There is always a feeling of apprehension, maybe a little unease, when meeting new roommates. The thoughts of how well you will coexist always occupy most the space in your mind the first few minutes, or maybe even hours, that you are with them. It was such the case today as I met Toby and Phillip. After a few minutes, I decided that they weren't just alright, but they were pretty cool. As is the case with the majority of the educated world, they speak English but, being the minority by 2/3, I figure some German would come in handy.
Being the most "local" of the 3 of us, I was appointed by majority vote as the guide for the night and we went out in search of some drinks. Now, since I am not a drinker, my expertise on the good spots were vastly limited, so I took them to this spot in Old Town that's like an outdoor cafe with tables out in one of the big town squares. I've always wanted to go there and just sit and chill but never had a reason to.
We had a good, little chill. My 2 new freunds (ah, see, I'm learning already) commented on the similarities between the Latvian beer and their home brews. I commented how the Coke Zero the waitress brought me tasted like crap and how come I got that instead of the normal Coke I asked for.
Toby, a civil engineering student from Hamburg, is interning with a German firm based in Riga. Phillip, from Frankfurt, is a law student interning at the German embassy. I am an international relations student from Kaysville, Ut interning at an NGO (yes, the ambiguities that constitute my life make for difficult conversation with OR without language barriers).
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Ammenities
The supermarkets in Latvia intrigue me. They are so small and the selection so scant. There are no baggers, that you do yourself, and the only bags available are small plastic bags about half the size of one of the plastic bags you and I would think of. It seems like I, along with everyone else, am stopping by to get groceries every other day because you just can't fit all the groceries, say, for a week, in enough of the little bags.
Now, I have my theories behind this shopping culture so foreign to me. My first instinct told me that it's because they're so poor they only can afford to buy enough food to last a couple days at a time. This was soon debunked, however, as I realized these people here, at least HERE, in the city center, have money.
Next, I thought that maybe nobody has refrigerators so they only buy just enough food so it won't spoil. Again, this isn't true. Like the States, everybody has a fridge.
Finally, I came to the conclusion that possibly these small supermarkets are a carry over from communist days when state run food stores were the only means of purchasing food and people only got small rations at a time. I may be wrong, but that would be my guess. The idea of big, U.S. style supermarket, let alone a Costco or Sam's Club, would probably be viewed as so completely unnecessary it would make me laugh.
Which brings me to my next point, garbage disposals. There was a very nice, German girl that worked here at TI with me for a week or two before she left. One day we were talking and she asked me what the deal was with those things in the kitchen sink that suck everything down the drain. She couldn't understand why those existed. Excitedly I went off on the swirling water and the sucking power and the ease with which you can get rid of those food scraps, and the swirling sucking motion, and how easy it is to dispose of unwanted food scraps, ect, ect, ect. She just looked at me with a blank look and said, "but you can just throw the scraps in the trash." Oh, well, yeah, I guess you could actually; never thought of that.
Albeit unnecessary, I still like them. There's nothing like the action of a 1/3 horsepower electric motor under the kitchen sink than can suck water and make it swirl down the drain, taking with it unwanted scraps of food, that eats and sucks down the water and food in swirling motions, taking with it the water and scraps of food and the...
Now, I have my theories behind this shopping culture so foreign to me. My first instinct told me that it's because they're so poor they only can afford to buy enough food to last a couple days at a time. This was soon debunked, however, as I realized these people here, at least HERE, in the city center, have money.
Next, I thought that maybe nobody has refrigerators so they only buy just enough food so it won't spoil. Again, this isn't true. Like the States, everybody has a fridge.
Finally, I came to the conclusion that possibly these small supermarkets are a carry over from communist days when state run food stores were the only means of purchasing food and people only got small rations at a time. I may be wrong, but that would be my guess. The idea of big, U.S. style supermarket, let alone a Costco or Sam's Club, would probably be viewed as so completely unnecessary it would make me laugh.
Which brings me to my next point, garbage disposals. There was a very nice, German girl that worked here at TI with me for a week or two before she left. One day we were talking and she asked me what the deal was with those things in the kitchen sink that suck everything down the drain. She couldn't understand why those existed. Excitedly I went off on the swirling water and the sucking power and the ease with which you can get rid of those food scraps, and the swirling sucking motion, and how easy it is to dispose of unwanted food scraps, ect, ect, ect. She just looked at me with a blank look and said, "but you can just throw the scraps in the trash." Oh, well, yeah, I guess you could actually; never thought of that.
Albeit unnecessary, I still like them. There's nothing like the action of a 1/3 horsepower electric motor under the kitchen sink than can suck water and make it swirl down the drain, taking with it unwanted scraps of food, that eats and sucks down the water and food in swirling motions, taking with it the water and scraps of food and the...
Monday, April 28, 2008
A First For Everything
I have never seen a beaver before. In all my jaunts and gallivants in the forests and mountains not once have I seen a beaver. I've seen beaver dams, but not the inhabitants. On Friday night, swimming in the Riga city canal, I saw two beavers. I was shocked. Right in the middle of the city were these 2 beavers just swimming around. Now I have seen a beaver.
I have never seen the Baltic Sea before. On Saturday, I grabbed my backpack and found my way to the coast. As usual, I missed the correct bus stop and ended up at the end of the route in some little town that clearly was not my intended destination. This was not the coastal town I wanted - there was no coast in sight, anywhere. I found it wise just to head back on the same route hoping to find the right place. Sure enough, a couple miles back I found a place that looked well touristed and got off there. It turned out to be the right place.
Jurmala is the resort town of Latvia. It resembles a Newport Beach or a Park City, a typical resort town feeling with little streets filled with shops and little, ornate houses. I meandered through it until I came to the beach and had a raucous time:
I have never seen the Baltic Sea before. On Saturday, I grabbed my backpack and found my way to the coast. As usual, I missed the correct bus stop and ended up at the end of the route in some little town that clearly was not my intended destination. This was not the coastal town I wanted - there was no coast in sight, anywhere. I found it wise just to head back on the same route hoping to find the right place. Sure enough, a couple miles back I found a place that looked well touristed and got off there. It turned out to be the right place.
Jurmala is the resort town of Latvia. It resembles a Newport Beach or a Park City, a typical resort town feeling with little streets filled with shops and little, ornate houses. I meandered through it until I came to the beach and had a raucous time:
As you can see, it was bristled with excitement. I ate my lunch and read and sat, all for 3 hours or so. It was actually quite pleasant simply being out of the city, in the sunshine and salty breeze. Now I have seen the Baltic Sea.
I have never been on a Latvian train. To return back to Riga I opted to take the train. Turns out it was not only cheaper than the bus, but much more enjoyable (it glides through the country-side as apposed to the highway which winds through all the cities and towns along the way). Now I have been on a Latvian train.
I have never been on a Latvian train. To return back to Riga I opted to take the train. Turns out it was not only cheaper than the bus, but much more enjoyable (it glides through the country-side as apposed to the highway which winds through all the cities and towns along the way). Now I have been on a Latvian train.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Good Times in Latvia
The other day I saw a lady in her 60's, probably, cruising down the sidewalks on a Razor scooter. It was definitely the coolest thing I'd seen for a while.
