Grownup Tastes

While nibbling on some bread and rotwurst this afternoon I had an awakening: I don't even like liver.

That was it.

But I ate the rotwurst anyway. I had no other choice. It had been sitting in my cupboard for some time now. It was pawned off to me a while back and in light of the fact only a week remains for me here in Latvia, naturally I am disinclined to buy more food than is necessary and so, the can was opened.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon that I became curious enough to actually know what else, besides liver, rotwurst contained. I looked it up. That was when the real awakening of the day occurred.

You see, I erroneously assumed that rotwurst was liverwurst. What I was eating was not liver at all. It was blood.

Yes, unbeknownst to me, rotwurst is German blood sausage.

I just know that 10 years ago (or maybe even 5) there would have been no way on earth I would have eaten such a thing. Firstly, I didn't even have a clue what rotwurst was. Secondly, even (and especially) if its contents had been known, there would have been no chance in hell that I would have ever opened the can.

It's funny how these things change as you grow up. Some like to use the phrase "refined tastes," or say that "your tastebuds have matured" to characterize it. But I'd like to think the opposite. Could it be that in fact our tastebuds are not becoming increasingly refined, but degenerating with age as things naturally repugnant such as chilled blood puree become palatable?

Instead of questioning why little Jimmy won't eat his peas it would be better if we questioned why Daddy Warbucks is sucking down raw oyster. I mean, when did eating uncooked fish eggs and snails ever become sane?

Rah! Rah! U-S-A!

Happy Independence Day!

Oh wait, it is not Independence Day. Nor is it July 4th. It is the 28th of June. But today is the day that Americans in Latvia celebrated the 4th of July.

July 4th is the yearly Latvian Commemoration Day of Victims of Genocide Against Jewish People. It was on this day that a large number of Latvian Jews were hounded up by their Nazi occupiers, locked inside one of their synagogues, and burnt alive as the building went up in flames. In order to be sensitive to this somber day of remembrance, the U.S. Embassy in Latvia throws an annual Independence Day celebration on the Saturday prior to July 4th.

The celebration warmly resembled that of an American picnic. It was held at a nice park. There were booths set up, each offering different food and drinks. There were inflatable bouncy house toys and face painting for the kids. American tunes were also blaring from a speaker system.

It was a fun time. Funny enough though, it just didn't quite feel like the 4th. Here's why:

A) Today was not the 4th of July. There is just something distinctive in the air - like a tasteless, odorless gas - on July 4th that we all breathe the second we wake up. Somehow, there is a noticeably different feeling to the day; you know what I'm talking about. Not being July 4th, that 4th of July feeling was absent.

B) Today was overcast. I cannot ever recall a 4th of July in my life that was not sunny and clear. Being cloudy, it just didn't feel like the 4th.

C) I was a minority at my own Independence Day celebration. Although there must have been 300-400 people at the party, I was not surrounded by Americans talking about the baseball season or the elections like I expected, but Latvians speaking their unintelligible (to me) language. I would guess that 95% of everyone there was not American, but Latvian who also happened to have American citizenship.

D) There was no root beer or ice cream. Celebrating the American summer-time celebration without root beer or ice cream (preferably homemade) is equivalent to an Oktoberfest without beer: it just doesn't happen.

E) I was still alone. Normally the 4th is a time that families and friends get together to barbecue and to play. It was just me and my camera.

And finally, did I mention that today was the 28th of June?

But it was still fun. I was proud to be an American, even if it was on a cloudy 28th of June, without any root beer, and all by myself. I wandered around, eating, drinking Coke (it was either that or Kvass, which is absolutely gross), and trying to meet the few people who were actually from the States.

Today's best moment occurred as I was standing in line for a piece of pizza. Without any pre-meditation or thought, I instinctively began singing along to the Cougar fight song. After singing a line or two, I realized what it was that I was singing and thought, "wait a minute...?" I stopped singing and listened. Lo and behold, the Cougar fight song, with its very American marching band feel, somehow made it onto the music playlist (not the words of course, just the tune). I quietly, but proudly, sang along (I even pumped my arm discreetly in the "rah-rah-rah" fashion at the end; I couldn't help it).

