Culture Shock

One question I find myself asked at least several times a week  now, and in particular at a belated 4^th of July party conceived and thrown mostly by Ulla, is “what do you think of Latvia” or whether I have experienced culture shock. It’s a difficult question to answer, and on the whole I’ve felt disappointed in myself over the answers I’ve managed. I’ll usually say something like “I like it, it’s nice, it’s beautiful. Riga is a cool city” before saying something (which could be interpreted as) mildly disparaging about a Latvian idiosyncrasy I’d taken to be universally acknowledged, trying to be funny.

I don’t think that I’ve experienced culture shock per se, whatever that is, but then it could be one of those things, like mental illness, where if you’re able to self-diagnose, you don’t really have it. I experienced some of the routine feelings of helplessness & frustration which are probably par for the course & a part of the necessary discomfort with which longer stays in fairly remote places will begin. I’ve been here 3 weeks now, and I believe that most of that has passed. I know the names and sequence of all the stations between Vaivari and Riga Central; I can find my way around pretty well on foot in Riga and Jurmala; I’ve bought a bike. I have a new Swedish bank account, which stands empty (pending my discovering how to cheaply transfer funds), and a new cell phone number (with a Danish company, Bite) with one digit more than my American number. This makes it exponentially harder to remember. I know to avoid places where mosquitoes congregate, although it hasn’t stopped or even slowed the evolution of a complex galaxy of bites up & down my legs.  On one of my first walks through Jurmala, I was lulled by a (foolish) feeling of footloose intrepidity to walk deep down a forest path which continues past the end of a street not far from the house. Ulla was in Riga for the day, and my self-confidence sprang I think from having walked enough to have gotten past the anxiety that the my solitude might be intruded upon by rural, uncomprehending, possibly hostile Latvian passerby (I needn’t have worried in the first place; Latvians generally keep to themselves, and are unlikely to stop you except to ask for a cigarette or maybe directions).  Down the forest path I encountered mosquitoes, but kept up a brisk pace. Whenever I stopped to take a picture of the trees, some strawberries, my hands quickly blackened with larger than average mosquitoes. I wanted to see where the path let out, so I kept on far longer than I should have, before finally giving it up and booking it back to the road. At the previously mentioned 4^th of July party, Ulla organized a simplified Pictionary game outside on the balcony. It was in the latter stages of the party, and the mosquitoes were in force. When I pointed this out to Ulla, she shrugged and said that was just Latvia. So, in sum, the silver lining for me to the long winter here is probably going to be the absence of mosquitoes.

Another practical matter to which I’ve naturally had to adjust is the local currency. Latvia is a member of the EU, but does not use the Euro (it’s slated to go into circulation next year), rather the Lats, and the smaller unit the Santims (both words are singular, though appearing plural; I plan to tackle that subject later in the post). The exchange is approximately 2 Dollars to the Lats, similar to the English pound. But unlike a pound coin, whose heft at least hints at its nontrivial value, the 1 Lats coin is small and light, no bigger than a nickel (a popular scam, I’m told, at parking meters). Though the same value as a U.S. dollar, the 50 santimi coin is even smaller: dime-sized. This dealing in small coins which are worth a fair amount is something alien; they tend more easily to be spent (by me) than the equivalent amount in U.S. paper money. It doesn’t seem like a big deal. The exchange rate also means that most things strike me at first blush as quite cheap or at least reasonably priced, until I remember to double the value, and then I begin to feel that Riga is an expensive city. It’s hard to get used to paying for things with coins, like a meal at a nice restaurant or a book, which I’m accustomed to breaking bills to pay for in the United States. Probably by the time I return to the U.S., I’ll have grown so used to thinking in Lats that I’ll never spend any money because prices will seem outrageously inflated, which can only be to the good; a not-unwelcome overcorrection.   

Size comparison

Some Latvian coins

 

A source of amusement for me turned to mystification is the Latvian tendency to “latvianize” the names of foreign places and people. The masculine ending for nouns in the Latvian language is an –s, giving the casual sign-reading visitor to the city center the false sense of there being many “Bārs” or “Restorāns,” when really there is only one there. This is totally fine, if slightly confusing; what I take exception to is what I see as the needless tampering with what should be fixed and immutable proper nouns. It makes it seem as though everyone and every place is Latvian. New York becomes Ņujorka, Los Angeles is Losandželosa. Even Birmingham gets made over as Birmingema. What is done to the names of people is even worse. Many Latvian masculine first names actually look a lot like English names with an –s tacked on the end; Roberts and Edgars are very common names. But when this treatment is given to the names of living or historical foreign figures, the result is inexplicably... almost irritating. Bobs Dilans is Bob Dylan; Abrahams Linkolns is Lincoln; there’s Vladimirs Putins. Charles de Gaulle is Šarls de Golls. I did a Wikipedia search to see if this rule extended to African dictators, and it does: Idi Amin is Idi Amins, and Robert Mugabe becomes Roberts Mugabe. Why this bothers me, I don’t exactly know. It’s strange to me to think that many Latvians know and think of these people by the Latvian names I’m sure they don’t realize they have. I don’t think it does much to aid in pronunciation, so I’m confused as to what’s the point. My name seems to be non-compatible with this localization. Ulla’s mother introduced me to a neighbor as Natans, which I actually like, but most people seem to manage Nat alright. 

Author's name clearly not Latvian in origin

 Now that I’ve got that out of my system, in the next post I hope to finally describe the Ligo celebration, and the incredible once in 5 years Song & Dance festival which I was lucky to attend this weekend. I also want to give my impressions of Latvian cuisine, snack food & beer, all of which I like a lot.