My family and I visited the farm – Griezītes Alpakas – last summer, receiving a deeply touching tour that lasted close to four hours yet flew by and equipped us with knowledge of alpacas and their care that we never could have imagined. When I returned in November to chat to Ian and Joanna, I once again got much more than I expected, witnessing and ever so slightly participating in cutting the toenails of some of the larger and more fidgety male alpacas. I’d long wanted to speak to someone who has moved not to Riga but rural Latvia to learn what brought them there but most importantly why they stayed. 

To me, Joanna’s and Ian’s insights capture not only the essence of life in Latvia but also the experience of living with a deep sense of purpose and taking charge of one’s own life. As they’re yet to write the book many have told them to, I’m fortunate to be able to share parts of their story!

Ian and Joanna met at Sheffield University in the 1980s but describe themselves as country people. Both sets of their parents had grown their own food, which was common in the mining community Ian’s family belonged to but unusual in Joanna’s circles. Because of this upbringing and their ongoing practice of gardening and related know-how, people tell Ian and Joanna that they already have lots of the skills that others are only now trying to rediscover. 

Latvia is not the first foreign country Ian and Joanna have lived in

After graduating, they moved to a village before eventually transferring to Denmark for three years and then the USA for another two for Ian’s work in the medical testing sector. At the suggestion of a friend, they first came to Latvia in 2000 to volunteer at a children’s camp and continued to fly over in the summers to come. At one point, friends who were living in Ērgļi offered Ian and Joanna to buy their apartment, so they did, seeing it as a “foot in the door” and a reason to spend more time in Latvia. At the time, the price was also very inviting, especially compared to properties in other countries.

Feeling like they’d had enough of the USA, they figured they’d move to Latvia since they had the apartment. And so they did. Thinking they’d have to find work, Ian got in touch with an organisation doing the kind of testing he specialised in. Enter an insightful story about Latvia in the late 2000s… Firstly, the organisation couldn’t afford to pay Ian, so he volunteered for them. Secondly, having seen the machines they operated with and how they processed the specimens, Ian wasn’t convinced about the quality of their work to say the least. He wasn’t surprised that things went quiet there after a while!

As luck would have it, the same friends who’d sold the apartment to Joanna and Ian, asked them if they wouldn’t mind looking after a piece of land they had. And that was the beginning of the alpaca chapter in their lives, but that is a story best told by Ian himself on a small group (!) tour of the farm. With time, when the law changed to allow foreigners to purchase agricultural land in Latvia, they bought it. 

Meanwhile, Joanna, who had completed a master’s in sustainable rural development, thinking it could be useful here, began seeking PhD opportunities and found them in Estonia, having received zero response from contacts in Latvia. Having completed her PhD in landscape architecture and sense of place, she now continues working at the Estonian University of Life Sciences, travelling to Tartu for a few days every month.

Alongside her work and farm duties, Joanna is learning Latvian with the hopes of getting citizenship. Considering where they live, the classes happen online. As much as Ian would like to learn Latvian, unfortunately, his mind isn’t designed for learning languages. For now, they’re quite dependent on friends to help manage aspects such as the local bureaucracy. 

They had a fantastic experience with another Lelde, an intern on placement from Vidzeme University, who assisted with much more than language during her three-month stint at Griezītes Alpakas. In an ideal world, Ian and Joanna would hire someone like her part time, however, they couldn’t afford the taxes associated with that – one of the realities of running a small business in a small market. 

The role of attitude in adapting to a new place

Speaking of friends and colleagues, the Stories are great believers in making networks in the local community if you intend to live in a place long term. Ian remembers reading something about happiness levels going up and down when you move abroad, and how the dip can get quite deep once the initial excitement and novelty have worn off. It’s at that point that you start saying stuff like “things were much better at home”. He went through that in Denmark but one moment completely changed things. They’d gone back to check up on their property in the UK. 

“I remember being there, standing in front of the house and looking out at the fields, and a voice in my head going “say goodbye”. So, I was like “goodbye tree, goodbye electric post”, and when I got back to Denmark, I felt so much better. It was about saying goodbye to what I was clinging on to,” Ian recalls. 

A lot comes down to attitude in the Stories’ experience. Joanna draws parallels between the way that some foreigners insist, “I have this knowledge that you’re going to have”, and students’ attitude towards learning. “I tell the students what I’m teaching them this month might not be relevant in two, three or four months,” she says, implying that learning is fundamentally about attitude – just as living is – because what you know may not always be enough or applicable.

How has Latvia changed over the years?

Since Ian and Joanna have lived in Latvia for 16 years, I wonder what cultural, social or other changes they’ve observed.

Ian mentions “fewer little officialdom empires”, which is when certain authorities like to assert their place in the mythical hierarchy. Getting information can still be an issue though, with people seemingly afraid that you might use their knowledge to become their competition. Joanna knows this from academic circles too, noting that Latvians tend to congregate amongst themselves, although things are changing now. 

Sadly, they’ve both noticed that the creativity and resourcefulness they witnessed in their first years at the children’s camps are gone. At the time, the kids would be told to go into the woods and make a hat for their leader or something. “The creativity was phenomenal! But, as time went on, things became much more prescriptive and formulaic,” says Ian, adding that “that thinking and problem solving – a lot of that has gone now”. Joanna puts it down to bringing ideas in from other places instead of building on what was already here. At the same time, when she asked her students in Estonia how many of them know how to garden, every hand went up – except those of the students from Norway and France. 

Changing practices have also led to noticeable differences in the landscape. Joanna recalls seeing haycocks in their first few years in Latvia, whereas recently, she’s only seen them in one very wet year, when it was a bit too difficult for the heavy machinery.

Another observation is that locals speak a lot more English these days – they might not feel confident but definitely understand. 

Interestingly, although Latvia promotes itself as a digitally advanced society, Ian and Joanna find many of the systems are still quite terrible from a user’s perspective. Since Joanna works in Estonia, she can compare the two and finds the ones across the border more functional. They find it frustrating that Latvia insists on developing its own systems when it could follow the example of its neighbour but it won’t do that, will it?

Ian and Joanna have also noticed a shift in attitudes towards foreigners. When they first came to Latvia, they felt they were perhaps even more trusted because they were foreign, whereas now they’re no longer sure. Additionally, “it’s gone from “poor Latvians” as in “poor us, we don’t know anything” to a creeping nationalism, which is concerning,” says Joanna, noting that this is happening in a lot of countries. For Ian this is a real worry because, as someone who struggles with learning languages, he doesn’t know what he’d do if he’d need to know Latvian to retain his residency. 

On belonging to a place

Ian shares a nightmare he had, in which russia had decided to invade and he wondered: “What would I do? The British government would probably put on flights but would I go? Our life’s here. We’ve got kids and grandkids in the UK but the land and the alpacas are here, and they’re my life. It would be easy to take the flight but my neighbours and friends can’t do that! In the dream I ended up choosing about four alpacas, packing the car up, putting them in the horse box and letting the other alpacas loose.” 

“To be honest, I’d quite like to die here. I feel so connected to HERE. It’s heaven for me to be able to do the stuff that I do. I’d really struggle having to work in an office. I need the space and to see the sky and trees. If this hadn’t happened, I think I’d have had a mental breakdown,” Ian continues.

So, what is the very essence of why things have worked out for them in Latvia? “It’s quiet! And there’s space,” says Joanna. They’re not sure if other parts of Latvia, like Liepāja and Ventspils, would have had the same effect on them. It was also just a question of timing.

When they told their children that they were moving to Latvia, they’d responded by saying “well, that’s just mum and dad” and that they’re weird but at least they’re doing something interesting.

—–

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The post Moving to Rural Latvia: Ian and Joanna’s Story appeared first on Life in Riga.

On their journey since starting to film in 2019, they’ve met legendary figures from the Latvian culture and folklore scene, including ex-president Vaira Vīķe-Freiberga! 

