Last night we we enjoyed meeting three artists: Paul "Pezaloom" Berry, the director of Latrobe Art Gallery Mark Themann and Richard Tipping.
Meanwhile....some Angus cattle got out of their fields and were roaming the garden outside our window.
Went to a local Aussie rules football team. It is like a mix between rugby and basketball. Not knowing the rules was hard enough but both teams had black jerseys - one with vertical red and white stripes and the other with a diagonal red stripe. There was also a netball game for women going on - basketball with no dribbling and static shooting at baskets with no backboards. Once the shooter squares up the defender can only attempt to block without moving her feet. The tiny town of Cowwarr (between 100-300 depending who you believe) fields three footie teams and five netball teams. It is a big thing here.
Last night we we enjoyed meeting three artists: Paul "Pezaloom" Berry, the director of Latrobe Art Gallery Mark Themann and Richard Tipping. Meanwhile....some Angus cattle got out of their fields and were roaming the garden outside our window. Some inclement weather for a few days. Sun, Wind, Rain. Walked to the neighbors drive to buy some eggs from pasture free chickens. Unfortunately someone has been stealing eggs so the former system of leaving money in the cash box and taking the eggs has had to be be limited to only weekends when they are around to monitor. The fancy espresso maker in the main gallery is having some issues - walked in to quite a bit of water on the floor. Clive managed to brew a cup each but our coffee intake is threatened in the near future. We have Earl Gray but tea is a poor substitute for our morning fix. Met with the delightful Michèle Ripper who trained in London but fell in love with a local farmer so she runs a studio in neighboring Heyfield. We will teach a master class and create a collaborative work with her adult students. Carolyn has also arranged for us to meet with two local performance artists to explore potential projects. Paul drove the U-Haul out of Manhattan, Kansas on Friday, April 29. Kansas managed to send him off with a few tornado sirens that had him hunkering in the utility room of his third floor apartment the week prior to his departure. Other than catching a cold that was promptly given to Joséphine when he returned to Tallahassee, his three day trek to Florida was uneventful. Four days later, on May 5, we boarded a plane departing at 3:00 PM. The six-hour connecting flight in Charlotte was delayed 25 minutes, then we sat on the tarmac for another forty minutes with electrical issues. Arriving in LAX we were fortunately met by two representatives from Qantas who escorted us very briskly to the bus to the international terminal and then a very long walk to our boarding area. Without this escort there is no way we would have known how to stay inside the secured area and make it to our flight on time. The 15 hour Qantas flight was more comfortable than the LA flight. We arrived around 7:00 AM May 7 (we crossed the International Dateline) in Melbourne. Unfortunately our checked baggage didn’t. At ten we caught the two and a half hour train to Traralgon and caught the 45 minute bus to Cowwarr ten minutes later.
Last time we walk down past the Freedom Monument into Old Town. Last time we stop in to the little French bakery. Last time we shop at Prisma (Rimi will get some last minute shopping for a banana or other emergency food). Last time we see the students. Last time we watch the really bad TV channels that are in English. Last time…..
We’ve met with several of our colleagues: Ramona and Olga took us to a wine bar for some wine and nosh. Krzyzstof gave us the gift of performing Chopin on the out of tune piano at the Academy of Culture – it was very moving and thoughtful – we were in tears. Valda met us at the Academy of Music with her granddaughter, talked about possible future collaborations and presented us with special Lats coined with representations of important symbols and animals of Latvia. We accepted the students’ invitation and trekked to the Ala folk music club past our bedtime to sit with them for the last time. Had a lovely get-together with our landlady, Inga. Knowing that memory fades we took pictures of people and places, bought various souvenirs, in the hope that it lasts. Packing now – striving to just meet that 23kg/50lb limit – to the sound of rain. It has been raining for the past two weeks. The silver lining to that cloud is that it keeps the temperature down – highs in the mid-60s to low 70s. When we arrive in Pocatello it will be to high 80s to mid 90s. No gentle adjustment back to the high desert, just dump us back in. Sad to leave but it is time. We’ve taken advantage of the rain to update the website. We have added pictures into blog entries (Got back all the way to 5 May, still a few more to add) and documentation of our creative work here (as well as some we did in Finland). You can scroll down the blog to see the new slide shows. Here are the links for the creative work pages: Performances: · Stories from the Park · Grass is Green · Live: Global Corporeality Photo Essays: Riga 2014 Finland 2012
We arrived at Mežaparks early Saturday afternoon and, as we walked up the main, tree-lined thoroughfare of the park, were a bit concerned that we may have come too early. Finally we arrived at the tangential road/walkway that was designated for the Līgo festivities. Vendors booths were on one side; we saw some that had been in the Square the day before. Not as many food booths. Some wonderful color in the felt, sauna hat booth. Some great photos can be found here.
Intermittent rain created a choreography of umbrellas and ponchos being opened and closed throughout the afternoon. The World Beer Parade was a disappointment. Not only did it not live up to Homer Simpson level fantasies, it only featured two non-Latvian brewers and very few Latvian brewers. There was nothing being offered that can’t be easily found at the local grocery stores. A large performing area was being prepared for a large (paid admission) performance in the evening. A smaller stage in a field lined with tents offering free activities like flower/leaf wreath weaving featured various folk song and dance groups. We watched Tara Vrancei, a very skilled and well-trained folk dance and music ensemble from Romania. They presented an old agricultural custom connected with the harvest of winter wheat at the Summer Solstice. At the end members of the ensemble shared a round ring loaf of sweet bread with audience members. We had noticed a group of men in suits in ties in the center of the audience who looked like politicians and, sure enough, the two lead dancer/singers made a special trip with offerings of wheat sheaves and a ring of bread to these men who clearly fulfilling an official function and would rather be anywhere else but there. As we walked out of the park towards the trolley back home, we enjoyed watching a cotton candy vendor making huge balls of air and sugar on paper cones that dwarfed the children who gorged on them. As we watched a young boy came upon the scene and his ecstatic, visceral reaction to the confection was a joyful thing. We decided to go back in to catch a young Latvian music ensemble at the small stage and saw members of Tara Vrancei taking the long walk with their instruments and equipment back to their vehicles which provided us with a recognition of slogging through a festival after a performance from our days with Omulu Capoeira Group.
That was followed by Howl to electronic, pre-recorded music and then a “non-classical night club” in a basement, little theater which featured our favorite music of the night for live cellist and eight tracks of pre-recorded cello that had a definite post-minimalist flair. We enjoyed the evening and the opportunity to re-visit Cesis but it was good to really come back to Riga for our final three weeks of this Fulbright adventure. We missed the opening concerts of the A Time to Dance contemporary dance festival but attended two performances featuring student-choreographed works mentored by Jo. We also saw Hiroaki Umeda, a young Japanese solo artist performing a hip-hop/technology evening that excited many…..but left us a little cold.
The midsummer Ligo festival is coming up – apparently it is celebrated with zest in Lativia – looking forward to it.
While there are pubs and stores that feature huge varieties, they were the exception. However, it was common for convenience stores to carry ten or more different beers.
Most were classified as blondes or brunes (browns) and were between 4-6% alcohol though it was not difficult to find Abbey style, bigger beers. We only tasted one pils (it was in our gift basket) - it is a fairly popular style but not what we were looking for. Lambic, Oud Brune, Faro, Gueze and other sours were less available, though there was quite a bit of Kriek (most sweet like cherry soda though there were some that were nicely balanced with the sour). We saw some IPAs, a few stouts and porters and one Scottish-style (quite good). We found very few saisons though we did come across saison sold in six-packs of cans. There are a few microbreweries who are exploring new styles. Like the US, some are quite good but the most are rather run of the mill. Enjoyed some fairly spectacular lightning and thunder as we slept. Jo got up to watch the show. After charting out routes via Google Maps and Routenet Routeplanner, we decided to walk from our hotel to la Grand Place. We diligently made pdf copies of the various maps and close-up of maps and then hurriedly scrawled the directions onto a sheet of paper. Aside from the anxiety of trying to navigate without a good map through some less than upscale neighborhoods, we noted the accurate perception shared by nephew-in-law Dunstin that Brussels is a dirty city. There is trash almost everywhere. Can't really tell if this is due to lack of care by the residents or lack of city services to pick up the overflowing trash receptacles. There are also very clearly defined ethnic neighborhoods. Starting from our hotel we went through the Arab-Islamic, African, and then Chinese areas until we hit the more Euro-American tourist center. With the trash, general disorder in the traffic (which also translates to the way grocery stores are "organized"), make-shift retail kiosks, several (women mostly) in full-blown traditional costumes of various non-European regions, coffee houses that were clearly men's only establishments; some of the neighborhoods we were unclear what country, or even continent, we were in. The tour, even though self-guided, was wonderful. Unfortunately there wasn't much customer service during the tasting portion so we left with a sour taste, that wasn't attributable to the beer.
When it quieted down we continued on and came across many, many cars parked along the side of the road. Following that "Yellowstone instinct" that, if there are a bunch of cars pulled off the side of the road there must be something worth seeing, we pulled forward and, finding a legitimate parking spot, stopped, pulled out the ponchos and started walking in the direction that everyone else was walking.
