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In the morning, a cool breeze drifts down from the pine forests to the shores, and Latvia wakes gently. In the streets of Riga, Art Nouveau mingles with medieval facades, while the air sometimes carries the scent of freshly baked black bread.
Along the coast, Baltic winds shape dunes and beaches. In Jurmala, wooden houses painted in soft colors face the sea, while inland, calm lakes and quiet villages stretch out across the landscape.
With each season, the light transforms everything. In winter, snow muffles the sounds, and in spring, the markets fill with flowers and bright red berries. Latvia is experienced as a subtle blend of stillness and simple, steady life.
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In the northeast of the country, Gauja National Park stretches along a winding river, surrounded by wooded hills and sandstone cliffs. The brown water mirrors the dense forests, and the trails shift suddenly from open clearings to steep slopes. It feels like the landscape changes at every turn.
The ruins of the Turaida Castle rise above part of the valley, its red bricks standing out against the trees. Climbing its towers reveals the wide, almost still curve of the Gauja River. The contrast between stone and nature gives the place a special intensity.
In Cesis, another castle adds to the picture — older, rougher, its massive walls still standing. The cobblestone streets around it bring a touch of the Middle Ages, as if time had paused. Walking between these sites ties everything together, a landscape shaped by history.
Stepping off the train, Jurmala greets you with a mix of salt and pine in the air, a promise of a shoreline that seems endless. The beach reveals itself slowly — a wide, pale ribbon where the wind erases footprints as soon as they’re made. You walk as if in a landscape without landmarks, guided only by the line of the horizon.
In the nearby streets, wooden villas surprise with their soft colors — seafoam green, faded blue, pale ochre. Some seem frozen in another century, shutters half open, balconies carved with detail. Others have been restored to brighter hues without breaking the harmony.
Around Dzintari, the energy picks up again — crowded terraces, music spilling from concert halls. Farther along, Majori keeps a calmer pace, shops opening late in the afternoon, locals sitting on benches. The town shifts between summer lightness and a lingering, unhurried rhythm.
In the west of the country, Kuldiga keeps a quiet charm, with old facades and cobbled streets that seem to slow your pace. The Venta River crosses the town, wide and calm, yet broken by rapids where the water shatters into splashes. You find yourself lingering on the banks just to listen.
The old brick bridge, long and sturdy, has linked the two shores since the 19th century. Its massive arches frame the river, offering an almost theatrical perspective. Locals cross it by bike, silently, as if the setting had always been there.
Downstream, the Venta Waterfall stretches more in width than height — a series of falls that can sometimes be crossed on foot. Spring brings fish leaping against the current, a quiet yet fascinating sight. You stay a while, watching their unpredictable jumps.
On the Baltic coast, Liepaja stretches between pale sandy beaches and streets marked by history. The sea wind is felt everywhere, even along the main avenues where the sound of a stray guitar chord can still be heard. The city wears its nickname, “City of Music,” without trying too hard.
The Karosta district tells a different story — military remains, a prison turned museum, bunkers gnawed by salt. You walk among these heavy traces, facing the waves crashing against the quays. The mood is a sharp contrast to the livelier city center.
To the south, the long beach draws families and walkers, with a pier stretching into the cold water. In winter, it feels deserted, almost hostile, but in summer it comes alive with voices and color. The seasonal contrasts shape the memory of the place.
Not far away, Seaside Park spreads out with pine-lined paths, statues, and green spaces perfect for lingering. As evening falls, Liepaja lights up gently — cafés fill, music drifts in the background. A city that breathes both the sea and the urban scene.
In the Zemgale plain, Rundale Palace rises with its honey-colored facades and a geometric garden stretching toward the horizon. Boxwood alleys, perfectly drawn flowerbeds, and softly murmuring fountains make the walk feel inevitable. You move slowly, as if giving the light time to do its work.
Inside, the enfilade of salons combines stucco, mirrors, and floorboards that creak just enough. The gilding doesn’t overwhelm — it highlights. You look up, notice a detail, a repeated pattern, and suddenly the whole space comes alive.
Not far away, <strong>Bauska Castle</strong> blends medieval ruins with a later residence, perched above the rivers. Farther north, <strong>Jelgava Palace</strong> stretches its long facade along the Lielupe, vast and orderly, different yet connected by the same story of stone and water. These stops complete the visit without taking away from its charm.
Riga
Latvian
64,589 km²
November 18
1.9 million
Euro (EUR)
EET (UTC+2)
Temperate
+371
230 V, Type C & F