I caught up with Conor, Diāna and fellow team member Agnese Āboliņa (Diāna’s sister) to get deeper into the idea behind the film and plans for it. We concluded that we have a lot in common, all having invested countless hours in labours of love revolving around identity and sense of belonging, and aspiring to build community.

Tell us how you all came together and what makes you the perfect team to make a film like this? 

Diāna: With Conor our friendship grew around being in nature, going hiking, surfing and camping. As you do in nature, we’d reflect on our own lifestyles, being away from London and spending time in these two contrasting environments. We talked a lot about alternative ways of living, considering how we feel in London. 

We both had similar feelings about what the city does or at least the way that we experience the city and what it’s done to our mental health, and the opposite – what the choir does and what its benefits are. I’d share what my experience was growing up in Latvia, and the values that I have from that lifestyle – being completely nature-immersed, growing up in a deep forest with 20 people in the village. That was fascinating for Conor! 

We discussed it so much that we thought – let’s go to Latvia and chat to people who’ve spent their whole lives researching these ways of living and this knowledge that Latvians carry. Could they help us answer whether this knowledge is valuable in the modern day in a global context and not just for Latvians?

Conor was able to look at it from the side and see that, yes, this is for everyone. At that point, my sister Agnese said “why am I not part of this?” She had the same questions. And Conor met now Latvian Myth co-director Masha in London – a Latvian girl with a very mixed background and upbringing, and many questions around belonging and cultural values. And together, through our values and mixed expertise the four of us created Human Collective [a creative agency and UK based production company of true film]. 

We joined the choir in 2017 to be part of the Song and Dance Festival. Conor and I were looking at doing something around the choir and community. In 2019, we recreated a Summer Solstice celebration. Covid came, and we didn’t take the project anywhere. We tried to get some funding but it was all put on hold until a trip we took last spring with Conor, my husband and friends surfing in Cornwall.

The conversations came up again. Questions like what are we doing, what’s going on with our lives, where’s the planet going? We thought about community a lot and how everything’s moved online and how we’ve dealt with all of this. From there, we thought – we have this incredible footage we filmed! Let’s go and talk to these people in Latvia who we already know and make it into an in-depth conversation project around these values and traditions. 

Very quickly it turned from a short series to involving Kultfilma [a top production company in Latvia and now Latvian Myth co-producers] and we realised it needed to be a full-length thing. No one’s done this before – we have an Englishman who sings in a Latvian choir and is a director, and a diaspora Latvian filming. Co-directors with two completely different perspectives and who can both be in front of the camera as well. 

Agnese: I live in Austria and founded an association here about meaningful life, awareness, consciousness, self-development and connecting with nature. Then I heard that these guys were making a film based on everything I’d been researching but through the lens of tradition! Although we’ve been living these Latvian traditions in our family, I’d never delved into them.

All these ancient cultures have philosophies. What is the Latvian philosophy? Why are we looking towards yoga, India and Mexico when we have the Latvian dzīvesziņa? Yet we don’t really understand what it is.

Do you feel that these traditions are somehow endangered? 

Diāna: For me, the overall feeling has been that they are very much alive in these small pockets. We’ve now accessed communities that nurture them. But many traditions are completely gone and many are struggling. We spoke to an archaeologist who said “everything that is alive dies eventually and then is reborn” and that’s been my biggest conclusion. 

It’s more a question of adapting to the time, and time is moving forward. We can’t go back and live like our ancestors did. That’s just how the planet is. For some though, to go back and live like that is a utopian dream. 

But how do we take the message [from our ancestors] and integrate it into our lives, so that it carries that value and teaches us to live in harmony, to respect others, to respect nature and not work against each other and the world around us? 

Agnese: Singing old folk songs, for example. “Ai, zaļā birztaliņa, kā es tevi sen taupīju. Ne zariņa nenolauzu, brāļa govis ganīdama” (Oh, green birch grove, how long I’ve been protecting you. Not a branch did I break as I herded my brother’s cows). While I don’t have cows to take care of, when I sing this song out in nature, I realise that if I go into the forest with this notion, I’m not going to touch even the smallest leaf. This is a perception of and an attitude towards the world. We can still use those words and songs to create a respectful relationship with the world. 

How did you find your way to the amazing humans you’ve interviewed for the film? Has it helped that Latvia is so small and its people so connected?

Conor: Being in the London Latvian choir for almost seven years, getting to know people has been a big part of my journey. It’s great how accessible people in Latvia can be but, for me as a non-Latvian, it’s a case of approaching the culture respectfully first. Getting to know everyone bit by bit and celebrating the culture alongside them. 

Also, our collective efforts as a team. Diāna and Agnese [who are sisters] and their family have such amazing interpersonal relationships with so many people already, especially in the folklore scene. It was beautiful to observe and experience those relationships being explored in a deeper way. 

Some meetings happened literally by chance. It has sometimes felt like there’s a conveyor belt slightly pulling us along. It’s felt like a very natural flow. We’ve been trusting that process and our gut. 

At the 2018 Song and Dance Festival, I stood next to the architect Ivars Mailītis. He was in the queue with us, and we had a good chat. We stayed in touch, and he introduced me to his son Austris. Some people have invited us into their very personal spaces. It’s been beautiful. Every time you meet a new person, they go “you should meet this person”, so the list of who we could interview or meet kept building. 

When you approach things with respect, curiosity and time, people open up. 

Agnese: I would also add – dream big! We wanted to talk to Vaira Vīķe-Freiberga because she’s the one! The white witch. And she said yes. But choosing these people isn’t easy and there are many more we’d still love to interview. 

Diāna: We also have an amazing producer, Dārta Vijgrieze, who helps our big dreams come true. She’d be like “you guys are crazy” when we said we wanted to speak to Vaira, every single lead conductor of the Song and Dance Festival etc. But she’d say “I’ll do it!” and she did. 

What’s your dream scenario for the film? Where would you like to see it screened?

Diāna: Right now, the dream is to finish the film and have the finances in place to do so. We’re getting there but there’s still a lot to do. The finances will determine the journey. 

The dream is to go to festivals. It might take a while, and they’re not cheap to take part in. One of my biggest dreams would be Sundance, Sheffield Doc Fest and Cannes as well. Those are just a few. 

Because we’re doing this independently, there’s no set route. It’s about building relationships and seeing how we go. Learning. 

We’re aiming for international reach. The film celebrates Latvia but it’s for a global audience. It’s about exploring the values we’re uncovering in the film, and that’s a deeply personal individual journey. 

We definitely want to do screenings in Latvia, London and wherever else is possible. 

Conor: Diāna’s story is one that diaspora communities, especially Latvians, will be able to connect to. For me, being a non-Latvian, I bring the outsider’s perspective in a lot of ways, so it’s bringing a new audience to the Latvian way of life but also the values it represents. With the conflicts, mental health issues and problems in the cities we’re seeing today, it’s about trying to explore different ways of building communities and how we can be more supportive of each other. 

Part of the bigger dream is building community. It’s how we can change perspectives and inspire people to see differences in others as a place of understanding and opportunity and learning.

Hopefully, it won’t just be a film but… also, we’re planning an exhibition in London and Latvia if we can get the needed funds. 

Agnese: Latvian Myth is already such a living, breathing thing. No matter where we go it just uncovers unimaginable paths.

Thank you and all the best for Latvian Myth! 

If this story has struck a chord with you and you’d like to support the making of Latvian Myth, you can fund the team’s efforts through Kickstarter until 22 June. Or, if you can help organise a screening or offer an alternative way of collaborating, reach out to them!

The post Latvian Myth: Exploring Folklore in the Modern Age appeared first on Life in Riga.

Dill 

The taste of the countryside, dill is one of the more adventurous spices in the average Latvian kitchen. Naturally, it makes a wonderful crisp flavour that invites memories of gardening, pickling and other pursuits carried out in the company of your grandparents as they looked after you over the summer holidays. 

Mushrooms & cream

The taste of the woods. This flavour is designed to remind the munching gourmet of the thick and creamy wild mushroom sauce we Latvians devour from late summer well into winter, layered over potatoes, buckwheat or these days also pasta or couscous. 

