I am officially 100% satisfied with my stay in this country.
Which is particularly great because I’m about 90% sure this country is trying
to get rid of me. My week between camp sessions marked most of the firsts I’ve
been waiting for since I arrived nearly a year ago and many firsts I could have
done with out. We’ll start with the good. I crossed off the last thing on my
bucket list, which turned into a magical day in which I fulfilled all my other
Latvian dreams. I mushroomed (in this country mushroom quests in the woods
involve looking for fungus, not hallucinations) and I learned how to cook a
traditional Latvian meal of handpicked mushrooms, potatoes, homemade pickles,
and smoked fish from an actual Latvian family. I also left the day with my
ideal Latvian souvenirs: handpicked flowers that I can dry for tea, hand picked
berries that I can use with my fresh rhubarb, and homemade marinated goodies. They
sell these things in stores but all Latvians know the only way to really enjoy
those foods is fresh from the garden from people you love. And I do love the
Beitneres. Anyone who has anything negative to say about Latvia or Latvians has
clearly never spent a day with the Beitneres.
I have not so subtly reminded my friend Ulla about my need
to go mushrooming every time I've seen her for the past 6 months. And, being
the fun gal that she is (that joke would work much better if she were a guy), she
rewarded my insistent begging with one of the best days I've had in this
country. That’s what usually happens when I go adventuring with Ulla. So, after
months of waiting I was finally ready to don my best tic protective clothing to
venture into the woods with Ulla and her mother.
As we were driving in, Ulla’s mom taught us to smell for the
most fruitful (or fungusful) spot. Unfortunately I still don’t quite know what
a mushroom forest smells like because there wasn’t much to smell or pick. At
least we found enough mushrooms to make for lunch, flowers for tea, and more
than enough blueberries to fill the extra space in our baskets and tummies. I
also learned the important things, like cutting instead of pulling, checking
for worms, and bigger is better (as far as stems go for non-chanterelles). I
also found the “mother of mushrooms,” which was the only non-chanterelle I picked
that wasn’t poisonous. We mostly picked chanterelles because we knew they’d be
safe but we got some variety in there, all of which we checked against the
Latvian mushrooming app, of course.
After reconnecting with Mother Nature for a few hours we
headed home to cook our bounty, obviously stopping on the way for some famous
Latvian smoked fish and fresh flowers from a cute old man sitting on the side
of the road.
When we got back to Ulla’s home I got the Latvian cooking
lesson from a Latvian mama I’ve been dying for, all while we snacked on fish
and homemade marinated pickles and mushrooms. Here’s the basics of how the
Latvians enjoy their shrooms:
First you saute some onions in butter
Then you add the shrooms
Then you add the cream and make sure they really absorb all the fat
Then you absorb all the tasty food
Everyone who's ever cooked with me can imagine my internal
struggle as I added that much butter and cream to something so fresh but I
wanted a Latvian cooking lesson so I took a Latvian cooking lesson. And, when Ulla’s
mom said more cream, I added more cream (after I saved enough of the less cream
version for a taste comparison. Just saying, I don’t think more cream added
more flavor, but I’m not exactly an impartial judge because I prefer them
marinated, anyway). Anyhoo, the whole hunting, cooking lesson, and lunch were
above and beyond what I ever could have asked for and served as further proof
for me that I completely disagree with the Latvian stereotype that Latvians are
like coconuts, tough on the outside and soft on the inside. Instead, here’s a
proposal for a new way to describe Latvians: they survive the cold winters by
being warm inside and out.
Between the warm food and warmer company (and, finally, warm
weather!) I returned back to Riga feeling warm and fuzzy myself, with just
enough time to prepare my apartment to be overrun by madrichim. With a full
week in between camps the madrichim deserved a party to congratulate them on a
great first session and get them ready for an incoming second session. Too bad
this was also the time my apartment villain decided to strike again. I’d
already had problems with the plumbing, the temperature, and the wifi (when,
this one glorious Friday the building lost internet and, even though they fixed
the problem for the building before the weekend, somehow my apartment was the
only one still experiencing problems. And, since this all happened on a Friday
night, there was no help in sight for days.) So, for my last full week in Riga
my apartment decided it was time to throw all my misadventures together for the
big finale.
