Being equipped the most unexpected way by the mystics of Lithuania with
journeys to the real non-reality and other world of the not forgotten
heathens, Polish wise men and their crews and the bottomless sadness
within of a country with destroyed architecture housing all this and
more I was heading to Latvia with an adventurous esprit. Promenades with
long legged whores lookíng like model godesses guarded by criminals
with pit bulls and Makarov guns plus an architectural design loaded with
shady pubs and a drug and prosi underworld of Europes most ruthless
offenders with a Russian taste to it made it for me.
So I was told by an old Jewish friend from the Soviet Empire who was taking on the Germans and he even wrote that to me about ten years ago. I believed him then but not much he ever said later anymore but he still fed my appetite for the cheap an dirty aspects of a life cartoon style still.
I did it straight the trodden path this time. For our age this meant: checking out things on the internet and believe all the greasy lies it establishes as never before in human history, creating whole realities these days by the Allmighties to make you feel exactly the way they want it. King of your universe or downtrodden piece of shit. Whole crews of AOI agents are having meetings right this moment you read this and discussing it maybe for you personally how to set up the screen for your next vacations or the next week in the office.
So I stepped out of the bus without an erection and sneaked away showing off my erected fist to the young women and shouted „venceremos“ before I was hiding around the narrow lanes of the central bus station in case the Latvian reactionaries and Nazis had switched their smartphones on again to call the Tanks of Danzig maybe or the local police. It was snowing and I did not use a taxi first but tried to find my way alone. It was all set up perfectly by myself: avoid those evil looking taxi drivers – not KURVA at all but more the Makarov issue I thought when I saw them before I sneaked away in a snow rain. I was hiding in an old house entrance and began to feel well. It looked old, not renovated at all on this side of town, real life, I thought, real life. I saw some tents looking like a market far away and decided for food before asking my way to the middle class hotel I had chosen from the internet.
A real market in Europe these days is hard to find but they have one in Riga with flowers and clothing and food mostly sold by promising housewive types. And a real old Soviet style restaurant with Soviet style housewives with accompanying hair dresses, clothes and Soljanka, Borscht, Blinis, Boef Stroganoff and Pelmeni and and. It was cheap as hell and tasty as in the old days when we were stranded in Moscow 1983 with Aeroflot from Lagos Nigeria to Bangkok for some days waiting for a connecting flight to Bangkok and Bombay, locked in a state run hotel at the airport with some liters of vodka each, a hot bathtub because it was 20 degrees minus and we were in slippers and shorts and they were not giving us our luggage back. Passports were in the Kreml too and we all had Russian ID cards for those three days in Moscow but were not allowed out of the hotel except for one state run sightseeing bus tour thru Moscow and then we were not allowed to leave the bus. I wore woollen socks with my African slippers and a blanket around my hips, my girlfriend the same. But we all had the vodka and a huge ghtetto blaster with the Africans from Benin, Laotians and people from Mozambique and Cuba and the whole bus was singing the Internationale and the Russian national anthem except the Polish when we were wiggling completely drunk in tropical outfit thru christmas Moscow at 20 degrees minus. We got nearly the same food as they have at Riga market today with its snowstorm in spring but served in giant luxury dining halls for free with lusters as big as in the Kreml and waitresses in white and black uniforms as solid as elite soldiers shouting at the Polish only because they were always complaining and tried to behave as American as possible. „shut up polski, shut up, put that food back, you are not in the row“ But we also learned some late revolutionary discilpline in the height of a wave of alternative and hippie independent individualism of the early eighties. When strolling around the giant hotel visiting each others from all around the world, mostly the socialist „third“ world, who were there en masse, we had to overcome the soviet concierge in our floor to go back to our room. Around sixty, with Perücke and glasses and fluently in about ten languages always except those you were able to speak. „Passport!“ And we had each time to show her our Russian Provisional Passprt that she copied with time of arrival at her desk and anything else that did not matter at all on some machine. „Why you here?!“ „As I always say, plane to Bangkok delayed, we are waiting for Ersatzmaschine“ „Who delayed plane?“ „We do not know that“. „International conspiracy against independent African development, imperialists“. Stern look at us, then she was shaking her head and said: „go to room now“ as if we were both lost cases for the international antiimperlialist war that was at its peak in the early eighties. Our engagement in Nicaragua and El Salvador did not count because we were all decadent individualists travelling to the wrong countries but they never seized any contraband from the freak travellers they regarded as anarchist opponents of capitalist system, like some kilos of hash or weed or 10000 LSD blotters the Freaks had with them sometimes in Moscow in transit, or false passports or whatever was fashionable in Goa and Manali then. They always put it back in the luggage and it arrived at its destination if it was a capitalist country. So all the African weed, not ours by the way because we had our money from car business, was passing thru Moscow when it was not tooooooo much, but two kilos were good, some freaks told us travelling to Europe. „no problem man, they do not even comment about it.“
Solid heavy food from the past so, excellent for a Baltic snowstorm we were just in in spring. Satisfied for a day, Russian salads in an endless row in old fashioned refrigerated display units. Somebody did preserve that culture and that is absolutely rare and interesting when this is happening these days and it became my favourite food hang out in Latvia. Soviet style toilet women included who still behaved as if they saw her jobs as a part of the battle to fight US hegemony in the world. It had to begin somewhere and they created toilettes according to the soviet bureaucratic system and sometime one of them shouted at me as if had committed a crime I was never able to understand by even giving her 50 cents. Because toilet system changed today back to coupons….
