The Bell Tower of the Jelgeva Holy Trinity Church has views of the entire city from the 9th floor, around 80 metres high. Don’t ask me to change that into feet. It’s pretty high, but not Seattle Space Needle high. The Holy Trinity Lutheran Church was built so the duke’s wife could practice her faith near the castle. But the church was razed during bombing attacks in 1944. The tower was completed in 1862 and survived the attacks.
ta;
Yesterday we drove to Jelgeva to the palace of the Dukes of Courland and Semigallia. The palace was bombed during WWII but has been restored. It is the largest architectural monument in the Baltics.
The only part of the palace open for public view was the crypts of the Dukes of Courland from Danzig.
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Last night we went to a birthday party for Aija at a farmhouse next to the Lielupe River in Jelgava. The farm was gorgeous. We saw storks and storks nests.
This cat thinks he is a chicken
The dinner party was lots of fun, even if we don’t speak Latvian.
The food was cooked by the owner of the farmhouse.
There were ground meat rolls like kibbeh, plus potatoes, latkes, pierogies, homemade cheese and a specialty called herring in a fur coat, which is herring and sour cream covered by beets and chopped hard-boiled eggs. I finally decided I was full.
The Latvians kept gesturing and pressuring us to drink more. I had a cranberry liquer and three brandies. Bob was drinking Black Balsam. I was watching them crack each other up, using their hands to gesture. I told Bob, “One more of these and I’ll understand them.”
Bob said, “One more of these and I’ll start talking to them.”
The cake was layered with walnut creme.
They had some old albums and we enjoyed looking at the covers.
We took a walk with the owners of the farm, and they told us their story. The area around Lielupe River is known as the kettle, because it’s where everything boiled over in WWII. The German army was on the side where we were, and the Russians were across the river.
Their father’s first wife stepped on a landmine and was killed. The Germans were retreating and didn’t want to leave any resources or shelter for the Russians so they were destroying everything. Their grandfather begged them to spare his house because he had a young child. Out of compassion the nazis only burned down half of his house.
Lying awake in the late evening sun looking out the window at the beautiful scenery it was hard to believe this was the site of such carnage. In America it would be like Bunker Hill and military buffs would come visit the site. But there has been so much war in Latvia it’s just another farmhouse with a terrible story to tell.
Bridin befriended a woman on the plane whose daughter, Signe, happens to host dinner parties at 10 Lats a head. 10 Lats equals about 20 USD. When she told her daughter she had a returning Latvian to invite, they decided to make a traditional Latvian meal for us, and to have a friend hunt for boar. I’ve never had anyone kill a boar for me before. It’s very exciting.
Signe was congenial and outgoing, providing a lovely environment for the English-speaking friends she had invited. They did tend to lapse into Latvian though, so there was some confused nodding and smiling on my part. To drink, we had birch champagne, which was very similar to regular champagne. With the meat a blackcurrant wine was served. Although I don’t normally drink wine, I tried it and it was more like a liquer – very fruity with a sharp kick.
The first dish was a soup. After a long and dark winter, one of the first signs of spring is a green that no one knew the name for, but it is like sour spinach. It may have been sorrel. It grows wild in the yard, “So you just cut the grass and you have soup!” There were also lovely new potatoes and quail eggs, which they set in your plate and ladled the soup over.
Her bread was so moist it was almost like a quick bread, with a large, soft crumb. It was served with homemade dairy butter. Black bread, the national bread, was served with hemp seed butter – like the poppy seed butter we had bought at the market.
The next course was a selection of dried fish, including eel, which was delicious, and lamprey, which was kind of strong for me. I didn’t know the Latvian word for lamprey, so I asked, “Is this the one that sucks your face?”
They pointed out the second one from the front of this picture, and said, “That is the one that sucks on you.”
Signe said effusively in her Russian accent, “Take it! You don’t like it, I have big dog!”
There was also an assortment of cheeses, including the same mild cheese with caraway seeds we had bought at the market.