Today I saw a guy on a moped pop a wheelie and ride it the length of the block - ON A MOPED. That too was nicely astonishing.
I decided I need to find an old bike in a dumpster or something so I can cruise around, ride out to the coast, ride into the countryside. That would be sweet.
Remember the hot dog I ate my first week here? The one that tasted like the vienna sausage? Despite the fact that that was a less than grand experience, I still love hot dogs and went to the store to see if I might find some good franks or something. There was quite the selection to behold. Not being able to read what exactly each type was, my choosing ability was limited. I picked some that looked good and were just a little bit pricier, with the hopes that they were better quality. I went home and opened the package to find that the hotdogs were all linked together. It was a giant chain of hot dogs! I'd never seen anything like it accept in cartoons. It was fantastic! So, chuckling to myself, I pulled out the links, dangled them about, draped them around my neck, took some pictures, it was great fun. And then I cut off a couple and put them in the frying pan (just kidding. I didn't drape them around my neck; that would be weird). They weren't bad. It was no kosher Costco-dog, that is certain, but it was definitely a step up from the street hot dog. Plus, I got some good giggles out the experience. Oh, life is good.
Today I saw a guy on a moped pop a wheelie and ride it the length of the block - ON A MOPED. That too was nicely astonishing.
I decided I need to find an old bike in a dumpster or something so I can cruise around, ride out to the coast, ride into the countryside. That would be sweet.
Remember the hot dog I ate my first week here? The one that tasted like the vienna sausage? Despite the fact that that was a less than grand experience, I still love hot dogs and went to the store to see if I might find some good franks or something. There was quite the selection to behold. Not being able to read what exactly each type was, my choosing ability was limited. I picked some that looked good and were just a little bit pricier, with the hopes that they were better quality. I went home and opened the package to find that the hotdogs were all linked together. It was a giant chain of hot dogs! I'd never seen anything like it accept in cartoons. It was fantastic! So, chuckling to myself, I pulled out the links, dangled them about, draped them around my neck, took some pictures, it was great fun. And then I cut off a couple and put them in the frying pan (just kidding. I didn't drape them around my neck; that would be weird). They weren't bad. It was no kosher Costco-dog, that is certain, but it was definitely a step up from the street hot dog. Plus, I got some good giggles out the experience. Oh, life is good.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Prone People
Great news! In trying to figure out my class schedule for this fall I realized I have been on the wrong track this whole time! I thought I was emphasizing in International Politics when in reality I've been on track for the Political Economy emphasis. So what does that mean? Well, unless I want to be in school for 2 more years, I have to pretty much take econ classes for the rest of my undergrad. Fantastic. Forget that my lowest grades are already from econ classes. You know what else? When all is done, I will be just 2 courses short of a BS in Economics - TWO. I am basically being forced to get a major in Economics. Oh this is fabulous. Why not just bump it up to a major and get a joint degree! And heak, while I'm at it, let's just move the Spanish minor up to a major and get a triple major! Dang it. I will just have to sweat this thing out and get out of there.
This makes me think of all the prones there are in the world. There are accident prone people, success prone people, and mistake prone people, just to name a few. I seem to fit neatly into the category of the very latter. I fear that my lack of detail is beginning catch up with me.
Who knows, in the end maybe this mistake of mine will be a blessing. Just like when I totally spaced when singing up for Driver's Ed by putting my birthday down as being 3/11/84 instead of 4/11/84. I didn't even realize I had done that until after I was put in a driver's group all with people whose birthdays were in February and March and wondered why I was the only April birthday. So, while it was the norm to get your driver's license a month or two after your birthday, I got mine the week of. Of course, those who didn't know me didn't believe I had made an honest mistake. Those who knew me well, maybe thought I had made an honest mistake? Ah well. To a 16 year old, that was the best mistake that could have possibly ever been made.
This makes me think of all the prones there are in the world. There are accident prone people, success prone people, and mistake prone people, just to name a few. I seem to fit neatly into the category of the very latter. I fear that my lack of detail is beginning catch up with me.
Who knows, in the end maybe this mistake of mine will be a blessing. Just like when I totally spaced when singing up for Driver's Ed by putting my birthday down as being 3/11/84 instead of 4/11/84. I didn't even realize I had done that until after I was put in a driver's group all with people whose birthdays were in February and March and wondered why I was the only April birthday. So, while it was the norm to get your driver's license a month or two after your birthday, I got mine the week of. Of course, those who didn't know me didn't believe I had made an honest mistake. Those who knew me well, maybe thought I had made an honest mistake? Ah well. To a 16 year old, that was the best mistake that could have possibly ever been made.
Monday, April 21, 2008
A Happy Family
It's common knowledge that Nutella is kind of a European thing. They put it on toast and crackers and crepes and the like. I put it on pieces of bread when the sweet tooth rolls around later in the evening. It's a interesting thing, Nutella. They say it is a "hazelnut spread" as if that means it's healthy for you. In reality it's just a weak, processed chocolate spread. Upon close inspection of the nutrition facts, it reads that only 0.5% is actually hazelnut. That's not even worth mentioning. I don't think they would even mention it if they weren't marketing the product as "hazelnut spread." Instead, they would say something like, "contains an insignificant amount of hazelnut" like they do when it's something bad for you like sodium or trans fat.
Why am I writing about this? Not sure.
For Family Home Evening (between7-10 singles from the area meet at the senior missionaries home each week - it's fun), they wanted me to talk about my mission briefly. The jungles of Central America are even more foreign to Latvians than to Americans so they just kept asking questions. I spoke of the Nica culture and lifestyle, the diarrhea and upchucking in the front yard, the bugs and animals, eating cow tongue and brain, eating iguana, getting on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride in the form of public transport everyday, eating nothing but rice, beans, tortillas, and boiled bananas practically everyday, getting bit by dogs, getting bit by millions of the tiniest ants and mosquitoes one could imagine, seeing the biggest ants you can imagine, you know, Tropical 101. Naturally, I was enthralled at having such an enthused audience. That right there was a truly symbiotic relationship.
Why am I writing about this? Not sure.
For Family Home Evening (between7-10 singles from the area meet at the senior missionaries home each week - it's fun), they wanted me to talk about my mission briefly. The jungles of Central America are even more foreign to Latvians than to Americans so they just kept asking questions. I spoke of the Nica culture and lifestyle, the diarrhea and upchucking in the front yard, the bugs and animals, eating cow tongue and brain, eating iguana, getting on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride in the form of public transport everyday, eating nothing but rice, beans, tortillas, and boiled bananas practically everyday, getting bit by dogs, getting bit by millions of the tiniest ants and mosquitoes one could imagine, seeing the biggest ants you can imagine, you know, Tropical 101. Naturally, I was enthralled at having such an enthused audience. That right there was a truly symbiotic relationship.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Halleluja
As always, church was a great little part of the week. The branch is probably around 100 members or so big, which is really good for just a branch. There isn't a chapel but they have a floor in a building which is just about a 5 minute walk from my place. As previously mentioned, there are so many Americans, sacrament meeting is translated by one of the missionaries into English for us all. It's a good experience to be the one wearing the headset. I think we take it for granted already speaking the lingua franca of the Church. There is a Sunday school class in English, however, which is nice. The best part about church, however, is singing the hymns. Here's why:
I've only ever seen a few Mr. Bean episodes; this happens to be one of them. Funny enough, this same thing happens to me each Sunday. Despite my best efforts to lift my voice in Latvian, it mostly comes out as unintelligible mush. It makes me laugh actually.
