tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40304078583633312462024-03-12T22:35:56.482-04:00Life out of Latvia (an Interim)The new home of <a href="http://kaija.jatnieks.com.">kaija.jatnieks.com</a>Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-14187946903491809592011-09-30T22:22:00.000-04:002011-10-22T18:01:21.639-04:00Ridiculously Belated Road Trip RecapHoly hell it's been some time. Some time since writing, of course, but also <strike>some time</strike> a stupidly long time since March. Just to get my writing mood going again I figured I'd finally get around to a recap of what went down during spring break. Mostly I need a break from translating a very rough chapter of the book I'm working on for my thesis. Might as well be somewhat constructive about it... The trip itself was something I personally definitely wanted to do this year, but I will say that it's something I won't be wanting to do again for a while now, at least not at the same harried driving pace. The United States is a very, very large country and it takes close to forever to cross a single state (with the exception of Indiana, bless its little heart). The overall experience was a positive one and I'm glad I did it; I'm also happy I got to see as much as we did. If anything, I can say and recommend to everyone to undertake a similar trip, even if in his or her own country. The States are so varied in topography, geography and climate (the temperature climbed almost 20ºF in one 15-minute portion of our trip through California) that even the boring parts (a.k.a. Nevada and northern Arizona and New Mexico) wind up being something to see and experience. Also, my list of favorite places now includes Colorado and California.
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Now, just to be clear, the reason behind the March trip could be boiled down to two things:
1) an accessible car;
2) tacos.
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In fact, if I remember correctly, the part of the conversation with my fellow graduate student and (then) future roommate, Emily, leading up to the decision went something like this:<br>
Emily: Man I miss San Francisco. The tacos there are out of this world.<br>
Kaija: I bet! ...Mmm. Tacos...<br>
Emily: Tacos...<br>
Kaija: *a few moments later* ...Wanna drive to California over spring break?<br>
Emily: YES.
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And the trip was born.
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<b>Friday, March 4</b><br>
Emily and I head leave the state of New York Friday afternoon. We are excited, energized, in high spirits, and are driven by the prospect of the adventure ahead of us—but mostly by the thought of Californian tacos. Our plan is to reach San Francisco by Monday afternoon. We make it to Columbus, Ohio, in a little over 6h, where Emily is introduced to Caribou Coffee and I am introduced to a scratchy throat. We stay the night at my cousin's house just outside Columbus.
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<b>Saturday, March 5</b><br>
We're on the road by 09.00 Saturday morning. It's raining, generally crappy weather wise, but we are still energetic and clock just over 13h in driving over the course of the day. The drive through the rest of Ohio is uneventful, as is the quite literal sprint across Indiana (probably my favorite state to drive through because it's over in under two hours and makes me feel as if I've accomplished something). Illinois and northern Missouri are an entirely different matter. This part of Missouri is at the tip of the Bible Belt and we see numerous road-side billboards advocating three main topics: Jesus, guns, and babies. We are unanimous in the opinion that this part of America is a scary place—we cannot drive through Missouri fast enough. The only plus is stopping to get gas and hearing some hardcore southern accents, as well as seeing a four-year-old boy in a stetson. The remainder of the drive includes a 45-minute stretch through the south-west corner of Iowa and a slightly confusing lead-in into the city of Lincoln, Nebraska. As a university city, Lincoln turns out to be not as boring as we'd expected it to be.
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<b>Sunday, March 6</b><br>
Our plan to be on the road by 09.00 the next morning is shot when I wake up feeling like death. Even the thought of dragging myself out to the car makes me feel as if I'll pass out; my scratchy throat had happily incubated itself into a full-body, all-encompassing cold. An hour later I manage to get to the car and we hit the road again, but not before one last stop at a Caribou Coffee before we leave the Midwest. The state of Nebraska continues to surprise us. It's not as flat as it's made out to be and has plenty of rolling plains and eye-catching horizons. There's something inherently wholesome about it all. We drive through one area littered with ponds and reservoirs—and literally swarming with birds (which we later learned were pelicans). It would be frightening if it hadn't been so awe-inspiring. Before turning south to head toward Colorado we decide to take a 1.5h detour north to see Chimney Rock—something we and the majority of our friends recognize and know from the computer game "Oregon Trail." The rock itself is not that inspiring, but the historical information and displays in the tiny museum are. We then head back to the main highway, stop to climb a wall of cube-shaped hay bales, then cross into Colorado. The drive into Denver is anticlimactic, but relieving. After around 8h of trip time for the day we find or hotel and learn there may be a nasty blizzard hitting the city by daybreak Monday. We make alternate plans to extend our stay if necessary, citing the pending blizzard as a good reason to hit the slopes the next day and get some mileage out of our snowboards, which—obviously—we had packed along.