So on this 28th of June, I wish a grand hurrah for my two alma maters: BYU and America!

Summer Camp

Quite often, upon returning home from a vacation - short or extended - we feel saddened and weighed down by the burden of coming back to "real" life. Sometimes feeling the weight of it all return to our shoulders causes us to wonder if taking that break - and briefly tasting what a life without responsibilities is like - is even worth it at all.

After a four-day weekend (and arguably my wildest, most incidental weekend in Latvia), I returned this morning to my desk with these feelings. Even though this week would only be a three-day work week, it was still somewhat depressing.

And a three-day work week is nowhere near as good as a one-day work week. So when I found out that I would only be working a one-day work week this week, I nearly fell out of my chair with excitement.

ONLY ONE DAY THIS WEEK??? Yes, one day. Life is good.

I had forgotten that tomorrow and Friday will be spent "working" at a youth summer camp out near the small coastal town of Ventspils. It is there that Transparency International-Latvia (the non-governmental organization that I work for - for those who are still unaware) holds a yearly a summer camp to promote anti-corruption awareness in Latvian youth.

That is exactly what every kid dreams of doing for a week each summer. "Hey Mom, when do I get to go to summer camp this year? I can't wait to learn about the latest Corruptions Perception Index and its implications for next year's TI agenda while roasting marshmallows!"

For some reason, I think catching fish and throwing cans of lighter fluid into fires were a bit more enthralling. But hey, apparently this thing works and they have a good turnout each year. And I'm not complaining or judging; because of it, I'll get free transportation to a part of Latvia I've been wanting to see for awhile, and free lodging and meals while I'm there. Plus I will not be working, but "working."

So learn on youth! Transparency International's new Guide to Countering Bribery for Small and Medium Sized Businesses awaits you!

Ligo!

I would first like to wish a Happy Birthday to my sister Bree today. She is 18. That is big. What is also big is getting a happy birthday wish from Latvia: Happy Birthday sister!

Aside from being Bree's birthday, today is the traditional summer solstice. I would like to also wish everyone a very warm and enlightened Midsummer!

In the US, not much attention is given to the pagan holiday of the summer solstice. I know it is celebrated in some parts of the country on a small or local scale, but I'd say our Puritan forefathers made a rather commendable effort in forgetting to pack along the pagan traditions when they got on the boats. It's a shame really; Midsummer is great time.

For clarification of the holiday, my best friend Wikipedia notes, "Midsummer refers to specific European celebrations that accompany the actual solstice, or that take place on the 24th of June and the preceding evening. European midsummer-related holidays, traditions, and celebrations are pre-Christian in origin and have been superficially Christianized as celebrations of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist as "Saint John's Eve" festivals. They are particularly important in Northern Europe - Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Latvia, Lithuania, Norway and Sweden."

In fact, in Latvia, Midsummer is such a big deal that both the 23rd and 24th of June are national holidays and EVERYTHING shuts down. So I've had a nice 4 day weekend (well...yesterday and today were nice. Friday night...not so much). And last night, celebrating Midsummer's Eve was pretty much the coolest thing I've experienced thus far in Latvia.

Ligo, as it is called here in Latvia, is wild. Everyone heads out to the countryside for one long hoorah-rah of eating, drinking, and folk traditions. Zane, a good friend from the branch, was kind enough to invite me along to celebrate with her family. It was great. I got to celebrate a quintessential Latvian tradition and Zane, being the only member of the Church in her family, had someone to not be drunk with. Win-win!

Like any celebration or festival, Ligo has a dress code. Everyone wears crowns made of flowers and leaves. The women wear a crown made of flowers, symbolizing beauty, while men wear crowns made of oak leaves (apparently the oak is the symbol of power).

Zane's father and aunt making the Midsummer's crowns

The family all decked out. Check out her dad. Is that awesome or what!

Zane and me. Seriously, you can not tell me that that is not the coolest thing you've ever seen.

