Our train journey back to Latvia was nothing if not eventful. We knew, as we boarded the train, that we had a sixteen-and-a-half hour journey ahead of us (shouldn't really take that long, but the slow sleeper train was much cheaper, and it takes ages to cross the border). We had also just found out that, on Sunday (the day of our arrival) we now had a gig in Vilnius, Lithuania, which is another 5 hours' drive south from Riga (our train destination). Oh joy. We also knew we'd be on a packed sleeper train full of Russians, but we had some prior experience of how they work so we weren't too worried about that. We found our bunks and settled in. Sleeping beneath us was a young half-Russian half-Latvian guy called Dmitri, who'd just got off a 3 fucking day train journey to see his granny in Siberia. Suddenly things didn't seem so bad. After securing our valuables beneath our pillows we got to sleep. We were woken up at about 8am as we crossed the border. The passport people came onto the train and took everyone's passports for inspection. On seeing British passports, they sent the customs people down to us, which consisted of a massive, formidably masculine woman shouting "Baggush!" at us. It took us a little while to figure out that she wanted to check our bags. She seemed disappointed not to find anything (Guns? Drugs? Freedom?!) there and let us be. However, when the passports came back, the next official (another she-he) started shouting at us again and pointing at our visas. As mentioned before, we'd suspicious about not getting them stamped in Russia. To cut a long story short, essentially we were kind of in the right, but what matters in Russia is not the letter of the law but the perception of the she-male who is shouting in your face. We really weren't following, and our weak protestations of "We don't speak Russian" (in Russian, of course) were ignored. Then suddenly, Dmitri leaped up to save the day and started remonstrating with the woman (?) in Russian. After a heated exchange she gave our passports back and left. It turned out that she was demanding a bribe (about £2 or something) for our passports, and Dmitri told her not to rip us off. Legend. We made it back to Riga the next day without further incident, and met Andzs at the station. It was decided that our hour off (before we had to set out for Vilnius) would best be spent drinking beer and getting food. We had a lift to Vilnius sorted out with a guy called Alvis. This didn't seem nearly as funny as calling him Elvis, and we managed, in the next 24 hours, to convince him of the wisdom of this as well (right). He picked us up from central Riga in his car and we set out, heading south. After an uneventful 4 hour drive we arrived in Vilnius, capital of Lithuania, and promptly got lost (caused in part by the fact that we had the promoter's home address, not the venue's). We learnt at this point not to make the crass assumption that all Baltic people know about all Baltic countries - Elvis hadn't been to Lithuania before, and knew nothing of the geography or even the currency (much like us). We finally found the venue - Cafe de Paris, a sort of arty cafe place - and got some food in before the show. The promoter was called Augustinas, and, Rob Halford comparisons aside, was a really cool guy. The show was OK, a little subdued (Sunday night), but it gave me the chance to try out some new, quieter songs, which was nice. Afterwards we crashed out at Augustinas' place (while he went and stayed with his mum so we had more room, which was sweet) and crashed out pretty soon, tired as we were after our mammoth journey. The next day Jamie and I got up, leaving a sleeping Elvis, and decided to have a quick look around Vilnius before we hit the road. There was a lot to see and do there and we saw and did pretty much none of it. Nevertheless we got a feel for the place - Lithuania is strange in the sense that it's less Russified than the other Baltic states, but this is because, linguistically, culturally and racially, they're closer to the Russians anyways. So the city kind of had the feel of St Petersburg, and left me with the impression that I'd like to go back. We got some food and headed back to the flat for another improvised vegan breakfast (seeds and banana on bread, seriously). We then returned to the cafe to give Augustas his keys back and hit the road back to Riga. We now had an evening off in Riga, before the show there (at the Depo) the following night. After the relative alcohol-calm in Russia, we decided that we should celebrate meeting up with old friends by getting trashed. This was exacerbated by the presence of Skippy. Paul (as he is christened) runs Skipworth Records, the label that released some of the old Kneejerk stuff, is the person who got MD out to Latvia in the first place, and is a very old friend of mine. He was traveling around Europe (he's Polish by origin) and decided to drop into Latvia to see old friends, including me. We were set up for a night of mayhem, and were not disappointed. The warmup (tequila and beer at Andzs' flat) resulted in Jamie producing this horror (which I should point out is not for the fainthearted) before climbing out of the first floor window. Nice. We then hit a club in the city centre where the thread of the plot gets a little hazy. I woke up back at Andzs' (phew) with some bricks (?) and a hangover. Further examination of my pockets turned up a piece of paper which translated as "we are poor sex tourists". Not entirely sure where it came from. Must have been a good night then. The next morning was all about recovery before the show in the evening. We wandered into town to get some breakfast and generally commiserate. Skippy was pure comedy gold, taking our phrasebook and using it to ask the (gorgeous) waitresses such questions as "Is breakfast included?" and "Where can I pitch my tent?", before inviting them all to the gig that evening. This restored our spirits considerably, and by time soundcheck rolled around we were feeling much better. I was happy to meet up with Nemo again, an old friend, whose band was once again supporting at the Depo show. I even played guitar for them for one song of their set. The gig was cool, a nice friendly atmosphere, and we headed out en masse afterwards to celebrate. Another highlight was the reappearance of the infamous Karlis, the undisputed hero of our first trip to Latvia. On arrival he was subdued, but after a few beers he loudly announced that we were all "English bastards!" and led the way to the club, where someone racked out a bunch of Absinthe and Champagne shots. Oh. My. God. Apart from Jamie generally trying his luck, I don't remember too much of that night from that point onwards. Familiar hangovers greeted the new dawn, along with the knowledge that we were headed back for Talinn in Estonia, this time for a show rather than a ferry (the routing of the tour was not perfect, to be honest). After a solemn breakfast we jumped on a bus and headed north. Four or five hours later we found ourselves back in Talinn, still only seeing a tiny bit of what is, by all accounts, a fabulous city. We were met at the station by the promoter, George, and his girlfriend Nastya. The venue was The Reggae Baar (pictured). I'm not the world's biggest fan of Reggae, it must be said, but we gratefully accepted some cracking Estonian beer and an amazing vegan meal cooked by George for us. The support for the night was nothing if not eclectic. First up we had an Estonian guy, who looked and sounded a bit like Thom Yorke with brain damage. He was followed by George's Canadian science teacher Dave (what is it with Canadians playing acoustically in Northeastern Europe?). Then there was me, and finally an acoustic / beatbox Estonian rap crew. How avant garde are we? It was a fun, if slightly subdued night (mostly because of the excesses of the past few days). We headed back to George's place to crash out pretty soon, as we had to be up early the next morning to get back to Riga. What we didn't know is that the next day would officially be the worst day on tour ever. The full story is here!