This time, I decided to head to Daugavpils with a different mindset – as if I were going home. I took four days off to settle in, as if I had been born here and was only returning after a break, perhaps having grown so estranged that I had to make a conscious choice to create that familiar feeling, for instance – to perceive the city as a whole.

It was late morning, and the ribbon of the highway was unusually empty. The asphalt hissed beneath the tyres, and the sun shone mildly from the left bank of the Daugava. Riga was left behind, and near Koknese, the outdoor temperature dropped by two degrees. Does that mean it is always colder in this city?

For the last ten years, I have often travelled to Daugavpils, but always on business, as if thinking about something bigger – the region, strategy, the future, partnerships – I have been merely a mediator on the way to a more important goal. This time, it will not be like that – I will focus on myself – I will simply walk around the city, observe, perhaps meet some people.

On the way to Daugavpils, there is a spot on the bank of the Daugava where I like to stop, open my thermos and have some strong coffee. Travelling on business, I have been here so early in the morning that I have listened to the Latvian anthem on the radio with the metal cap in my hand. Travelling at my own leisure, I now pull over much later – around noon, in the middle of winter. The ice has frozen about three metres below the bank; the whole cover seems to have dropped down, and there is a dull thud – over there behind the islands, where the middle of the river is visible, the current is pulling something along underneath. One never wants to get too close to this river.

Grey villages suit grey skies, and a grey highway winds through the middle of them. And the further I drive along this grey strip, the more I want to imagine the city without any preconceived notions, to forget everything I know about it – all the important considerations and learned advantages, and let myself settle in – what if I lived here? To start the city with a breath and perhaps just one question – what is it like to live in Daugavpils?

At the hotel, while filling out the registration form, I pause at the section “purpose of trip”, where four answers are possible – “business”, “tourism”, “conference” and “other”. I hesitate for a moment before circling “other”. In the room, a television awaits with the inscription: “Dear Tōlis Tisenkopfs, it is a pleasure to have you in our hotel.” The name is slightly altered, it looks Latgalian, but judging by the text, I am a foreigner. I will have to adjust my identity a little. From the top floor, I see the city as a whole, and I am surprised by how vast Daugavpils is. A seminar is taking place in the conference hall on the second floor, and a whiteboard with brainstorming sticky notes is propped against the wall in the corridor. On one, it says “Networking, hard work, development”, on another “City management”, and on the third – “Very interesting project”. Later, I find out that the seminar is about pedestrian street planning – and there is also time; since my last visit, I notice that Daugavpils is on the verge of traffic jams, although the drivers are more polite than in Riga – they do not drive as fast and they let pedestrians cross.

There is a constant feeling of being in a large city. In the hotel lobby, the television shows scenes of Old Riga – Daugavpils is selling not only itself but also Latvia, and it seems as if Riga is the heart of Europe. Then I must not be far from it. I first got to know Daugavpils during my school days when I went to cycling races – they were called the Star Race. After the races, we ate biscuits and washed them down with milk from unusual triangular cartons. Even then, the city seemed large – there were many streets and intersections with traffic lights, all of which could not be grasped. It was not as big as Riga with its five-storey buildings, but larger than Rēzekne, which had only one straight street, and much larger than the small towns of Kurzeme with their one square and the surrounding winding streets, which I knew better. The grid of Daugavpils streets created an impression of the city as something unified, although it was difficult to remember in which block I was staying – the city seemed like something larger than one could grasp immediately. It has always been like this with this city for me – whenever I come here, I invent a new point of view or a legend that conjures up a unified image. Sometimes these are two-storey houses with oval windows, the kind one might find in Vitebsk, although I have never been there and do not know what it looks like; other times – the unhurried rhythm of the city or the view from the district council window out over the Daugava; still other times – memories of the Jewish family that lived right in the centre and whom I used to visit, or of that doctor whom an acquaintance told me about, who now lives near New York. I am sorry they have left, but they are sorry too. This city continues to attract everyone who was born here and then scattered to the four winds – to Moscow or Israel, they are now investing money here. As for the investing, there is “special service” in two restaurants tonight, or, more politely, corporate events. In the rooftop restaurant, the fun has not ended even at three in the morning; I listen to the music and tap along. The quietest place in the room is the bathroom.