The central element of the Ligo celebration is the bonfire. Because Ligo is the celebration of the longest day of the year, bonfires are lit all night long in order that during the 1 hour of darkness, there is still light. (seriously, seeing the sky only go dark for about an hour was quite spectacular).

Around our little fire, wearing our crowns made of floral and foliage, we ate delicious shashli (meat specially marinated for 2 weeks), janis (special cheese only eaten on this occasion), sang Latvian folk songs (well, they did, I listened), and jumped over the fire for good luck (or something... No one is really sure why this precarious tradition is followed, but like any good tradition, it just is).

Zane jumping over the fire.

I'm not sure what is more life-threatening: getting punched in the face, or tripping through a fire with a bundle of leaves on my head.

At midnight, each person ran to a tree. The tradition follows that if you hug a tree for five minutes exactly at midnight on Midsummer's Eve, and you whisper your desires to that tree, they will come true. This was great. I embraced my tree, whispering sweet nothings against its supple bark.

Midsummer is a good time and a sweet celebration. Interestingly enough, beside Christmas, Ligo is Latvia's favorite holiday.

And now that I have been officially paganized, there is no other option but to forsake my Hebrew name of Joshua. So, henceforth I shall be known by the name of Jost, the Tree-Lover.

You know, looking at this now, this really does not seem like a good idea. Oh well. It was way too much fun having that thing on my head all night.

Moments that Define

Why does it always seem that on home stretch of...well, anything, accidents happen? You're almost done with whatever it is you are doing, everything has gone fine, you're almost done, when WHAM!, something goes wrong. You all know what I'm talking about. It's a common occurrence.

With only 2 weeks and 2 days remaining, I am now on the home stretch of my Latvian experience and ready to leave. Don't get me wrong, it's been great. And even despite the many times I've gotten on a wrong bus and ended up at the end of the line, completely lost; or gotten off on the wrong train stop in an unmarked area without signs or any indication of where I was at, my Latvian days have passed without any major incident. Until now.

I was walking home late Friday night. I was about 2 blocks away from my apartment building when I heard someone shouting something in Russian from behind. I paid no attention and continued my walk home.

When the shouting persisted, getting closer and closer, I crossed over to the other side of the street in an attempt to avoid any possible confrontation. It was when the shouter followed me across the street that I knew it was I who was the target of his repeated rantings.

It was in Russian and I had no idea what this guy was saying. Naturally, I kept ignoring him and picked up the pace. He followed suit, eventually catching up. He began physically trying to get me to stop. With each time I brushed or shrugged him off, he got increasingly physical.

This Russian, in his late 20s, was about my height. But he was far stockier than I. The thought of getting physical with him crossed my mind but I opted to remain passively ignorant of his attempts to bring me to a halt. He was undoubtedly drunk enough as to impair his judgment but still sober enough to capably inflict a considerable amount of damage if push came to shove. The last thing I wanted was to aggravate the drunken brute.

I was half a block away from my building. I only needed to get to the door, punch in the door code, and get inside. I broke into a full sprint. I reached the door and began punching in the 4 digit code: 7 - 8 - 9 - Suddenly, before punching in fourth and last digit, I was grabbed by my shirt and hurled backwards into the street. When I turned around I felt a heavy fist land square on my nose.

He punched me! What the?! I couldn't believe it! He just clocked me in the face! I had never been hit in the face! I didn't know what to do without further aggravating him so I was left to grapple with him in hopes of keeping his arms down and unable to strike again.

The struggled continued and a second blow landed on the side of my head. During it all I heard the sound of a few people running towards us. Two men, who were originally with my assailant before we ran off, and even larger than him, came right at us full speed. Before I knew it, I had been grabbed by the throat by one of them and was being held against the side of the building.

I have never before felt true fear, the fear that accompanies a situation in which uncertainty in the face of a potentially dangerous and life-threatening circumstance is the biggest factor. In this instance I had no CLUE what was happening or what would happen. Do they want money? Do they want to kidnap me? Are they just looking for a way to vent their drunken anger? I really had no idea. At that moment, whatever the reason, I completely and entirely expected to be beaten very, VERY badly.