So there is quite some Russian and even Soviet influence in Latvia but only in the food and toilet sector. I arrived at the hotel only with the help of a friendly Latvian taxi driver off course who was unavoidable in the snow.
It was a real three star hotel for a good price but I just could not believe my eyes when I approached the receptionist. A farmers girl maybe with an extremely chubby figure, square looking and a broad face plus a Spaceship Enterprise hairstyle. She looked at me at the reception desk and began to breathe heavily. Her skin began to turn wet and her pores opened. Pearls of sweat were running form here forhead when she said „ credit card or cash?“ I said : „I hate this plastic shit, I am in the real thing, you know“. „thirty Euros, Sir!“. I laid the thirty Euros on the table and she began to smell like an ape in the monkey house suddenly, her pores opened even more and more sweat was running down her face with heavy breathing. I turned away because I could not stand that raw and fresh aroma suddenly with a very dull scent and went into my room. I knew what was going on now. I was the star in a Latvian peasant drama with livestock ińsemination with the ugliest receptionist in town. I thought about the scenery before and just could not believe that performance of her glands that I had never encountered in a girl before I did not know. Meanwhile I heard noises from the reception. A family man from France was just in interaction with our little skunk and I heard loud laughter and complaints about that „horrible smell, what is this, par bleu, that smell, what can I think“. I went down to have some fun watching the scene and saw him with red head trying to bring their thing to a happy ending. „ saw your family just walking out to town from my window“ I told him,“yes that is good „ he said, „she needs new slippers and the kids some shoes they are all wet and losing form. I can’t belive that smell, I can’t believe that smell! Phantastic, grotesque, it is shining thru everything“. „Where are you from?“ I asked him the typical traveller question, playing innocent, „from Camenbert?“, „No from Pays Basque in France.“ „So you know the secret about Corse cheese, do you, the thing that crawles stinking from Corsica?“ He stared at me with absolute delight because he knew he has found a comrade of the science of the scent of women and of all other kinky stuff unimaginable for the most travelers today. She came back from the basement and the room filled with such a dense aroma mostly from her now older sweat that I had to supress spontaneous vomiting. The Basque guy nearly had an orgasm and slapped on her giant behind with a pleated skirt and said as loud as he could: „I neeeeeed rooomservice!“ and they both went upstairs with red and horny faces while I stood in the lobby and simply could not believe that a hotel lobby could smell so absolutely horrible at female sweat. A middle age couple entered the lobby and looked at me with utter disgust. „ No, this is impossible, impossible“ she cried. I looked down on the floor because I had nothing to explain, I just could not. „What an ugly scenery here, yesterday it was much better here!“ he said watching me me with such a contempt. I asked myself if I should start a loud farting attack to give him more credit with his wife that I was responsible for this thick stench from the monkey house wafting thru the whole hotel now. I decided not to do that and went upstairs shaking my head. „What a horrible man, he never washes himself“ that were the last words I heard when I closed my door.
I looked at my room: nearly Western three star standard with kingsize bed, TV desk and wardrobe, big toilet with shower and everything, nice new towels, thick linen on the bed, mirrors here an there. Mirrors, mhm….that made me feel horny a bit, could it be that there were some options more avalaible, let’s something more on the bright side of consensual sex than a meandring Corse cheese about 25 years of age with a figure like a rectangle and a chubby ass with a little brown moustache from a farm in countryside Latvia with a Spaceship Enterprise haircut? I checked the menu. It promised everything from peanuts to Boef Stroganoff „from our charming bar ladies served to your room“. Well I wanted to search that cheese&sweat factory of a hotel for all of that I decided and went out again strolling thru the hotel still in a snowstorm. She was not at the reception, the stench downstairs had an additional fragrance of fresh and unwashed genitals plus her sweat plus basque cheese as well plus some roomspray a sensitive soul had dispersed to prevent the building from collapsing suddenly. All was in bright lights and I saw light in the basement as well when I went down the stairs.
She had her skirt up, it was a blue Faltenrock and her white blouse was above her suprisingly big and well rounded tits when one young guy, a typical jock was taking her from behind while she was blowing another jock with a baseball cap on without any sound in the room. She was solid as a rock while the boys were working inside her and on the whole scene that was for me as an oldtimer of erotic history and connoiseur a persiflage of a sexual act, not even acting but more like a gym teacher has shown them how to „make sex“ for the first time. Since the scenery lacked any atmosphere of privacy or erotic I asked loud: „Is the room service available, I want some fresh peanuts please, I am hungry“. „No service!“ was her answer without looking up. The men kept on working without any interest in me but looking up. No emotion, na anger, no excitement. That is what I always liked about the Eastern girl types: The remained sophisticated and cool in any situation when it came to sex. All normal service. I went up again and felt so demystified about any sexual encouter in the hotel and far beyond after what I have seen and smelled that no imagination of what could possbly happen could lift up my spirits. The smell from her has now even entered the second floor where I stayed and I was wondering if she was boning all the other guests just to prevent her being taken out for not washing at all.