Shashlik and toasted onion

The taste of summer. I imagine this is a hit all across the region as it conjures associations with all the greatest outdoor parties of your life. As soon as the sun makes a longer appearance after the doom and gloom of winter, the barbecues are out and the air thick with the scent of chargrilled marinated meat. This is an attempt to capture that smell and flavour. 

Long Chips

Contrary to what one might think, Long Chips are not made from square potatoes. They are actually made from dried potato flakes blended into a mash before being flash fried. The result is less oily than the average crisp. Today, these moreish tattie thins come in something like 20 flavours, including wasabi, Thai sweet chilli and bbq! How extravagant! 

Hemp Crunch

I’ve gone and lied in the title! Not all eight of the recommended chips are made from potato… These dare-I-say-it innovative snack bites are powered by hemp protein. Don’t be confused by the leaf on the packaging – they’re not intoxicating!

Jersika Chips 

Lots of adventurous flavours to try from these local producers but the jellied beef and horseradish seems to be the more “Latvian” of them all. Anyway, you might feel better about munching your way through all the varieties once you know they’ve not been fried in oil.

O’byte 

I’ll hype most products made in Madona – I’m biased because that’s where my husband’s from and we spend many of our weekends. But I really do find these rice and lentil snacks very satisfying. Besides, they do feel ever so slightly healthier than their potato counterparts. Of course, the flavours include dill, as well as mushroom! 

Chazz

Forgive me for these are Lithuanian, not Latvian-made delights. However, I find them a very fitting addition to our supermarket shelves and this list since we neighbours do share a lot of culinary similarities. 

If you enjoyed this post, you might like to continue with Mouthwatering Things to Eat in Riga. And, if you’d like to support the blog, our culinary and otherwise exploratory adventures, you can always leave us a tip! Thanks.

The post 8 Latvian Potato Chip Varieties You Really Must Try appeared first on Life in Riga.

So, to me, the sea is somewhere I go for clarity, rest and rejuvenation. For others, it’s a livelihood. The Latvian coastline and its historical fishing villages are a vivid illustration of these differences and the societal and economic shifts that the land has witnessed. A seasonal tourism industry has flourished alongside the fishing industry whose story can be read from both the net-draped traditional timber dwellings and industrial infrastructure. 

Folk songs and customs speak of the significance of the sea to our ancestors. Today, we also celebrate it at festivals like Jūras and Zvejnieku svētki (Sea and Fishermens’ fairs) – a much more recent tradition than one might think, born in the 1930s. Nēģu svētki (Lamprey fairs) are also a thing!

In my endless curiosity, I asked around to find out what other locals seek and find by and in the sea and what it means to them, as well as if any songs, books, films or pieces of music bring up feelings of or associations with the sea. Here’s what they answered!

Anita Karpinska, graphic designer and artist

Whenever I live somewhere for a while, the sea has to be close or quick to reach. It’s where you can finally widen your physical worldview – the horizon is so vast and constant, it’s calming. And, if you take the time to reflect, the sea can also expand your horizons on a spiritual level.

I really enjoy multiple day hikes along the sea. They give me a sense of discovery. I’ve done many long walks along the coast in several countries because I feel like if I just go that little bit further, I’ll see if anything interesting lies ahead. In that way, you can walk far and make plenty of interesting discoveries.

I always like to turn left when I get to the beach because it seems more promising. I’ve discovered everything of interest that way. I just get this indescribable feeling that that’s where I need to go. In Spain, near Cadiz, I ended up discovering some ancient Roman ruins and a Moorish cave hidden beyond a totally wild beach and army base. Neither of them were mentioned in any guidebooks. I just had this overpowering feeling that I needed to walk in that direction, a little more to the left and just a bit further.

In Italy, that’s how I came across a village I’d once seen in a photo. I didn’t know which part of Italy it was in but felt like I just needed to turn left and walk along the sea for a few hours and see what I’d find. In Portugal too, I’ve found places in that same way. I tend to film a lot of my adventures on camera and drone, which gives me additional motivation. 

Ancient cultures and history fascinate me. Egypt, Iran and Iraq are captivating. One day, I looked at the map and realised that if I went down to the beach in Jūrmala, for example, and turned left, then I’d eventually reach all the countries that have appealed to me as far as the African continent. Since I’ve walked the Camino del Norte, I feel like maybe I should just go do it!  

Anita’s artistic assocation with the sea is Thirst by the Latvian artist Voldemārs Johansons.

“The first time I ever saw an ocean – the Atlantic Ocean – was on a stormy night. You could barely even see it. It was only when the waves would break that I became aware of the sheer size of them. Very impressive and immortal! Like dinosaurs – ancient, huge and roaring,” Anita adds. 

Annija, founder of the Steel Storm design brand and resident of Liepāja

As someone born in Riga, I remember the packed trains to Jūrmala, the crowded beaches and relatively calm sea. Now, living in Liepāja, the sea means something completely different to me than it did in my childhood. 

The sea is always beside me. Living close to it, you know that you’ll always have somewhere to go to feel peace and freedom, even on the days when it’s wild, because it’s the open sea after all. 

I go to the sea to restore myself, be with myself, find energy and inspiration, feel peace and freedom. What I take from the experience depends on both me and the sea on that particular day. Even if it’s rough and choppy, I find a certain peace in the sea. 

I find freedom on the empty beaches in winter or more distant beaches where it’s just me and the mighty sea. The intense winds and waves tend to give me an energy boost and the inspiration to get things done – that’s when the winds have properly battered you. Crowded beaches and happy beachgoers do the same. 

The sea isn’t just water to me. It’s life, stones, amber, seaweed, seashells, fish, bits of wood, sand, dunes etc. One of my favourite things to do when I’m at a rocky beach is finding “lucky pebbles” (pebbles with a hole in them) and other pretty stones that you can use to build pyramids or create other art.

Swimming is most enjoyable on warm summer mornings when few people are awake yet, and at sunset when you get to bid the sun farewell.

In winter, it’s a place of magical views, just like Narnia. 

Annija contributed two songs that she associates with the sea. Ziemeļmeita is also one of 18 Iconic Songs to Help You Understand Latvia and Latvians.

Vladislava, resident of Jūrmala 

To me, the sea means a sense of home. 

It’s a place for both spiritual and physical rest, somewhere for making asks and giving gratitude, freeing yourself of burdens, and self-talk.

It is sunrises and sunsets, waves and frozen legs, an overheated body on a hot day, and the call of the seagulls. It is a tomato you bring with you to snack on after the swim, and cherries to enjoy with a good book. It is fog and the silence of winter. The sea is a treasure. 

I go to the sea seeking peace and energy. It enables me to restore my inner strength. In summer, I go for daily swims. Sometimes, I observe the sea living its life and pick up on answers to my questions.

Vladislava mentions this song and one particular line in the lyrics: “Un dzintara jūra mūsu laimei te šalc”(And the amber sea rustles here for our joy).

Alexandra, self-proclaimed thalassophile

I’ve had a special relationship with the sea since early childhood. While everyone would be spending time in the yard, I’d be waiting for my father to finish work so that we could go to the beach.

On Tuesday and Thursday evenings, he played beach volleyball, as well as spending weekends by the net, and I was his most supportive crowd. My friends were there as well, hiding in the sand, dunes and woods, and waiting for the woman with sun-kissed skin to pass by – does anyone else remember this famous lady who would walk along the shore with a trolley selling ice cream? Plombīrs was my favourite.

Then, different times came – times of self-awareness and self-reflecting –  youth, when you think of no one but yourself and don’t understand the meaning of love yet, or whether it even exists. Those times were best spent by the sea, thinking and loving silently. Silence is what the sea accepts and is best at providing. You can shout, you can cry, but being silent beside the sea is a pure gift of nature. As you are silent, it listens, and feels at times like it is taking everything away, all your self-reflections, self-torturing and self-blaming. And then the soul healing comes – once you breathe it out, all the pain is gone. 

With salty waves in your hair or a red nose, no matter the season, the sea provides first-aid with 24/7 availability. What a bliss it is to live by it.