When it is possible for me to pronunciate the words, however, it sounds as if a Latino, not an American, is attempting to speak Latvian. This too makes me laugh. My good buddy Ben served as a missionary in Korea and later spent a good amount of time in China. Needless to say, he has very good grasp on the Asian languages. He, being a very smart guy, has also picked up a considerable amount of Spanish. The funny thing is, when he speaks Spanish, it sounds as if an Asian is trying to speak Spanish. If I were majoring in linguistics, I'd probably do a study on this phenomenon. Since I am not, I will just laugh at it.
(if it doesn't work try this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k6a75BDoJqg&feature=related )
I've only ever seen a few Mr. Bean episodes; this happens to be one of them. Funny enough, this same thing happens to me each Sunday. Despite my best efforts to lift my voice in Latvian, it mostly comes out as unintelligible mush. It makes me laugh actually.
When it is possible for me to pronunciate the words, however, it sounds as if a Latino, not an American, is attempting to speak Latvian. This too makes me laugh. My good buddy Ben served as a missionary in Korea and later spent a good amount of time in China. Needless to say, he has very good grasp on the Asian languages. He, being a very smart guy, has also picked up a considerable amount of Spanish. The funny thing is, when he speaks Spanish, it sounds as if an Asian is trying to speak Spanish. If I were majoring in linguistics, I'd probably do a study on this phenomenon. Since I am not, I will just laugh at it.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Saturday in the Park
The sun shone the entire day. It was nothing but blue skies, still a little chilly, but oh so nice. I found a park bench and soaked it all up. There were people out everywhere walking, talking, all enjoying a sunny Saturday. Birds chirping, ducks quacking, and a guy playing a saxophone nearby all made for a pleasant array of ambient noise as I sat there and read. My good buddy Andrew, on various occasions, told me how much he loved The Jungle Books by Rudyard Kipling; so when I found a paperback copy in a bookstore, I bought it. He did not lie. It is a great story.
After reading for sometime I got up, meandered the narrow streets of Old Riga, and found my way down to the river. The Daugava, like all rivers that has hosted a citiy for ages, is dark dark brown with no visibility. It is still nice to just go sit by it and look out though - sort of peaceful. Honestly, I can not believe how many big churches they crammed within this tiny old town. There may be 7-10 of them, with 5 or 6 of them being humongous, and it only takes maybe 20 minutes to circumvent the entire town. I seriously ask why on earth they kept making these things - there is no way they could fill one of them on any given day, let alone 10. It's baffling. It makes for a very quaint, little city though - good for strolls.
After reading for sometime I got up, meandered the narrow streets of Old Riga, and found my way down to the river. The Daugava, like all rivers that has hosted a citiy for ages, is dark dark brown with no visibility. It is still nice to just go sit by it and look out though - sort of peaceful. Honestly, I can not believe how many big churches they crammed within this tiny old town. There may be 7-10 of them, with 5 or 6 of them being humongous, and it only takes maybe 20 minutes to circumvent the entire town. I seriously ask why on earth they kept making these things - there is no way they could fill one of them on any given day, let alone 10. It's baffling. It makes for a very quaint, little city though - good for strolls.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Of all these friends and lovers...
In my boredom and solitude here in the cold Latvian nights, I have turned to the only friends I can - The Beatles. Yes, documentaries on Youtube are abundant, sweetly filling many hours of time. So for lack of anything else to write tonight (the day went well, I started using down time to study for the GRE), I will write on my favorite topic in popular culture as if I too were being interviewed in a Beatles' documentary. If you don't want to hear about it, I don't blame you - stop reading now. For the rest, maybe only my Dad, keep reading:
Dad was a big fan. The first time I can ever recall hearing about The Beatles I must have been only 6 or 7. We were in a poster shop for some reason and I saw a poster of the coolest car I'd ever seen, it was a Lamborghini I think and I wanted it. I remember my dad, with a quirky smile, holding up another poster, asking if I didn't want that one instead. I still remember it today. It was this very picture:
"Who are they?" I asked. They were 4 guys with long, grungy hair, nothing cool to a kid. My Mom said, "no you don't want them" as she pushed Dad out of the way with that "oh brother" type of attitude. Dad just smiled and said something like, "they were The Beatles and they were the coolest band ever." The Beetles? huh? Well, to a young child, even if they were the coolest ever, 4 guys were no where near as cool as a sweet looking car so naturally, I got the Lamborghini poster and that was that.
Although Dad was a big fan, the only Beatles music he had were two cassettes: one had a recording of Abbey Road on one side and the old Hey Jude album on the other, and the other was Revolver. I'm not sure if it was because money was tight or because Mom didn't like them or what that he only had those two (probably a mixture of both). I remember however, my Dad putting Hey Jude in one day as we were driving or something (I was around 9 at the time) and it was like the greatest thing I'd ever heard. After that I listened to it over and over and over again on my little tape recorder. Oh, it was so good, every time I just loved it. I was hooked. Dad would point them out on the radio and give me history about the songs and whatnot. It was great.
That year for Christmas I received the red album on cassette tapes. Yes, the Greatest Hits (1963 - 1966). I can't tell you how great it was. Three months later I got the blue album (Greatest Hits 1967-1970) for my birthday and again, it was so good. For the next five years, those 30 or so songs became my own personal soundtrack. When happy, I'd listen to one of those tapes. When sad or frustrated, I'd listen to one of those tapes. It seemed like every emotion I ever had, The Beatles catered to it. They still do.
I remember watching TV one Saturday night and Dad was just flipping through the channels and stumbled upon A Hard Day's Night on PBS. I never knew they made a movie! Imagine my excitement when Dad told me they had others too. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before! I actually got to see The Beatles play their songs and run around (that's all the film entails really). I was in heaven. I thought that those 4 guys were the absolute greatest guys in the world! After that, we just had to watch Help!. Again, it was like a whole new world had been opened up to me. I just loved every second of it. After seeing them, not only did I love their music, I wanted to be them (Girls may have had their crushes on one of them, but I wanted to be Paul McCartney. As I've grown up(wait...I'm a grown up? I didn't think grown-ups wanted to be anyone else?), George has become my favorite and naturally, he's the one I want to be, even now).
For my 12th birthday, I wanted to go to the Hansen Planetarium to see The Beatles' lazer show. Oh man, words can't express how incredible that was. I was so into it that I vividly remember Dad telling me to stop singing because I might be disrupting the people around us.
Naturally, when I wanted to learn guitar around the age of 14, it was Beatles' tunes with which I taught myself. To this day, there is nothing more therapeutic than rendering the introspective You've Got to Hide Your Love Away.
When I turned 16, I used some birthday money and went out and bought my very first Beatles' album on cd. It was A Hard Day's Night. I couldn't wait to get home and play it. And I did, over and over and over. Then with the money I earned lifeguarding, each pay check I'd go out and buy an album. Every time I'd come home, go into my room, shut the door behind me, and just listen to the entire album. I remember so well how amazing all the new songs I'd never heard before were, the ones that I never heard on the radio or on the Greatest Hits - songs like I've Just Seen a Face and Getting Better and I've Got a Feeling. These previously unheard of and seldom aired songs just blew my mind.