I waited for half an hour and then went down again to the reception. I could not make it further down than the first floor because now the stench has entered the stage of a biological weapons but still her horrible sweat was overturning the strong genital and rotten sperm fragrance mixed within. She had not washed at all after her next intercourse with the boys in the basment but stood there with a stained blouse behind the desk, her face red and shining with wide and open eyes. I hold my breath first and she was the Queen of the swamps of disgust and she knew it. It was her thing, the stench from not washing at all after sex. With all those decaying fluids inside her. She wanted men to take her that way again and again until something happend that nobody even could imagine. ‘what are they doing when this goes on for days or weeks’ I asked myself, will they take her to hospital? She was in another state of conciousness, she felt herself like a shining star, above all earthly matters. „One extra large portion of peanuts please“ I said and she smiled and made a courtsey „I bring it to your room, Sir“ she breathed and was looking forward to another shift in her own cheese and sweat factory with my dick when I replied:“ no, Miss, that is not necessary, I am really just hungry“ and that I really was ,in the snowstorm outside, „ I wait here until you bring me the peanuts and I will take them to my room myself, I watch the reception for you meanwhile, saw some shady figures around“. I was still unsure about what would happen if I would say something like ‘why do you smell like an old sheep meanwhile that died during insemination with a whole flock?’ or something like that but something warned me that this was all far away from harmless. When women are really dirty and into dirt of many kinds, real danger is hiding in the back always and may attack you as quick as a jaguar finds its prey. Playing the innocent without a clue is the best bet always but that may not be enough. So I took a glass full of peanuts from her, paid her with a small tip and went up to my room to eat them.
I went to sleep with an uncomfortable feeling and between two and three I heard such a loud snoaring from another room that woke me up completely. „RRRRRRRRRRRRRPUUHHHHHHHH, RRRRRRRRRRRRRPUUHHHHHHHH RRRRRRRRRRRRRPUUHHHHHHHH“ but as loud as if the person was next to my ear yelling into it. It went on and on and I realized that before I went to sleep a couple has taken the room next to me. That was unnatural I decided, nobody can create a sound like that. After one hour the snoaring was even louder and I heard a woman yelling out her orgasms from the next room. ‘Oh, I am n trouble’ I thought somebody is angry at me for not marrying the fairy of the day and I decided to pack my bag and leave since sleeping was made impossible again. I opened the door and looked into the red eyes of a giant dog with two stern looking young men with caps left and right of him. „Nice you are protecting me“ I said, „but that is not necessary. I just got a call from my bride, she has landed in town and I have to take her out of her misery of missing me for a long time.“ „ KURVA, you stay in room motherfucker“ with a Slavic accent and the door closed into my face. I laid down and the noise stopped immediately until it came back around seven. I went down at eight in the morning and found a freshly smelling and clean reception, nice flower scents in the hotel with a beautiful blond and slim young woman who smiled like a goddess and said: „Good morning Sir, do you want to leave?“ „No , I will stay a night more or two“ „We are so sorry, it is all booked out, the people from the neighboring room are having a kind of function with their friends from the Finnish embassy.“ “What are their names, could you give them to me, maybe we can stay in contact, they are so brilliant and smart“. „It is the Helmensdorf couple from Finland“ „yes from their embassy here you said, than I wish you a good party with their German friends I guess“ I replied and left the premises immediately passing her suddenly dark glooming face. I went through the yard passing one of the men from the night before with the dog and found a taxi to take me out of there.
Riga was not a bit as it was described to me. There was police everywhere, not only in the myriads of their „eyes“ in form of surveillance camers everywhere in the old town. Sometimes even four cameras in a row above each other in the very last corner of this town that once was described as a party hub in the North-East. It simply was not. It was a conquered territory by an unnamed force that has diminished all real joy and left over chain shops and a clean environment again in Copenhagen style with flickering torches in front of overprized and sterile restaurants. ‘Who created those turds’ crossed my mind, they create such an artificial atmosphere even if they place a young whore in front of it to trick the men.’ I went into a local beer bar in the old town and was immediately approached by a young Latvian woman who told me with broadest American accent where to sit. „What did you say?“ „Sit over her Sir, a very nice place“. „I want to watch the game on the screen“ „Do you have reservation, Sir?“ „No, but it is all empty, the game is running and I want to watch it“ „You need reservaion to sit there“ again in broadest US accent. I couldn’t stand it anymore „ No Sir, no, Private Dumbstick has no reservation Sir, no“ I replied totally pissed at her. All the seats in front were empty and the game was running already for 20 minutes and I left without saying one more word. I had been on camera too often that day I guess and seen to many smiling police faces in police cars so I returned home.