In Daugavpils, I get to know many things for the first time – a bowling centre with blue disco lights – Baby light, light, light, baby light! – exuberant young people knocking down pins – there is temperament in this city. Middle-aged ladies are also relaxing, energetically waving their hands. Then, above the bowling lane, I notice an advertising sign “It’s simple with us”. I want to get closer to this city.

It turns out the bowling alley is also having a corporate event, which is now coming to an end. Dear guests, colleagues, our time is up, now we will award the winners. First place goes to the fourth table: Yura, Yevgeny, Valery and Olga. Second place is awarded to the first table – Alla, Natasha, Tamara, Andrey, please, girls, let’s invite Andrey to receive the prize. Let’s also reward the losers! In last place is the seventh table – Gaida, Ruta, Natasha, Tatyana, you have a consolation prize. And now a bus is waiting for everyone downstairs. Red. That’s it! Bye-bye, girls! And the blue bowling lane remains empty as the ice on the Daugava.

In Daugavpils, cheese is cut into sticks, like French fries; the breakfast omelette is eaten, there is no orange juice, I suppose the merrymakers from yesterday drank it all. Never mind, I’ll have to get up earlier tomorrow. What time does the restaurant start playing live music? Nine o’clock, – a gold watch with a gold chain slides out of his sleeve. Yesterday I listened to Russian songs for a long time; today I should visit some Russian family. I won’t break into an apartment, the people of Daugavpils are reluctant to talk to strangers, even when found through acquaintances, they avoid it – one family is having guests today, another is going on a trip, they just cannot meet with me. Even some locals say that the long-term residents did not accept them for a long time – they speak as if to a wall, but once the ice melts, such potential is revealed! People have simply been told for a long time that they are nothing. I’d better approach someone on the street, for example, this car park attendant:
– Good day! I am a writer, I am writing about Daugavpils, I wanted to ask you – what is it like to live in Daugavpils?
– Well then you need to contact the administration.
– No, no, I wanted to ask you.
– Well, it depends on the person; those who have work, it’s good for them.
– And the young people?
– And many young people leave.
– Do you have children?
– Yes.
– Are they leaving too?
– No, one daughter finished our university, she works as an accountant at the transport company, the second one finished law school, and my granddaughter competes for the Latvian national team in the pentathlon, she will be travelling to competitions. They are Russian, but they finished a Latvian school, so one has to study. Those who do not study and do not work, for them it is bad.

The food of the people of Daugavpils is slightly saltier than what I eat in Riga, but I still cannot catch the difference of this city – a few degrees of temperature, a few grains of salt and drops of oil more in the food – is that enough? In the fortress, they are setting up a Rothko art centre, and there are supposed to be four real paintings of his there. Private individuals already want to donate their collections to be next to them, but Riga sees it as competition for the Museum of Contemporary Art and does not want to give money. The Muscovites, on the other hand, are volunteering to donate themselves. Which Muscovites? The ones who were born here and became rich, they want to invest here. Some have even said – if you don’t accept us, we will buy all of Rothko. Closer than Riga is Vitebsk, Chagall, across the river is Jerusalem; why did they leave this place? Maybe a state should have been created here with Daugavpils at the centre? In Pārdaugava, behind the Grīva prison, is Randene – the birthplace of Rainis, of which only large ash trees remain, which are also being sawed down here for materials, and a lean-to roof for shelter in case of rain. What was pulling them away from here, the flow of the Daugava, Rainis even further – to Castagnola, where the sky is blue?
– Good day! I wanted to ask you, what is it like to live in Daugavpils?
– What did you say?
– How is it generally to live in Daugavpils?
– But where are you from yourself, from Riga?
– Yes.
– Well, it is certainly cheaper to live here. Young people come from Riga on weekends to visit their parents to have fun, to cafés, discos. Some even sell their flats in Riga and move here. So life here is, of course, cheaper.

