Greetings from Daugavpils

Sleep, sleep.

Between the Marquis de Sade nightclub, the mossies, the German man talking to himself, the Kiwi bemoaning not getting laid and his friend telling him to shut up, not a lot of sleep was had. Mustn't forget the rowing couple of mad Russian women below my window and the Kiwi who was my first morning sight, complete with hands down my pants. Ah hostels, got to love them.

Being a bit of a train nut I was thrilled to get on some old Soviet rolling stock to make the 235 km journey to this town. Sadly I was too tired to enjoy it and invented a number of strange sleeping positions much to the amusement of fellow passengers. The ride cost a grand total of 2.25 Lats, the same it did in 1997 when my guide book was written.

Countryside was pleasant, the day was lovely and warm. I saw several moments flick by my window as I tossed and turned to sleep, awake for the last 45 minutes as we pulled into Latvia's second largest town.

I treated myself to a night at the town's newest oldest hotel. Once the Hotel Latvija, a huge soviet monstrosity, famed for having the worst breakfast in the Baltics, it has now been modernised and remodelled to greet me, its first Australian in its month of functioning.

I have access to English speaking news, which is addictive, and I have been testing the staff's knowledge of local cemetries, as only I am known to do... I have to say they are exceptional and there isn't a trait of Russian in their service (take note Turkey) despite it being the main and sometimes only language spoken here.

I walked out to the old Soviet fortress, built in Tsar times, taken over by the Soviets and even the Germans (they planned Stalags here). The huge complex (built to support 7,000) is mostly abandonded but some buildings are inhabited by those who needed housing after independence. It's a strange and silent mix, there are no children playing, just an empty wind that blows through the open buildings, against the sound of loud bird call. Some local families were picnicing today amongst the cannons and war memorabilia in indifferent acceptance.

It's a tiny town really, but very friendly and easy to feel at home in, from the mobile phone salesman who escorted me to my hotel, to the ice cream girl who gave me the biggest spaseeba ever when I bought from her. I wish my Russian phrase book wasn't in storage.

This afternoon I visited the monument for those who died in the fight against facism. A lady came up with her grandson, dragging him away from the cool of the fountain where he was playing, walking him through the etched stones of the memorial, and her Russian needed know translation. The carnations placed on each named stone have only recently withered.