House after house featured garage sales that were now completely flooded out. People were drinking beer and wine, having a very festive time. In spite of the rain pretty much ruining much of their merchandise, everyone seemed in good spirits. We kept walking past food booths and more yard sales. Finally we came upon the city centre of Céroux-Mousty, the "best city square" in Belgium filled with flea market type booths struggling to recover from the rain. Again, everyone seemed in good spirits. Walking through, we stopped for some frites - these were the best we have had yet with andelouse sauce instead of the most popular mayonnaise (now, as far as mayonnaise goes, we are not talking Kraft here, but some very nice, rich, fatty stuff) and enjoyed viewing the few carnival-type rides and games mixed with various booths hawking wares. One booth was selling oysters and wine - very tempted by that one. We sat outside of a restaurant on the edge of the square for a local biere and some people watching. Three men came up on bicycles, ordered and drank their beers and went on their way as we sat. The countryside is filled with bicyclists on the hilly, windy roads - this is, after all, the home country of Eddie Merckx. We drove on, attempting to find more sights featured on the guide (the square was actually featured but the event clearly was happenstance). We saw a beautiful building in the distance but, following the directions, were unable to actually locate it up close (reminds me of when P and I decided to camp and mountain bike in the forest directly near the Grand Canyon - we could not, despite our best efforts, find the Grand Canyon as we were riding our bikes on the many roads used by the forest service - it's kind of our mantra now "where's the grand canyon?"). Lots of pulling over on the side of the road to consult the maps yet again and try to find road markers that make sense - this country is a good argument for GPS systems. We did find the Butte du Lion commemorating the Battle of Waterloo (with the Battle of the Bulge in Bastogne and Battle at Waterloo, this small country has two of the most famous battle sites of all times.) Walking up we went past a restaurant named after Joséphine (Napoleon's wife, not mine). To walk up the monument a 7 euro ticket was required - needless to say, we walked back to the car. On to our next stay near Brussels. Some minor-ly tense navigation but, all in all, fairly easy. Though we are on a busy street, our accommodations are in the back and it is surprisingly insulated. Walked to a nearby shopping center at around 18:00 to pick up some groceries and was surprised to find that everything, except a hamburger joint, was closed. Annoying but, in some way refreshing that the Belgians don't keep everything open 24/7. We have loosely planned our outings for tomorrow. Of course, P has all the beer pubs we need to visit mapped out. It works pretty well with the whole day: bus/metro to city center; walk around; museums (the ancients, old primitives, moderns and fin de siécle are on our list); parks; square. Still haven't found a fromagerie, but am hopeful for tomorrow as way back when I graduated from high school, I took one of those whirlwind three week tours of Europe: that was one of my most memorable memories...visiting a fromagerie off of the Great Place in Brussels. After familiarizing ourselves with our route (still need to get some maps), we will rent bikes for our return. Easy to do, credit card operated-kind of deals: rent a bike, go to your destination, drop it off at one of the many automated kiosk bike exchanges. Mkay. Projecting too much about what MIGHT happen tomorrow, so best to call it a night. Hugs. Sadly we had to leave the wonderful accommodations at Celinie's and move on to our next stay near Arlon in the Luxembourg district of Belgium. Jo identified a nice mid-sized, two-lane highway that required a minimum amount of navigation through small towns, round-a-bouts and unmarked byways that have proven to be incredibly frustrating (Ben, Celinie's husband noted that navigation is difficult even for native Belgians). On a whim we pulled off in a designated walk/bike/horse way to take a stroll along a brook under the shade of trees and have a picnic of bread, cheese and hard boiled eggs (we also enjoyed a bottle of brett sour beer. We were a little concerned about our next b&b as the hostess had not written to confirm our stay nor to give us directions until after Jo found her email address and wrote to her which we then we got a confirmation for only one night rather than the full three nights we had reserved. Eventually we got that settled and we wrote it off as a minor SNAFU. Check-in was normally scheduled after 6:00 PM but our hostess said that she had to pick up her son, feed him and then take him to an afterschool activity so there was a window of opportunity between 3:00-3:30. We arrived around 3:20, were told that we had no access to any public areas and were shown to our room: a small, sterile room with a view of the driveway and the street that seemed more like a child's room or a rather depressing college dorm room - this wasn't pictured on the website that advertised the place. There were no drapes to provide any privacy from street-level gawkers - we were told to shut the mechanical, metal louvers which locked-down to create and even more oppressive, claustrophobic experience. It appeared to us that the hostess had overlooked our reservation and set us up into an unplanned, overflow room. As we had no welcome access to the kitchen, we timidly asked if we could put our perishables in the refrigerator for the days we would be lodging. Stephanie, our hostess, was amenable to our request but somehow we felt guilty for asking. After the hostess left with her child a quick exploration of the shared bathroom facilities revealed that they weren't thoroughly clean. A damp washrag was in the half bath, and the upstairs bathroom with shower (accessed by climbing an unfinished concrete stairway with a makeshift, flimsy railing) had several personal toiletries lining the counter next to the sink. Depressed at having to pay to stay in this less than optimal setting with hosts that had made no effort to make us feel welcome, we started researching alternative housing. When we were aware that our hostess was in the house around 5:00, we timidly knocked on the living room door and requested to talk with her. She told us she was seeing a patient (apparently she is a physiotherapist) and could possibly speak to us at 6:15. When we finally were able to speak with her about 6:25, we told her that we were very unhappy and wanted to find alternative housing. She was shocked as, "no one has ever been dissatisfied before", but she agreed to our proposal that we would pay and stay one night and leave the next night but, if we couldn't find anything, we would stay the full three nights originally contracted. Satisfied by our mutually amicable agreement, we left in search of an eaterie for dinner. Have we said how much we do not look forward to exploring with the car in larger towns? The autres directions or "rings" are damned annoying. There is never enough time to read the signs while coordinating with maps or memory. Although we have learned to just keep going around until we figure it out, it still causes us to bark at each other. Regardless, Jo sited a tavern on a corner as we were approaching the city center. The problem, however, was to navigate the city center before we could figure out how to (re)find the cool little tavern Jo spotted. Totally turned around, we found ourselves outside the city centre once again. Deciding upon retracing our first route in, we noticed a Best Western off to the right, thinking if worse comes to worse, we will just stay the night there. At any rate, after some navigation, Jo directed us to the tavern on the corner. Long story short, great meal (gawd, the butter), great beers - 2 hours later we head back to our cell. We arrive jovial and full to be met by the quite agitated HUSBAND. Merde. The entire exchange was incredibly undignified by our Belgium hosts (more details will be available on our review of the guest house). Stephanie, the wife and hostess, had backpedalled on her previous agreement with us and now the husband wanted us to pay, pay, pay. Wife then decided that "why wait"; if we were going to leave then leave NOW; at 10:15 at night; in a foreign country with no place to go. Believe it or not, despite all this, neither Jo nor I swore (although Jo repeatedly stated Shame on You!!! This is wrong and unethical. You are bad people.) FORTUNATELY, we knew where the Best Western was. Off we go. Spent another couple of hours that night into morning and the next morning attempting to find a place to stay for the weekend. Many phone calls with the booking service, booking.com - they were great, by the way - dealing with stupid accusations like "no shows" and "stealing towels". After spending the entire morning using up our limited international sims card (but Best Western did offer a very impressive breakfast buffet), we finally booked a room 20 km south of Brussels. Of course, there is much more detail to this than space permits...
Came down the hill, got turned around several times driving through little villages and roundabouts (love the bright colors the Luxembourgians paint their houses) and managed to find a four lane highway headed pretty much directly to our next stay. We drove right past Bastogne - thought a minute about stopping to touring the war museum but decided to just get to the next place.
Arrived in Gerin yesterday after an adventurous road trip through Belgium to the South Eastern Namur district in the Meuse Valley bordering the Ardennes at our lovely studio hosted at Celinie's Guest House. About our drive: As Paul noted earlier, Belgium is quite dense and signs not well posted. We have learned that it is better to continue to drive around a roundabout until you can figure out which road to take toward your destination. On a much larger scale are "rings", basically of which are roundabouts that encircle the city center. Leaving our West Flanders farm stay in Waterland-Oudeman, we decided to by pass Ghent in the attempt to avoid traffic. Of course, we did not heed our new-found knowledge to stick to the "ring" and instead ended up somewhere in the city center. Without GPS or even the dashboard console indicating directions (it's been raining so we can't always determine the placement of the sun), we are at the mercy of our gut instinct (or gravity, whichever it may be). Basically the attempt is to shoot the car in a forward direction- not always possible because old city centers are not on a grid - the thinking being, of course, that eventually we would shoot out the other end. Somehow we found one of the routes out and off we go.
and a tasting. The Norbertine order (called Canons as opposed to Benedictine monks) still has interests in the brewery but it is now run by the mega-corporation InBev....sigh.