I was staying in the Green Ear Hostel now, when two Brazilian travellers arrived who were really into me. Waiting for me in the dining room to have a cool travelers chat as in the old days. I am not to fond of Brazilians generally speaking, contrary to Argentinians, they are very friendly off course but I do not like to look into a muzzle of a gun because it is „just a robbery“ after checking me out and playing a bit table tennis or soccer or whatever, so I left them after a longer chat about this and that and the chicks in Riga. I met some lady friends in cafes in the real parts of town were the Latvian and Russian people lived and were you can still eat and drink cheaply while you are constantly watched by the local police who do not want that at all anymore. Maybe there is an old KGB officer in charge in Western Europe annoying private travelling to an extent as in the former DDR? I do not know, but as atraveller who really travelled in the old DDR for about two weeks I have to say: „It bloody feels like it!“ Only posh tourists who enjoy the myriads of eyes in the now clean old town and who appreciate their nice and clean uniforms, worshipping the unkown powers in Europe doing all this to us. That night at the Green Ear, the reception was empty, but an old lady moved in „who had only little money“ the owner said before she „went the night out, it will stay empty“. This night it didn’t take until two to three but at midnight a pungent smell of burnt plastic hit my nose. I raised up quickly because I did not sleep really and run down the staircase, nobody there except that old Latvian lady who stepped out of her room and looked very sad and distraught and sniffing the poisoned air. At the same time I heard my room door opening and some people rushed out of it within seconds when I got back and saw that they had looked under my matress where they thought I kept my money. Mistake motherfuckers from Brazil. The whole lodge was smelling like a chemical warehouse, burnt plastic or whatever they used to get me out of my room in an emergency. I packed and hasted down the staircase when I saw the old lady again. „You better go too“, I said, „not good here, ok, poison smoke“ and I rushed out of that dungeon on to the streets of Riga where the usual suspects were hanging around smiling idiotically. I moved my ass and my bags around some corners , always watched by the sophisticated cameras of the Riga police and saw some unknown hostel that was not in the internet so far. Guys with piercings and a lot of tattoos from another planet but I asked for a bed in a dorm and was told to go around the corner, they would phone there for me, „they have places free for the night for 11 Euros.“ ‘Ok, they have to phone their gay friends with tattoos and piercings that some non-homo is looking for a bed or a room but they do not want him in their own place. But good, if it that what it takes, I do that, for 11 Euros , I will do that.“
I arrived in the other hostel and was non-served by a tattooed and pierced lesbian who told me: „I have to serve other clients first“ and then I looked into the typical German weasle faces who had followed me on the streets and who presented their German ID cards with a broad accent from Pullach AOI in Bavaria. I waited in silence to let these two skunks pass who were served with such a servile politeness I have nerver seen before in Latvia. „It is ninety Euros, your bed in a dorm with these two men from your country“ she said to me without a tone in her voice. „Yes that is what I expected, they told me this, your friends, I just take some money from the ATM outside, don’t have a credit card I will be back in two seconds“. I went without any reaction from her, somebody has portrayed me as the wrangler from the swamps to her and her ilk in that hostel and I escaped to the market where I started in Riga. I was hiding under a market tent until morning and left with the first bus. With my money and with my lungs.
Copyright 2018 by Ronald C. Kaiser
So I was told by an old Jewish friend from the Soviet Empire who was taking on the Germans and he even wrote that to me about ten years ago. I believed him then but not much he ever said later anymore but he still fed my appetite for the cheap an dirty aspects of a life cartoon style still.
I did it straight the trodden path this time. For our age this meant: checking out things on the internet and believe all the greasy lies it establishes as never before in human history, creating whole realities these days by the Allmighties to make you feel exactly the way they want it. King of your universe or downtrodden piece of shit. Whole crews of AOI agents are having meetings right this moment you read this and discussing it maybe for you personally how to set up the screen for your next vacations or the next week in the office.
AOI agent Smith: „The Millers showed some unexplainable lack of gratitude to the authorities last months“. „Yes he wrote an email to his auntie saying he could imagine somebody else like an old plastic bag of milk from the east for head of government this time“. Sudden silence in one of the thousands of AOI offices and then very loud: „yes he has he has said this, that is sooo sad, that is sooo sad, did he say rancid milk, fresh milk, yoghurt or sourmilk? We have to doooooo somethiiing about that, what did auntie answer?“ replied agent Gertrud Winterbothom with red face. „Auntie Elke did report this, we stopped feeding her male hormones in her food as a sign of our gratitude. I suggest we change time and date in the Millers whole families computer systems regularly before important meetings for a month and we change the data in his sons computer before his exam works in school with falsified informations so he can’t get through for a while, that will teach them.“ „what about frying his genitals, frying his genitals“ agent Winterbothom yelled through the room „I want his genitals fried for this, I want his g…“, then her head banged on the desk with a loud sound and she passed out. „Poor Gertrud, she gets so excited when something important happens in the country, a real pillar of socity, so close to it, Just perfect. So yes, fry his testicals a bit in the Metro next week, but just a bit, put something under his seat and bring in a complete fake train for that, we do not take any risks. Let us do this for ouŕ poor agent Winterbothom, who has passed out in service due to the horrible actions agents reported to us.“ They all stood up and sang the national anthem while agent Winterbothoms woke up, went to the bathroom to freshen herself up with a small line of a completely unknown phenylamine derivate from dark corporation sources. She had done it again and she did win again. She was an Alpha agent of the AOI.