Līga Laurenoviča, graphic designer 

I prefer the forest to the sea. There are sea people and forest people. I can go to the seaside, but feel like going to the woods much more often. I don’t know how to swim in such a big body of water. I like going into the water when it’s really hot outside, when you don’t freeze – to roll around in the burning hot sand, dip into the water and return to the sand once again. It’s easy to get sunburnt by the sea.

I visit the sea when I don’t have anything to do or just fancy a walk. I’ve had moments of walking up to the sea and deciding to touch it, but, most of the time, I don’t seek more contact than that because I like warm water. In summer, I like ponds where you can play around in the sludge. 

When I was unemployed, I registered at the Jūrmala job centre because the lines were too long in Riga and it was more difficult to get there and find a place to park. Anyway, all that’s about the Gulf of Riga. The open sea is a different story. I love watching storms and often get my boots wet. Watching how the open sea clashes with the Gulf of Riga at Cape Kolka. I fill up on fresh air and love how the sky is different every time. 

I’ve also been to the seaside – to Bolderāja – at times of feeling alone. 

Friends who live by the sea usually only go down to it when someone’s visiting. Back in the day, I’d cycle to Jūrmala to meet friends. 

Last autumn, I had the opportunity to make an old dream come true – to visit the Kolka lighthouse. I couldn’t have imagined it would smell so bad and that the foundations of the historical building would be in such a neglected state. One of the wooden buildings has burnt down because someone didn’t put out their fire after barbecuing. 

I enjoy being by the sea with no one else around. Feeling that primitive, wild environment. It’s easier to catch that feeling of untouched nature in a bog though. I also like for a beach to be bordered by forest.

Elīna Kalniņa, historian

The sea to me means freedom – a sense of freedom. I go to the sea to rest, regain balance and sort myself out.

For Elīna, the book Vīri un kuģi (Men and Ships), a research project by Ieva Cimmermane, conjures associations with the sea. “It may not be art, but it’s about the art of living. The book touches on Latvians’ grit, opportunism, wisdom and strength. It’s about life by the sea, on the sea and with the sea. A fantastic read,” she says, and also recommends the work of the Lithuanian photographer Veronika Šleivytė.

Experiencing the Sea in Latvia

You can walk from the border of Lithuania up to the border of Estonia along the sea (with just a few diversions en route)! The 500-kilometre coastline is a designated hiking trail – the Jūrtaka. Split into daily sections, you can cover it all in one go or in multiple shorter trips.

It’s obviously also easy to travel by car or public transport. Some of my favourite places are the Ragaciems fish market, the Veczemju cliffs, Kaltenes kalvas, Pape, Cape Kolka and the Ainaži pier.

If you can’t or don’t want to travel, borrow a book from the fascinating Sea Library in Jūrmala, which delivers by post too!

More Latvian Songs About the Sea

A handful of classics, which are clearly still relevant today.

If you found this story interesting, you might want to continue with Tried & Tested Things to Do in Riga to Find Calm or Latvians and the Forest. Please also share it with friends!

The post Latvians and the Sea appeared first on Life in Riga.

With time, not only did we get bored of writing about the practical stuff, but of each other too! So, since 2016, I’ve been running the blog alone and writing less from an expat’s point of view and more through the eyes of a curious local, exploring not just Riga as a physical place, but also the “Latvian identity”.

This has proven to be very therapeutic for me, strengthening my own sense of belonging to Latvia, which has, historically, been a bit shaky – I grew up in a Latvian family and diaspora in Australia, moved here with my family in the mid-90s and gradually developed a serious travelling habit, feeling more connected to international environments and communities. Questions of identity and belonging have always been there. 

Now, however, if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that there’s nowhere I’d rather be than where I am right now. Physically, that’s mostly Riga with weekends in Madona region with my husband’s family and Cēsis where my dad lives and the rest of us hang out a lot. 

I’m also sure that Life in Riga has existed for so long because it means a lot to me. The 10 year anniversary got me thinking about where to take it from here and whether maybe, finally, I should “take it to another level” – whatever that means. Until now, I’ve been adamant to call it a hobby and passion project, always prioritising my other commitments. Today, however, I’m back to full-on freelancing again after trying and not lasting long before, so I can’t use the excuse of “no time”. 

This reflecting has resulted in a few ideas that I’ll be exploring in the near future:

Meetups to share our experiences of living in Riga 

Informal gatherings for people seeking community in Riga and space to share our experiences of living here. Follow Life in Riga on Instagram and Facebook for news of these! Sorry, I don’t have the mental bandwidth for TikTok, Telegram etc. just yet. 

Accompanied expeditions in Riga 

I don’t want to use the term “guided tours” because I envisage more interactivity and more focus on getting to know the place with the intention of living here, not just visiting. But, in any case, I plan to take a course in tour guiding next year. This is still very much at the ideation stage right now, but would combine so many of my interests, life and work experience until now, drawing from my years of working for the national tourist board, being a “buddy” for international students and people on probation, and facilitating groups a long, long time ago as a member of the European Youth Parliament – all things that I’ve really loved. 

I’m currently part of the latest cohort of MicroTAIGA programme participants, learning together with inspiring cultural practitioners from around Europe, with the idea of nurturing these and other ideas.  

Your thoughts and feedback are always very welcome but particularly so at this stage of my journey with Life in Riga. Are these ideas relevant to you? What type of content do you enjoy and benefit from the most? Is there anything you feel is missing on the blog? I’d love to hear from you in the comments, via social media or email at hello(at)lifeinriga.com. 

Thank you very much for reading and following! 

Lelde 

The post 10 Years of the Blog. What Next? appeared first on Life in Riga.

That Latvians feel a strong connection to the forest is perhaps “nothing new” – our forested landscapes are even an element of the national cultural canon, and Latvian mythology and folk songs speak of Meža māte (Mother Forest) in an indication of the meaning our ancestors bestowed on the woods and the value they drew from them. 

But I caught myself wondering what the forest means to Latvians today and whether we share a similar sentiment. To find out, I asked around – what does the forest mean to you? What do you seek there and what do you find? Here’s what came up. 

Linda Priedniece, book seller, critic and photographer based in Madona  

The forest is firstly memories from my childhood, when I’d spend the holidays at my grandmother’s house in the middle of the woods, which I was strictly forbidden to venture to alone. 

There was a hazel next to the house, and I was so surprised that you could get nuts from a tree. That’s where I got a sense for the diversity and mightiness of nature and learnt to feel reverence towards it. Of course, at that point I wasn’t aware of the privilege that is growing up in an environment like that. 

My later memories are of trekking through huge heaps of snow to fetch a Christmas tree. If I close my eyes, I hear laughter, see snowball fights and dazzling whiteness all around. Everything seemed massive, the treetops unreachable and the air strangely refreshing. The forest has gifted me my fondest memories. 

Later in life, walking in the woods has saved me from depression. The fresh air and presence of trees have soothed my anxiety, helped me return to my body and replenish my spirit. Through photographing these walks, the forest has brought me priceless meetings and friendships, which have fulfilled my life and even changed its course.

Now, I feel that my relationship with the forest is changing. It’s closer to me than ever, and I’m suddenly aware of my scarce knowledge of sustainability. I see how often human interests conflict with the rules of nature. For millions of people around the world, the forest is a significant source of food and income, but even so we often lack awareness of how we waste these resources and how life without them would be unimaginable. 

Krišjānis Rozītis, forester based in Madona 

To me, the forest means freedom. In the practical sense, it gives me the opportunity to earn a living through the resources it provides by investing little human labour in return. It enables me to spend time in a biodiverse and clean environment, transforming this environment to my best ability to make it visually and practically more appealing and valuable for future generations, birds and animals. 

I largely seek a connection to the hunter-gatherer lifestyle, which is rarely practised in the western world these days and involves foraging, hunting and fishing for food. The lifestyle and spending so much time in the woods inevitably lead to witnessing unique natural processes and phenomena, which most people never experience in their lifetimes. 