We headed back across the river to a small produce market with some wonderful vegetables (we made a pasta dish with yummy white asparagas, zucchini, onion and garlic) and then to a supermarket to scope out local biers (the two local microbreweries are only open for tours on the weekend, after we have moved on). Back to our apartment, a yummy meal and some delicious Belgium beers. The rain has picked up again so we won't take an evening constitutional. The next rainy morning we took a fair amount of time researching local hikes to take. It is a little harder when little is written in English and Jo's French classes were over thirty years ago (Paul took French for about a month when he was 12). Typing in phrases from brochures (not available online) into Google Translate is a bit laborious. After quite some staring at maps/brochures/websites, we had a general plan of action. Our first stop was only a few kilometers away near Falaën for a little walk that started at a wayside shrine (complete with pictures from Lourdes), around and through the town past an old chateau of someone who obviously controlled the entire area sometime a few centuries ago and past a century that, though appearing to be very old didn't have any gravesites from prior to WWI. Then we drove a few more kilometers to Sosoye to try to find another marked hike. Driving up a rather rugged gravel road with a low-clearance rental car we decided to turn around and head to Maredsous Abbey. We parked in one of five parking lots (none were full as the season doesn't start till July) and walked about trying to read the signs in Dutch and French ("Welcome to Maredsous Abbey" was the only English we saw). It seemed a bit like the Disneyland of religious orders. There was a very large complex with a college, church, art studio, monastery and guest center. The only things open to the public were the cathedral and guest center. Bilingual tours were available for a fee but English wasn't one of the linguas so we wandered around a bit and went into the church which featured several wonderful modernist devotional paintings. A monk or three was working on the organ repertory which added to the atmosphere. Then up to Le centre d’accueil St Joseph - many tables for eating, two cafeterias, a gift shop, a media center and, of course, registration to sign up (and pay for) guided tours. We ordered samples of cheese, sausage and beer. The young woman plopped down a small bit of sausage on a napkin, poured two beers into chipped ceramic mugs (all other times we've experienced beers poured into special glasses designed for each beer), and a slab of cheese was undecoriously handed to us on a thin, small "cutting board" with a plastic knife and four toothpicks stuck in it. So much for the celebration of the Lord's work in the gustatory plane! The sausage and cheese were quite good in spite of the callous disregard for the food and guests demonstrated by the server, and Maredsous is a fine beer, but we left totally unsated; definitely not moved by the holy spirit of biere. We drove off in search of a proper pub for lunch and a respectfully served beer. Driving along a river we spied castle ruins and climbed long stairs up a hill to an old railroad bed that is used for railbikes. A little further drive we stopped in Anhée at Le Grand Cafe which, it turns out, only serves great beer but we were directed to a nearby pâtisserie for a very large half-baguette ham and cheese sandwich. We also picked up a yummy creme-filled cornet. Back to the "cafe" for a couple of beers (the bartender tried his best in French to discourage Paul from ordering a cherry-flavored Kriek as it is seen as more of a women's drink). Back into Dinant for a trip to the grocery store for supplies; complete with a nice moment where a French-speaking man demonstrated the bread-slicing machine for us so we didn't slice off our fingers. The weather was wet the whole time we were here and we were too early in the season for some of the more interesting exhibitions but we really enjoyed our apartment, it is beautiful here and quite relaxed. We took advantage of an AirBaltic sale and purchased round-trip tickets to travel out of Latvia after our teaching/choreography commitments were fulfilled. It was a limited time offer over Easter week so we had to hurry up and commit so we opted to explore the "Disneyland of Beer". Air Baltic has strict limits to one small carry-on piece of luggage so we spent quite a bit of time paring down what we would bring (now that we are here, we wish we hadn't been so spartan in our packing). Landed in Brussels and picked up our small Citroen at the rental place. Onto the Brussels "ring" outside the city and then onto the E 40 towards Ghent........except I was in the wrong lane and missed my turn-off. Not sure of what to do (the inset map of Brussels on the Belgium map is not very detailed) we took an exit to E 40 that took us directly into the city center. An hour and a half later we finally were headed off in the right direction on a busy highway. Our first impression of Belgium is that it is densely populated. Traffic on the major highways are a bit harried. Based upon our experience in Brussels, we decided to bypass the city center of Ghent and, instead, went to the small town of Zelzate and stopped at a local pub for lunch. Unlike Latvia, the menus are only in one language (Dutch in the West Flemish region) and the town is not a major tourist destination so we struggled with the one waiter who had some English to discern what we were going to order. We settled for Monsieur and Madame croque - Ham and Cheese toasted sandwiches, the latter was topped with a fried egg. Of course we each sampled a local beer that isn't available in our area (we are striving to stay away from those that we know). Lunch was not a great introduction to Belgium cuisine, but the beers were quite nice. Jo suggested I take notes, I wish I had as I can't remember what it was we had. We stopped at a local grocery market to buy water (getting through security at the Riga airport was slow so we had to run to the gate without filling our water bottles - and Air Baltic charges for everything) and I was stopped by the variety of Belgium beers that were available for cheap (1.50-2.00 euro for .25/.33 liter bottles).
roosters, mourning doves and asserted chirps from additional birds. Marijke is very helpful, providing hints and suggestions of how best to enjoy the area as tourists. Our one complaint is that the apartment we are in is permeated by the cigarette smoke of a three month winter residency by a German national who, not only ignored the no smoking signage but actively worked to hide his violation. We borrowed our hosts' electrically assisted bicycles for a ride to the same cafe we stopped for directions for dinner and, used to Riga prices (specifically lunch special prices), we had a bit of a sticker shock. Looking for lower prices Jo settled for some odd fish croquette dish and I ordered a meat dish - which turned out to be an all you can eat ribs thing - neither were very good. Oh....and fries. It seems that Belgium's national dish (at least in the Flemish region) are frites which are served with nearly everything. With a very (un)healthy dollop of good mayonnaise. There are friteries with mounds and mounds of fries dumped above the deep fat fryer, just waiting to be browned and served. There is even a Friet Museum in Bruges. Truth be told though, we weren't that thrilled and would have preferred a bit more salad fixings with our meals. Looking to supplement our diet with some raw vegetables, we asked Marijke about grocery markets. Unfortunately for us, rural Belgium hasn't embraced the 24 hour supermarket model. Stores were closed on Sunday and, in one small town the only grocery store was closed for lunch on Monday when we arrived.
stairs of the Basilica of the Holy Blood for an opportunity to view this relic purported to be the blood of Jesus brought back from the Crusades. On the way up the stairs I picked up a flyer advertising the downloadable app IHolyBlood When we arrived at the door to the church we were disappointed, and a little pleased, to hear that the venerations of the relic were postponed for about twenty minutes to allow for celebration of the Mass.
For lunch we decided to skip the Belgium waffle vendors and, not knowing the ever present servings of frites, got a large portion of fried potato at a popular friterie. After exploring the various sites we went to t Brugs Beertje a wonderful little beer pub featuring nearly 300 different brews from various regions of Belgium. For beer hunters like us this is the way pubs should be: all about the beer. Locals lined the small bar and there were only a few tourists amongst those filling the tiny tables crammed into the small space - perhaps seating as many as 35. As we hadn't been able to pick up groceries (there was a market we passed in Bruges that was open in the morning but, by three in the afternoon was shut for Sunday afternoon/evening) our hostess went to a local restaurant to pick up fish pots baked in large clam shells for herself and us. Not the specialty eel dishes but only half the price. And, of course, our dinner included mounds and mounds of frites. Our last day in the village of Waterland-Oudeman we borrowed the bikes again and pedaled into Holland on bicycle trails that seem to line every major road up to the sea. We also took very small, tree-lined roads that seem to be remnants of an ancient time. Dikes surround the lower fields. Flax is an important crop here and the blue flowered fields accented by bright red poppies along the ditches were quite lovely. We went to the Globe to Globe production of Hamlet last night. Aside from a semi-professional production over thirty years ago with one star actor playing the lead amongst locals of various skill and experiences by the Berkeley Rep, this was the first professional production of tragic Shakespeare (I have seen more than a few Shakespeare in the Park “professional” companies doing the requisite Twelve Night and/or Midsummer’s Night Dream). The Globe to Globe was definitely the first internationally touring company I’ve seen taking on the Bard.