There was one time when I was in my room just jamming out, pretending to be Paul, holding a pretend bass, shaking my head and lip-syncing to All My Loving when Mom walked in. I felt a little foolish. As a young boy I wouldn't have felt embarrassed, however, I was probably 17 then.
At the very early stage of my affinity, I well remember watching a Paul McCartney concert that was broadcast on TV with Dad. It was awesome to see an aged Paul still rock. It had never even occurred to me that The Beatles had grown up. Upon realizing this, I asked what had happened to The Beatles. Dad told me. I was completely heartbroken. My heart actually ached. It was absolutely awful. I feel the same feelings now when it doesn't work out with a girl. This was real heartache. In my mind, The Beatles were like family - my best, most intimate friends.
Many years have passed since I was first introduced to the Fab Four and in those years there were always times of great happiness and times of sorrow and grief and all the times in between. In each of those times, no matter what I felt, The Beatles sang to me. I have loved other groups as well - Led Zeppelin comes in at second, followed by the Grateful Dead and Pink Floyd and others. None of them, however, carry the same emotion, the same feelings that The Beatles do. For instance, just 2 days before I was to leave Nicaragua as a missionary, Let It Be came on the radio as we were in a taxi. I cried. It was such an emotional time. I was ecstatic to be going home but at the same time so sad to leave the people I had grown to love so much. The timeless message sunk deep into my heart as I realized it was my time to move on to a different stage in life.
I know all this may sound pretentious and superfluous; you're entitled to think that. But just today, I put on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and immediately, it was like I was in a different world. And I'm entitled to that world.
Dad was a big fan. The first time I can ever recall hearing about The Beatles I must have been only 6 or 7. We were in a poster shop for some reason and I saw a poster of the coolest car I'd ever seen, it was a Lamborghini I think and I wanted it. I remember my dad, with a quirky smile, holding up another poster, asking if I didn't want that one instead. I still remember it today. It was this very picture:
Although Dad was a big fan, the only Beatles music he had were two cassettes: one had a recording of Abbey Road on one side and the old Hey Jude album on the other, and the other was Revolver. I'm not sure if it was because money was tight or because Mom didn't like them or what that he only had those two (probably a mixture of both). I remember however, my Dad putting Hey Jude in one day as we were driving or something (I was around 9 at the time) and it was like the greatest thing I'd ever heard. After that I listened to it over and over and over again on my little tape recorder. Oh, it was so good, every time I just loved it. I was hooked. Dad would point them out on the radio and give me history about the songs and whatnot. It was great.
That year for Christmas I received the red album on cassette tapes. Yes, the Greatest Hits (1963 - 1966). I can't tell you how great it was. Three months later I got the blue album (Greatest Hits 1967-1970) for my birthday and again, it was so good. For the next five years, those 30 or so songs became my own personal soundtrack. When happy, I'd listen to one of those tapes. When sad or frustrated, I'd listen to one of those tapes. It seemed like every emotion I ever had, The Beatles catered to it. They still do.
I remember watching TV one Saturday night and Dad was just flipping through the channels and stumbled upon A Hard Day's Night on PBS. I never knew they made a movie! Imagine my excitement when Dad told me they had others too. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before! I actually got to see The Beatles play their songs and run around (that's all the film entails really). I was in heaven. I thought that those 4 guys were the absolute greatest guys in the world! After that, we just had to watch Help!. Again, it was like a whole new world had been opened up to me. I just loved every second of it. After seeing them, not only did I love their music, I wanted to be them (Girls may have had their crushes on one of them, but I wanted to be Paul McCartney. As I've grown up(wait...I'm a grown up? I didn't think grown-ups wanted to be anyone else?), George has become my favorite and naturally, he's the one I want to be, even now).
For my 12th birthday, I wanted to go to the Hansen Planetarium to see The Beatles' lazer show. Oh man, words can't express how incredible that was. I was so into it that I vividly remember Dad telling me to stop singing because I might be disrupting the people around us.
Naturally, when I wanted to learn guitar around the age of 14, it was Beatles' tunes with which I taught myself. To this day, there is nothing more therapeutic than rendering the introspective You've Got to Hide Your Love Away.
When I turned 16, I used some birthday money and went out and bought my very first Beatles' album on cd. It was A Hard Day's Night. I couldn't wait to get home and play it. And I did, over and over and over. Then with the money I earned lifeguarding, each pay check I'd go out and buy an album. Every time I'd come home, go into my room, shut the door behind me, and just listen to the entire album. I remember so well how amazing all the new songs I'd never heard before were, the ones that I never heard on the radio or on the Greatest Hits - songs like I've Just Seen a Face and Getting Better and I've Got a Feeling. These previously unheard of and seldom aired songs just blew my mind.
There was one time when I was in my room just jamming out, pretending to be Paul, holding a pretend bass, shaking my head and lip-syncing to All My Loving when Mom walked in. I felt a little foolish. As a young boy I wouldn't have felt embarrassed, however, I was probably 17 then.
At the very early stage of my affinity, I well remember watching a Paul McCartney concert that was broadcast on TV with Dad. It was awesome to see an aged Paul still rock. It had never even occurred to me that The Beatles had grown up. Upon realizing this, I asked what had happened to The Beatles. Dad told me. I was completely heartbroken. My heart actually ached. It was absolutely awful. I feel the same feelings now when it doesn't work out with a girl. This was real heartache. In my mind, The Beatles were like family - my best, most intimate friends.
Many years have passed since I was first introduced to the Fab Four and in those years there were always times of great happiness and times of sorrow and grief and all the times in between. In each of those times, no matter what I felt, The Beatles sang to me. I have loved other groups as well - Led Zeppelin comes in at second, followed by the Grateful Dead and Pink Floyd and others. None of them, however, carry the same emotion, the same feelings that The Beatles do. For instance, just 2 days before I was to leave Nicaragua as a missionary, Let It Be came on the radio as we were in a taxi. I cried. It was such an emotional time. I was ecstatic to be going home but at the same time so sad to leave the people I had grown to love so much. The timeless message sunk deep into my heart as I realized it was my time to move on to a different stage in life.
I know all this may sound pretentious and superfluous; you're entitled to think that. But just today, I put on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and immediately, it was like I was in a different world. And I'm entitled to that world.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Defensive Driving
Latvian stoplights: I barely noticed them for the first 2 weeks I've been here. Today, being my 15th day in Latvia, I noticed them. I'm not sure if it's this way in the rest of post-Soviet Europe or even Europe as a whole, but the lights turn green to yellow to red and instead of going directly from red to green, they turn yellow first. I thought yellow meant 'caution!' but here it means, 'ok, almost time to go! not yet, but in a second!' I'm not really sure I understand the logic of it all; different system I guess. Can you imagine the accidents that would happen in the States from this? While the law book says yellow means 'caution,' the vulgate interpretation is 'quick! you can make it!' and so everyone accelerates. A yellow preceding a green would only make for a mess at every intersection as the North-South traffic sped up to the make the light and simultaneously the East-West traffic tried to be the first off the line. I guess Latvians are just more civilized behind the wheel.