Agita Birziete, tourism marketing specialist based in Jelgava

I remember going to the woods as a child, having to make a whole pilgrimage across the meadow or mud-bath of a freshly ploughed field in autumn to get to our little forest, which was paradise for our group of friends. We’d built a hidden fort between the mossy rocks. The woods were our special place where no one else was allowed. Already then, I was definitely aware of the mightiness of nature. 

With time, the forest overgrew, our fort fell apart and I started to spend most of my time in the city. 

Still now, to me the forest means home. I’ve only really begun to understand that now in my thirties. I used to be afraid to be alone in the woods. Now, I realise that the forest signifies the return to or finding of oneself. In the forest, you inevitably connect with yourself. 

Just as it can be scary to be alone in the woods, it can be scary to be alone with yourself if you haven’t visited your inner self in a long time. Also, the forest too seems more threatening if you haven’t been there for some time. But, if you’ve made peace with the forest, it’s the best possible home. And then the magic happens – it just keeps on giving. 

The best therapy, the best conversation is the one you can have with yourself in the forest – no words, just feelings, giving and receiving, opening up and appreciating. 

The phytoncides flood your lungs, your nose picks up on the special scent cocktail unique to each place – the bitterness of rotting leaves mingling with the light freshness of buds and sun-smoked pine needles. It all flows into your body and, just like that, you’re reborn. A joyful acceptance of the simplicity of being wakes inside you just like when you were a child. 

Madara and Māris Laizāns, lovingly restoring a farmhouse near Kuldīga

The forest brings up associations with peace, freedom and fresh air. It’s a place to renew your energy and is good for both mind and belly. 

We venture to the woods to pick mushrooms in season and make chanterelle sauce for potatoes, which we never otherwise eat! We’re not berry pickers. Occasionally, we eat game meat hunted by our relatives. 

Every once in a while, we’ll take a walk in the coastal forests when we need to have a tougher conversation or simply clear our heads. 

Renārs Purmalis, chef and author of the cookbook Gatavo dabā (Cook in nature)

The forest is where I go to work and rest. Somewhere I feel good on weekdays as well as weekends. A place for energy exchange where you can both give and receive.

I look for peace and the symphony of the woods – birds, the wind, rivers, animals… It’s particularly interesting when the evenings are completely shrouded in silence and the mornings so full of life. 

To sleep in the wild in winter is a special experience when the snow muffles any sounds, you light a fire and hear the wood crackle. 

Along with peace, I also seek adventure in the woods – new trails, exciting places, caves and the best spots for mushrooming. 

Māra Sleja, TV host and model based in Riga

The forest is a place I go for physical and, mostly, mental respite. The smells, colours and the walking itself are great for relaxing. I particularly enjoy coastal forests, and coniferous forests are a dream.

I don’t really seek anything or go with a clear intention – I just go, enjoy and find things. Foraging is also wonderful. 

As long as there’s peace and quiet, and if I get to see a woodpecker – one of the birds I recognise, because I’m not really that knowledgeable about birds and trees. Also, seeing how bogs become forests and forests merge with bogs. Noticing those shifts, especially in forests you frequent. Because, even if it feels somewhat the same, it changes all the time. 

Of course, things are different in the dark. Then, I prefer having someone next to me. 

I really feel at home in the forest. You can always find something interesting there – like anthills. Going there with the kids is the best adventure because they see things differently, and so I develop a different perspective too. 

Jānis Lungevičs, scientist based in Riga 

The forest is an oxygen-generating, eye-pleasing organism. 

I mostly find myself there for a very practical reason – to find fallen trees to fuel the fire at my parents’ home to keep it warm in winter. It’s kind of funny but, apart from that, I don’t really have many reasons for heading to the woods. Every once in a while, I do just go to check on the state of it and try to spot some animals though. 

What does the forest mean to you?

Can you identify with the spiritual and practical layers that came up?

The post Latvians and the Forest appeared first on Life in Riga.

Many of the items seem so familiar and comforting because I identify with and recognise them from my own home and those of others I’ve spent time in. So, I decided to explore whether there really are certain things that could characterise the “average” Latvian home, and what they suggest about us as a people and our past. 

I asked around on social media. Here’s what came up.

Slippers for guests

Latvian hosts will commonly ask you to remove your shoes at the door, at which point you’ll be offered to choose a pair of guest slippers from the dedicated bag, box or drawer. 

Assorted empty jars 

With all the pickles, sauerkraut and preserves we consume, we’re left with a hefty amount of empty receptacles, which we hold onto in the hopes that we’ll reuse them or pass them onto the family members who spend late summer and autumn making the next batch of goodies for the winter season. 

Full jars too… 

With the jam, pickles and assorted “salads” from grandma or fellow relatives who likely live in the countryside. 

The tradition of preserving food dates back to when you couldn’t get year-round fresh fruit and veg flown in from Spain. Today, it is still a treasured skill with people exchanging recipes, experimenting with new flavours and sharing the delicious results with loved ones. 

Rags for cleaning

Why buy purpose-made sponges if you can cut up old bed linen, towels and clothing? 

If you’re yet to acquire a rag collection, you can buy rags by the bag at second hand shops where they call them slaukāmais materiāls (wiping material).

For those who think zero waste living is a thing of the 21st century, just look towards the Latvian elders and what they were able to do with the little that they once had. 

Medus (honey) 

Straight from the bitenieks or biteniece (beekeeper) if you’re lucky to know one, which many Latvians seem to. We’re blessed! 

Jade plants, monsteras and plants in general 

We’re a green-fingered nature. Those of us without gardens make do with window sills, balconies and shelf tops. You can buy an sell offshoots through several special Facebook groups.

Zāļu tēja (herbal tea) 

Collected in spring and summer, we dry the herbs for use in the autumn and winter months to help in treating various ailments from the common cold to the winter blues. Each plant has its purpose. 

Sometimes, it’s just nice to have a cup of tea without thinking what the specific blend is good for though.  

Segas (blankets) 

Gifted or inherited throws and blankets – often handmade by family members – to keep warm in winter and decorate or cover all the beds and sofas in the house. A popular item to give as a wedding gift. 

Servīze (tea set) 

Possibly a treasured family heirloom. May be from the Soviet years or even older. It might stand in a prominent place in the sekcija (shelving unit) or be stowed away out of sight to be taken out on special occasions. 

Seasonal veg from the countryside

Starting from July, expect to be offered a lot of zucchini, marrows or squashes! Cucumbers, pumpkins and tomatoes are also common gifts shared by friends and family with an allotment, greenhouse or home in the country. 

Foraged foods

Look into the pantry and freezer and you will find… mushrooms, berries and other wild goods aplenty, which we forage in season to use in winter – a time when fresh food was once scarce. 

Groziņi (baskets) 

Stacked and ready to go for when the mushrooms and berries appear in the woods and at the market. May also be used at other times of the year for bringing a cienasts (offering) to a groziņu vakars (potluck). 

Something handbuilt by your dad, grandad or uncle 

A shelf perhaps, a curtain rod or bed frame because Ikea hasn’t been around forever and not everyone has the means for it or even just easy access to the shops. We’re a resourceful people. 

Lina galdauti (linen tablecloths) 

If you’re married, you may have gotten one as a wedding gift. At least some of them are likely to be inherited. 

Amber jewellery and/or works of art 

Treasured family jewels or souvenir trinkets, as well as framed amber art works or insects in amber. 

Jāņu vainagi (Midsummer wreaths) 

We store dry wreaths from the last celebration until Yuletide or the next Midsummer to be burnt in a symbolic act of letting go of the past. 

Siguldas spieķis (Sigulda walking stick)

The ultimate souvenir from school trips to Sigulda. 

When it first appeared, the walking stick served a practical purpose, helping people navigate the steep trails along the river Gauja. Today, most come in smaller sizes to be displayed in the home, though you can still get big ones too. 

Blanket covers with a diamond-shaped hole

Instead of slipping the blanket in at the end, you slip it in through the hole in the middle of the cover. These – a great match for heavy wool blankets – have stood the test of time. 