Most previous incarnations of Shakespeare I've witnessed have featured college actors. I gotta say, it does make a difference when the actors actually know what the words mean and have skills in vocal delivery. I didn’t experience that usual first third of amateur productions struggling to try to slip into the Shakespearian language and begin to understand what was going on. I got it right away. Of course, that has to have been affected by my recent work with Rue for Ophelia which required a corporalized understanding of the text, but I’m content to conclude that better actors does equate to better experience. After we walked kitty-corner to the Dailes teātris (The walk light on some of the busier streets goes in both directions at the same time so diagonal crossings are allowed), we explored a bit, discovering a fairly full sized restaurant/bar on the first floor and a more accustom-sized refreshment/wine bar up. The “balcony” lobby featured an exhibition of gorgeous wall hangings that looked like elaborated, bas-relief costume renderings for specific female characters created entirely out of fabric. There were also three garment/sculptures made from sewing together individual half inch tubes of different fabric – incredible. We entered the theater – the “balcony” is just an extension of the lower house separated by an aisle. We had seats in the middle of the second row above the aisle. While we really appreciated that the house had enough rake to prevent looking around the head of the person in front of you (perhaps taking into account all those tall Latvians) the second tier of seats had no center aisle, providing egress to a row of thirty seats only from either end. I am reminded of a Bugs Bunny cartoon where he says, “excuse me, pardon me, excuse me, pardon me” as he climbs into and out of his middle seats. The woman next to us complained about the lack of comfort of the seating though they were better than in other Latvian theaters and better than coach seats on international flights. We were a little annoyed that we had not bought tickets as soon as they were released as the "cheap seats" were not far away from ours which cost more than double in price. The players started meandering out onto stage, putting on costume pieces, picking up violins, accordion, various percussion instruments, waving at individuals in the crowd – your basic formulaic postdramatic, “we’re just regular folks here” preshow stuff – then they played, sang and danced a sea chantey, spoke a few words in Latvian which got the crowd roaring, introduced themselves, gave the basic “turn off your cell phones” line (which at least one person neglected to do as their phone went off very loudly and for a long duration), and then started the play. The set was simple – two pieces of fabric on frames right and left with a fabric curtain strung on a wire between them with a long fabric covered frame to create the upstage wall – and quite effective for a small touring company. Musicians sat upstage making eerie music by bowing cymbals for the entrance of the ghost of Hamlet’s father – live music was featured throughout by a musician, two musician/actors, and the rest actor/musicians. Pacing was good, scenes moved right from one to the other. With a 15 minute intermission the whole show ran 3 hours (without pruning too much of the text). During Ophelia’s first three monologues I found that I was crying – working with Julie Leir-VanSickle and Bridget Close to create Rue for Ophelia has left me pretty much a complete sucker for the character’s plight. Unfortunately, the actress rushed through the insane flower monologue as though she didn’t know how to deal with it and just wanted to get it over – I have to admit I much prefer how Julie and Bridget tackled it. Gretchen’s discussion of Olivia’s death was a bit too competent news reporting for my taste. I was with the Hamlet actor up till the “To be, or not to be” soliloquy which he competently delivered as though it was some sort of philosophical musing without providing any indication that his character actually was considering the efficacy of suicide. Likewise, the King’s prayer scene didn’t demonstrate anything closely resembling an actual fear of God. I did especially enjoy Polonius’ early comedic scenes but felt the same actor double cast as the grave digger wasn’t honest in his portrayal – verging into caricature. All of the actors, save Gretchen and Hamlet, pulled double and triple duties and were, with the exception of Ophelia, less successful at creating fully realized individuals. The final death and dying and dying and dying scene coupled with Fortinbras and the Norwegian army coming in really seemed a bit absurd – and while I fault the actors for not giving me any one that I really cared about, or fully believed emotionally after Pelonius and his daughter died – it also is a huge problem with the script itself. It is like Shakespeare didn’t really know what to do once Hamlet killed Pelonius so he brought in all of these deus ex machina plot twists thinking that the rubes in the audience won’t notice as long as he keeps his rhyming scheme in meter. And, as a contemporary artist, I’m left thinking about the whole idea of performing/producing classical theatre and what that means. I found myself acting like an opera/balletomane who compares one diva’s performance to another one remembered from the past – examining the performance almost as a competitive sport rather than a ritual/theatrical event that, supposedly, is meant to provide catharsis. At the end of the show the cast assembled while playing instruments and singing, with "Ophelia" signaling to each of the "dead" actors to get up and join for a rousing song and dance for their bow - a contrived bow that ensures large ovations I have seen at almost everything I have seen here in Riga. Too be fair, at least they opened the first act and after the intermission with songs so there was some continuity, but I have seen this little trick so many times I'm really getting annoyed with it. We flew back to Iowa for my mother’s memorial service. Packed our bags with winter wear to mail to Idaho and boarded the plane to Paris. Noted the numerous small towns with old churches surrounded by a patchwork of irregular geometric shapes of differently colored crops as we landed. (Un)fortunately we had a very short layover so, though I now can say I’ve been to Paris, I’ve never been in Paris.
As we waited at the gate we noticed the number of people speaking (and looking) American. As we were flying to Atlanta, a good number of these weren’t just talking American, they were “talking relaxed” as my niece and sister say of the Southern drawl. Dread. We are not ready to return to the US just yet. The flight to Des Moines arrived slightly early and, as we hadn’t slept on the daylight flight across the ocean, instead opting to watch three rather lame movies, we were looking forward to quickly renting our car and finishing the trek and getting to sleep. As we neared the row of car rental booths I noted three policemen surrounding two customers of Dollar Car Rental who were obviously upset about their (lack of) service. I was informed rather curtly that, since I had input 10:30 PM instead of 9:30 on my online rental request we were going to have wait until the appointed time as our car was not scheduled to be returned until 10:05 PM. Seriously jetlagged and angry at myself for making such a stupid mistake, I stormed off. Jo went to the booth immediately afterwards to receive clarification from the gum-chewing, sweatpant clad clerk. A brief exploration of other car rental booths proved nonproductive as all of them were running short on vehicles. We settled in to the chairs 20 feet away, directly opposite the Dollar counter. During the hour wait we saw several upset customers who had been rudely told that there were no cars available. One elderly man came in and complained that his car was unsafe. The clerk, after tersely telling him to bring it back in the morning, walked off and left him for about ten minutes only to repeat herself in even less polite terms. Frustrated, he walked out the door. About fifteen minutes later, we saw the same scene play out with the man’s wife pleading to the unhelpful clerk. About ten o’clock, I got up to begin a casual walk towards the counter. I thought the clerk noticed me as she walked over to the Hertz counter where she sat and talked to her counterpart for about ten minutes. When she finally ambled back she responded to my query as to whether the car had been returned that I could return in the morning as there were no cars available. I asked whether the car had or had not been returned and she blurted out that she hadn’t given my car away. I pressed further and then she told me that she gave the car away to Hertz to give to one of the premium customers because I hadn’t said that I wanted to wait for the car when I asked about it an hour earlier. I kept pressing her about not honoring our reservation and, after both of us got a little louder in our responses, she threatened to call the police. Jo came up and the clerk was belligerent, refusing to answer any of her questions and then telling us that if we didn’t leave the police would escort us out of the building. A cop did come up and he shared our disbelief that the clerk would do this to us, asking her if there wasn’t anything possible that could be done to help us. Finally we went to a courtesy phone to arrange for a stay at the airport Holiday Inn (there are no payphones to be found in the airport, only “courtesy” phones). The next day we finally got a vehicle rented at 10:30 AM – a full 12 hours later than our reservation – neither the night nor the day clerk were able to contact the manager who we were assured by the national call center had to be on the premises at all times. A few days later, in a very slight rain, I had to slow to 45 miles per hour due to severe hydroplaning. The front tires were totally worn out – the driver’s side tire was bald with wire from the steel belt sticking through. Fortunately our call to Dollar’s roadside assistance was heard and we were delivered a replacement vehicle (though we missed lunch waiting two, instead of the promised one hour for delivery). As it was graduation weekend the hotels were all booked. Fortunately my cousin Beth (Lyon) and her husband Don Williams graciously offered to let us stay in their house in Nevada (the second syllable is pronounced with a long A sound like “bay”) Iowa just ten miles outside of Ames. Beth was part of the older group of cousins so I didn’t hang out with her when I was young and she moved away as I became a young adult. Then I moved away before the Williams moved back to Iowa so we didn’t really know each other. This was a nice opportunity to get to (re)meet and get to know my cousin and her husband of few words (it is said that Beth has to talk twice as much to make up for Don’s quietness). My mother’s quality of life had degraded severely over the past eight years; her death was expected and seen as a welcome relief for her and for the extreme strain as caregiver that my father lovingly endured. As such I was expecting that the services would honor her life while providing friends and family and opportunity to reconnect. I had not considered the deep power of ritual and its emotional impact. I was surprised to find myself crying at the end of the first night’s prayer vigil. The eulogies presented by niece Laurel and brother Gary reference who Jean Zmolek was, not how she was at the end, something I had not allowed myself to do until hearing their words. The procession into church with Gloria carrying mom’s ashes followed by immediate family accompanied by “Amazing Grace” prompted Joséphine to whisper, “now I’m going to cry”. My father has sung that song at multiple friends funerals over the years and so it has even more meaning. The program didn’t specify that Dad was to sing “How Great Thou Art” as a solo. I misinterpreted his confusion when he was trying to sing the second verse while the congregation sang the chorus as a sign of his emotions, which immediately chocked me up. When we reached the final chorus he emphatically address the crowd with broad gestures which made me proud. I heard his brother Leon say, “good for you, Bill”. I noted what an old pro he is…..and a bit of a ham as well. The internment of the ashes was held the following day at the Tama/Toledo cemetery. As there were, thankfully, no Catholic clerics to officiate (the priest’s homily the previous day had gone into a pedantic lecture on the three Greek words we interpret as the word “love”, only briefly leaving his ideological speech for a few minutes to even mention my Mother, something that even the most devoted Catholics ridiculed afterwards), John had googled a ceremony that he adapted for the family. I, as the youngest, was given the honor of lowering the box of ashes into the three feet deep and narrow hole while Steve, the eldest, read a prayer he had written. Carefully, lest the box slip and fall askew, I laid down on the ground to place her remains at rest then remained with my hand placed atop the box for several moments. My entire career as choreographer, director, dancer has been focused upon the creation of, and participation in, rituals to effect personal transformation; this was one of the most powerful rituals I have ever experienced. To make our flight a little less costly, we didn’t leave for two more days. We enjoyed getting together with my old “home boys” Tom Moldenhauer, Dennis Sweeney, and Cleve Redmond as well as getting to know Lisa, Cleve’s significant other, in their new home (Lisa was a little wary of me as the last time I got together with Cleve, he and I overindulged in sampling each of his many whiskeys in his collection). We also were able to have Dad all to ourselves. Jo noted that he seemed more relaxed then she ever remembered. It was, as he said, “a good visit” that we all enjoyed. The flight back home included a rather hurried transition in Detroit to the international flight but, as it was night, we were both able to get some sleep (in spite of the cramped, crowded craft). We had a seven hour layover in Amsterdam so we took a train into the city centre and enjoyed walking amongst the many canals. When were met at the gate in Riga our wonderful landlady Inga said “welcome home” – and it is true – Riga is home. I was a little saddened to realize that we only have six more weeks here. The next day Jo’s computer crashed. Self-diagnosis didn’t prove fruitful so we found an Apple repair place that spoke English and walked over to the industrial side of the city to have it diagnosed. After a few minutes, the technician shared the good news that it was only a faulty cable, not the hard drive. He then shared the better news that they had the cable in stock and the best news that he could repair it right then. A few minutes after 18:00 (they kept the shop open ten minutes after closing), we boarded a tram and decided to stop for a beer in our favorite pub in Old Town to celebrate our good fortune. The pub was packed to watch the Latvia – US hockey game. The final moments were exciting with it going from 3-3 to Latvia leading 4-3, tied again, and then Latvia scoring two more goals to win 6-4. Hockey is big in Latvia, these were serious fans, wearing official team jersey and scarves. With each Latvian goal the pub exploded, high fives all around, chanting songs and pounding on the bar (the taps opened due to the vibration and started pouring beer as the bartenders scampered to stop the waste). The final two goals had fans dancing on their stools and on the bar, two of the most rabid fans whipped off their shirts to expose their flabby flesh in jubilation after the result was final. All of this made us smile, even though the more rabid fans were almost scary in their nationalistic fervor – much of the violence in Ukraine has been attributed to members of football clubs – as Latvia has very little tendency towards militarism we can see this as endearing rather than threatening.