The only thing I had left to do was to bake the cookie dough
I had already made and warm up the fries and pizza. That’s it. And, since my
oven (toaster) works on an egg timer, I threw the dough in and thought all was
going well when that wonderfully annoying ticking sound filled my apartment. After
about five minutes, however, I finally realized that the timer was going but
none of my other electrical things were. I ran around my building knocking on
doors and peering into random people’s apartments to find out how long the
power had been out only to find that the power wasn’t out. At least, it wasn’t
out in anyone else’s apartment. Just mine. And, since my evil wifi and plumbing
system need to be plugged in (I don’t understand either), they also crapped
out. The extent of my problems started to really sink in when my sinks
regurgitated so, not only did my apartment start to smell but the smell was
only going to get worse when I couldn’t clean the dishes I needed to use for
the party. And then the guests arrived. With ice cream. And then more guests
arrived. With more ice cream. They thought I would make nonalcoholic cocktails,
but that doesn’t work so well when you can’t use your blender. Determined to
use the ice cream and make the drinks I had promised I decided to muddle the
frozen fruit and ice cream by hand. It was only after all that hard work that I
found out none of them actually wanted the non alcoholic cocktails or the ice
cream. Yet another confusing eating experience with the community.
Eventually my landlord showed up and did what he always
does: looked around, flipped a switch, and said, “master will come tomorrow and
fix it. Maybe you want to move somewhere else tonight?” I don’t understand why
he comes all the way over to my apartment and all the way up my stairs to tell
me what he could have told me over the phone but at least he’s consistent. I
pointed to my guests and said, “not exactly a good time to move. Will you at
least eat some ice cream?” Instead he left, only to return half an hour later
so his friend could hang out my window and steal electricity from my neighbor
by connecting our apartments with extension chords. So I now had electricity in
one corner of my apartment, which didn’t do much for the plumbing or my ability
to clean but at least I could bake the cookies, fries, and other frozen food
that was slowly melting in my freezer. The new goodies at least temporarily
appeased the party that had swelled to about fifteen or so people, none of whom
were eating the ice cream but all of whom wanted to know if now, at midnight,
an hour after the landlord had left for the second time, we could call the
landlord back and change apartments so they could go to the bathroom. At the
point I was far too exhausted from entertaining to entertain that idea so they
hung in there, we lit some candles, and I came to truly appreciate absurdly
long days with too much light.
I am officially 100% satisfied with my stay in this country.
Which is particularly great because I’m about 90% sure this country is trying
to get rid of me. My week between camp sessions marked most of the firsts I’ve
been waiting for since I arrived nearly a year ago and many firsts I could have
done with out. We’ll start with the good. I crossed off the last thing on my
bucket list, which turned into a magical day in which I fulfilled all my other
Latvian dreams. I mushroomed (in this country mushroom quests in the woods
involve looking for fungus, not hallucinations) and I learned how to cook a
traditional Latvian meal of handpicked mushrooms, potatoes, homemade pickles,
and smoked fish from an actual Latvian family. I also left the day with my
ideal Latvian souvenirs: handpicked flowers that I can dry for tea, hand picked
berries that I can use with my fresh rhubarb, and homemade marinated goodies. They
sell these things in stores but all Latvians know the only way to really enjoy
those foods is fresh from the garden from people you love. And I do love the
Beitneres. Anyone who has anything negative to say about Latvia or Latvians has
clearly never spent a day with the Beitneres.
I have not so subtly reminded my friend Ulla about my need
to go mushrooming every time I've seen her for the past 6 months. And, being
the fun gal that she is (that joke would work much better if she were a guy), she
rewarded my insistent begging with one of the best days I've had in this
country. That’s what usually happens when I go adventuring with Ulla. So, after
months of waiting I was finally ready to don my best tic protective clothing to
venture into the woods with Ulla and her mother.
As we were driving in, Ulla’s mom taught us to smell for the
most fruitful (or fungusful) spot. Unfortunately I still don’t quite know what
a mushroom forest smells like because there wasn’t much to smell or pick. At
least we found enough mushrooms to make for lunch, flowers for tea, and more
than enough blueberries to fill the extra space in our baskets and tummies. I
also learned the important things, like cutting instead of pulling, checking
for worms, and bigger is better (as far as stems go for non-chanterelles). I
also found the “mother of mushrooms,” which was the only non-chanterelle I picked
that wasn’t poisonous. We mostly picked chanterelles because we knew they’d be
safe but we got some variety in there, all of which we checked against the
Latvian mushrooming app, of course.
After reconnecting with Mother Nature for a few hours we
headed home to cook our bounty, obviously stopping on the way for some famous
Latvian smoked fish and fresh flowers from a cute old man sitting on the side
of the road.
