Encounters
August
1997
My emotions this trip did not partake of the usual joys. I lost
two of my three cousins earlier in the year—the last, my cousin Vija,
passed away only a week before our arrival. The flowers were still fresh on her
grave. But life goes on even as we remember those dear to us, and, through our
actions, hold dear those people and those ideals which they did.
Yet, it was not a trip of unbridled sadness. I met online
acquaintances, long-unseen relatives, moreover, through it all, it was as if
the universe itself had guided the circumstances and purpose of this trip. What
had been anticipated to see and do remained unseen and undone–but replaced
with surprises and serendipities undreamt of.
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| Click on a thumbnail to view the picture. |
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My Cousin Vija
My cousin Janis had passed away in the spring, and Vija, only a week before our arrival. The flowers were still fresh on her grave. My mom bids our sad farewell, still, happy that Vija had survived her difficult bout with cancer long enough for us to have been reunited at all. |  |
Crosses
Not far
away, in fact you could see them, were crosses re-erected to the memory of
those taken away to the Siberian camps, most to their deaths, at the hands of
the Soviets. Was it coincidence, or a reminder–a lesson–that Vija's
first, and only, memory of her father was her mother, Erna, pointing him out in
the railway yard, led away to the trains for the men, even as he tried to join
his family. "There's your father." We joined in the annual memorial service.
Was it mere chance it happened to be that day? I think not. |  |
Pice
Like some
stately, inscrutable Egyptian godess of old, Pice awaits us into her domain, my cousin Gaida's house. Indeed, at that moment, Pice was the sole inhabitant. |  |
Is No Place Safe?
Every visit, usually sooner rather than later, I head into town to see what's new in Riga. In an era where people still need to reserve 24 hours in advance to make an international phone call, here, not far from the Presidential palace (it's not grandiose, just really, really old!), was the "Internet Cafe!" I've come to expect both these signs of the changing times as well as the dichotomy of the new openly contradicting the old ways. |  |
Latvija for the Pagans
Until the years between the two World Wars, Latvia had not
been independent since subjugation by German nobility in the
late 1100's. Latvian culture survived through obstinacy, pride,
and sacrifice. Now, the West rushes in, Christian churches
leading the new Crusades. The sour taste of eight hundred years
of foreign incursion and domination–started by a religious
Crusade–lingers on. The sign on this church in Vecriga reads,
SAINT SAVIOUR'S CHURCH
SERVICES IN ENGLISH
SUNDAY 10 AM
ALL ARE WELCOME
Painted over it, the Latvian words "Latvia for the Pagans"
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Night Life
Here was a new experience, going out to a night club!
Drinking, dancing, and yes, as the brass pole implies, a
periodic "exotic" exhibition for the mixed audience, which
takes it in stride, barely noticing complete lack of clothing.
Speaking of pagan ritual. |  |
Fatherland and Freedom
My next stop was at the spiritual center of town.
Where old city, Vecriga, meets the new, stands the Freedom Monument.
Too often, we see only the traditional picture of its sleek
profile against the blue sky, its figure of Milda holding
three stars aloft. Lost are the heroic figures
struggling for freedom, "TEVZEMEI UN BRIVIBAI" meaning,
"For Fatherland and For Freedom."
|  |
St. Peter's Church
As you head in from the Daugava river towards the center of Riga's old
Town, St. Peter's Church is one of the first sights you encounter.
Originally built of wood in 1209, it was rebuilt in 1408 in stone.
Steeped in history, it is said that Peter the Great himself helped
fight the fire the first time its steeple burned down in 1721, and
that he issued the edict for its reconstruction. It then stood for
two more centuries before being burnt down again by the retreating
Soviet army in 1941. The current steeple is a steel replica. After
a reign of five and a half centuries as the tallest building in Riga,
the (then Intourist) Hotel Latvija usurped the crown, its builders
insuring they erected it one meter taller. Nevertheless, the ride to
the observation platform still affords the best, if not highest, view of Riga. |  |
There's not a whole lot of space
in Old Riga--here's our attempt to do a bit of perspective
correction from the super-wire-angle we used above. |  |
Mordangas Dzirnavas I
We also spent some time out in the country.
The old mill, "dzirnavas,"" was not doing well. Every year, a few more cracks appear, a bit more of the stucco where my grandfather painted the watermill's name falls off. The foundation is being washed out slowly by water leaking through a bad runoff pipe running under the road, from the lake. This led to some serious ditch digging, however, that's another story. I thought–well, actually, fantasized–that it might be possible to sell a few "artistic" pictures of the old mill as a way to help raise some money towards its repair.
Here, the road winding past the front reflects off the front door's window panes.
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Mordangas Dzirnavas II
The back door to the mill house has been left open to air out the hot summer's
heat. It's not difficult to imagine the flower garden that lies beyond. |  |
Mordangas Dzirnavas III
A little window lets the bright daylight stream into the lower part of the mill house. When my grandfather bought it, he added a second
story to it. But no one remembers quite how old this original part is. |  |
Mordangas Dzirnavas IV
I had never appreciated the solitary cabinet floating in isolation on
the kitchen wall. Its austere beauty seemed suddenly self-evident. Nor
had I noticed the organic, almost living–like moss–color that my cousin
Janis had accidentally mixed (then cursed at while painting). He hadn't
taken good care of himself, so it was no surprise that he had
passed away. Still, it was no less sad that when the four cousins
finally met at one place, one and only one time, it was at
Janis' hospital bed last fall. With both Janis and Vija gone, and
their love of the land, I can't help but feel there's something in that green... |  |
Mordangas Dzirnavas V
Turning right, bright sunshine streams in the window, yet the mirror still reflects that somber moment. |  |
Mordangas Dzirnavas VI
My mother still recalls passing time sitting on the porch, perhaps reading. Badly weathered, roof sagging, it still tenuously holds on a shadow of its former charm. The first thing my mother did
was hang curtains as a reminder of what it once was, and could be again. |  |
Mordangas Dzirnavas VII
Ever hopeful, it's no surprise that beyond the millhouse,
beyond the porch, sunflowers bloom in the flower garden. Tall,
strong, beautiful, surviving the vicious rainstorms and blistering heat waves of summer,
it reflects the Latvian character in the face of adversity.
|  |
Bee
Alsviki, outside Aluksne, home to Peters' mom's cousin Arturs and his wife Lena,
was also one of our country destinations. Here's a busy bee we ran across. |  |
Dom Church
The spire of the Dom Church rises above the
narrow sidestreets of Old Riga. |  |
Konvent Seta
Off the plaza behind St. Peter's Church, the street vendors have already
packed up for the "night." In the background is the entrance to Konvent Seta. |  |
Tag, You're It!
In a light-hearted moment a mother and daughter
frolic through Riga's Kronvalda Park. |  |
Daugavas Gatve
The Daugavas Gatve passes into Old Riga from the boulevard along
the Daugava, past one of the massive towers
of the Presidential Palace (to the left). |  |
Riga Canal
One of our favorite subjects are the bridges crossing Riga's city canal. |
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