Yes, that is the way it’s done sometimes, but usually youŕ basic informations might be changed a bit in your computer in travel websites to alter reality a bit, so do not be suprised. „Nothing is real, everything is permitted“ as Hassan I Sabbah used to say. or it is done for a whole travel destination for all of you, „to help“ somebody a bit, maye some friendly regime that needs some tourist money or just visitors to show off. You for example, just check youŕ computer or even better your smartphone and pick out the juicy travel bits for a phantastic holiday in….. let’s say Oman or Dubai and enjoy plastic phantastic helter skelters and joyrides in skycrapers while watching public whippings and executions on your smartphone or in real life.So I went to Latvia with solid informations straight from the net this time and I knew where I was going and I was clever, yes, I left out the usual AOI hotels and hang outs with names like: „Primrose Timberwood Hostel“ or „Straight Shooter Inn“ – I was bloody clever when we stopped in Riga with the usual bunch of travellers this time, who are still travelling to Riga, from Italy and Spain and Sweden and Norway, all perfectly styled by Tony’s and Tucker’s book from the Lonely Planet and that was good because I had something to do. To sweettalk some of them into an imagened sack in Riga before they turned out to be the usual Lesbians travelling in couples, but nice people with home made rucksacks with flowers stitched on them and „VENCEREMOS“ written on it with ink. But we changed the topic by singing „Bella Ciao“ and „socialismo en libertad, bandera rossa vencerat“ loud in the bus while the girls were smoking joints. That was not too clever because all the Latvian reactionaries in the bus tried to revolt. I could nip that in the bud but not allowing them to use their smartphones to inform somebody. The chubby women were the worst complaining out loud about this outbreak of female adolescent enthusiasm to better the world. They did not want to better the world I understood but regarded us and our ilk as evil intruders. But they would have done this anyway, they regard anybody as evil intruders in their way and world and lacked any Lithunanian subtleness about that. I thought when looking at them and their squarehead outrage. It lacked any understanding and humor, so it was good to bring that bto he surface – bus group therapy.
So I stepped out of the bus without an erection and sneaked away showing off my erected fist to the young women and shouted „venceremos“ before I was hiding around the narrow lanes of the central bus station in case the Latvian reactionaries and Nazis had switched their smartphones on again to call the Tanks of Danzig maybe or the local police. It was snowing and I did not use a taxi first but tried to find my way alone. It was all set up perfectly by myself: avoid those evil looking taxi drivers – not KURVA at all but more the Makarov issue I thought when I saw them before I sneaked away in a snow rain. I was hiding in an old house entrance and began to feel well. It looked old, not renovated at all on this side of town, real life, I thought, real life. I saw some tents looking like a market far away and decided for food before asking my way to the middle class hotel I had chosen from the internet.
A real market in Europe these days is hard to find but they have one in Riga with flowers and clothing and food mostly sold by promising housewive types. And a real old Soviet style restaurant with Soviet style housewives with accompanying hair dresses, clothes and Soljanka, Borscht, Blinis, Boef Stroganoff and Pelmeni and and. It was cheap as hell and tasty as in the old days when we were stranded in Moscow 1983 with Aeroflot from Lagos Nigeria to Bangkok for some days waiting for a connecting flight to Bangkok and Bombay, locked in a state run hotel at the airport with some liters of vodka each, a hot bathtub because it was 20 degrees minus and we were in slippers and shorts and they were not giving us our luggage back. Passports were in the Kreml too and we all had Russian ID cards for those three days in Moscow but were not allowed out of the hotel except for one state run sightseeing bus tour thru Moscow and then we were not allowed to leave the bus. I wore woollen socks with my African slippers and a blanket around my hips, my girlfriend the same. But we all had the vodka and a huge ghtetto blaster with the Africans from Benin, Laotians and people from Mozambique and Cuba and the whole bus was singing the Internationale and the Russian national anthem except the Polish when we were wiggling completely drunk in tropical outfit thru christmas Moscow at 20 degrees minus. We got nearly the same food as they have at Riga market today with its snowstorm in spring but served in giant luxury dining halls for free with lusters as big as in the Kreml and waitresses in white and black uniforms as solid as elite soldiers shouting at the Polish only because they were always complaining and tried to behave as American as possible. „shut up polski, shut up, put that food back, you are not in the row“ But we also learned some late revolutionary discilpline in the height of a wave of alternative and hippie independent individualism of the early eighties. When strolling around the giant hotel visiting each others from all around the world, mostly the socialist „third“ world, who were there en masse, we had to overcome the soviet concierge in our floor to go back to our room. Around sixty, with Perücke and glasses and fluently in about ten languages always except those you were able to speak. „Passport!