This reminds me of something I learned in an economics class. It has been statistically proven that when people feel more physically secure/safe, they are more reckless and thus more accidents occur. It makes sense. When I first found out that old football players only wore cloth padding and leather helmets I asked my dad if they got hurt a lot. He told me that actually there was less injury because the players weren't as rough with each other then knowing how easily they could get injured. In reference to driving, the study noted that seatbelts and airbags make drivers feel more secure and therefore they are prone to drive faster and more reckless. The real answer to decrease the number of accidents on the street, my professor noted, is to put sharp spikes facing the driver on the steering wheel. Yep, that would do it.
This reminds me of something I learned in an economics class. It has been statistically proven that when people feel more physically secure/safe, they are more reckless and thus more accidents occur. It makes sense. When I first found out that old football players only wore cloth padding and leather helmets I asked my dad if they got hurt a lot. He told me that actually there was less injury because the players weren't as rough with each other then knowing how easily they could get injured. In reference to driving, the study noted that seatbelts and airbags make drivers feel more secure and therefore they are prone to drive faster and more reckless. The real answer to decrease the number of accidents on the street, my professor noted, is to put sharp spikes facing the driver on the steering wheel. Yep, that would do it.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
What I Do
New places are always somewhat uncomfortable at first. I am in my new apartment for the first night. It's a nice place, in a good location right in downtown Riga, and currently I don't have any roommates, nevertheless, it is a bit unnerving being here in this strange place. The internet hasn't been connected yet so I thought the next few nights were going to be especially boring. But no! I'm mooching someone's wireless signal!
The Latvian countryside is interesting. This pancake-flat country's landscape doesn't have a lot of variance, but it is pleasantly pretty. I had to take an 90 minute bus ride out to a small city today for work. It's funny how many different random U.S. based firms exist out here. Today we interviewed a door and window manufacturer headquartered in Oregon. The interviews basically consist of us surveying them about their perceptions of corruption in Latvia. Once we have our research done, we will make up a report of the findings which will be given to our boss who will then use that info, together with other projects, to compile general reports for Transparency International headquarters in Berlin. The work is actually quite interesting and while there may not be much notoriety for TI in the normal world, the fields of political science and international relations all view it as very reputable and beneficial organization. So, while most people have no clue exactly who it is that I'm interning for and what it is that they do, it's ok. Basically I'm making the world a better place. I don't want to toot my own horn or anything, so we'll just leave it at that.
I found my new favorite place to eat today. There's this Russian dish called pelmeni which is basically just ravolli, Russian style. It is good stuff, and there's no better bang for your buck over here. This place is expensive! For those who don't know, the current exchange rate is 1:0.45. That's one dollar for 0.45 Lats. Everything is double here. So when I can fill my belly for 3 US bucks, that's stellar.
The Latvian countryside is interesting. This pancake-flat country's landscape doesn't have a lot of variance, but it is pleasantly pretty. I had to take an 90 minute bus ride out to a small city today for work. It's funny how many different random U.S. based firms exist out here. Today we interviewed a door and window manufacturer headquartered in Oregon. The interviews basically consist of us surveying them about their perceptions of corruption in Latvia. Once we have our research done, we will make up a report of the findings which will be given to our boss who will then use that info, together with other projects, to compile general reports for Transparency International headquarters in Berlin. The work is actually quite interesting and while there may not be much notoriety for TI in the normal world, the fields of political science and international relations all view it as very reputable and beneficial organization. So, while most people have no clue exactly who it is that I'm interning for and what it is that they do, it's ok. Basically I'm making the world a better place. I don't want to toot my own horn or anything, so we'll just leave it at that.
I found my new favorite place to eat today. There's this Russian dish called pelmeni which is basically just ravolli, Russian style. It is good stuff, and there's no better bang for your buck over here. This place is expensive! For those who don't know, the current exchange rate is 1:0.45. That's one dollar for 0.45 Lats. Everything is double here. So when I can fill my belly for 3 US bucks, that's stellar.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Desk Jobs
Lifeguarding seems like the ideal summer job. You sit there at the pool, looking cool, getting tan. What most people don't consider, however, is that while you sit there looking cool, you are merely watching people have fun while you sit there sweating. In actuality, being a lifeguard is straight-up boring.
I had my days of lifeguarding (3 years to be exact). I've also had a number of other jobs, some good, some horrible. (The library was awful. Talk about boring; it was me and the books for 4 hours a day.) Now I'm experiencing a whole new world, a desk job. It's like uncharted territory for me. I come in the office around 10am, plug in, and sit down, where I SIT, pretty much until 5 o'clock. I mean, I have work to do, mostly research work. But I sit here, all day long. Is this normal? Is this really what happens to people between 8am and 5pm? Wow. It never really occurred to me this is it. Well actually, I do remember doing a job-shadow thing and going with my dad to work one day. Now THAT was quite possibly the most boring day of my early pubescent life. I have to give him credit because he tried to make it exciting for me, but alas, the desk job just isn't for spectators. One of my buddies' dad is a gynecologist. Needles to say, he never went to work with his dad.
I found a place to live finally. I got a hold of this German guy who rents out to German exchange students and interns and whatnot. He was going to give me a spot in the closet of one of his apartments. It was a bigger closet - big enough for a bed, small desk and suitcase maybe - and I was desperate so I thought it better than sleeping in the park (which I thought I might have to do my first night in Latvia). However, just today he bought a brand new place and right now I'm the only one there. It's actually quite nice, better than a closet anyways.
I had my days of lifeguarding (3 years to be exact). I've also had a number of other jobs, some good, some horrible. (The library was awful. Talk about boring; it was me and the books for 4 hours a day.) Now I'm experiencing a whole new world, a desk job. It's like uncharted territory for me. I come in the office around 10am, plug in, and sit down, where I SIT, pretty much until 5 o'clock. I mean, I have work to do, mostly research work. But I sit here, all day long. Is this normal? Is this really what happens to people between 8am and 5pm? Wow. It never really occurred to me this is it. Well actually, I do remember doing a job-shadow thing and going with my dad to work one day. Now THAT was quite possibly the most boring day of my early pubescent life. I have to give him credit because he tried to make it exciting for me, but alas, the desk job just isn't for spectators. One of my buddies' dad is a gynecologist. Needles to say, he never went to work with his dad.
I found a place to live finally. I got a hold of this German guy who rents out to German exchange students and interns and whatnot. He was going to give me a spot in the closet of one of his apartments. It was a bigger closet - big enough for a bed, small desk and suitcase maybe - and I was desperate so I thought it better than sleeping in the park (which I thought I might have to do my first night in Latvia). However, just today he bought a brand new place and right now I'm the only one there. It's actually quite nice, better than a closet anyways.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Home Away From Home
Ah Sunday, that special day of the week. As my family will tell you, as a kid I hated Sundays. It was the longest, most boring day of the week. The only thing I could do was antagonize my sisters, and I did. I got yelled at on Sunday more than any other day.
As a new missionary in the MTC, Sundays became the best day of the week, a true day of rest without any classes. If I was lucky, I could even sneak in a 15 minute nap. In the mission field, I soon learned that Sundays were the worst, most stressful day of the week - at least in Nicaragua this was the case. It was 2 hours of frantic activity trying to get the 10 people who committed going to church to church, then it was 3 hours of church, trying to make sure those people were ok, then, instead of a relaxing Sunday afternoon, it was off to the streets again. It was just that long day at the end of a week of rigorous missionary work.