Indeed – a cup of coffee costs fifty santīmi, while in Riga it is a lat. The hairdresser is also twice as cheap. I look for another person to talk to:
– May I ask you a question?
– What?
– Can I ask you a question? I want to move to Daugavpils to live. How is life here, is it good?
– Well, you can find work, only you will need to learn for about ten days until you get used to it. With housing too – you can find something. I will say that in recent years life has improved, it’s cheaper here, not by much, but still. With transport too – it’s convenient by tram.
– And what is bad?
– For me, I’ll put it this way, everything suits me, it’s not like it’s bad. A guy lives next door to me, I’ve known him since childhood. He worked in England and came back; he says, I won’t go to England for anything. Only, you know, everything here is mainly in Russian, about eighty per cent, so you will predominantly have to speak Russian.
– That I don’t like very much.
– Well yes, I understand you, but our people are like that – mainly Russians. Latvians struggle and struggle, then switch to Russian. But otherwise, life is cheaper. For example, fish, I know for sure, is cheaper than in Riga.

I don’t check the fish prices, but I ask three girls, who look like primary school students, walking towards me along the street and talking in Russian, how to get to the Green Market, the one where they sell organically grown potatoes, carrots, beetroots and apples, and they all start explaining to me at once in good Latvian – it’s right here, you just have to go through the Ditton centre and then left.

Tonight I am going to the ice hockey. Shot! Uhh! – the ice hall sighs – the Daugavpils team is losing to Ludza. An announcer in the loudspeaker with a slight accent reports: “For tripping an opponent, a Ludza team player has been sent off for two minutes.” From the stands, they shout: “Come on, shoot, shoot, why are you gaping, number eight!”

In the restaurant “Eiropa”, quiet music plays, a fountain ripples, and at the next table, a guest from Moscow or Tel Aviv, probably an art historian, writer or professor, is talking to the locals. You know, Chagall is a genius, Rothko is a level, and it was also very important to establish him, to talk for decades at international congresses. The music is a stylised Simon and Garfunkel.
But the authorities aren’t doing anything, the professor summarises.
“We have had a collection published,” – he is probably a professor because he knows all the dates: “Look, in 1970 he said that his city is here, and on his mother’s side at that.” It is not polite to listen any longer.

This morning the sky is pink and smoke rises straight up into the air; it has been the coldest night this winter. The tram slowly approaches from the end of the street, one carriage with rounded corners, one light in the centre. I wish they wouldn’t replace these old trams for a long time yet; then I would ride one to the outskirts. In the evening I am going to the theatre.
– Will it be about six lats?
– Well no, Galya always buys tickets in the balcony, they are two fifty there.
Perhaps a large city begins with a tram and a theatre?

From the flats for sale today:
special project – 66,000 Ls,
stalinka – 36,000 Ls,
khrushchevka – 24,000 Ls,
in some inverse value proportion. In Križi, you can get a room for under ten thousand. In the museum, I get even closer to history. Exactly one hundred years ago, they were electing the third Russian State Duma. I examine the list of Dvinsk voters, the surnames and names, sociologically skipping every five:

Israel, Nikolai, Zalman, Karl-Ernst, Movsha, Nehemia, Moritz, Movsha, Leiba, Veiness, Abram, Shlioma, Yosel, Yuri (also known as Georgy), Shmuil, further down the edge of the list is torn, perhaps the yellowed paper just fell off. The pupils of the Dvinsk girls’ gymnasium have such inspired faces in the photograph; girls in white dresses are sitting in the city park by the confectionery and fruit pavilion, posing for the photographer. The history of the city – I am now starting to understand it – changes in eras, waves of construction, incomers, those who leave and those who stay. And where are the everyday trifles and household objects from a hundred or two hundred years ago, in which museum can I view them? I have to create the image of the city myself from elusive signs, but how to do that if I lack a concept of the city? I do not know its history, I do not know its nationality, and who could remember its impressive demographics over its entire existence? I only sense it, touching the city with some part of my own existence, which always turns out to be smaller than the autonomous pattern of the buildings, courtyards, avenues and streets. The city is always larger and celebrates victory over me; it is born and forms itself.

