I was surprised by the number of redheads that I have seen in Latvia, but I suppose that I should not have been. Redheads are actually originally from central Asia, if my memory serves correctly, and they fanned out in tribes back in the mists of time, settling in the Celtic lands that we (Americans) now associate with them like Scotland and Ireland. But apparently some of them got no farther than Russia and the Baltics, and some of them settled specifically in Daugavpils. Make no mistake: some redheads owe their hair color more to L'Oréal than to their genetics, particularly women of a certain age. But gingers are fairly common here nonetheless.
One of the pleasures of walking around Daugavpils -- well, any Latvian city, really -- is seeing young families out making the rounds. Daugavpils has a pedestrian mall, one of the first in the country, and it has been full of walkers at all hours, even in the cold and gray winter. Many of those walkers are families, all out together for their stroll. Latvian dads in particular are charged with walking the stroller that is occupied by a very bundled up little baby, sometimes so bundled up that she looks as if she is going to be mailed. If there are other children, they often join Mom, Dad, and Infant, and the whole family gets some public as well as private Family Time. I don't see families walking together in the United States very much. Truth be told, in many places it's hard to see walkers, period, in the States.
Fruit-flavored beers are sort of a thing in the ever-trendy United States, but Latvia has its own set of such beers, brewed by a little brewery called Lielvārdes. I am not particularly fond of fruit beers -- I think that fruit is one thing, beer is another, and just because you can combine the two doesn't mean that you should. But Lielvārdes makes a one beer infused with cherry and one with black currants. These don't sound as if they should work, but for some reason they do. In particular, the black currant beer is really nice. I can imagine drinking this in the heat of the summer. Not that it's especially light so much as it combines beer with dessert, and what could be better or more convenient than that?
I've noticed that when I go to the university pool that there is none of that "get into the slow/medium/fast lane" mentality that is everywhere in the United States. You get in the lane where there are not a lot of people, and whoever is in your lane sets your pace. If they are slow, you slow down with them, and why not? I suppose that swimmers do change lanes based on their speed as they need to, but I also notice that the pool is not a terribly competitive place, where everybody is watching a time clock (there is none) and trying to beat their own times. Swimmers here socialize, chatting at the end of the lanes when they're not swimming, which would drive achievement-obsessed Americans batty. Here swimming seems to be an actual leisure activity; you get in the pool, head into the sauna (wearing your little felt pirts hat), chat, get back in the pool, and repeat. Repeatedly. I don't mean to say that there are no serious swimmers. I do mean to say that here workouts seem to be organized around the idea that a workout should be a pleasure and not a grim battle that must be won at all costs.
I have an update on the whole spring/Easter swing thing that I wrote about a few posts back. The swing must be built by men before Easter and must be made beautiful. I assume that this means that it's supposed to be decorated, and it must be painted a cheerful color. It also matters where you set it: on a hill that has beautiful views is best. When the swing is ready, the builder and his wife swing in it first, and then they swing others in the swing, who give them knitted mittens, eggs, and beer for payment. (I like the beer part, though mittens knitted with traditional Latvian patterns are very nice too.) Then the men swing the women, and everybody sings folk songs, exchanges painted Easter eggs, and plays games.
What is this all about? As you might have guessed, it is of course it is a pagan practice: swinging attracts the harvest spirits. The higher you swing, the bigger the harvest will be and the higher the flax will grow. This explains how it got tied to Easter, which is a Christian appropriation of a spring fertility celebration. Also -- and this is nice piece of insurance -- swinging high will also protect you from mosquitoes and gadflies. So there you have it. A fertility rite and insect repellent, all in one. Thanks to Svetlana Jahimochiva, who is an endless fount of Latviana and who told me all this.
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