Dill in some form 

Preferably fresh from the garden or market but dried will do in winter. This is one of the most “adventurous” spices in Latvian cooking. 

Skābais krējums (sour cream)

A kitchen staple. Often used as the fundamental building block of sauce, added to soup by the spoonful, or eaten with pancakes and potatoes. In true Latvian fashion, one even douses fresh salads in sour cream and mayo. 

Vegeta 

The cheap and cheerful spice mix that goes with everything. For many, a familiar and soothing taste of childhood. 

Dusty old books 

Shelf after shelf of wisdom: pre-internet encyclopaedias, Latvian classics and translated fiction. Throwing them away seems far too harsh and finding them all new homes – an impossible mission, so they just stay. 

Junk drawer

A drawer in the hallway or kitchen for storing bits, pieces and everything in between. If you can’t find something, this would be your best bet.  

Maisiņu maisiņš (bag for bags)

Somewhere in the pantry or under the sink you’ll find a plastic bag full of… plastic bags for using in the bin, at the market or just to hold onto because you never know when one might come in handy.

Nowadays, it may be accompanied by or replaced with a paper bag for paper bags. Additionally, you might have a gift bag for gift bags. 

Enamelled cookware and aluminium utensils 

Many of these are leftovers from the Soviet years but still today you can buy lookalikes at places like Riga Central Market.

Thank you to everyone who contributed to this non-exhaustive list of things you find around the Latvian home. Please do expand it in the comments as each finding is so interesting. 

If you’re not from Latvia, how many of the items are you familiar with from your own culture?

The post Things You Find Around the Latvian Home appeared first on Life in Riga.

The common thread in Jyothi’s answers is personal effort and how much of it he has put in to get to the comfortable place he’s in right now. He repeats several times that his story is rare because of how well everything has turned out for him, and that one should consider different perspectives before making the decision to move.

Why Latvia? 

Jyothi, who comes from Visakhapatnam, had no intention of going abroad. After his bachelor studies in mechanical engineering, Jyothi pursued an education in civil services, which prepares students for police officer or administrative roles. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t happy,” he shares, discovering that he didn’t feel suitable for these posts. At that point, he started thinking about where he could go and how he could afford it and settled on Europe. After doing some research, Jyothi found that many European countries require local language skills to study there. Having settled on Germany, he started to learn German but didn’t get accepted into university and lost two years of his time. He then considered Canada because it’s English speaking until a colleague suggested Latvia or Poland. Jyothi chose Latvia, applied and got his visa. Everything went smoothly. 

On the strength of stereotypes

Jyothi didn’t know anyone in Latvia and had no experience of foreign countries. At Riga Airport, he met a senior who helped him book a taxi to the university dorms. “They were in an old building in a forest. Like a devil’s house. I was scared. Then, 200 metres away, I saw some Indian guys. My first experience was bad. I’d imagined something different – that everything would be awesome, that foreign means rich,” he’s honest about the power of stereotypes. Jyothi requested to move to the dorms at Ķīpsala, on the Riga Technical University (RTU) campus where he felt a lot happier. 

Learning by doing

At the time, his faculty was still in its old location a fair distance away, next to Lake Ķīšezers. To get there was challenging. “In India, we never use Google Maps because we have it all in our heads; we can go anywhere. In Latvia, I’d always be on the wrong side of the street and miss my bus. For six months that kept happening. Once, I took the wrong route. Then, I realised Latvia isn’t big. I think Riga is like 20% of the size of my city. I looked at Google Maps and realised that every bus is travelling in a circle and that, even if I catch the wrong bus, I can walk,” Jyothi speaks of learning to make his way around. 

Roads were just one aspect that Jyothi had to learn to navigate. It also took a while to acclimatise to the weather. When he arrived in September, the weather was “like winter for me in India.” When winter first struck, Jyothi enjoyed it as it was his first time seeing snow. However, a few days later, he fell sick after not wearing a proper jacket. “I went out in a sweatshirt. After that, I realised I need to take precautions. New climate, weather, minus degrees… I went back to India on holiday. I missed my family,” he shares.  

Learning to love local cuisine

The local diet too took a while to get used to. Jyothi was vegetarian and found that most dishes in Latvia involved pork or beef. He could cope with chicken, however, was avoiding chicken and eggs at the time for religious reasons, so he never ate outside the house or just had some fruit.

Gradually, after returning from India he became more adventurous, eating the occasional bit of meat. But it wasn’t until he started to work that he switched completely to the “Latvian diet” – a mix of potatoes or rice, salads and meat – due to his colleagues’ encouragement. “I ate it once and liked it. After a week, I felt like a real Latvian. I realised that the food is good, but I only ate chicken. Two weeks later, they encouraged me to try pork. They asked if my parents would eat pork. Yes, they would. So, I tried. To be frank, I don’t like it. Two days later, it was someone’s birthday party. My colleague bought wild venison. It didn’t feel that different.

Now, I eat Latvian food and suggest that everyone eat Latvian food because this food is suitable for this climate. If you come to India and don’t eat spicy food, you can’t survive. If you go to Germany, eat German food. You’ll be happy, healthy, and your stomach will be full,” Jyothi explains his philosophy. 

Funding the move and getting a job in Latvia

Having lived here for six years, Jyothi has established many valuable insights on what to expect when moving to Latvia from India. Money is a big topic. “Everything is expensive compared to India. In India, for one euro you can get a full meal. Here, the same costs five or six. Many students won’t have their parents’ backing. I came on a loan because I didn’t want my parents to sponsor me – I was already 25. So, I had to spend every euro wisely. We couldn’t get jobs because we needed Latvian language skills,” Jyothi speaks of the challenges. 

He outlines the role of fear too: “You can’t expect foreigners to arrive knowing Latvian. I came for the education, so you can’t expect me to talk Latvian. Ok, after one year I can try to talk but many people are scared to learn Latvian. And Latvians seem scared to talk to foreigners. I asked my colleagues why people don’t talk to foreigners, and they said people are shy about talking to others and scared to talk in English. They’re not avoiding you.”

“Since I have a loan, I thought, if I stayed in Latvia for a year, I could repay my loan by working somewhere. I applied and got a good job immediately. They offered me a five-year visa. But many of my friends, who came earlier than me, applied for hundreds of jobs. Companies say that knowing English is enough. Then, after the interview and the task they give you – designing a machine, for example – they don’t offer you the job. So, my seniors said that I wouldn’t get a job and should go back to India but I thought I’d try my best,” Jyothi says of the job situation in Latvia. 

Because of his good results at university, Jyothi was offered a PhD along with getting a job. Now, he combines his research with working as a konstruktors (design engineer) for a company in Iecava. Initially, he travelled to Iecava from Riga every day, but the travel time took its toll. In 2020, just before the Covid-19 pandemic kicked in, he moved to Iecava. He mentions that the cost of living is something to keep in mind: “In Latvia, salaries aren’t high. The cost of living has increased but salaries haven’t. As a foreigner, I can’t work in two places because of visa regulations.”

Communicating with locals in Latvia

For students wishing to work alongside their studies, part-time work opportunities are limited. “Now, there are food delivery services, but they didn’t exist when I first came. People couldn’t get jobs and faced racism. I haven’t experienced racism, but my friends have,” Jyothi touches on the sensitive topic. “In India, we have castes. Abroad it’s racism… It’s everywhere,” he speaks of people’s tendency to discriminate each other. He believes that “if you’re free with everyone, your country will grow faster. If you want to grow as a country, you need to have good communication with other countries. Your people too will grow.” 

Of his own experience of learning to communicate with Latvians, Jyothi says: “When I first arrived, I didn’t speak to locals because people were scared. I decided, if someone comes to me, I’ll talk. If no one approaches me, I’ll just do my work – that’s it. When I started working, I realised I needed to explore the culture and understand what kind of people Latvians are, how they think etc. In India, we have the tradition that we shouldn’t talk to unknown girls, so I talked to guys. I learned that if you’re friendly with Latvians, they’re friendly too. If you’re angry, they’ll be angry.” 

