01 A ceiling that does not belong here

From outside, the five pavilions line up along the street like a row of hangars, which is exactly what they are: identical parabolic vaults, one after another, on plain stone bases with tall arched windows at the ends. It is an unusually confident piece of architecture for a food market, and the first thing worth noticing is that the shape does not follow the function. Markets do not need vaults thirty metres wide. Airships do.

Inside, the giveaway is the roof structure: a lattice of riveted steel ribs running the length of the hall, curving down to the walls, glazed at the crown. Stand under it with the noise of a Tuesday morning around you — trolleys, scales, someone calling out a price — and the scale stops making sense until somebody tells you what it was built for.

A historic black-and-white photograph of the interior of an enormous vaulted pavilion, its metal roof lattice exposed, a large arched window at the end and dozens of 1930s cars displayed on the floor.
The inside of one pavilion in 1930, during a car show. With the stalls out of the way, the hangar structure reads whole: steel ribs, a parabolic arch and a skylight along the crown.Autor desconocido / Wikimedia Commons / dominio público·Public domain

02 Where the hangars came from

The frames were left over from the First World War. Two German airship hangars, Walhalla and Walther, stood at the Vaiņode air base in the west of the country, and after the war they were surplus: enormous, expensive to keep, and useless for anything an airship was not going to do.

Riga, meanwhile, needed a covered market. The city's food trade was happening in the open air along the riverbank, in conditions that were both cramped and unhygienic, and the solution the city arrived at was a piece of pure pragmatism: dismantle the hangars, bring the metal to Riga, and use it. The original idea of re-erecting them whole proved impractical — they were too big and the local weather was against it — so only the top sections were reused, and new load-bearing walls were built underneath in stone and reinforced concrete.

The vaults were designed to hold an airship. They have spent ninety-five years holding fish, cheese and pickled cucumbers.

03 Seven years to build

The project was not smooth. The winning design came from the architect Pāvils Dreijmanis and the engineer S. Žitkovs, with Dreijmanis and P. Pavlovs supervising the work and the engineers V. Isajevs and G. Tolstojs on the structure; the whole operation was driven by Klāvs Lorencs, who ran the city council's market department. Construction began in June 1924 and was supposed to take five years.

They took seven, with the site stopped entirely between 1926 and 1928 for lack of money. It finally opened for retail on 10 November 1930, covering 57,000 square metres at the time. The delay is worth mentioning because it explains the building's tone: this is not a monument built to impress, it is a big public utility that a small country finished with difficulty and then used hard for the next century.

The vaulted market pavilions seen from the street, their curved roofs lined up one behind another and their pale stone façades with large windows.
The pavilions lined up beside the tracks. Each vault covers a different hall, and you can move between them without leaving the site.Nenea hartia / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 4.0·Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International

04 What it is used for now

It is still, first and foremost, where Riga buys food. The market now covers 72,300 square metres with over 3,000 trading stands, each pavilion specialising: meat in one, fish in another, dairy, produce, and a hall for everything preserved. In Soviet times daily footfall ran to 50,000–70,000 people and up to 100,000 at weekends, and while the numbers have changed, the function has not.

The pavilion that best explains the country is the one full of preserves. Latvia has a short growing season and a long winter, and the response, as everywhere on this latitude, was to preserve: cucumbers in brine, sauerkraut, pickled mushrooms and garlic, sea buckthorn, smoked fish, dried fruit and nuts sold by the kilo from open trays. It is a whole cuisine organised around the problem of February.

Rows of yellow trays with nuts, raisins, pine kernels, coconut flakes and brightly coloured dried fruit, each with its price-per-kilo label in euros.
Nuts and dried fruit sold by weight, with the price per kilo. None of this is aimed at visitors: it is the city's winter larder.Acediscovery / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY 4.0·Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International

05 How to visit it properly

There is no ticket and no route, which is exactly why most visitors get it wrong: they walk through one hall, photograph a stall and leave. The building only pays off if you treat it as a building.

Five things that change the visit
  1. Walk all five, in a row
    One hall tells you nothing; five identical vaults in sequence tell you everything. Cross them end to end and the repetition is the argument.
    the whole row
  2. Look at the ribs, not the stalls
    Find a spot where the roof is visible above the signage and follow one steel rib from the crown down to the wall. That curve was calculated for an airship.
    look up
  3. Go before midday, midweek
    This is a food market on a working schedule. Early is when the stalls are full and the halls are busy; late afternoon is when it winds down.
    morning
  4. Buy something preserved
    Smoked fish, black bread, curd cheese, pickles by weight. It costs very little and it is the most direct way to understand a cuisine built around a long winter.
    by weight
  5. Ask before photographing a stall
    The people behind the counters are at work, not on display. A nod and a question take two seconds and change the exchange completely.
    basic courtesy

Do that and the market stops being a stop on a list and becomes the clearest thing in the city. Riga is full of buildings that were designed to look like what they are; this is the one that was designed for something else entirely, salvaged, cut down, rebuilt on new foundations and put to work. Ninety-five years later it is still the busiest roof in Latvia, and almost nobody standing under it is looking at it.

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Lucía Montes

Worth Knowing editor — Meaning & Cultural Context · Flowtravel

Lucía Montes interprets the cultural meanings that make a travel experience make sense.