More Observations about Latvia

Latvia and Eastern/Baltic Europe is the world capital of floral-patterned sheer curtains. Not only do you see them in everybody’s windows, but there are more stores selling them than anywhere I have ever seen. I am sure that there is some deep meaning here about privacy for people who live in very, very close proximity to each other, but I don’t normally equate privacy with floral sheer curtains. Just saying.

It is also the world capital of pastries. The supermarkets, all of them, are loaded with pastries and cookies and baked sweets. The croissants are only okay; I suspect that if you want really good croissants, you should get a Fulbright in France. But the apple-filled pastries, whatever the heck they are, are wonderful. And that’s just for starters. There are four or five kind of prune-filled pastries, cinnamon pastries, little 4-inch pizzas (my advice: don’t bother), strudels, you name it. In the U.S., bulk items include things like laundry detergent. In Latvia, it includes primarily cookies.

Men’s footwear tends toward the practical – heavy brogues, hikers, anything that will get through the slush and ice. Women’s footwear tends toward the stylish – leather boots, often with heels (often with teetering high heels) that obviously get through the slush and ice too, but don’t make any concession to gravity, dull fashion, or common sense.

Generally, it’s a little hard to talk about fashion in such blustery, wintry weather, where everybody is bundled up. I have noticed, though, that I stand out with my bright red L.L. Bean jacket; men here wear a range of colors in their jackets, running the gamut from dark navy blue to jet black. I think I should just have “I am a foreigner” printed on the back of my jacket, but it’s probably not necessary. The one thing that I have noticed is that little children are so bundled up against the cold that they waddle like tiny penguins, sometimes bundled to the point that they are as wide as they are tall. As you probably guessed, children here are adorable, just like they are everywhere.

Little girls must have a warm hat with poms-poms on it. It is Key. Little boys must have Adidas warm-up pants. I’m so glad that I brought my pair so I will fit in. 

Latvian cats are just as self-possessed and aloof as American cats. There are a number of them wandering about my apartment complex all day, and they sit on top of snowbanks as if they are awaiting the next troika to take them to the Winter Palace so that they may dine on mackerel.

There has been only one day with sunshine since I have been here, and I was sick with a very sore throat so I couldn’t go out and enjoy it. Every day has been completely overcast with gray skies and low-hanging clouds. It’s like February in Maine, except a month early. The films of Ingmar Bergman and the symphonies of Jean Sibelius are making far more sense to me now.

Narvesen is the Latvian equivalent of 7-11. They are everywhere and have everything you could possibly want in a rush. If you need a coffee fix and don’t want to sit down for one and relax – a situation I understand but do not entirely approve of – Narvesen’s coffee is surprisingly good, given that it comes out a machine. But it’s a very sleek machine that lets you customize your coffee to a tee. You have something like twelve options. It’s like a complete Starbucks sitting on a counter.

Using the basic courtesies (“good day,” “thank you,” and so on) is harder in Daugavpils than I thought it would be because people speak mostly Russian, not Latvian. (Though a great number of them certainly do speak Latvian, it’s not their mother tongue.) So I’ve had to learn everything twice, and I keep getting my languages all mixed up. Latvian is the official language, of course. All signage must be in Latvian, so there’s this endless disconnect between what I’m reading on the signs in the supermarket and what I am hearing people speak all around me. That is, if I am hearing it right because I’m still not always sure if I’m hearing Latvian or Russian. (Or Polish, the language of my landlord.) I’ll have more to say about the complicated language politics here, but I can say that I’m starting to pick out the differences.

I bought myself an FM radio so my apartment wouldn’t be so quiet, without a TV or anything. Radio Latvija Klassika is the classical music channel on the government-funded radio network. It’s sort of fun to listen to music, have no idea what the piece is, hear it announced when it’s over, and still have no idea what it is. That said, the programming is diverse, sometimes to the point of weird. I would have never thought to follow a Schubert symphony with a jazz vocal ensemble singing songs from the early Disney animated movies, but someone at Radio Latvija sure did. When you listen, you just never know. I mean literally.