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<b>Monday, March 7</b><br>
Monday morning opens to a grand total of ZERO SNOW ANYWHERE in the city of Denver. WTF, weather channel? Additionally, in a surprising turn of events, Emily wakes up feeling like death. Which is odd, as it's not like we'd been sitting in the same enclosed space together for the past three days. An hour later Emily feels up to sitting in the car, but we're still stuck in Denver until almost noon, as all of the roads leading out of the city in all directions are listed on the State Transportation website as iced-over and dangerous. To kill time we find a camera shop and then a coffee shop. A little after noon we finally leave Denver. The first ski resort recommended to us ended up being approximately no where freaking near where Google Maps told us it would be. Instead of boarding we spend an hour or so driving along a narrow, winding hill/mountain-side road. Instead of being annoyed we're amazed at the views, the fog, the forests. Western Colorado is a gobsmackingly beautiful place. An hour later we're at Arapahoe Basin and find a small, semi-secluded ski and board slope. We pay our tickets and get a grand total of 30 minutes to board—turns out all the slopes in Colorado close by 16.00. This is unlike Minnesota or New York, where places are open until at least 23.00, if not 00.00 on weekends. Nonetheless we are okay with being able to say we've boarded in Colorado. The rest of the roads through Colorado are clear and gorgeous; mountains on both sides, the river winding next to the road... We make it to Grand Junction just after dark and plan to stay there because of another potential blizzard on the way. We luck out and are able to stay with some of Emily's relatives for the night. Only 6h of driving today, but we're exhausted.
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<b>Tuesday, March 8</b><br>
A good night's sleep in a real house and a good breakfast later we're ready to head out for Utah. But not before taking several minutes to admire the view from Emily's relatives house—they live by the Mesa, which looks incredibly inviting in the early morning light. But we have <strike>bigger fish to fry</strike> <strike>roads to travel</strike> tacos to eat. Utah turns out to be another mind-blowing state topographically and we stop at almost every sightseeing point along the road. In Provo, Utah, we stop and visit with a friend of Emily's, then trek on to Nevada. Which is supposed to be one of the most desolate and boring states to drive through. Ever. Luckily, our Nevada stretch takes place at night, and other than a sense of mystery (it's impossible to see anything off the side of the road and all you're aware of is intermittent inclines and declines) it really does kind of suck. The day's 11h drive ends in Winnemucca, a city that truly fits its name. Especially the "mucca" part of it. At the hotel, I point and laugh at the white pick-up truck I park across from because it's covered in a thick layer of sand and dust.
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<b>Wednesday, March 9</b><br>
Wednesday morning Emily feels a bit sick again, but we want to get the hell out of Winnemucca ASAP and pack up to leave. In the parking lot I stop short—I don't see my car ANYWHERE. I am convinced it has been towed or stolen, until I realize the now greyish-brown car parked across from the dirty white pick-up is mine. I become convinced Nevada is nothing but dust, unfortunate city names, and CSI: Las Vegas. The rest of Nevada no one cares about, until we hit the California border. At the border crossing we declare and are allowed to keep our celery, then make a stop in Tahoe for some fresh air and to stretch our legs. Tahoe is a bit confusing, but very lovely. As are the 10-foot snow banks and face-sized pine cones. We check out a few ski and board shops, get some coffee, and take pictures of a Jeep from Germany and a basset hound in a knit sweater. A few hours later we hit the green part of California and the car rings with sounds not unlike a hyperactive choir of teen-girl angels. We make a quick stop at a rest area to jump up and down and squeal before meeting up with a friend of mine in Alameda for dinner. Afterward we make a quick stop to see San Francisco from the inland side of the bay, then arrive at the condo of more of Emily's relatives. 7h of driving later we're back in a real-house situation and finally at our destination, and only two days later than scheduled. False-alarm blizzards and rampant colds be damned—Taco Mecca, we have arrived.
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<b>Thursday, March 10</b><br>
Thursday begins with dropping my car off at a dealership for its first 10,000 mile check-up (go big or go home). I'm amazed that the VW dealer there had no problems doing the free check-up, considering a) the car is plated in Minnesota and b) we drove from New York. The representative I talk to takes one look at my car through the window and writes "CAR WASH" in thick letters at the bottom of the receipt. Take that, Nevada! The rest of the day is fast-paced, with some light shopping (Emily used to live in San Francisco and wanted to stop at a few places, while I stood around a Crumpler shop practically drooling until I found the ideal messenger bag), meeting up for lunch (tacos) with another of Emily's friends, then a ferry trip to Sausalito, then missing the ferry and being stuck in Sausalito for around 2h, then booking it to Mission Street for a delicious (one of the most delicious, actually) snack (tacos), before Emily went off to spend time and have dinner (tacos) with family and I went to pick up the car before meeting up with some more of my friends in the city for dinner (tacos). I about die of stress from driving in downtown San Francisco, but still filter enough of my surroundings in to know it's a very colorful and exciting place.