Walking through the park we saw several crafts booths set up for the children. We were quite taken by the creation of rough-hewn animals by wrapping and shaping handfuls of straw. One booth allowed the children to contribute to a “mural” by painting color onto two oversized canvases that had the roofline of Old Riga drawn in black paint. A little further on, children tested their lung power by trying to power a ball as far as possible with a single breath along an elevated track.
It was close to two so we sought out a French bakery that had been recommended to us for its sandwiches and soups. Their logo feature a cartoon frog with a chef’s hat. Paul had a salmon quiche and Jo had onion soup with croutons and cheese. We also shared a large cinnamon filled pastry with our coffees. Jo has declared the bakery her newest favorite bakery in Riga (there are several that are quite good – something we definitely will miss).
Then quickly off to St. Peters Cathedral for another vocal concert. This one was far better attended and all the seats were taken with several layers of standees in the back. The cathedral has a massive wooden altar piece with ascending crucifixes with the high arched brick walls. But, since we had just experienced a concert of OK musicians performing sentimental, wet songs that included the word “Latvia” several times (patriotic songs seem to be either militaristic pomp or sentimental sap, and Lativa’s history includes very few, if any, successful military adventures to celebrate so it was predominately the latter), we decided to leave after the first few songs.
We walked back past the Freedom Monument to get close to the now very full flower map. Back through Vērmanes park we stopped for awhile to listen to some very skilled Lativan pop musicians. Though they were clearly skilled the songs were not rhythmically sophisticated so, while we appreciated the band, we didn’t really get all that excited about their repertory. We enjoyed watching the several chess games (some speed chess, some more traditional versions) played by older men on the benches in the rear of the arena’s “house”.
1 May is a national holiday in Latvia, both the day of election of the Constitutional Assembly of the Republic of Latvia, on which the Satversme, or constitution, of Latvia was ratified and, as is true in much of the world, Labor Day. Of course, the US celebrates Labor Day on a different date than the date chosen to commemorate the Haymarket Affair , which occurred in Chicago on May 4. I guess you have to leave the country to celebrate US Labor history.
We started the day with a self-guided tour through The Corner House as the notorious KGB building was known. As the joke from Soviets times states, the highest building in Riga must be The Corner House because you can see Siberia from the sixth floor. Already emotionally affected by the information and documentation provided in the tour, I stood behind an elderly woman who, with tears, kissed flowers and placed them at the door of the room where the Cheka executed suspected counter-revolutionaries. We decided to forego the extended, additional tours till the next day. We had zipped the linings out of our rain coats before we left and decided that we should return to the apartment to put on some warmer clothes. On the way back we stopped at a restaurant specializing in Czech food and beer. Though the beer selection was far too limited, Jo had a lovely vegetable soup with a cheese base served in a bread bowl (the bread was very tasty) and Paul had a ham in mustard sauce hot pot. Completely sated and with proper clothing against the weather, we walked towards Old Riga and were drawn by music playing in a park on a steel pipe stage specially constructed for Riga 2014. We very much enjoyed listening to about five songs by ElektroFolk. Jo was busily snapping photos of the crowd who responded with smiles – except for the small, elderly woman who raised her cane rather menacingly towards Paul. We walked through the various booths for children to build and race miniature sail boats, model in clay and walk off waving small plastic Latvian flags. Seeing the Corner House exhibit, followed by a celebration of the nascent nation’s Constitution provided a deep affection for the country. We walked through the food booths, stopping for free samples. There were three booths doing wine tastings of various fruit wines. Abavas was exceptional, we enjoyed each of the wines being poured – something that never happens when sampling vintners’ wares. We bought a bottles of the sparkling rhubarb and the black currant wines. We decided to go to S. Brevinga Alus un Viskija Bārs to indulge in one of the many, many single malts during their happy hour. After patiently waiting ten minutes until the appointed time of discounts, Paul ordered an exceptional Japanese single malt, Nikka from the Barrel and Jo ordered Connemara 12 year old Cask strength, a peated Irish single malt. As it took the bartender quite a bit of effort to locate the chosen libations amongst the wall of whisky bottles, it was clear that these were rare choices. Oddly, though the Connemara was lighter in color and a lower percentage alcohol, the Nikka was smoother and sweeter – both benefited greatly by adding a splash of water. We also enjoyed a couple of Latvian beers. The evening was a bit dampened when we got the bill and found out that the whiskies were not discounted – ouch! Jump forward a day: Turns out that was the right choice, we went to the exhibit the following day and, after about three and a half hours, we came back home fairly exhausted. The shows included “Stories of People and Power in Ten Objects” which was rather stunningly exhibited and quite powerful. “(Re)construction of Friendship” featured contemporary installations by artists from various post-Soviet states. There were some good works:. one that stood out was a series of souvenir plates with illustrations from KGB torture manuals painted on them, another created a massive metal-plated wall dividing a tiny room, another featured whimsical designs for a flying hospital bed to escape the Soviet mental hospital, and one that had a series of paintings, each of a more close-up view of a photo, that were cut into the banal fading flower print wallpaper. “A Latvian’s Suitcase” featured items chosen to bring with exiles – Jo was inspired by the living rye bread yeast that was started from a crust of old bread and still is being used to bake bread. The smell of the small jar of yeast on a central table was a nice touch. There were four very effective animations that accompanied some of the pieces. As a companion exhibit, “Museum of Fateful Objects” exhibited items collected from the general public with accompanying stories of why these objects were considered fateful. We finished with “In Spite of All”, naivé art created by Latvians imprisoned in Siberia. There was a lovely animation narrated by the woman who had created a visual diary of her life. Then back to Old Riga for a cello/organ concert at St. John’s Lutheran Church. We love cello so the idea of the eight member Cello Dream Team with three additional cello soloists sounded great. Unfortunately the reality of this many cellists didn’t sound great. The Bach (spelled “Bahs” in Latvian, it is the law that all names must be Latvianized) Brandenburg that opened the evening was a bit muddled when orchestrated for eleven identical instruments. The acoustics, great from the organ/choir loft weren’t as good when the instruments were placed in front of the main altar. The pieces for organ and/or for organ and three cellos were much better. The repertoire of the concert was all rather “wet” (even the “Bahs” piece sounded a bit wet), the work we enjoyed the most was the last piece by a contemporary Latvian composer, Rihards Zalupe, which made use of the full cello ensemble and the organ. As the composer took a bow and I didn’t see the work, Rain, Steam and Speed, listed in his bio, it seems likely the piece was written specifically for the concert. The signs of Spring are here - budding trees, tulips about to burst for in color, more tourists in Old Riga (including some rather annoying Aussies wearing silly "Hawaiian" garb), and the building of out door patio sitting areas at nearly every coffee house, café, tavern, restaurant of pub. There seems to be a cottage industry here - they don't repair old buildings but they do put out the annual outdoor seating areas for enjoying a beverage and some food.
We were assured that Riga in the Spring and early Summer is the place to be and the energy of the city is definitely waking up. People seem to be smiling a lot more. We are a little surprised by the lack of style as we were told that the girls of Riga would all be covered in bright colors, short skirts and long stilettos. And, based upon the furs of Winter, we fully expected it. Instead, we are seeing a lot more frumpy - not quite as much as in the US - perhaps the increased tourism has brought frump along with it. On Saturday we set out to the Riga Art Space to see Re:Visited, a collection of works from past Biennials and other significant international art exhibitions. While the exhibit was very well thought out and well curated, most of the work was video-based and required far more time to engage with than we had allotted. There were a few works that caught our imagination but, for the most part, they were surprisingly not very moving. For us, the star of the gallery was Petrov's Dogs, a deeply disturbing collection of photo realistic watercolors and oil paintings with a few miniature sculptures by Ukrainian Ievgen Petrov. He doesn't anthropomorphize his feral and homeless animal subjects but manages to create a deep emotional impact. On Wednesday we are going to see The Thief of Bagdad at the Splendid Palace as part of their Kino Trofejas film festival. As we watch this costume piece in that beautiful, ornate theater we will be thinking of Vince Marich as he always loved those old costume dramas. We attended the opening film of the festival and saw some old Soviet Latvian newsreels followed by Die Frau meiner Traume (The Woman of My Dreams) a rather silly musical theater piece in German with Russian subtitles with a Latvian interpreter talking from the back booth who you could hear through headphones - damn near surrealistic. Marika Rökk was quite the star, singing, dancing (pointe, tap, apache dancing, you name it), singing, acting, being sexy in quite revealing costumes. For the second half of our Easter break we stayed at the Pliennieki, 5 km outside of Kuldīga Unfortunately, we were a bit spoiled by our stay at the Karlamuiza so our perceptions were a bit shaped by our previous stay. When we arrived we were met by the brother of the innkeeper who didn’t speak English. He called his sister who told us that she was at work and to just go into the cottage, and ask her brother for anything until she came home. Entering the cottage we discovered that the “well-equipped kitchen” was actually outside with the picnic tables and grill; they had neglected to install a kitchen sink within the two-bedroom cottage. All of the electrical appliances were unplugged, with no directions as to how they functioned. It was less than completely clean. When we asked the brother for matches to light the sauna (which was quite nice), he was rather terse in pointing out that they were on the steps opposite the sauna’s wood stove. The only tourist literature that was available was a single map for Kuldīga, written in Latvian.
