Whichever side one takes on Brexit, one thing is certain: it hasn't made life easier for a cyclist stranded in Latvia, waiting for a small replacement part to clear customs. I must admit, I half-expected it. The part had been shipped promptly and arrived in Riga just a couple of days later, almost at the same time I did, after boarding an unplanned two-hour bus ride. While I crossed borders without so much as a question, the metal component—worth little more than a couple of ice creams—received VIP treatment and became entangled in the intricate complications of bureaucracy.
My phone soon began buzzing with messages from the local postal services. A couple of times, I stopped strangers in the street, asking if they could translate for me. Then, I visited Tom, the bike shop guy who had kindly agreed to receive the part and eventually repair the wheel. He was likely regretting it by then, as he spent a good half hour filling out online forms to assist me. After much typing, he seemed quite confident that we’d get it, someday. I left the shop feeling a bit relieved, but my hopes were dashed the following morning. Another message had arrived from what I’d come to think of as the Office of Complications. Customs wouldn’t release the part. They wanted to know how much it was worth, why it was sent to me in Riga, of all places, and why it had been sent for free! These were questions I thought I’d already answered in a back-and-forth of messages, where I’d included every scrap of correspondence with the sender since the breakdown, plus a picture of the broken part in my wheel. Once again, I found myself sending messages to John the person who had built the wheels.
“Dear John, they are not releasing the part. Could you kindly provide me with a different receipt where you clearly state the value of the item and the reason why you are sending it to me for free? Joys of Brexit…” I added.
John quickly complied with my request, but I had clearly touched a sensitive nerve in a staunch Brexiteer.
"They're just being arseholes! They simply can't accept that we've left the European Union!" came the answer.
This final document was sent off to Latvijas Pasts, hoping they might finally show some sympathy for a stuck cyclist. I began weighing my options in case this last effort failed. One was to have a new wheel built from scratch, but that meant more days of waiting and an expense I couldn’t justify for the few remaining weeks of the trip. As much as I disliked the thought, I began to accept that it might be time to call it quits and board a series of buses that would carry me and my broken bike back to Italy.
I have only myself to blame for the frustration that turned Riga—an otherwise charming city to be stuck in for a few days—into a place I was keen to escape. The weather had been perfect, but in the mindset I found myself trapped in, even that felt like a missed opportunity for good cycling days. I spent nearly a week wandering the elegant streets of its historical center, until they became almost too familiar. Each day, a man appeared in Doma Laukums, the city’s central square, playing the flute from morning until late at night in a remarkable display of both skill and an endless repertoire. I thanked him for the music and asked how he managed to keep playing all day:
"Oh, it’s just my job," he said with a laugh, surprised by the question.
I realized I had much to learn from him about standing still and patience—and how to find comfort in the waiting.
In the end, things fell into place. My parcel awaited me at a nearby pick-up point, and with Tom's help and the deft hands of his mechanic, the broken part was swiftly replaced. They sent me off with well-wishes for the rest of the journey. In an unexpected turn, I finally settled on my next course: I will once more give in to the comfort of a bus ride, gaining some lost time by skipping Latvia and Lithuania. Having missed the chance to truly explore the Baltics, I resolved to at least cycle through a part of it in Poland. With luck, I might even reach Berlin, which could serve as my final stop before taking a much-needed break.