When we got back to Ulla’s home I got the Latvian cooking
lesson from a Latvian mama I’ve been dying for, all while we snacked on fish
and homemade marinated pickles and mushrooms. Here’s the basics of how the
Latvians enjoy their shrooms:
Everyone who's ever cooked with me can imagine my internal
struggle as I added that much butter and cream to something so fresh but I
wanted a Latvian cooking lesson so I took a Latvian cooking lesson. And, when Ulla’s
mom said more cream, I added more cream (after I saved enough of the less cream
version for a taste comparison. Just saying, I don’t think more cream added
more flavor, but I’m not exactly an impartial judge because I prefer them
marinated, anyway). Anyhoo, the whole hunting, cooking lesson, and lunch were
above and beyond what I ever could have asked for and served as further proof
for me that I completely disagree with the Latvian stereotype that Latvians are
like coconuts, tough on the outside and soft on the inside. Instead, here’s a
proposal for a new way to describe Latvians: they survive the cold winters by
being warm inside and out.
Between the warm food and warmer company (and, finally, warm
weather!) I returned back to Riga feeling warm and fuzzy myself, with just
enough time to prepare my apartment to be overrun by madrichim. With a full
week in between camps the madrichim deserved a party to congratulate them on a
great first session and get them ready for an incoming second session. Too bad
this was also the time my apartment villain decided to strike again. I’d
already had problems with the plumbing, the temperature, and the wifi (when,
this one glorious Friday the building lost internet and, even though they fixed
the problem for the building before the weekend, somehow my apartment was the
only one still experiencing problems. And, since this all happened on a Friday
night, there was no help in sight for days.) So, for my last full week in Riga
my apartment decided it was time to throw all my misadventures together for the
big finale.
The only thing I had left to do was to bake the cookie dough
I had already made and warm up the fries and pizza. That’s it. And, since my
oven (toaster) works on an egg timer, I threw the dough in and thought all was
going well when that wonderfully annoying ticking sound filled my apartment. After
about five minutes, however, I finally realized that the timer was going but
none of my other electrical things were. I ran around my building knocking on
doors and peering into random people’s apartments to find out how long the
power had been out only to find that the power wasn’t out. At least, it wasn’t
out in anyone else’s apartment. Just mine. And, since my evil wifi and plumbing
system need to be plugged in (I don’t understand either), they also crapped
out. The extent of my problems started to really sink in when my sinks
regurgitated so, not only did my apartment start to smell but the smell was
only going to get worse when I couldn’t clean the dishes I needed to use for
the party. And then the guests arrived. With ice cream. And then more guests
arrived. With more ice cream. They thought I would make nonalcoholic cocktails,
but that doesn’t work so well when you can’t use your blender. Determined to
use the ice cream and make the drinks I had promised I decided to muddle the
frozen fruit and ice cream by hand. It was only after all that hard work that I
found out none of them actually wanted the non alcoholic cocktails or the ice
cream. Yet another confusing eating experience with the community.
Eventually my landlord showed up and did what he always
does: looked around, flipped a switch, and said, “master will come tomorrow and
fix it. Maybe you want to move somewhere else tonight?” I don’t understand why
he comes all the way over to my apartment and all the way up my stairs to tell
me what he could have told me over the phone but at least he’s consistent. I
pointed to my guests and said, “not exactly a good time to move. Will you at
least eat some ice cream?” Instead he left, only to return half an hour later
so his friend could hang out my window and steal electricity from my neighbor
by connecting our apartments with extension chords. So I now had electricity in
one corner of my apartment, which didn’t do much for the plumbing or my ability
to clean but at least I could bake the cookies, fries, and other frozen food
that was slowly melting in my freezer. The new goodies at least temporarily
appeased the party that had swelled to about fifteen or so people, none of whom
were eating the ice cream but all of whom wanted to know if now, at midnight,
an hour after the landlord had left for the second time, we could call the
landlord back and change apartments so they could go to the bathroom. At the
point I was far too exhausted from entertaining to entertain that idea so they
hung in there, we lit some candles, and I came to truly appreciate absurdly
long days with too much light.
Riga more than made up for this mishap by giving me enough
entertainment to keep me out of the apartment until all was fixed. I had the
opportunity to show the Berlin fellow and her mom some of my favorite parts of
the city, I went on an exclusive tour of the brand new library a month before
it opens (thanks, of course, to the ever lovely Ulla), and I learned about beer
from my favorite local brewer. By the time I made it back to my well lit and
clog free home I felt victorious over my apartment and the city.
I am also very sorry to say that I lost a very very special figure in my life this past week.
I would like to dedicate this post to my best friend and my best travel companion, Monkey. You will forever be missed. 1993-2014.