The main course was boar, which one of the guests’ husbands had shot. Boars in Latvia have to be certified. If they are not, you have to boil the meat for 2 hours to remove any parasites. The meat was very mild, being grass-fed as opposed to foraging. The side dish was a risotto made with hulled wheat and wild mushrooms, a perfect accompaniment to the boar as well as a vegetarian main course. Very smart.
We had been seeing a rye bread dessert on menus, but it didn’t seem very appetizing. It took me about four bites to figure out this “cheesecake” was made from rye bread crumbs used like Graham crackers layered with a pastry cream.
There was also apple cake, Bridin’s nemesis.
Today we drove into the country to look at castles. First we visited “The New Castle” in Segulda. It was once occupied by Knights of the Sword. When you joined Knights of the Sword, you joined for life.
Their city hall was in front of the castle, and it was really grand.
It was nice to be out in the beautiful countryside. There are lilacs everywhere.
We followed the guidebook to lunch at Aparjods. I like the game here, so I ordered the rabbit. It was explained to me later that there is so much grass here the animals don’t resort to eating bark and leaves, so they are essentially grass-fed.
Next we were going to see some ancestral castle of Bridin and Bob’s family. We were stuck on little roads with construction forever.
Then we had to drive down a really long unmarked unpaved road. I really didn’t think they were ever going to find it. We had to splosh through mud puddles at high speed so as not to get stuck, and the wake of mud bathed the car with every bump. This is the good part of the road.
I finally asked, “All this for a castle?”
Bridin: It’s not a castle. The castle was wood and burned down. It’s a mound.”
Me: All this for a mound?
Bridin: If we’re lucky there will be a goat on it.
Me: Well, OK then, if there’s a goat…
Bob: Come o-o-o-n-n-n goats!
The woods were beautiful, and we found the ancestral mound, but alas, no goats.
It was another Mr Toad’s Wild ride coming back, and lots more construction on the main roads. We stopped for coffee at a place with a trippy ceiling.
When we got back we discovered that the front license plate had been torn off, so we have to deal with the rental car this morning. It will be the third rental car of the trip. Hertz, donut?
There are two things I pay attention to in new cities: Can you cross on red, and will you get run over? And whether you look at or greet strangers. The answer to the first question in Riga is everyone crosses on red and yes, you will get run over. Cars speed up rather than brake, and even buses just honk and you damn well better run.
I noticed the employees at the hotel greet us by blinking once slowly. My smiles seem to confuse people. But I can’t stop smiling at them. Some of them seem offended or surprised. Finally today in the market this woman gave me an accusatory “lesbo!” expression and I understood. I told Bridin, “People are confused by my smiling.”
She said, “They think you are coming on to them.” Well then, I’m really upset because over 3 days I must have smiled at 100 people and not a single one took me up on my offer!
Anyways, we picked up some cheeses and salami, their exquisite cucumbers and fresh fruit at the market and had a nice picnic in the hotel bar. While unpacking the bags I found a black block. I asked Bob if somebody had planted hash on us. Finally Bridin saw the black thing and exclaimed, “Oh, the butter!”
“Black butter?
“Well, I asked what can we get here that we can’t get anywhere else in the world.” She tried it and said it tasted like poppy seeds. Considering all possible things that could make butter black, that was the most pleasant one I could think of, so I tried it. I realized it wasn’t dairy butter. They had ground the poppy seeds into a paste like peanut butter. It still looked like hash.
Oh, we also found genuine Latvian leavened pierogies. They are kind of like Armenian borek, stuffed with bacon.
The Crows here look like they are wearing morning jackets.
We continued our relaxing day by going to the movies. We saw Dark Shadows, which was a disappointment. What was not a disappoinment was bacon chips! That’s right! Like styrofoam peanuts made out of bacon. I hope they make it to the states.
Bacon Chips for-e-ver!!!
After going to the cemetary with Bridin’s cousin Aija and Aija’s beau, Alberts, we went for lunch in the hotel cafe, which was very elegant. We were all thrilled with the fried camembert that was accompanied by rhubarb.
I had a Frenchy chicken and mushrooms under puff pastry.
