Riga, part VI - Rīgas centrālā dzelzceļa stacija

Ramblings in Riga. That has quite a nice ring to it.

I walked around a lot, lost in my own thoughts, because that's what I do, a lot. Maybe it's work, but I've realized that I'm actually quite perfectly happy to live inside my mind for lengthy swathes of time, only coming out when it's necessary. The other day I actually went and took a test to see if I scored anywhere on the spectrum. Not per se, said the results, but veneering very close. Which is not a bad thing, methinks. It just means that I find peace with myself in a way that precious few others do, and that I don't need to depend on other people for my happiness.

I need to talk a little bit about the hostel, which was called Gogol Hostel I think. Something along those lines. It looked like a nice hostel on the outside - plus it was pretty cheap, 8 ish euros I think for a night, so perhaps I shouldn't whine too much, but for the love of all that is good, the room I was allocated smelt as if someone had died inside. It smelt all greasy. Imagine what your hair would smell like if you were trekking in the tropics and hadn't washed for a year, then multiply that by twenty. That was the way the room smelled - greasy, sickeningly greasy, oily, as if an army of hobos had decided to live there. Thank goodness I was only there for a night, or I would have thrown up., or moved hostels. Everyone had been recommending Backpacker Sally's to me, and boy oh boy did I regret not going. There was a slovenly, matted-hair guy in that room who told me that he was half Finnish, half Turkish, although he loo9ked more Turk to me, and kind of latched onto me, and I had to drop him loads of heavy hints before he would finally leave me alone. He had yellow teeth and smelt funny and I had an odd hunch that he was at least partially responsible for the dire smell in the room.

I - I really need to get back on the road again? It's been too long.

I am facilitating things. I always facilitate things. I subscribe wholly to Steve Jobs' famous words, "With passion, you can change the world." What I think people underestimate is just how large a helping of passion you need to change the world. It doesn't work in little doses, or even sprint-like work spurts. You have to immerse yourself in it. You have to BE the passion. Most of the people I've met, especially after I turned twenty, have remarked on how driven I am. That's always been one of my favourite compliments; I love it when people say and notice that about me.

More to come. Off to Sigulda.

View from the train as I rolled off to Sigulda, heigh ho

On the train.

Turgenev iela

The stew on the main dish tasted like poo. I kid you not. That was poo on a dish. I didn't touch it because it tasted so effing dire.

The train station