I cannot express in words how nerve racking those few seconds were as I was pinned, by my throat, to the side of a building.

To my complete and utter astonishment, the guy holding me began punching numbers on the door code panel. The lock clicked. With a thick, stern Russian accent I heard, "Here you go. Have good night."

WHAT?!?

I immediately extended my hand and the most heartfelt thank-you that has ever left my lips was given.

The door shut. I was completely out of breath. The night watchmen - a man of around 70 years - just stood there wide-eyed. He had seen the entire ordeal. Right before I was thrown backwards into the street and decked in the face, I had slammed my fist loudly on the door a couple times hoping to get help from this watchman. He had run over to the door, but the door never opened.

I stood there with the watchman just staring at me, with my hands on my knees, catching my breath, and trying to figure out what had just happened. Shouts from the street continued as my assailant was now fighting with his two friends. With a bloody nose and a ripped shirt I quietly walked up the stairs to my room. I was emotionally and mentally shaken up more than I had ever been in my life.

The next day, as I went out and about getting a few things done, I felt completely indifferent to the world around me. My usual optimism was gone. I didn't look at anyone. I didn't attempt to smile or acknowledge anyone as I passed them. I had this eerie feeling - completely devoid of trust - towards anyone and everyone around me.

We've all heard the American Indian adage that goes something to the tune of "Never judge a man before walking a hundred miles in his moccasins." I never could understand why people in Riga (and big metropolitan areas in general) were so cold and impersonable.

Now I know.

The Best Compliment Ever

I have been alive for 24 years. Out of those 24 years, only 18 or so are years in which I can remember. Tonight, I simply want to take the time to publicly thank a friend of mine for giving me what could be considered quite possibly the greatest compliment I have ever received in these 18 years cognisant life.

When she saw this picture of Ben and I performing at last year's critically acclaimed and enjoyed-by-all Mountain Wood-Stock festival, her exact words were, "you look like George Harrison's son!"

Words cannot express how much my tired body and groggy mind perked up when she said that.

Now, I don't want to brag or anything; it was she who said it, not me. But let's analyze this. If her claim is true - that I look like George Harrison's son, who is the spitting image of his father(seriously, he is...), who happens to be my favorite member of the all-time greatest group of musicians and cultural icons of the 20th century - then logically...........I look like George Harrison which automatically makes me freaking AWESOME!!!

Thank you Betsy for making my day!

You know, the world could use a few more Betsies out there.

One wrong turn...

Some days, no matter which side of the bed you wake up on, it's a bad day. Since my bed is a twin, I really can't demarcate a side. It's a shame really - there is no excuse for grumpiness.

Today, even though I had to wake up earlier than usual, I wasn't grumpy.

I had to catch a morning train headed to a small town outside of Riga. I caught the train and rode the train. I even got off at the correct stop (in my experience that is ALWAYS a bonus). I looked down at my previously highlighted and marked-out route on a map of the area, oriented myself, and began walking.

I was on my way to a business appointment as part of the project I'm working on. The majority of the offices I visit are in the center of the city and within walking distance from our office. A few have been scattered throughout the periphery, like today's office for example. These appointments cause for the greatest amount of excitement.

I began walking down the very street my pre-planning skills had determined would be the best way for my legs to go. I knew I was headed in the right direction, I just had no idea where I was. I kept hearing the traffic from a distant freeway and I was definitely nearing it. Before I knew it, I was at the freeway with nowhere to go.

I reached my destination eventually; it only took an hour, 15 minutes to get there. That's not too bad. I got to see some trees, chew on some long grass, see a lot of cars drive by, and sing a few songs.

The only problem was that I almost died when a semi-truck making a u-turn nearly collided with a car right in front of me. It was way too close for comfort. I had to dodge out of the way. But I am fine. Like a hobo in a boxcar, I sing my traveling songs and go merrily on my way, even if it means walking along the side of a freeway.