Jyothi learned that getting to know a different culture takes time: “Latvians won’t believe foreigners right away but if they spend time with you, they will. That’s a good thing. You shouldn’t believe anyone at the first point of meeting. Observe, learn. That’s good ethics.”

Now, Jyothi is learning Latvian by talking to his colleagues at work. He’s almost ready to pass his A2 level language exam. 

Speaking of the Latvian language, Jyothi mentions a confusing aspect. Once you’ve arrived in Latvia to study, the Office of Citizenship and Migration Affairs (PMLP) is one of the first points of contact. While you can submit paperwork in English, the answers come through in Latvian, so students, for example, consult their professors to translate for them. 

Among other things to keep in mind if moving to Latvia, Jyothi mentions that there is no one single Indian community in Latvia. “We’re Indians from different states. Everyone has their own community. I’m from Andhra, and we have our language.” 

He also advises being aware of cultural differences: “I’m a simple person. I study, do my job, go home. I don’t like to travel much. I feel uncomfortable about going to Latvian parties because I don’t drink and smoke and feel uneasy if someone is drinking near me. So, I don’t want to spoil the party. Some people, when they’re drunk, may not understand.” He also doesn’t appreciate that people smoke in public, ignoring the designated smoking areas. 

Studying in Latvia 

Jyothi studies at Riga Technical University (RTU) and is happy with the quality of the education and facilities. “Many people feel that RTU is tough because they don’t have a good background. In India, what I studied during my bachelors, I studied here during my masters. Here, the studies are more practical. In India, we give more importance to theoretical knowledge. But I also know that other Latvian universities have a more “relaxed” approach [than RTU],” he shares. 

For anyone coming to Latvia to study, Jyothi recommends joining the welcome tour that the university offers as an introduction to the campus and local culture. He regrets skipping it and missing out on valuable practical information. 

To Latvians he suggests tapping into empathy: “We’re far from our cultures and homes – everything is different. Treat foreigners like locals. Speak with us. Come to know us. Teach your children good things. We just came here to explore. Maybe one day you’ll need my help, and one day I’ll need yours. Who knows?” 

The post Moving to Latvia from India: Jyothi’s Story appeared first on Life in Riga.

Bankets 

The banketu zāle (function room) comes to the rescue when you need a bigger space than your living room to celebrate significant birthdays, anniversaries, christenings and such. It either comes with its own cook or welcomes external catering. 

The common bankets (buffet-type meal) is characterised by far too much food and the excessive use of animal products. Think mayo-drenched salads, five varieties of hot and cold meats, and cream-based dipping sauces for the few green veggies floating about. Galdi lūzt (literally – the tables are breaking) is a good expression to know. 

You usually arrange your own bar, music and decorations. The venue may come with extras like a game room or pirts (sauna). 

Pirts

The ultimate pirts experience is a body, mind and spirit cleansing ritual. While there is no one “right formula”, it will likely involve a gradual increase in heat, taking it slow, sipping herbal tea in between the sweat sessions, honey scrubs, jumping into a pond and being massaged with leafy “besoms” by a pirtnieks or master of the pirts ceremony. The more you give in to the experience, the more you get the magic. You may even be visited by the mythical pirts gariņš (sauna spirit).

However, today, for many, the pirts serves as an excuse or reason to party. Far from a spiritual gathering, it may involve alcohol, crisps and loud music, which a proper pirtnieks would never approve of.  

For my generation – millennials – the pirts holds memories of underage drinking, dancing to 50 Cent and navigating new social situations. Someone would hire a pirts or viesu nams (guest house), we’d all chip in to cover the rent and use it as a party venue. Thankfully, most people never actually used the pirts, just the hall next to it. 

Choose your own destiny! I’m all for the classic experience these days, which is best enjoyed in rural Latvia.   

The pirts also came up in previous posts – Is there a Latvian equivalent of hygge? and Boost your immune system the Latvian way.

Eating a karbonāde 

A must-eat. This legendary slab of battered chicken or pork is typically bigger than the size of your palm. Roadside pubs and places outside Latvia’s major cities are your best bet for getting the real deal. You may get lucky outside the centre in Riga. 

Useful phrases to know in regards to the karbonāde: 

Majonēzes restīte – mayonnaise lattice. Often decorates the top of the karbonāde. 

Vārīti-cepti kartupeļi – par-boiled roast potatoes. A popular side dish. 

Pusīte – a half-portion. 

The vegetarian alternative is usually cepts siers – a deep-fried battered chunk of cheese. In Riga, I’ve seen a vegan, soy-based version of the karbonāde at Kozy eats. 

The karbonāde is also on my list of Mouthwatering things to eat in Riga. 

Kapu svētki (cemetery fair or festival)

In Latvia, we take good care of our loved ones even after they’ve left this world. So much so that cemetery culture is part of Latvia’s Cultural Canon. And visiting our ancestors’ graves isn’t just an intimate family affair. Several times a year, people gather for bigger events like svecīšu vakars (candle evening) and kapu svētki. 

The kapu svētki is when relatives flock from near and far to commemorate the ones who have passed and be merry with the ones who live on. It’s not a sombre occasion. On the day, people tend to their family graves, attend a service and maybe have a drink and snack at the cemetery before a shared meal at the family home. The event may continue with a zaļumballe in the evening. 

I wrote more on the kapu svētki for 3SeasEurope.com. 

Zaļumballe

Like a one-day festival at the local estrāde (amphitheatre), the zaļumballe is an occasion for people to meet, mingle and let loose. For those who live in smaller towns or rural areas, it’s an alternative to the pubs and clubs of the city. Back in the day, it was a more glamorous affair with live music. Today, the live band may be replaced by a DJ and the typical repertoire will include schlager music. This is a legendary piece:

Here are a couple more to continue with: 

“Kaija” by Bruģis

“Balle Baložos” by Jātnieki 

For those who read Latvian, the Satori journal published a deeper overview of the zaļumballe tradition, its history and current state in Latvia.

If you do get the chance to dance at a zaļumballe, try not to get involved in any klopes (fights)! 

Talka 

When friends and family or colleagues get together for a spot of manual labour. It may involve picking potatoes, sourcing, chopping and sorting firewood or clearing out years of junk. Once the work is done, the food comes out, likely accompanied by beer or a little something stronger. By then you’ve earned it. This occasion blurs the line between work and play.

The talka came up in an earlier piece too – Where do Rigans go at the weekend?

Jāņi (Midsummer)

Another opportunity to leave the city (notice how Latvians seem to gravitate towards the countryside). This is a celebration in honour of the summer solstice and fertility. Many of the symbolic festive traditions are still alive today, like making floral wreaths, jumping over the bonfire, making and eating caraway cheese. 

While some may take it less seriously these days, Jāņi still manages to bring people together, no matter how authentically they choose to celebrate. 

Latvia.travel has published a handy article about Jāņi if you want to know more.  

Teātra apmeklējums (a theatre visit)

Latvians are a theatre-loving nation, and tickets to leading directors’ shows sell like hot cakes. Most people get at least a bit dressed up for the occasion. Before the show or during the interval, it’s common to stand in line to the theatre bar for a glass of Rīgas šampanietis (local bubbly), a shot of blackcurrant balsam, and a slice of cake, open sandwich or mini portion of salad. 

After the show, when the actors take a bow, you’ll see people rushing to the stage to give flowers to those they know or most admire. 

If you get the chance to see a show at Dailes teātris or Nacionālais teātris, the epic buildings alone attest to Latvians’ love for theatre. 

Pilsētas svētki (town fair)

When Latvia’s villages, towns and cities put on a show to celebrate their birthdays. Depending on the size of the place, it may involve a farmers and crafts market, performances by local dance and folklore troupes and choirs, pop-up food stalls and bars, evening concerts, sports competitions and parades. 

Zvejnieksvētki (Fishermen’s festival) 

A relative of the pilsētas svētki, the Zvejnieksvētki take place in coastal communities. At its heart, the event honours the sea that has sustained the communities and the fishermen who bring the catch to our tables. These days, it may go under the name of Jūras svētki (Sea festival). You’re sure to get a bowl of fish soup and fresh smoked fish if you want it. 

