera roll while my partner read up on the monument. Sure enough: I had just desecrated the Brīvības Piemineklis (Freedom Monument) honoring Latvian heroes who died in their war of independence.

I should add as a coda to the story that the sweet little old lady kept an eye on us until we left the park. To this day, I tread carefully around other countries' monuments, as you never know what might offend, and as tourists, we must be careful to respect other cultures' sensibilities, as we wish for others to respect ours.