Needless to say, that didn’t start our stay on a good note. The very unreliable internet (we must have our internet!) further infected our attitude about the stay. That said, we pulled the hot plate in from the outdoor kitchen and just washed dishes/produce in the bathroom sink. When our hostess and her daughter contacted us on Saturday to invite us to Easter breakfast it was quite nice, but a little too late. We did enjoy our visit but we don’t have warm fuzzies. On Friday morning we drove into Kuldīga and began walking to the tourist highlights numbered on our (English) map that we brought with us. As we walked down the iela (street) next to St. Katrinas Lutheran Church a beret topped man exited the door of his house to walk his cat and started to eye me (Paul) with some suspicion. Jo quickly took a shot of him but propriety dictated that his privacy be respected. A bit further down Baznicas Iela (Church Street) we entered the former home of the burgomeister, a 17th century building where Swedish king Karl XII stayed ins 1702 and left his very large clothes chest which was built into a wall as a cabinet. The tourist/historical attraction had three apartments and, as we visited three young girls ran about giggling, running away as I attempted to get their pictures. Further down the street we came across the old market square and old town hall, which had a prison in the basement which now houses the pub Pagrabiņš. We returned later for lunch in an isolated cell. Once the wait staff came (a longer wait than we wanted), we had a lovely lunch of Latvian food: Sprats with a potato salad and pickled herring, cottage cheese (very good), boiled potatoes and cucumber salad. The bill was surprisingly cheap. Then onto the extensive and lovely sculpture garden featuring the works of Līvija Rezevska Much of her work, created during the Soviet occupation, focused upon folk musicians – perhaps an expression of nationality and solidarity that could pass the Communist censors under the Moscow-dominated regime. We noted that aesthetic nature of the town, and others in Latvia, with some regret in comparison to the anti-Public Art sentiment that we have experienced at home. Walking past The Holy Trinity Church in the “Catholic Block” we saw a man and his son carrying a life-sized crucifix, which we saw installed in another church yard as a Holy Friday devotion. We explored various medieval buildings and made our way up Liepājas iela, a lovely pedestrian road. A quick tangent off the road towards the beautiful Kuldīga Orthodox Church brought us past what appeared to be the entries in a wood sculpture competition. We were amused to see Bart Simpson with a T-shirt emblazoned “Kuldīga”. Along Liepajas they have installed large wooden song birds on every street lamp. It appeared that the color of the bird was selected to match the colors of the nearby buildings. At a round-about at the end of the street (open to traffic at that end) were two massive birdhouses with two more of the oversized birds. As the street opened up for cars we came across a wonderful public art installation; all of the trees had been wrapped with different, brightly colored, crocheted "sweaters" up to, and including, the main branches. At the end of the street was another “tree, completely artificial that had a very large frame placed in front of it to declare this as "art" (we saw a similar frame in Cesis at the pedestrian entry to a street). We finished our exploration of Kuldīga by walking across one of the longest, vaulted brick bridges in Europe for a view of Ventas Rumbas, the widest waterfall in Europe. Though not very high it was definitely impressive in its girth. Fish were furiously attempting to fly up the waterfall "step" (I was getting my haircut today and the hairdresser had remarked that Kuldiga is famous for its "flying" fish-JG). On Saturday we drove towards the Baltic Sea, stopping at various pils, (castles) along the way . Outside the little town of Alsungas we walked a short trail along the Abava River. In Jūrkalnes we enjoyed the sea, spending time to record the sound of the gentle waves. In Pāvilosta we found a kafenejica to eat that was, surprisingly, a little over-priced and rather “hip”. We walked out on the rocky pier and decided that our trip was ending a bit anticlimactically. Fortunately, we decided to take a gravel backroad through Aizputes. As we neared the town we came by a wetland that was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of petrels(?), flying, nesting, squawking. We pulled over immediately and began shooting pictures and recording sound. We also visited the ruins of castles but the birds overwhelm our memories. On Easter Sunday our hosts “hid” two eggs decorated by dyeing in onion skins to create patterns and offered us traditional Russian bunny sweet bread. Driving back to Riga we stopped in Sabile to view an incredible menagerie of life-sized soft sculpture dolls portraying family life, musicians, dancers, etc. with great humor. Back in Riga we noted that Spring had sprung and the trees are blooming. Taking a walk we enjoyed a new public art installation of day glow orange and green painted bicycles mounted in the crotch of the trees. A walk through Old Town showed that the tourist have descended to enjoy the newly built outdoor eating/drinking areas of the various cafes. (Too many photos to post without serious editing - hope to get them up soon)
We resisted the temptation to keep working and took Spring Break. It would have been easy to continue rehearsing and teaching – each of the three schools have different schedules and the one Academy that has the Break at this time doesn’t really adhere to it – but, at the last minute, we cancelled rehearsal and decided to take the full week. We rented a VW Up. Tiny, though surprisingly roomy inside – in the front – but little space for luggage. Manual transmission, last time we had one of those was with “Beastie”, Jo’s ’75 Westphalia VW camper van. Jo still misses the old car but it’s nice to have a vehicle with good air conditioning/heat, little road noise, power enough to go up Teton Pass at full speed, and is reliable. The Up tells you when to shift for maximum fuel economy – earlier than I am comfortable with but, if the car tells me it is time to shift I listen to it. Stopped in Sigulda for pastries and coffee. Had to take a side trip to the Walking Stick Park. We stayed at the Karlamuiza Country Hotel in Karli, a tiny town outside of Cēsis inside Gauja National Park. It is amazing how much a full day can encompass. After picking up our rental car in Riga, we arrived here on Monday afternoon. Only about 80km from Riga, Guaja is rolling hills, birch and pine dotted with ponds fed by mild rivers. Although an early spring for Latvia, trees and flowers are just starting to bloom. Grass has greened; bird song throughout the day. Currently, I (Jo) am drinking plum, fig and ginger herb tea while P and I wait for the wood burning sauna to heat up. Presently, we are in Gauja National Park staying at the most sublime KarlaMuiza Country Hotel - hotel is not an accurate description - KarlaMuiza is most definitely a Guest House where the lovely hostess Beeba treats her guests with such care (She is now just walking out to the bathhouse to check the heat of the sauna). It is out of season here (which provided a very discounted rate for our suite with a lovely balcony – less than a Motel 6 standard room), we were the only guests at the hotel for our 3 night stay. As we pulled up we noted a massive crane’s nest atop a ten foot pole being tended by a nesting pair, a sight repeated many times throughout the park. The estate is beautiful - and sacred. "Latvian history is complicated" Beeba remarked while we were shuttling back form dropping off our car at the end of a hike for later pick-up. Many of the country roads are lined with towering old oaks. One, we were told, is the old Roma road that sustained a fair amount of traffic 9th century. [One of the cranes just flew past my window carrying grass back to its nest. Cranes are quite abundant here; massive nests with nesting pairs are perched everywhere.] After settling into the Elisabeth Suite, perhaps the largest and loveliest room we have ever stayed in, we headed into town for dinner. Based upon our hosts’ recommendations we sought out Café 2 Locals on the square looking at St. John’s Church. The restaurant was out of many of our first choices, didn’t even have any Cēsu on tap, though the menu promised a taste of the oldest brewery in northern Europe. Our meal was OK, though it seemed that the dishes didn’t include all of the promised ingredients and were cobbled together based upon their meager stores. The soup of the day – cream of vegetable – was quite lovely. Our waitress informed us that the credit card machine was broken, fortunately we brought cash. Even so, the bill was quite reasonable and tipping is optional so it doesn’t have to be a full 15-20% of the already over-priced bill from American restaurants. The cost of living is cheap in Latvia so, even with the exchange rate killing the US dollar, we haven’t had to dip into the bank accounts to fund the trip. After nosh, we strolled. Cesis is a beautiful medieval town, the 13th century Cesis castle its centerpiece. It was raining but that made for beautiful lighting conditions to shoot pics. A quick photo-shooting walk and back to the car as we wanted to navigate the dirt road back to the hotel before it got dark. The sun was rapidly descending and with no street lights on dirt country roads, our route back to KarlaMuiza, we opted to go. After a little uncertainty about which way to go, we arrived in enough time to stroll the grounds as the sun was setting. Our hostess warned us that it was easy to get into Cēsis but difficult to get out and she was right, one way and dead end streets made our exit rather interesting. The next morning we hiked a lovely trail along the Amata River. We dropped the car off at the end and our hostess ferried us back to the starting point at the hotel where she lent us some hiking poles which were very useful for some extremely steep sections of the trail. Three and a half hours later we took a quick shower and drove back into Cēsis for the walking tour outlined on the tourist map. Paul was getting grumpy due to low blood sugar so we stopped at a picērija to share a cream of pumpkin/shrimp soup and a Funghi pizza (“pica”) with mushroom and curry sauce on a very thin, soft crust – definitely not American pizza, nor Italian – Latvian pica. The only Cēsu on tap was a Light, rather than their tasty, unfiltered buckwheat alus Nefiltrētais Griķu, so we settled for some Brengulu Tumšais. Curious about the Russian beer our waitress told us about, we tried a small Zelta, it was OK but too light in flavor for out taste buds which crave big