“ And we had each time to show her our Russian Provisional Passprt that she copied with time of arrival at her desk and anything else that did not matter at all on some machine. „Why you here?!“ „As I always say, plane to Bangkok delayed, we are waiting for Ersatzmaschine“ „Who delayed plane?“ „We do not know that“. „International conspiracy against independent African development, imperialists“. Stern look at us, then she was shaking her head and said: „go to room now“ as if we were both lost cases for the international antiimperlialist war that was at its peak in the early eighties. Our engagement in Nicaragua and El Salvador did not count because we were all decadent individualists travelling to the wrong countries but they never seized any contraband from the freak travellers they regarded as anarchist opponents of capitalist system, like some kilos of hash or weed or 10000 LSD blotters the Freaks had with them sometimes in Moscow in transit, or false passports or whatever was fashionable in Goa and Manali then. They always put it back in the luggage and it arrived at its destination if it was a capitalist country. So all the African weed, not ours by the way because we had our money from car business, was passing thru Moscow when it was not tooooooo much, but two kilos were good, some freaks told us travelling to Europe. „no problem man, they do not even comment about it.“
Solid heavy food from the past so, excellent for a Baltic snowstorm we were just in in spring. Satisfied for a day, Russian salads in an endless row in old fashioned refrigerated display units. Somebody did preserve that culture and that is absolutely rare and interesting when this is happening these days and it became my favourite food hang out in Latvia. Soviet style toilet women included who still behaved as if they saw her jobs as a part of the battle to fight US hegemony in the world. It had to begin somewhere and they created toilettes according to the soviet bureaucratic system and sometime one of them shouted at me as if had committed a crime I was never able to understand by even giving her 50 cents. Because toilet system changed today back to coupons….
So there is quite some Russian and even Soviet influence in Latvia but only in the food and toilet sector. I arrived at the hotel only with the help of a friendly Latvian taxi driver off course who was unavoidable in the snow.
It was a real three star hotel for a good price but I just could not believe my eyes when I approached the receptionist. A farmers girl maybe with an extremely chubby figure, square looking and a broad face plus a Spaceship Enterprise hairstyle. She looked at me at the reception desk and began to breathe heavily. Her skin began to turn wet and her pores opened. Pearls of sweat were running form here forhead when she said „ credit card or cash?“ I said : „I hate this plastic shit, I am in the real thing, you know“. „thirty Euros, Sir!“. I laid the thirty Euros on the table and she began to smell like an ape in the monkey house suddenly, her pores opened even more and more sweat was running down her face with heavy breathing. I turned away because I could not stand that raw and fresh aroma suddenly with a very dull scent and went into my room. I knew what was going on now. I was the star in a Latvian peasant drama with livestock ińsemination with the ugliest receptionist in town. I thought about the scenery before and just could not believe that performance of her glands that I had never encountered in a girl before I did not know. Meanwhile I heard noises from the reception. A family man from France was just in interaction with our little skunk and I heard loud laughter and complaints about that „horrible smell, what is this, par bleu, that smell, what can I think“. I went down to have some fun watching the scene and saw him with red head trying to bring their thing to a happy ending. „ saw your family just walking out to town from my window“ I told him,“yes that is good „ he said, „she needs new slippers and the kids some shoes they are all wet and losing form. I can’t belive that smell, I can’t believe that smell! Phantastic, grotesque, it is shining thru everything“. „Where are you from?“ I asked him the typical traveller question, playing innocent, „from Camenbert?“, „No from Pays Basque in France.“ „So you know the secret about Corse cheese, do you, the thing that crawles stinking from Corsica?“ He stared at me with absolute delight because he knew he has found a comrade of the science of the scent of women and of all other kinky stuff unimaginable for the most travelers today. She came back from the basement and the room filled with such a dense aroma mostly from her now older sweat that I had to supress spontaneous vomiting. The Basque guy nearly had an orgasm and slapped on her giant behind with a pleated skirt and said as loud as he could: „I neeeeeed rooomservice!“ and they both went upstairs with red and horny faces while I stood in the lobby and simply could not believe that a hotel lobby could smell so absolutely horrible at female sweat. A middle age couple entered the lobby and looked at me with utter disgust. „ No, this is impossible, impossible“ she cried. I looked down on the floor because I had nothing to explain, I just could not. „What an ugly scenery here, yesterday it was much better here!“ he said watching me me with such a contempt. I asked myself if I should start a loud farting attack to give him more credit with his wife that I was responsible for this thick stench from the monkey house wafting thru the whole hotel now. I decided not to do that and went upstairs shaking my head. „What a horrible man, he never washes himself“ that were the last words I heard when I closed my door.