Aija and Alberts are older and met later in life at the same cemetary where we had gone to visit Bridin and Aija’s grandparents. They are a sweet couple, and Alberts has gorgeous blue eyes that darken when he speaks of Siberia.
His family was sent to Siberia when he was young because his father was a policeman. The father was sent to a work camp and the family was sent to a Russian concentration camp. They did not see their father again until 8 years later when they were released. The whole family survived to make it out, which was not true of most people in Siberia. Alberts still walks with a cane from those days.
I asked if it snowed year round and he said no that in the summer it was milder and they could grow potatoes. He said that the air is so thin and so quiet there that you can hear people talking from many kilometres away
We walk into the exchange and we are the only customers. Two bored-looking clerks sit behind the counter staring into space. I approach one and she gestures towards the other one. I turn to her and she gestures to the tickets. I look at her like, “Really? You want me to take a number?” She just stares back blankly.
So I take a ticket – number 170.
The number 167 flashes on a board. The second customer service girl calls out, “167.” I stare at her. The room is still empty except for us.
“168” I stare at her harder.
“169” I stare at her as if she just took off her own head off and spun it on her finger like a basketball.
“170”
“170”
I hand her my ticket and she exchanges my money.
One of our favorite examples of “Latvish” is this Steiku Haoss. It’s and American “theme” restaurant and we thought what the hell. Sitting amongst the Old West Americana listening to Johnny Cash I realized why we were so comfortable in Latvia. Bars crank Hendrix and the Doors, and everywhere else the national music seems to be American Muzak. So much so that we have started playing Name That Tune…”You Were Always on my Mind!” It’s hard to feel like a foreigner in a place that seems like an ode to America.
OK, so yeah, umm steiku haoss…
mm
I ordered the filet mignon, which was kind of small and coated in a sweetish glaze.
Bob ordered salmon papardelle and this came out
Then this
Compared to the other places we have eaten, it was the least friendly and most overpriced. Hopefully that says more about the neighborhood than America. We are in a fun, partying tourist area. If this is New orleans, we are staying on Bourbon Street.
Everyone thought I was such a trouper for hiking through this huge cemetary in the rain, but no matter how many times I replied, “I love cemetaries” I don’t think anyone understands that I LOVE cemetaries. It’s all about the photography.
There were no angels in this cemetary, but lots of pretty maidens and some very modern sculptures.
After resting up from the bus tour we decided to go to a traditional Latvian Restaurant called Salve. It was less weird than you would imagine. A lot of dill and caraway, some local spirits and locally caught fish. I was looking for pierogies. The Latvian version of pierogies uses a leavened bread instead of a pasta-type dough like Russian pierogies. There was a dumpling on the menu that everyone insisted were not pierogies, but they were totally the Russian pierogies I know and love.
Oh, did I mention they have a thing about Russians here? About half of the population is Russian, but since the Soviet Union occupied Latvia a long time ago and once again recently, people kind of have an attitude. This is how the Communists are portrayed outside of the Museum of the Occupation.
Ok, so back to drinking and eating. We ordered a flight of local liquers, especially to try the Balsam, the national drink. It is an intensely herbal 38-proof liquer that is considered medicine. It’s supposed to be good for the heart.
Here I am trying Balsam for the first time
Allazu is a caraway liquer made in a little town South of here. They are very proud to have presented it to Queen Elizabeth on Christmas. I wonder if she made the same faces I did. Actually, I liked the Allazu as well as the cranberry and the coffee liquers, but those two don’t have stories.
Bob ordered the pork, a safe bet in Eastern European or eastern bloc countries.
I tried the duck with cherry sauce which totally paid off. It was some of the best duck I have ever tried.
Up until now we had had really good luck with vegetarian food, but sometimes the vegetarians get short shrift. This is a wheat berry porridge that Bridgin claimed to adore.
The restaurant is next door to the Blackheads House, which yes, suffers in the translation. But it was gorgeous.
Now remember, it’s like 8:30 at night in these pictures. It seems to only get dark between midnight and 4am here. So our plans for tomorrow involve a trip – and I had nothing to do with this – to a cemetary!