Now, Sundays take on a different meaning for me. It is the one day where I feel at home. The branch here is actually quite strong as far as small branches go. About 1/3 of the branch are Americans. There are three entire families, two of whom work at the Embassy here, a slew of missionaries, a foreign exchange student from Michigan (who, cool enough, met the missionaries out here and recently got baptized a few weeks ago), and me. While the meetings are held in Latvian, it's all translated into English through headsets. I don't really even know anybody, and granted, the meetings can be a drag sometimes, but it's still feels comfortable just being there. After today's meetings, the missionaries invited me over to lunch. Once a month the whole zone goes over to the Hunter's home and has lunch after church. That was a treat. Dang, I would have killed for something like that as a missionary. As a Latin American serving missionary all I got were baptisms.
As a new missionary in the MTC, Sundays became the best day of the week, a true day of rest without any classes. If I was lucky, I could even sneak in a 15 minute nap. In the mission field, I soon learned that Sundays were the worst, most stressful day of the week - at least in Nicaragua this was the case. It was 2 hours of frantic activity trying to get the 10 people who committed going to church to church, then it was 3 hours of church, trying to make sure those people were ok, then, instead of a relaxing Sunday afternoon, it was off to the streets again. It was just that long day at the end of a week of rigorous missionary work.
Now, Sundays take on a different meaning for me. It is the one day where I feel at home. The branch here is actually quite strong as far as small branches go. About 1/3 of the branch are Americans. There are three entire families, two of whom work at the Embassy here, a slew of missionaries, a foreign exchange student from Michigan (who, cool enough, met the missionaries out here and recently got baptized a few weeks ago), and me. While the meetings are held in Latvian, it's all translated into English through headsets. I don't really even know anybody, and granted, the meetings can be a drag sometimes, but it's still feels comfortable just being there. After today's meetings, the missionaries invited me over to lunch. Once a month the whole zone goes over to the Hunter's home and has lunch after church. That was a treat. Dang, I would have killed for something like that as a missionary. As a Latin American serving missionary all I got were baptisms.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Finding the Sun
In the Baltics, seeing the sun shine is a rare phenomenon this time of year. And Spring, with its life and warm excitement, doesn't arrive until May. I've been here a week and a half now and the sun has manifest itself to me twice, each time lasting no more than an hour or so. It somewhat depresses me, almost putting me in a state of claustrophobia having it be cloudy all the time. Such is life. Paul McCartney once eloquently sang, "tomorrow may rain so, I'll follow the sun." While true in its intended poetical context, there's not always a sun to follow; the only option being to wait for it to come out. So we must wait. I must wait.
I write about this for 3 reasons. First, I just watched a Beatles documentary - those are the best. They say you should major in what you really love. If only. But now I can hear everyone telling me, "if only you spent as much time studying what you're in school for..." Yeah, well...Second, I really do miss the sun. (Spring in Utah is my favorite season: it's warming up and turning green but the peaks are still covered in snow. It's one of the few times when I can have my cake and eat it too.) Third, my good buddy Dave recently posted a blog entry (dluxlife.blogspot.com) in which he mentions that the sweet, soft I'll Follow the Sun by The Beatles is one of his new favorites. He mentioned how sad it is that all us roomates are splitting up. I'm here, Ben is in Ghana, Andrew leaves for Europe next week - soon to be followed by Cody, and Dave is transfering schools. This all wounldn't be so bad if we were all coming back to each other, but were not. Ben and Cody are graduating and taking jobs outside the state and, as mentioned, Dave is transfereing schools. Andrew, luckily for me, will still be around applying for grad school. Seriously, what a sad thing to happen. I think of all the fun we've shared, the times when 5 guys in their mid-20s couldn't get any stupider. All the bonfires, the campfires in the front lawn, the housefires; the jam sessions; the backpacking trips, the climbing trips, the ski trips, the LDS trips; the countless hours on our longboards; hosting themed dress up parties; the mustaches we've grown, the laughs shared, and even the tears we've cried will be greatly missed. Who could ask for better friends? No one, I say; no one.
So, here's to us all. Because life undoudedtly will give us cloudy days, let us each find the sun that we are to follow, and follow it.
Friday, April 11, 2008
My Day
Have you ever woken up and thought, "today's my birthday!"? I have. But not today. I wasn't reminded until I checked my email. Either I'm getting old or finally turning into a man, or both. So here I am, 24 years old. I don't know what's more odd, that I'm 24, or that I'm in Latvia? You tell me.
There was practically no work today in the office. We're waiting on pending requests to interview American businesses here and can't do much until we get those done. So, I took off early, made a few calls to find a place to live (I'm still searching), and then I was off. I spent the majority of the day in 2 museums. The Musuem of the Occuptation of Latvia was a thriller as far as musuems go. It's fittingly housed in an unproccessed Soviet bunker. As far as bleak 20th century histories go, Latvia takes the cake: Soviet oppresion with mass deportations to Siberian work camps for a decade, then Nazi rule for a few years, and then back to the Soviets for 45 years. These guys never caught a break.
The Latvian Museum of War was also a good place to get lost for a few hours, which I did.
In the middle of the city lies a massive Russian Orthodox church which I pass most days. On my way back this eveing, since I had time, I decided to venture inside. I hit the jackpot as far as being in the right place at the right time - I had just walked in on their mass, I think. It was totally different than anything I've ever seen as far as Christianity is concerned. At first I thought, "man this is wierd," and then I realized, "I'm Mormon. Everyone thinks I do wierd things." haha. Even-Stevens.
It being my birthday, you might ask: I wonder how Josh celbrated his birthday? If you didn't ask that: shame on you. If it weren't for those who wished me a happy birthday in emails, I wouldn't even have remembered myself. What if they hadn't cared either? I'd most likely be sitting here alone doing nothing. Oh wait...
For those of you who did wonder, here you go:
There was practically no work today in the office. We're waiting on pending requests to interview American businesses here and can't do much until we get those done. So, I took off early, made a few calls to find a place to live (I'm still searching), and then I was off. I spent the majority of the day in 2 museums. The Musuem of the Occuptation of Latvia was a thriller as far as musuems go. It's fittingly housed in an unproccessed Soviet bunker. As far as bleak 20th century histories go, Latvia takes the cake: Soviet oppresion with mass deportations to Siberian work camps for a decade, then Nazi rule for a few years, and then back to the Soviets for 45 years. These guys never caught a break.
The Latvian Museum of War was also a good place to get lost for a few hours, which I did.
In the middle of the city lies a massive Russian Orthodox church which I pass most days. On my way back this eveing, since I had time, I decided to venture inside. I hit the jackpot as far as being in the right place at the right time - I had just walked in on their mass, I think. It was totally different than anything I've ever seen as far as Christianity is concerned. At first I thought, "man this is wierd," and then I realized, "I'm Mormon. Everyone thinks I do wierd things." haha. Even-Stevens.