I looked at my room: nearly Western three star standard with kingsize bed, TV desk and wardrobe, big toilet with shower and everything, nice new towels, thick linen on the bed, mirrors here an there. Mirrors, mhm….that made me feel horny a bit, could it be that there were some options more avalaible, let’s something more on the bright side of consensual sex than a meandring Corse cheese about 25 years of age with a figure like a rectangle and a chubby ass with a little brown moustache from a farm in countryside Latvia with a Spaceship Enterprise haircut? I checked the menu. It promised everything from peanuts to Boef Stroganoff „from our charming bar ladies served to your room“. Well I wanted to search that cheese&sweat factory of a hotel for all of that I decided and went out again strolling thru the hotel still in a snowstorm. She was not at the reception, the stench downstairs had an additional fragrance of fresh and unwashed genitals plus her sweat plus basque cheese as well plus some roomspray a sensitive soul had dispersed to prevent the building from collapsing suddenly. All was in bright lights and I saw light in the basement as well when I went down the stairs.
She had her skirt up, it was a blue Faltenrock and her white blouse was above her suprisingly big and well rounded tits when one young guy, a typical jock was taking her from behind while she was blowing another jock with a baseball cap on without any sound in the room. She was solid as a rock while the boys were working inside her and on the whole scene that was for me as an oldtimer of erotic history and connoiseur a persiflage of a sexual act, not even acting but more like a gym teacher has shown them how to „make sex“ for the first time. Since the scenery lacked any atmosphere of privacy or erotic I asked loud: „Is the room service available, I want some fresh peanuts please, I am hungry“. „No service!“ was her answer without looking up. The men kept on working without any interest in me but looking up. No emotion, na anger, no excitement. That is what I always liked about the Eastern girl types: The remained sophisticated and cool in any situation when it came to sex. All normal service. I went up again and felt so demystified about any sexual encouter in the hotel and far beyond after what I have seen and smelled that no imagination of what could possbly happen could lift up my spirits. The smell from her has now even entered the second floor where I stayed and I was wondering if she was boning all the other guests just to prevent her being taken out for not washing at all.
I waited for half an hour and then went down again to the reception. I could not make it further down than the first floor because now the stench has entered the stage of a biological weapons but still her horrible sweat was overturning the strong genital and rotten sperm fragrance mixed within. She had not washed at all after her next intercourse with the boys in the basment but stood there with a stained blouse behind the desk, her face red and shining with wide and open eyes. I hold my breath first and she was the Queen of the swamps of disgust and she knew it. It was her thing, the stench from not washing at all after sex. With all those decaying fluids inside her. She wanted men to take her that way again and again until something happend that nobody even could imagine. ‘what are they doing when this goes on for days or weeks’ I asked myself, will they take her to hospital? She was in another state of conciousness, she felt herself like a shining star, above all earthly matters. „One extra large portion of peanuts please“ I said and she smiled and made a courtsey „I bring it to your room, Sir“ she breathed and was looking forward to another shift in her own cheese and sweat factory with my dick when I replied:“ no, Miss, that is not necessary, I am really just hungry“ and that I really was ,in the snowstorm outside, „ I wait here until you bring me the peanuts and I will take them to my room myself, I watch the reception for you meanwhile, saw some shady figures around“. I was still unsure about what would happen if I would say something like ‘why do you smell like an old sheep meanwhile that died during insemination with a whole flock?’ or something like that but something warned me that this was all far away from harmless. When women are really dirty and into dirt of many kinds, real danger is hiding in the back always and may attack you as quick as a jaguar finds its prey. Playing the innocent without a clue is the best bet always but that may not be enough. So I took a glass full of peanuts from her, paid her with a small tip and went up to my room to eat them.
I went to sleep with an uncomfortable feeling and between two and three I heard such a loud snoaring from another room that woke me up completely. „RRRRRRRRRRRRRPUUHHHHHHHH, RRRRRRRRRRRRRPUUHHHHHHHH RRRRRRRRRRRRRPUUHHHHHHHH“ but as loud as if the person was next to my ear yelling into it. It went on and on and I realized that before I went to sleep a couple has taken the room next to me. That was unnatural I decided, nobody can create a sound like that. After one hour the snoaring was even louder and I heard a woman yelling out her orgasms from the next room. ‘Oh, I am n trouble’ I thought somebody is angry at me for not marrying the fairy of the day and I decided to pack my bag and leave since sleeping was made impossible again. I opened the door and looked into the red eyes of a giant dog with two stern looking young men with caps left and right of him. „Nice you are protecting me“ I said, „but that is not necessary. I just got a call from my bride, she has landed in town and I have to take her out of her misery of missing me for a long time.“ „ KURVA, you stay in room motherfucker“ with a Slavic accent and the door closed into my face. I laid down and the noise stopped immediately until it came back around seven. I went down at eight in the morning and found a freshly smelling and clean reception, nice flower scents in the hotel with a beautiful blond and slim young woman who smiled like a goddess and said: „Good morning Sir, do you want to leave?“ „No , I will stay a night more or two“ „We are so sorry, it is all booked out, the people from the neighboring room are having a kind of function with their friends from the Finnish embassy.“ “What are their names, could you give them to me, maybe we can stay in contact, they are so brilliant and smart“. „It is the Helmensdorf couple from Finland“ „yes from their embassy here you said, than I wish you a good party with their German friends I guess“ I replied and left the premises immediately passing her suddenly dark glooming face. I went through the yard passing one of the men from the night before with the dog and found a taxi to take me out of there.