Since we couldn’t get the timing right for the boat tours, we decided to hop on a good old-fashioned double decker bus tour and check out some architecture. There were some gorgeous art nouveau buildings, old Soviet box buildings, and wooden buildings reminiscent of New Orleans.
This is the hospital where Bridgin was born.
See, I don’t always seek out graveyards. Sometimes they just happen.
We happened upon an elegant courtyard restaurant called Garden something – Gardenia? and had light fish dishes. I had halibut with lemongrass, Bob had a pike, and Bridgin had the French onion soup with a vegetable broth. It was a windy day and when the server ground pepper over my dish it flew right into my eyes. I decided to suck it up, because I am a guest on this trip and I am consciously trying to avoid drama. Then the wind blew over a giant iron parasol and it landed right on my head.
This morning I woke up insanely early, so I walked around taking pictures.
Breakfast was provided by the hotel and was fantastic. They had little cottage cheese pancakes that were totally addictive. They also had pickled fish and seafood salad, not your typical American fare.
These pancakes on the right kick ass
We went to a nearby park to take a boat ride,but we missed the boat 3 times before giving up.
‘
I asked for a translation and this man is singing about his love. And the river. The ubiquitous river.
So why did we keep missing the boat? We got distracted by Freedom Monument.
And I also was drinking beer at the Alus Ordenes, the Order of Beer, which is just downstairs from the bar I call The Pooping Cat.
Yesterday we flew to Latvia to meet up with Bob’s mom, Bridgin. It was like that movie, “Planes Trains and Automobiles.” Between bad weather, a broken lavatory and general panic, we spent over 18 hours in the air. The first pilot was kind of scary. During his announcements he said, “Should the air crew ask for your assistance with any matters that may arrise, please feel free to join in with enthusiasm.” We were ostensibly going to take a guy down? Then he said, “This is the kind of announcement that I hate to make…” Were we going down? Was there a man on the wing of the plane? I was relieved when it was just a problem due to weather.
Our itinerary of LAX-JFK-Helsinki-Riga became LAX-Syracuse-Rome-Riga.
I was very excited about Rome and wanted to change flights to stay overnight, but there was going to be none of that. I did get to eat some yummy Italian delicacies at a concession stand.
When we arrived at the airport, our luggage had been lost, and when we arrived at the hotel our room had been cancelled. Luckily they still had a room for us, but as of yet no luggage. I should have worn my sneakers and packed these heels as the streets around here are all cobblestone.
The room is sparse and very clean, with a huge, deep bathtub. The views are incredible. A group of Latvian soldiers bought the building when they were able to repatriate, and people like to stay here to support them.
Riga is a little reminiscent of New Orleans, with very lush, verdant greenery and old buildings falling into disrepair. But some of these buildings date back to the year 200. It’s a cross here between Soviet Bloc seriousness and Scandinavian organization and attention to detail, which makes for very clean streets.
We met up with Bob’s mom and wandered around looking for a restaurant. You’re in a new, fascinating Baltic country? What do you eat? Sushi! The fish was first-rate and it was nice to have something light.
By now it was around 11pm and still light enough to read outside. I woke up at 5am to find the same bar rats singing Oasis at the top of their lungs. I asked the desk clerk, “So the bars never close?”
He seemed offended, “They close!”
I replied, “Oh, because I just saw them having a sing-along across the street.”
“In the morning, they close.”
On my last day in Atlanta, my taxi driver/local guide turned me on to this sort of Farmers Market/Granville Island collection of food and shops called Curb Mart.
Red Velvet Whoopie Pie. Wouldn’t you?
For my last meal in Atlanta, I thought long and hard, weighing all of the options. I finally decided that what I really wanted to do was return to Mary Mac’s Tea Room. I ordered the baked catfish, which was scrumptous. I tried the squash casserole, and had to order the Brunswick stew for the second time.
It was a quiet night and we had time to gossip. I noticed a picture of the Dalai Lama and Richard Gere on the wall. I asked, “But all of your food has pork in in. Did you have to make a special meal?” They told me that Richard Gere ordered a special vegetarian meal, but the Dalai Lama ate pork. Accept what is offered with graciousness and humility is that lesson.