beers. Refueled, we stepped out into the light rain (it seems to have started to rain every time we commence a new activity) and slowly took the walk, stopping multiple times for photo opportunities. This is old Europe with architecture and streets dating from medieval times. Back to Hotel for a wood-fired sauna at the end of a tree-lined path. Thoroughly relaxed after an hour, we enjoyed a beautiful sunset under a soft rain on the short walk back to our suite. Our hostess, who was just locking up to leave for the night (we were completely by ourselves in the hotel as we slept), was rather surprised that we took such a “short” sauna, saying that we should enjoy the heat and the ritual for 2 to 3 hours. She wanted to set us up for a real Latvian sauna experience with a sauna master but we are far too American to devote such a long time to relaxing (and Paul is a little too shy to share the sauna with another woman), so we declined. This land is permeated with pagan past(s). Our holiday agenda was determined, in part, by consulting maps identifying ancient sacred sites. Atop the hill outside the hotel’s sauna are eight lines of hammered in wooden spikes radiating out in east, southeast, south, southwest, west, northwest, north and northeast to form eight concentric circles corresponding the chakras for ritual celebration around the Midsummer’s bonfire. The next morning we set out to find a ancient spring near two ski resorts(!) complete with chair lifts for very short runs in a country that doesn’t have a native word for “mountain”. Ultimately unsuccessful (it is hard to navigate when you don’t read the language the signs and maps are using) we left for Cēsis in a slight snow/rain for a tour of the castle museums. Erection of the old castle began in 1209 by the Vends’ Livonian Brothers of the Sword (love those ancient Christian warrior/monk cults!). The castle was destroyed during one of the largest mass suicide in Europe during the 1703 Great Northern War when, rather than surrender to Ivan the Terrible’s troups, the Livonians set fire to the gunpowder in the armory. First stop was down a very steep ladder illuminated by the candle-lit lanterns we were provided with. Clearly Latvia is not as litigious as the US is as there were several looming dangers that could injure the unwary tourist. The dungeon is just an unlit cavern. The stone walls, ceiling and floor would keep you very cool in the summer but not a humane place to house one’s “guests”. Back into the sun (it had stopped snowing/raining) to explore the ramparts’ remnants and then up the steep spiral staircase of the tower where the flickering candlelight showed enough of each step to allow proper footing. There were large chambers every 15 feet up with multiple windows to allow for spying out in all directions (and firing weapons). Graffiti dated from the 1800s seemed historical but the 21st century signature on the wall felt blasphemous. Climbing to the top was a bit vertiginous; the trip down was slow and cautious. Throughout are a few contemporary sculptures made from brick and stone that, while clearly anachronistic, make sense in their settings. A large wooden bridge crosses the dry moat and provides a view to the beautiful amphitheater facing the lake below the castle. The walled in land surrounding the castle held a stack of rounded boulders once used as ammunition for the Russians’ cannons to lay siege to the castle. Ruins of the massive buildings that once housed the artisans and workers of the community showed that this was a well-developed community. A toppled statue of Lenin, in an open-faced box ensured that Lenin’s remains, with a defiant fist protruding in revolution, could still be viewed. As we were shooting pictures a Latvian man came up on the stone corpse and chided in pure chuckle – a perfect response. Onto the more contemporary castle, built in 1777 by Count Sievers atop the foundations of the old ruins. In the basement the skeleton of one of the victims of the mass suicide were found and the museum has reconstructed her head. [Quite moving, really - JG]. Climbing the tower past two gorgeous libraries, we got to the roof that provided a stunning view of the entire city. Stopped in Café Popular for lunch. We opted for the buffet-style Latvian food (as is true elsewhere, your bill is determined by weight of the food) rather than their “Italian” pica. Jo had a lovely cabbage soup and two salads, Paul had a breaded fish (lovely), roasted potatoes and tomato salad – our bill was just over 6 euros. Back to the hotel to pick up rented mountain bikes. The bikes were definitely better than the scary things we rode in Finland but could have done with a pre-season overhaul as the derailleurs were a little sticky. We rode to the Āraiši lake, past the windmill down to the archeological site. Since we had spent the morning exploring castles we skipped the ruins and, instead, went across the road to explore a cemetery. We continued on to an early church and pastor’s manor and Hill of Hallows (or Witches’ Hallow), site of medieval torture and mass murder of an enormous scale. We continued on the old Roman road, lined with ancient oaks before finishing our loop and then another sauna at the hotel. The following morning we were in a bit of sticker shock as we hadn’t seen the charges for the saunas on the website. Though it was completely our fault our hostess only charged for one sauna, saying that we had taken such short saunas it should only count as one. Going back, through Riga, we stopped in the tiny town of Līgatne to explore the many, many caves dug into the sandstone for winter food storage. Jo commented that the Mormons would be jealous of their set-up. Ruins of the old paper mill dominate the walking tour. As we drove through Riga we noted that we have developed affection for the city. Continuing on to our next stop in Kuldīga, we stopped off at Mara’s Chambers along the Abava River. This ancient sacred site features four very yonnic caves and was the location of Wiccan rituals. Unfortunately, the soft sand stone proved to be too much temptation to tourists through the ages and the walls of the caves have been etched with graffiti dating back centuries. Today we bought tickets to the Shakespeare’s Globe production of Hamlet. Very much looking forward to that in May. The Dailes Teatirs is a half a block away, so it will be very easy. We waited too long to buy tickets so we missed out on the 10 euro seats in the nose bleed section but we got better seats for a still quite reasonable price – equivalent to what they are charging in Pocatello to see the student/faculty production of Verdi’s Requiem. Riga’s ticket prices are surprisingly low.
Recently enjoyed viewing the postdramatic, theatre concrete production Long Life by renowned, and controversial Latvian director Alvis Hermanis. It showed a “day in the life” of two aging couples and one man who share an apartment in Soviet Latvia. Hyper-realistic set and wonderful details in acting. No real “drama”, no dialogue. Wonderful production that has been running, sold-out, for over ten years. The European Capital of Culture Exhibition, 1914 at the Arsenals Gallery featured some wonderful paintings, prints and sculptures as well as photos of WWI Lativan soldiers. We love the turn of the century modernists. The gallery also had remnants from old manor houses that were destroyed during the war, thus erasing a huge part of Latvian culture. This was accompanied by a very effective sound installation, Les Archives du Coeur by Christian Boltanski. As part of the installation we had our heartbeats recorded and were given CDs of the record of our hearts. Went to Bob’Art by the five member Opinion Public Contemporary Dance. Great dancers in desperate need of a good choreographer. Disappointed. Mid-way through, after seeing basically the same moves done in unison to slightly different music with different costumes yet again, Jo leaned over and said, “I’m getting bored”. I felt the same way. We have satellite TV in the apartment. The English-language stations are limited. Seeing a lot of Discovery and Science Channels. Noting that “weird” people (a lot of rednecks), “survival”, and the potential of making a lot of money by finding some sort of treasure are the favorite topics. Very odd seeing The Simpsons dubbed into German – rather sad to see the adolescent humor of Two and a Half Men making it to Germany as well. The Latvian Russian-language stations feature a man talking over American programs for all voices that are just barely discerned. It is rather bizarre to see that Judge Judy has a Russian audience here. Flower shops are throughout Riga. It is common, especially on Fridays, to see several men, women and children walking with freshly bought flowers, usually held upside-down with the flowers downward. The various statues commemorating historic Lativians frequently have fresh bouquets placed at their base. Over the past few years, one of the things that I would share with my Mother would be what flowers were blooming in our garden and the types of plants that we would see on our hiking/camping trips. Once I told my mother of a dream I had that was full of sacred significance. After I was done she told me, “You must never tell anyone about special dreams because, when you do, they lose their power”. As a young man in his twenties who was fully immersed in a new age exploration I was a little stunned by this; Mom was a Methodist converted to Catholicism, I never imagined that she would have such insight into spirituality on this personal level. I recently had a dream about my Mother. I won’t share the details as it was a wonderful gift and I dare not risk losing its power. Less than a week later I was informed that she had entered the last stage of her dying. Mom has been in steady decline from Parkinson’s for the past few years. We were able to visit twice last summer. Most of the time she slept, occasionally surprising us by interjecting something into the conversation. When we left she hugged me, looked me in the eyes and told me how much she loved me and how much she appreciated our visit. I wept. Jean Zmolek was born to William and Emma McCormick on February 7, 1922, and grew up in Clarion, Iowa. She passed away on March 30, 2014, in Ames, Iowa. A visitation will be held on Thursday, May 8th at St. Cecilia’s Church in Ames, Iowa from 5-7 pm followed by the vigil service at 7. The funeral service will be on Friday, May 9th at 11 am at St. Cecilia's. Following the service there will be a reception with food, remembrances, song and dance in the social hall. The burial will be on Saturday May 10th at St. Patrick’s Cemetery in Toledo, Iowa. In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be sent to NARFE Alzheimer's Research Fund in care of Karen Halloum, 1110 Clark Avenue, Ames, Iowa 50010.