It being my birthday, you might ask: I wonder how Josh celbrated his birthday? If you didn't ask that: shame on you. If it weren't for those who wished me a happy birthday in emails, I wouldn't even have remembered myself. What if they hadn't cared either? I'd most likely be sitting here alone doing nothing. Oh wait...
For those of you who did wonder, here you go:
Thursday, April 10, 2008
The Maestro
The Latvian National Symphonic Orchestra is first rate. Tonight they performed at the Dome Cathedral. I wanted something to do tonight so I went. A symphony in a medieval church is about as cultured as you get if you ask me. It was really good for the most part. The evening started out with an organ performance. Have you ever noted that that all the showboat pieces, the ones that are composed to display the performer's best talent, are always the dark, dreary, seldom melodic pieces? No exception here. It began as somewhat eerie, then turned a little creepy, then, it got boring, then it went spooky again, then it crescendoed into something outright freaky, and then, with the one dulcit sounding chord in the whole 15 minute piece, it died out. Wierd. During the boring part of the organ performance I noticed that well groomed facial hair on older men isn't quite as taboo here in the Baltics as it is back home. I wonder why that is. Not that I have any qualms about, I think it's awesome. Old men can pull it off with a real air of dignity; and they do here. Maybe when I'm old, and finally dignified, whoever decides what goes and what doesn't will decide that it's ok for Americans to have beards.
Once the organist decided he had sufficiently wierded most of us out, the rest of the concert was very enjoyable. Some Bach and Mozart. The best part was the conductor; this guy was textbook. He had the long, shock white hair and he was completely emersed in the music. I wanted to video him but I realized I had yet to turn off those annoying beeps the camera makes at every push of a button and I didn't think the people around me would appreciate hearing those. I couldn't help but smile watching him as he put his entire life out there. I'd like to feel that emotionally attached to something one day. Then, when I look like a fool, people will just smile and say, "Isn't it cool how into it he is?"
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Impressive and Excessive
I was able to explore two of the big attractions Latvia has to offer: 2 medieval cathedrals. It was neat. The unknown history of this place astounds me. One of the first things I noticed about Riga, however, was how clean it was. I don't know why, but I was expecting it to be alot dirtier than it is. (I know, I shouldn't assuassme.) Rarely will you find litter in the streets, there are garbage bins all over, and the entire inner city transportation network of trains and busses is run off electricity. It is really quite impressive. What's not impressive is the apartment I checked out this evening. It's exactly what you'd image a Soviet inner city housing project to be like. It's not that I mind living in less than desireable conditions - Nicaragua provided 2 years of that. The real issue concerns the 9 tenants I'd be sharing the apartment with.
As I was out, I passed a Hare Krishna-run restaurant. I thought, "I wonder if they're throwing colored poweder at each other in there? I'm in!" and, naturally, I went in. The vegatarian staples weren't bad actually. It was quite the contrast, however, from the hotdog I ate for lunch a few days ago. It looked like a normal hotdog you'd find in the States but there were two differences. First, the bun was thicker and tastier than a typical American hotdog bun; this was evident before I even bit into it. +1 point for the Latvian hotdog! The actual wiener itself, however, was a different story. It was like a giant, warm vienna sausage. It's not like it was bad - I myself enjoy a nibble on a vienna sausage from time to time. But that's the thing - a NIBBLE. This thing just got old after a few bites. Maybe that explains why vienna sausages are so little?
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Life's Doldrums
Much to my displeasure, a well-written and engaging novel will always have some doldrum in the story. I suppose this is to give the reader a break from the suspense or action or whatever the author is spoon feeding his readers. I remeber the first time I ever read The Fellowship of the Ring. That whole part at Tom Bombadil's just bored me to death; to this day I can't read through it. Today must have been one of those parts. Nothing really happened. I woke up, went to work, did my intern thing, and came home. Currently, as I write this, I'm watching the BBC World Service, which happens to be the only channel available in English. I actually quite enjoy it. Some might say that my affinity for world news would be a significant doldrum in my life; fair enough.
This morning I tried using Skype to call home. Just yesterday I bought a headset so I figured I should put it to use and make a call to the 801. Around 4pm Riga time (7am MDT) I dialed up my parents. My mother picked up with the usual "hello?." I responded excitedly. All I heard, however, was a repeated, "hello?," "hello?," and then, she hung up. huh? Apparently I need to do something to fix the microphone settings on my computer.
This morning I tried using Skype to call home. Just yesterday I bought a headset so I figured I should put it to use and make a call to the 801. Around 4pm Riga time (7am MDT) I dialed up my parents. My mother picked up with the usual "hello?." I responded excitedly. All I heard, however, was a repeated, "hello?," "hello?," and then, she hung up. huh? Apparently I need to do something to fix the microphone settings on my computer.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Bad Directions?
I officially began my job as an intern for Transparency International-Latvia. Currently, we are in the process of surveying all the businesses registered with the American Chamber of Commerce here in Latvia. The survey is basically just an elongated questionaire asking opinions concerning the corruption in Latvia. Some of the companies seem very eager to take part. Others, namely Phillip Morris, have been outright rude in their denial of corrupt activies and won't give us the time of day. I guess this shouldn't come as a huge suprise considering they expedite the mortality rate of their consumers. Maybe I'm just being synical and presumptuous. I shouldn't assume as much. My mother always told me (well, she mentioned it a few times) that when you assume, you make an ASS out of U and and ASS out of ME. But that would spell assuassme which doesn't really make any sense at all. Why I ever believed her I don't know. I think it was just her way of being able to swear. On Scout outings Dad always joined in with the "dam" jokes and I suppose Mom wanted to show how cool she was too. Can I blame her?
The hostel I bunked in for the past 5 nights is in the hindsights (for now). The previos intern has left, but his place was paid for up until the 16th, so he offered it to me. So it is here that I will reside for the next 9 days. I really don't mind being a transient, especially when it is in my fiscal favor. Looking for a place can be quite difficult. Today, for instance, I made arrangements with a women to see a flat for rent. At the designated time I went to the place where we were to meet. After a half hour's wait, she had yet to show. So I left. I figured she most likely wasn't coming. Plus, I had plans - it was Family Home Evening at my new BFFs home! I hadn't been so excited for Family Home Evening since I was 9 and we went for hamburgers at Artic Circle. So there I was, strolling down the cooblestone streets of central Riga following the directions to get to the Hunter's appartment. Upon arriving at what I thought was the right building, and searching...and searching, I never found the right place. Strike two for the day. Maybe I don't listen well? Maybe people don't spell things out clear enough? Maybe I assuassme too much? Maybe it's just my bad luck? The good thing about it all is that each time I go somewhere new without knowing exactly where I'm going, I see a new part of the city. Yeah, that's it - good, old Riga and I getting intimate.
