Am I in Russia? No, but I hear a lot of Russian, and am speaking mouthfuls of it, too.

Am I in Scandinavia? No, but there is a decent amount of stained wood around, and some rather clever lighting.

Hang on. I’m in Latvia.

A business trip brought me here for a third time, but this is my first trip the to bean-shaped Baltic nation in more than 10 years. Last time, the former-Soviet, now-independent Republic of Latvia was not yet in the European Union.

The long absence provoked a few observations.

Riga is transformed. Money must have fallen from the sky on Latvia the day it joined the EU. This is how the West rewards so-called “transition countries” for undergoing political re-assignment surgery and turning their backs on the East.

Ten years ago, Riga’s historic centre was rustic and quaint, to be sure. But the district’s calcified state of decrepitude offered only a glimpse of what a good scrubbing later revealed.

Today, Old Riga’s carefully restored buildings have the lustre of a box of freshly baked macarons. Stockholm’s Gamla Stan, one of Europe’s most beautiful historic centres, comes easily to mind in comparison. Sure, it’s a little kitschy and touristy, as is Gamla Stan, but Old Riga now also looks proud, prominent.

Next year, Riga will be the European Capital of Culture, joining storied cities like, um, Liverpool in this lofty regard. These distinctions matter more to the host cities than to anyone else, really. That said, like many awards, it’s better to have one than not. If nothing else, a lot of roads get resurfaced in celebration. If you go, visit Valtera Restorans and Melnie Muki, in that order, for lunch or dinner.

Jurmala, Riga’s seaside escape hatch, exceeded the considerable hype my Russian friends offered. The coastline’s natural beauty blasted a thick layer of urban grime from my eyes – the gradual slope and gentle sweep of the Baltic shore alone is worth the trip. Access is through a fragrant pine forest.

The place is also stinks with Soviet history. During the Soviet era, Jurmala was a treasured getaway for the Communist Party super-elite.

The hotel my colleagues and I stayed in, the Lielupe, is undergoing a transition of its own, complete with drills and saws. As long as you stick to the renovated areas, a stay at the Lielupe is like living in an IKEA megastore and having the place to your own after the customers leave.

In the not-too-distant past, this place was clearly some sort of Central Committee hideaway. The architecture is an instant giveaway. Resorts for Communist big-wigs always look like underground bunkers mistakenly built aboveground.

The Communist Party jet set has long since left Jurmala. But history is a bitch. Russia’s super-elite have again set up in shop in town, but this time it’s the Vuitton-toting Moscow uber-rich. Riga’s sexy little airport is under two hours away, Latvia is part of a (more or less) stable political and economic bloc, and the Euro comes to town next year. Did anyone say offshore banking?

The most recent wave of migrants has been kinder to Jurmala, if not to its real estate prices. Many of Jurmala’s native gingerbread homes and Art Nouveau piles have been lovingly restored.

There are angular Scandi-chic dwellings everywhere you look and loads of big fat kottedzhi mimicking American McMansions. Oh, look – someone’s picking up a loaf of bread in their Bentley.

Before I completely run out of breath, let me provide a bit of contrast. EU accession, after all, does not an Emerald City make.

Latvia’s trains are laughably cheap and superbly convenient, but they are as old as stale borsch. Late at night, you might find Leonid Brezhnev asleep on one of the seats.

Russian Riga and Latvian Riga – the former occupant and occupied – coexist in a subtly tolerant, rather than entirely accepting, manner. That said, the balance is far more stable than Anglo-French relations in Quebec.

Russian in Latvia is heavily accented. Ever been to Scotland? Enough said.

The fault line between the cultures creates an odd form of whiplash. Our company’s first dinner was in the Russian banquet style, a form of ritualistically gorging yourself that is most perfectly executed at Brighton Beach bar mitzvahs.

Our second dinner came from a restrained, carefully edited menu of lovingly prepared Latvian food. This sort of meal would require advance booking in central Copenhagen.

Once you figure it all out, you hit on one of Latvia’s more interesting attributes: it’s Russia for beginners. A bit Soviet, a bit Sadovoye Kol’tso and a bit almost-Scandinavia.

This is unfair. Latvia is Latvia, and not a pretend somewhere else. It is also home to half of my ancestors, but that’s another story.

Still, I can’t help but draw comparisons. I’m working on the Bentley.