I leave the bike at a wooden jetty near (Cloud Mountain). The hill is only 40 meters high, but from the top, Lake Rāzna spreads like a shattered mirror. Islands dot it – 13, according to legend, one for each of Christ’s disciples minus Judas. The water today is not blue. It is grey-blue , the color of a storm petrel’s wing, or a soldier’s winter coat. A cold wind from Belarus. I sit for an hour. No phone signal. No sound except the klunk-klunk of a distant fishing boat’s engine.
Walk on, then. Into the blue-grey. October 2026 | Rīga–Rēzekne–Rāzna–Daugavpils–Aglona–Jaunsloboda
A detour. Kaunata is not on most maps. It has a Catholic church (white, modest) and a Soviet-era cultural center (concrete, boarded). But behind the center, a miracle: a across a narrow strait. Operated by Jānis, 67, who has pulled the rope for 30 years. Cost: €0.50. We cross in silence. He points to a house on the opposite shore: “Mans tēvs tur dzimis. 1923. Viņš runāja tikai latgaliski līdz 20 gadu vecumam. Tad nāca latviešu valoda. Tad krievu. Tad atkal latviešu. Tagad – klusums.” (My father was born there. He spoke only Latgalian until age 20. Then Latvian. Then Russian. Then Latvian again. Now – silence.) latgale trip v3
I sleep that night in a homestay in (yes, the Russian name remains on some signs). The hostess, Irēna, serves sklandrausis – a sweet-savory carrot-and-potato pie, baked in a wood oven. We eat by candlelight. She says: “Latgale nav vieta. Latgale ir laiks.” (Latgale is not a place. Latgale is time.) Day 3: Daugavpils – The Fortress, The Mark Rothko, and The Unbroken A morning bus south to Daugavpils. The city is often called “the least Latvian city” – majority Russian-speaking, industrial, blunt. V3’s challenge: to find its hidden tenderness.
Built by Tsar Alexander I after Napoleon’s invasion. Never saw a single shot fired in anger. Instead, it became a prison, a barracks, a concentration camp (first for Poles, then for Jews), then a Soviet garrison, then a museum. Walking the ramparts at 9 AM, alone except for a stray dog, I feel the weight of nested tragedies. A plaque in three languages: “Here, in 1941, 1,400 Jews were held before execution. Among them: children.” I leave the bike at a wooden jetty near (Cloud Mountain)
This is the account of 120 hours in Latgale, October 2026. A journey by diesel train, rented bicycle, and foot. A journey into the blue-grey. Rīga’s central station at 6:47 AM. The train to Rēzekne – the region’s unofficial capital – is an electric marvel by EU standards, but inside, the spirit is Soviet: worn velvet seats, windows that fog with collective breath, a samovār (tea boiler) that gurgles like a dying accordion. I choose a compartment with a Latgalian grandmother crocheting doilies. She doesn’t speak Latvian – only Latgalian and Russian. I understand one word: “ezeri” (lakes).
Lunch at – grey pea soup with smoked pork knuckle, washed down with kvass. No tourists. Only a railway worker, a priest, and a woman reading a newspaper printed in Latgalian script. I try to read a headline: “Sātai vaļā” – roughly, “The heart is open.” Yes, I think. That’s the key. Day 2: The Lake Circuit – By Bicycle Through Liquid Silence Rented a battered “Ardis” bicycle from a garage near Rēzekne’s bus station. Destination: the Rāzna National Park , specifically the 30-kilometer loop around Lake Rāzna – the second largest lake in Latvia, but the clearest. The route is called “Zilais loks” (The Blue Loop). V3’s true test. The water today is not blue
At the window, the landscape blurs. But Latgale holds. It is the water mother in my bones. The unglazed bowl in my bag. The promise to Zane the poet, kept now.