Lunch at an ēdnīca

When you don’t expect or need anything more than a calorie fix, the ēdnīca (canteen/cafeteria) delivers. It’s a no-frills dining establishment that most Latvians get to know at school. While some choose to leave it in the past in favour of the cafe or restaurant as they transition into adulthood, others remain loyal to the reliable, affordable and unpretentious ēdnīca.  

I have written a separate post on the joys of the ēdnīca. 

Imantdienas music festival

A musical celebration in honour of the legendary Latvian composer and political figure Imants Kalniņš. Every year since 1976, it gathers hordes of listeners and some of Latvia’s most legendary musicians. These days, the concert takes place on the open-air stage at the foot of Cēsis Castle – possibly one of the most scenic venues in Latvia (but I’m biased since my grandmother grew up in Cēsis, my dad now lives there and I’m a weekend resident). 

“The music of prolific composer Imants Kalniņš is definitely part of the cultural DNA of every Latvian. His are the kind of songs you’ll hear sung around campfires in the early hours of the morning, because the melodies are so well-known; sentimental without straying into the saccharine,” wrote my sister Liāna in a previous post – 18 iconic songs to help you understand Latvia and Latvians.

A concert by Prāta vētra 

You may love or hate them, but their sell-out shows suggest most people love them. Prāta vētra is the kind of band who can stop singing but the audience will just carry on for them.  

Two of their songs also appear in 18 iconic songs to help you understand Latvia and Latvians.

Dziesmu un deju svētki (Song and Dance Festival) 

Ideally, you’d want to take part in the grand finale concert at the Mežaparks Open-air stage, but there are a few prerequisites: 1) you either need to sing or dance well, 2) you must commit to an intense (!) schedule of rehearsals. For those of us not gifted or dedicated enough (yet), the ten-day festival has a whole host of ticketed and free events to attend. The parade is a must when the thousands of festival participants weave their way through the city in folk costumes and floral wreaths. 

The festival and particularly its closing concert have a cathartic and intensely unifying quality as you can see in the ecstatic, tear-filled faces in the video.

Lighting candles on 11th and laying flowers on 18th November

The week from 11 November to 18 November is Patriots’ Week in Latvia. On 11 November, people light candles in memory of and gratitude to the Latvian Freedom Fighters. In Riga, this happens at 11.novembra krastmala – the street between Riga Castle and the river Daugava. LSM has an article on the significance of the so-called Lāčplēsis Day.

18 November is the Independence Day of Latvia. On this day in 1918, Latvia became a republic. Today, one of the yearly rituals locals carry out is the laying of flowers at the foot of Brīvības piemineklis (the Freedom Monument) to thank those who fought for our independence and show our appreciation for today’s democracy. Other events on the day are the military parade, president’s speech and performances at the monument. 

This is a subjective list with a few contributions crowdsourced via Facebook. Thank you for your ideas! Have any true local experiences to add? Drop them in the comments section below along with your feelings about or memories of it!

The post 15 True Local Experiences To Make You Feel At Home In Latvia appeared first on Life in Riga.

How to prepare for a Latvian hospital stay

In case of planned treatment or an operation, your doctor should give you information on any tests you need to do before being admitted, such as full blood work, X-rays or Covid-19 swabs. You will likely get a printed list and it will probably be your own responsibility to book the necessary appointments. The doctor might have a scheduling assistant who contacts you about the exact date of your treatment. 

Foreign language skills aren’t a prerequisite for working at a Latvian hospital, so if you don’t speak Latvian, maybe try to learn some basics and make sure you have someone available to translate by phone.  

Develop your assertiveness! You may not always get an explanation until you ask or insist for one. This applies to tests, prescriptions and findings. One respondent, Līna, has some excellent recommendations based on the fact that “at the end of the day, we bear responsibility for ourselves and our children”:  

• Get a basic understanding of how to read your test results. You can usually request a digital copy sent straight to your email. 
• Ask and ask again. What treatment are you receiving? What meds are you being given? Why? If you’re not happy with something, say no or ask for another opinion. 

Observations from our time at hospitals in Latvia

Don’t expect much privacy unless you have a ward to yourself. Wards don’t normally have partitions between the beds. Staff may discuss your treatment while others are in the ward with you. Visiting hours can mean having to share a ward with other patients, as well as their guests. Not every ward has its own bathroom. I couldn’t lock the door to the toilet, which I shared with a corridor’s worth of women. While I understand it was for my own safety, it added awkwardness to an already mixed bag of emotions because, yes, someone did open the door on me.  

A schedule on the wall let me know to expect a daily 6 am body temperature check but nothing can prepare you for the moment. I was in a deep sleep when I woke up to someone leaning into me. I yelped and the nurse jumped, but it was a bonding moment. 

The staff may be tired, particularly if they are coming to the end of their shift. I chatted with a nursing assistant who came in for some fresh air when I’d opened the window in my ward. She has been working 24-hour shifts in a face mask for over two years. This can go a long way to explain lack of enthusiasm or initiative.   

Bedside manners are unpredictable. There is no “universal standard”, so you may be blown away by the degree of sympathy and understanding, left a bit disappointed by nonchalance or shaken by harshness. The latter does little to boost morale, encourage recovery or coping with bad news. While this article paints a largely positive picture, other stories reveal parallel realities. The Instagram account @my_first_year_too, for example, shone a light on less than respectful attitudes towards women giving birth at hospitals in Latvia and learning to be a mother. And Twitter is full of horror stories if you really must go there. 

Staff are so well-versed in the system that unusual situations may catch them off guard. One friend revealed that she got her period right before an operation, which caused confusion. And Līna mentioned that her daughter got given a drip because it’s protocol, even though in her case it clearly wasn’t making any difference.  

I have private health insurance through my employer, so I don’t always see my GP for a referral. If I know the specialist I need and am willing to pay a little extra, I make a direct appointment rather than getting a referral and waiting for the first available slot in the public healthcare system, which could be months away. However, if you have a referral from a private practitioner, you either have to continue going private or get a new referral from a public doctor. What makes it more confusing is that you can also pay your way at public hospitals as there are two parallel patient streams. 

The hospital may have a chaplain. I noticed a poster on my floor at the Pauls Stradiņš Clinical University Hospital. It is a free-of-charge service for people seeking someone neutral to talk to for company or support. 

The level of renovation varies not only from hospital to hospital but also between departments. A lot of money has gone into improving facilities in recent years. While many are far from “state-of-the-art”, they are functional and decently equipped. 

One mum shared her experience of accompanying her newborn at the hospital. Parents get actively involved in delivering the treatment, so she had to get up every three hours in the night to care for her baby, severely affecting her own ability to function properly. 

In case of epidemics or pandemics, which can happen at times like the flu season, visitors may not be allowed. Potentially, you can get things dropped off at the reception or nurses’ station of your department. 

Meals can be surprising but they are filling. Porridge is a breakfast classic but one friend got a portion of creamy crab salad to start the day one morning. Vegans should probably bring their own food. 

What to pack for a Latvian hospital stay

• Earplugs 
• Sleep mask 
• Slippers
• Comfy clothing, which you don’t have to remove for nurses to draw blood and take your temperature, e.g. a jumper with wide sleeves
• Food – fruit and snacks for extra vitamins and energy in between the three big meals of the day 
• Tea/coffee. You will likely have access to hot water 
• A mug
• A refillable water bottle
• Personal electronics. You should have at least one socket next to your bed 
• Hygiene products including toilet paper, which is not a given
• A towel

No two experiences will ever be quite the same, especially when it comes to something as personal as one’s health. This article is based on eight people’s accounts. Thank you to everyone who shared and to the medical caregivers for getting us back on our feet when we needed it. Good health to all! 

P.S. Header image (C) State Chancellery of Latvia via Flickr.

The post What To Expect From A Latvian Hospital Stay appeared first on Life in Riga.