Fifth Journey Day 46: Held by the Collapse

Date: June 23, 2025
Location: Liepāja, Latvia

Liepāja feels like a place resting against the edge of something larger. Even when it's hidden, the sea's presence is felt — I can feel it in the way the air moves and in the thin layer of dampness that seems to sit on every surface. The light stayed soft all day, and the sky was halfway open, never fully closing but never fully opening either.

I spent a few hours in the Karosta district this afternoon. The old naval structures are gradually being destroyed by the sea. Concrete bunkers and heavy stone slabs lean towards the sand, their hard edges becoming slightly rounded over time due to wind and sand erosion. Rusted metal frames jut out at different angles. Some of the frames are half buried. Others lean into the elements as if they are slowly talking to the air. The breeze moved through the broken windows and open spaces, carrying a strong smell of salt and old iron.

There is a kind of quiet here that isn't empty. The structures still feel like they are holding on to their purpose, even though the sea is slowly erasing their edges. I stood for some time at one of the eroded sea walls, watching the waves break in layers, each one brushing against what remained and then pulling back, as if testing its weight.

I remember the textures most — the layers of peeling concrete, wind-sculpted sand, scattered seaweed, and the faint shine of water collecting in small cracks. Everything here seems to be held loosely, as if balance is being constantly negotiated between what remains and what is carried away.

Tonight, the air outside my window hums softly with the same wind, though the sea itself is out of sight. I can still feel the salt on my skin. I feel still and quiet, not heavy, but held.