I look at the map of Daugavpils: Catholic cemeteries, Lutheran cemeteries, Old Believer cemeteries, Orthodox cemeteries, communal cemeteries, in the middle the Brothers’ Cemetery – nowhere else in Latvia are cemeteries grouped according to this principle – all in one place, but with partitions or walls – this testifies to a millennium of history – and why is it not inscribed on the UNESCO heritage list? Concentrically around the cemeteries are an asphalt concrete plant, a chemical fibre plant, a drive chain plant, an electrical plant, a reinforced concrete plant, garages; in a further circle – Jaunbūve, Jaunā Forštate, Citadele, Cietoksnis, in the middle the meanderings of railway lines. The city as a tension of space and history. Every city has a dream; for Daugavpils, it is the airport and the fortress. Perhaps those are the best dreams a city can dream? And what about the small dreams that each person dreams to themselves and does not tell another, but which we glimpse on the paths of life? Is the future the merging of small and large dreams in one place? And can that happen here? Then I shuffle through snapshots from street corners and look at what has fallen into the eye of the lens – small shops and workshops lined up one after another in the old town buildings – don’t think that they are here by accident and are waiting for bankruptcy; new glass-fronted shopping centres and amusement parks in the squares – a tribute to this decade; a small rust spot on the corner of a three-storey building – the city’s unforgettable birthmark. Something captures me here. I leaf through the notes I wrote before coming here: “Power of place... attractiveness... proof of change... fusion of businesses... mix of traditions... Vitebsk Governorate, New York, Nice...” Maybe Daugavpils is connected to these places by underground cables? Only foreign wisdoms are to be sought far away. I never thought that by building relationships with a city in this way, one could be charmed.

They lead me to the Rothko hall through three corridors, pressing alarm switches from time to time. Museum staff offices and the accounting department slide by; look, here in the Rothko corridor to the right, the first four works are originals: the image of the mother, the boy, memories of Daugavpils, and then the revolution begins: “Colour is all I need. But that does not mean I am against the line. I do not use it because it diminishes the clarity of what I want to say.” Sixteen copies of paintings were made by his children, placed in a safe-like room without windows; in the middle stands a Rīga piano. “If all the paintings were put together, they would create a gigantic image, drawing the viewer into a certain spiritual state,” – he allegedly did not want there to be captions for the paintings; in such a state, they are probably not needed.

The feeling does not leave that history has constantly done this city an injustice. The essence of this place has been formed by nationality, language and faith. Economics and politics have come and gone, but these three things have remained. And they continue to form the city, hidden in the shell of some quieted trauma. That is why they didn’t want to meet me and invite me over – everyone has wrapped themselves in a kind of protective film and keeps a different bitterness in their heart, but on the outside, they always say – it is alright. In the next elections, perhaps I will be among the citizens myself.

At night, I walk along the straight streets, each almost a kilometre long, I turn into side streets and then come back; I want to walk through the regular city blocks one after another. At night, Daugavpils reminds me of St Petersburg, well, at least a rather large district, if only the houses were twice as high. And why not? What should I tell them at night when the city is asleep? Their sons and daughters have told so many stories to other cities all over the world.

In four days, I have almost got to know the city, however, the second question I wanted to ask here has remained unexpressed. I look for that same car park guard, walk up to him and ask:
– But tell me, is it possible to be happy in Daugavpils?
– Well, to that, my friend, you have to answer yourself.

I once wrote that when leaving Liepāja, the wind itself pushes the car forward and the car’s little computer shows the lowest fuel consumption. Returning would cost more. When leaving Daugavpils, the fuel consumption is higher and the outdoor temperature rises by two degrees. You always have the possibility of changing direction.
Article first published in the magazine Rīgas Laiks in July 2007