The hostel I bunked in for the past 5 nights is in the hindsights (for now). The previos intern has left, but his place was paid for up until the 16th, so he offered it to me. So it is here that I will reside for the next 9 days. I really don't mind being a transient, especially when it is in my fiscal favor. Looking for a place can be quite difficult. Today, for instance, I made arrangements with a women to see a flat for rent. At the designated time I went to the place where we were to meet. After a half hour's wait, she had yet to show. So I left. I figured she most likely wasn't coming. Plus, I had plans - it was Family Home Evening at my new BFFs home! I hadn't been so excited for Family Home Evening since I was 9 and we went for hamburgers at Artic Circle. So there I was, strolling down the cooblestone streets of central Riga following the directions to get to the Hunter's appartment. Upon arriving at what I thought was the right building, and searching...and searching, I never found the right place. Strike two for the day. Maybe I don't listen well? Maybe people don't spell things out clear enough? Maybe I assuassme too much? Maybe it's just my bad luck? The good thing about it all is that each time I go somewhere new without knowing exactly where I'm going, I see a new part of the city. Yeah, that's it - good, old Riga and I getting intimate.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
New Friends
Conference Weekend went well. I can say that I hadn't looked forward to General Conference with so much anticipation since I was a missionary. The only difference between then and now however was that now I was simply so excited to go so I could have "friends" for a bit. And it was nice. So now I can say that I have friends; Elder and Sister Hunter are now my new BFFs. Now, I know they're old enough to be my grandparents but that doesn't matter.
On Sunday morning I hopped on the bus I thought went right past the chapel (which lies about 20 minutes away by bus). Soon enough however, I realized this bus was not going to the chapel at all (I had gone yesterday, tagging along with the missionaries, so I knew enough to know I was not in the right place). And yes, soon enough I was the only passenger left on the bus. The old Russian woman who takes tickets kept looking at me as if to say, "ah ah? when?" and I could only smile awkwardly. Finally we arrived at the final stop and she motioned to get off. Great. I wandered around asking if anyone knew English. Some said no, a few shook their heads, and one lady wouldn't even respond - maybe she thought I was trying to sell her something; I don't know. Eventually I found a guy who spoke English, and asked him if just by a small, smidgen of a chance, he knew where the Mormon church was. To my utter astonishment, he did! Not only did he know where it was, he was going on the bus the would pass right by it! I was saved! I would not be left out to be eaten by wolves!
So here I was on this bus, thinking life's all hunkey-dorey going to church - I mean, I had just been miraculously rescued! Well, along comes the ticket taker (again, an older Russian woman. They're all babushkas. Why? I don't know. But a fact nonetheless) asking to see my ticket. I don't really understand why they even have tickets because you pay the driver when you get on, just like you would in the States. Then, once in a while, this "conduktora" comes around asking for the ticket the driver gave you, as if to make sure you didn't somehow sneak by him in the narrow little entrance onto the bus. Well, I couldn't find the stupid stub. Before you know it, I have this old babushka yelling at me and then writing up a citation and asking me to pay a 2 Lat fine ($4.00). (sigh) Through this, the guy who was helping me find the church, Goethe by name, graciously tried to explain to her that I did pay, that he saw me, and to ask the driver for assurance. Needless to say, NOPE. To add to it all, this occurred as we passed the chapel, which meant that when I finally paid her, waited for her to write out this citation, and got off the bus, I had to backtrack a good distance back to the chapel. hmmmm. At least making new friends made me feel better (and maybe they will invite me over to dinner one day).
On Sunday morning I hopped on the bus I thought went right past the chapel (which lies about 20 minutes away by bus). Soon enough however, I realized this bus was not going to the chapel at all (I had gone yesterday, tagging along with the missionaries, so I knew enough to know I was not in the right place). And yes, soon enough I was the only passenger left on the bus. The old Russian woman who takes tickets kept looking at me as if to say, "ah ah? when?" and I could only smile awkwardly. Finally we arrived at the final stop and she motioned to get off. Great. I wandered around asking if anyone knew English. Some said no, a few shook their heads, and one lady wouldn't even respond - maybe she thought I was trying to sell her something; I don't know. Eventually I found a guy who spoke English, and asked him if just by a small, smidgen of a chance, he knew where the Mormon church was. To my utter astonishment, he did! Not only did he know where it was, he was going on the bus the would pass right by it! I was saved! I would not be left out to be eaten by wolves!
So here I was on this bus, thinking life's all hunkey-dorey going to church - I mean, I had just been miraculously rescued! Well, along comes the ticket taker (again, an older Russian woman. They're all babushkas. Why? I don't know. But a fact nonetheless) asking to see my ticket. I don't really understand why they even have tickets because you pay the driver when you get on, just like you would in the States. Then, once in a while, this "conduktora" comes around asking for the ticket the driver gave you, as if to make sure you didn't somehow sneak by him in the narrow little entrance onto the bus. Well, I couldn't find the stupid stub. Before you know it, I have this old babushka yelling at me and then writing up a citation and asking me to pay a 2 Lat fine ($4.00). (sigh) Through this, the guy who was helping me find the church, Goethe by name, graciously tried to explain to her that I did pay, that he saw me, and to ask the driver for assurance. Needless to say, NOPE. To add to it all, this occurred as we passed the chapel, which meant that when I finally paid her, waited for her to write out this citation, and got off the bus, I had to backtrack a good distance back to the chapel. hmmmm. At least making new friends made me feel better (and maybe they will invite me over to dinner one day).
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Oh Sweet Sweet Hostel
Riga, Latvia has all the old world charm of a medieval village with the modern day elegance of the world's busiest cities. It was in this place that I found myself on Wednesday night, having just flown in from Dublin, Ireland. My suitcase - having conveniently come out onto the carousel as the second to last - in hand, I wandered over to the the nearby atm. I pulled some cash and was sent into anaphalactic shock($1 buys me 0.45 Lats. not cool). I then went over to the information booth and asked how to get into the city. A pretty young Latvian woman who spoke good English told me of a good hostel to stay at and how to get there. I was to catch a certain bus outside on the street that would take me to the center of the city and close to the hostel.
So there I was, a stranger in a strange land on a strange bus with strange people who spoke a strange language going to a location I did not know. Upon recognizing the described stop to get off on, I got off the bus and began wandering the streets of central Riga looking for the hostel - it was about 9:30pm. After some 2 hours, and all sorts of discrepant directions from young Latvians with basic English skills, I came to the hostel.
This wouldn't have been so frustrating had I not spent 2 hours lost in the streets of Dublin earlier that day. I had a 9 hour layover in Dublin, which gave me some time to explore the capital city of Ireland. Needless to say, that city is whack. Street signs are few and far between, the streets meander this-way-and-that, the street workers - who you assume speak English but are barely intelligible to an untrained American ear, making me feel like a fool! - were almost no help at all, and...to make things worse, there was a thick fog making it hard to see anything all culminated to make my Irish experience less than desirable (sigh). But, I have been there! Ha!
So there I was, a stranger in a strange land on a strange bus with strange people who spoke a strange language going to a location I did not know. Upon recognizing the described stop to get off on, I got off the bus and began wandering the streets of central Riga looking for the hostel - it was about 9:30pm. After some 2 hours, and all sorts of discrepant directions from young Latvians with basic English skills, I came to the hostel.
This wouldn't have been so frustrating had I not spent 2 hours lost in the streets of Dublin earlier that day. I had a 9 hour layover in Dublin, which gave me some time to explore the capital city of Ireland. Needless to say, that city is whack. Street signs are few and far between, the streets meander this-way-and-that, the street workers - who you assume speak English but are barely intelligible to an untrained American ear, making me feel like a fool! - were almost no help at all, and...to make things worse, there was a thick fog making it hard to see anything all culminated to make my Irish experience less than desirable (sigh). But, I have been there! Ha!
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