Riga was not a bit as it was described to me. There was police everywhere, not only in the myriads of their „eyes“ in form of surveillance camers everywhere in the old town. Sometimes even four cameras in a row above each other in the very last corner of this town that once was described as a party hub in the North-East. It simply was not. It was a conquered territory by an unnamed force that has diminished all real joy and left over chain shops and a clean environment again in Copenhagen style with flickering torches in front of overprized and sterile restaurants. ‘Who created those turds’ crossed my mind, they create such an artificial atmosphere even if they place a young whore in front of it to trick the men.’ I went into a local beer bar in the old town and was immediately approached by a young Latvian woman who told me with broadest American accent where to sit. „What did you say?“ „Sit over her Sir, a very nice place“. „I want to watch the game on the screen“ „Do you have reservation, Sir?“ „No, but it is all empty, the game is running and I want to watch it“ „You need reservaion to sit there“ again in broadest US accent. I couldn’t stand it anymore „ No Sir, no, Private Dumbstick has no reservation Sir, no“ I replied totally pissed at her. All the seats in front were empty and the game was running already for 20 minutes and I left without saying one more word. I had been on camera too often that day I guess and seen to many smiling police faces in police cars so I returned home.
I was staying in the Green Ear Hostel now, when two Brazilian travellers arrived who were really into me. Waiting for me in the dining room to have a cool travelers chat as in the old days. I am not to fond of Brazilians generally speaking, contrary to Argentinians, they are very friendly off course but I do not like to look into a muzzle of a gun because it is „just a robbery“ after checking me out and playing a bit table tennis or soccer or whatever, so I left them after a longer chat about this and that and the chicks in Riga. I met some lady friends in cafes in the real parts of town were the Latvian and Russian people lived and were you can still eat and drink cheaply while you are constantly watched by the local police who do not want that at all anymore. Maybe there is an old KGB officer in charge in Western Europe annoying private travelling to an extent as in the former DDR? I do not know, but as atraveller who really travelled in the old DDR for about two weeks I have to say: „It bloody feels like it!“ Only posh tourists who enjoy the myriads of eyes in the now clean old town and who appreciate their nice and clean uniforms, worshipping the unkown powers in Europe doing all this to us. That night at the Green Ear, the reception was empty, but an old lady moved in „who had only little money“ the owner said before she „went the night out, it will stay empty“. This night it didn’t take until two to three but at midnight a pungent smell of burnt plastic hit my nose. I raised up quickly because I did not sleep really and run down the staircase, nobody there except that old Latvian lady who stepped out of her room and looked very sad and distraught and sniffing the poisoned air. At the same time I heard my room door opening and some people rushed out of it within seconds when I got back and saw that they had looked under my matress where they thought I kept my money. Mistake motherfuckers from Brazil. The whole lodge was smelling like a chemical warehouse, burnt plastic or whatever they used to get me out of my room in an emergency. I packed and hasted down the staircase when I saw the old lady again. „You better go too“, I said, „not good here, ok, poison smoke“ and I rushed out of that dungeon on to the streets of Riga where the usual suspects were hanging around smiling idiotically. I moved my ass and my bags around some corners , always watched by the sophisticated cameras of the Riga police and saw some unknown hostel that was not in the internet so far. Guys with piercings and a lot of tattoos from another planet but I asked for a bed in a dorm and was told to go around the corner, they would phone there for me, „they have places free for the night for 11 Euros.“ ‘Ok, they have to phone their gay friends with tattoos and piercings that some non-homo is looking for a bed or a room but they do not want him in their own place. But good, if it that what it takes, I do that, for 11 Euros , I will do that.“
I arrived in the other hostel and was non-served by a tattooed and pierced lesbian who told me: „I have to serve other clients first“ and then I looked into the typical German weasle faces who had followed me on the streets and who presented their German ID cards with a broad accent from Pullach AOI in Bavaria. I waited in silence to let these two skunks pass who were served with such a servile politeness I have nerver seen before in Latvia. „It is ninety Euros, your bed in a dorm with these two men from your country“ she said to me without a tone in her voice. „Yes that is what I expected, they told me this, your friends, I just take some money from the ATM outside, don’t have a credit card I will be back in two seconds“. I went without any reaction from her, somebody has portrayed me as the wrangler from the swamps to her and her ilk in that hostel and I escaped to the market where I started in Riga. I was hiding under a market tent until morning and left with the first bus. With my money and with my lungs.
Copyright 2018 by Ronald C. Kaiser
Keine Kommentare:
Kommentar veröffentlichen