She earned her BS degree in Dietetics at Iowa State University. It was at a dance there that she met the love of her life, Bill Zmolek. After graduation, she became a lieutenant in the Army Medical Corps at Camp Butner, North Carolina, where she married Bill on December 8th, 1945, leading to 68 years of love, companionship, marriage, 5 children and many nights of dancing. Jean loved the outdoors and prodded her often reluctant husband to pack up the kids and the car and head to the mountains of California to see her only sister, June. When her sister passed away over 40 years ago, she honored her promise to be an “other mother” and grandmother to her sister’s children and grandchildren. She was also a master in her own kitchen, and would always set an extra plate. No one ever wanted to miss an opportunity to eat one of her pies, cinnamon rolls or poppy seed rolls. She loved to grow and arrange flowers. Her grandchildren have many happy memories of her attempts to protect her garden by chasing rabbits. Never one to sit still, Jean launched several careers after the children started to leave home. Among those were school librarian and author, researcher and publisher of two family histories. She served as the President of the Faculty Women’s Club at Iowa State. When her mother became ill, she became a senior citizen advocate, spending time as a hospice volunteer and leading memory activities at nursing homes. She also served on the national board of the National Association of Retired Federal Employees (NARFE) Alzheimer's Fund. She constantly sought out ways to help others. In her church, she tutored foreign students in English, administered communion to shut-ins, and volunteered at soup kitchens into her late 80s. She welcomed strangers, old and young, into her home from all around the world and accepted them as family. She didn’t let age slow her down. She performed and danced on stage into her late 80s. She was a voracious reader and maintained a love of learning and an undying curiosity about food, culture, history, travel, languages and computers. Jean is survived by her loving husband, Bill, her children, Steve (Dee), Gary (Beth), Gloria, John (Jerry), and Paul(Josephine). She is also survived by her 7 grandchildren and her 4 great grandchildren. Toward the end of her life, as Jean began to lose her ability to talk, her most often repeated phrase was, “I have a good family.” In her, we had a good wife, mother, grandmother, aunt, and citizen of the world. She touched so many lives. We’ll never forget her beautiful smile, or how great she looked in a hat.
Most of what I know is from reading UK's Guardian. The "debate" on the threads are filled with dysphemisms put forward in place of rhetoric. It seems everyone who disagrees with you is a fascist, no matter which side of the situation you tend to support and both Obama and Putin have changed their first names to Adolph. There are few there that agree with me that it is entirely possible, and indeed consistent, to point to both the meddling by US/EU and the actions of Russia as imperialistic adventurism. But no, it is just politics as a football match, rooting for your favorite team with a plastic cup of beer, a banner on a stick and a giant styrofoam finger claiming "We're Number 1!" It appears that nationalistic fervor and historic grudges are just another tool for the kleptocratic elite to use to keep us distracted from who really is number 1(%) and how they are all the same, no matter which country they rule.
Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me. They possess and enjoy early, and it does something to them, makes them soft where we are hard, and cynical where we are trustful, in a way that, unless you were born rich, it is very difficult to understand. They think, deep in their hearts, that they are better than we are because we had to discover the compensations and refuges of life for ourselves. - F.Scott Fitzgerald Pickling beets again. Been making a large batch every weekend. With prices like this (.36 euro per kilogram = 23 cents/pound) it is easy to indulge. Other root vegetables (carrots, potatoes, onions, leeks) are equally cheap. The produce isn’t uniform in shape and size, not sanitized (they have cleaned carrots next to the lower priced ones that are covered in soil) and aren’t thrown away the moment they start to get soft. There are no “rain machines” to mist them (and the customers) every 30 minutes. I find it rather refreshing.
We have a neighborhood pub, the Guaja, just around the corner from our flat. It is tiny, with a three stool bar, two couches, some low coffee tables, two or three chairs and a window ledge area with three stools that can comfortably fit two. With shelves filled with books, and a chess set and adorned with amateur art and photos, it feels like someone’s living room filled with funky old stuff that is a great place to hang out. The owner plays lps from her collection – we’ve heard a fair about of 60’s – 70’s rock, some reggae, and a bit of classical. When the Grateful Dead came on we were reminded of our fantastic neighbors; Jim, Gail and James Price. Last night the Woodstock soundtrack was played and we decided that we should pick up a CD – a short trip to Amazon.com shows that there are many, many, many different Woodstock collections that are no available – Gil Scott Heron said that the revolution will not be televised, he didn’t say anything about it being repackaged for commodification. A couple of weeks ago she played a side from the Emerson Lake and Palmer live set and I was very happy to realize that there was some pretty good musicianship from a band I was rather taken with in my teen years, not just the bloated, pretentious prog-rock that I shamefully noted was a guilty pleasure of my youth. The pub only has three taps. Happily two of them are Brengulu beers. Jo prefers the Gaišais, I like the Tumšais better, though we both will take sips from each other’s mugs. They each remind me a little of Belgiums – the Gaišais has a hint of a Witbier while the Tumšais has a slight sour flavoring. When we were first shown the pub by Kryzstof he said it was a place for “alternative people”. Not knowing what he meant I mistakenly concluded that “alternative people” was his code for gay. Jo noted last night while we were people watching out the window as we enjoyed our Brengulu alus that we have not noted any indication at all that there is a gay culture here. Even in our dance classes, heteronormative gender roles are adhered to rather strictly. We also have not really found any sort of art culture that is bohemian. Rather, fashion is king (or queen, depending upon one’s gender). Took advantage of rather pleasant Saturday afternoon for a stroll through Mežaparks. All the ice had melted on the lake, the grass and moss are greening and buds are gathering for their Spring explosion. There were many more people throughout the park. Noted women not dressed for hiking but with short, clingy dresses, high heels and short fur. Laughed out loud when I saw one woman wearing an elegant fur version of the fleece vests we wear camping. Yes, fashion is queen here. The US Embassy has sent out warnings to avoid the Freedom Monument area today as it is Latvian Legion Day which was an official commemoration of the Latvian freedom fighters who unsuccessfully fought to free the country from Soviet domination. The day lost its official status in 2000 due to EU complaints that the fact that the freedom fighters had allied themselves with the Nazis was more than a little problematic. A minister in the government is getting sacked due to his decision to participate.
I think, prior to coming here I would have just seen the word Nazi and recoiled in disgust, but I have begun to realize that history isn't black and white. The Baltic States were occupied by Stalin under the terms of the Molotov Ribbentrop Pact. There are equivalent histories to the Latvian Waffen SS in nearly every one of the postcolonial, post-Soviet states. The interpretation that these units were formed, not in solidarity with fascist ideals, but in an vain attempt to throw off they yoke of Stalin's oppression has appeal. However, there is no doubt the nationalism of Nazism had appeal to the young Latvian nation which had lost its short-lived independence after only 22 years. (in spite of the dominance of the region by German aristocrats in the past) And, antisemitism was not uncommon throughout Europe and America. So the narrative gets more muddled. Especially with the situation in Ukraine and the accusations that the US/EU have sided with fascists, I can see how the Embassy really wants no possible connection with Americans and the demonstration. We would love to be able to go to observe the phenomenon but will heed the warnings and stay away. Paul and I have started teaching at the Jāzeps Vītols Latvian Academy of Music. They have studios at the Music Academy itself which is an incredible stately building, beautiful with its many levels, winding staircases, music wafting throughout the halls. Although the studio is quite small, it really is thrilling to be able to walk through these halls. They also have studios at the Latvian National Opera house around the corner. The Latvian National Opera is a significant jewel of Riga. There are many studios in this building; P and I need to be escorted because of the potential to get lost within the many levels, hidden hallways and winding staircases. One of the studios we teach in is at the very top level. We pass the theater, the bars, the balconies on the way up - I need to spend some time there photographing the details: the wood, the bars, the coat racks, the goldleaf, the velvet, the drapery, the paintings, the murals... Towards the top, access is only available by ascending up and up increasingly narrow stone stairways. After teaching class at the National Opera house this morning, P and I went to the Pasts to post our postcards to Mom and Bill/Jean. Next, we stopped off at Gustavs for a couple of pastries and espresso. Then we headed to our local Rimi market for water, bran flakes, milk, kefir, and beer (of course!). After dropping off our goods at the flat, we headed up the street to pick up our TB chest x-rays (had to stand in line today - only 10 mins.) We then decided to take a slightly different route back to find some lunch. Although it was a lovely street, we didn't spot anything in particular that said "Eat here". Walked past our street to continue on to the Quiet Center, also known for its Art Nouveau architecture, where we had spotted some nice eateries on previous walks. There are a lot of restaurants in Riga to choose from. We went to the CookPot today. As is true of many lunch places, you order at the counter and then find a seat. It was full and there was a line. That said, we ordered. I had chick pea in marsala on rice with flatbread and salad. Paul had a type of chili con carne on rice with cheese and flatbread. Just as we were getting our food, two stools opened up with a view outside. Perfect. The food was incredible and man, they really like it hot. P and I both love spicey and hot. This food made my head sweat. Walked outside and I actually got chilled. Good food makes the body feel good. We then decided to continue our stroll. Paul was preparing for two interviews tonight so the food, stroll and fresh air was invigorating. We walked to one of the many parks on the way to Old Town, sat and watched birds perched on the bush and men pruning the shrubs, then decided to go home so P could prep.
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