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<b>Friday, March 11</b><br>
Friday we wake up and, after breakfast (leftover tacos—duh), immediately have to decide what our course of action will be. We plan to meet up with my friends in Pismo Beach, but may have to rethink or reroute our course due to potential road closings on the coast. News of the massive earthquake and tsunami in Japan has just reached us, as has information that California's coast is threatened by tidal waves. We stop and have coffee with my cousin not long after leaving San Francisco, stop at a few wineries along the route to start stocking the trunk of the car, and by the time we are within an hour of Pismo my friends call and give the all-clear, saying there is little wave activity on the coast by them. We get to Pismo with enough time to catch a genuine California sunset, then head into Splash Cafe for the area's best clam chowder. We decide to continue on to Bakersfield that night to make up for the time we lost the past few days. The road to Bakersfield is—if possible—even sketchier than the road to Winnemucca, and all we know is we're driving through groves of something.
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<b>Saturday, March 12</b><br>
Bakersfield is uninteresting city wise, but we drive around for a bit blasting a Hispanic mariachi radio station while we look for a post office, where the postal worker rudely reads Emily's postcards without trying to hide the fact (at least wait until your customers are gone, you creeper), then gets confused when he looks at my postcard (suck it, you fool) and sees something other than English or Spanish. The drive out of Bakersfield and east through California is also pretty cool. We find a fantastic fruit and nut depot and pile the car with bags of dried fruit, nuts, and fresh oranges. Crossing the border out of California is a sad moment, but one we quickly turn around by making a random stop in the Mojave to see if our boards work equally well on sand. Since we find gravelly hills sharp with rock and shrubbery, our boards do not, I repeat, do not work well. We drive on to Flagstaff, where we stay the night, missing the chance (and daylight) to make a detour to the Grand Canyon by a few hours. With the exception of a few interesting sandscapes, one of the only good things about Arizona is the fiery, hot-pink sunset, colors I have never before seen in nature. Around 8h of driving today.
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<b>Sunday, March 13</b><br>
The rest of the drive through Arizona is uneventful and boring, and the drive through into New Mexico is like having your teeth pulled by someone who has no idea how to properly anesthetize patients or pull teeth, but is really, really enthusiastic about it nonetheless. We're drained from the knowledge that we've seen and left California, and all we have to look forward to now is the long drive home. Another element making the return trip shitty to the nth degree is Daylight Savings—not only do we lose an hour in general, but with each time zone we cross we lose <i>another</i> hour. Thus, when we roll into Albuquerque around what the clock on the dash says is 01.00 pre-Daylight savings California time, it's actually 03.00. And we cannot. Find. A single. Hotel. With vacancies. Anywhere. Turns out there's some high school division track competition (or something similar or entirely unrelated—high school sports are all the same to me since I graduated high school) and practically every hotel is booked solid for Sunday night. We finally luck out and find a hotel, then find out the only reason they have vacancies is because one of the local teams was disqualified (so sad for you—so when do you serve breakfast?). We are beyond tired and agitated from the horrible things Time itself is doing to us.
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<b>Monday, March 14</b><br>
Seeing as we're in New Mexico, we decide it would only be logical to have tacos and like-foods for a late-ish breakfast. We are wrong. Even though we chose a family-looking restaurant that seems teeming with locals, the food kind of looks and tastes like it was removed from a small cardboard box and placed in a microwave for 2-3 minutes on "High." We make it out of New Mexico, through Amarillo in the nubbin of Texas, and into Oklahoma City by nightfall. We are greeted by incredibly hazy skies, the result of grass fires just outside the city. The drive through Oklahoma City proper is uneventful, and we find a hotel just on the other side and well away from any potential smoke or fire damage.
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<b>Tuesday, March 15</b><br>
Tuesday we push through almost 11h of driving to get to Nashville, Tennessee, where we stay with another of Emily's friends for the night. We decide it's best not to dwell on Arkansas too much—we intended to drive through there as quickly and efficiently as possible, and we were successful in doing so.
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<b>Wednesday, March</b><br>
In the morning we head into the outskirts of downtown Nashville to meet another friend of mine for breakfast at a sweet coffee shop, Fido. Then we hit the road again in time to call in on speaker phone to our Wednesday morning class, which we had intended to be back in time for. Oh well—at least we made the effort. The next 1.5h is spent discussing a book we'd just read with our fellow students back at the university. Except we are put on mute because of the feedback the phone was getting from the car, so we take liberties in going off on our own tangents and shouting at other drivers on the road. We stop in Kentucky at a few wineries and the Jim Beam distillery—where the air smells of sweet, sweet bourbon, and the view is pretty good, too. Though we'd initially planned on making the final stretch home in one day, we are too knackered from the trip as a whole and only make it the 7h to Columbus, where we again stay with my cousin.
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<b>Thursday, March</b><br>
Feeling more slightly more rested, we take our time leaving Columbus, stopping at a Caribou Coffee downtown before driving back north. No other significant stops are made during the day—we just want to get the hell back to our homes already. Which we do.
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The end. I also took somewhere around 1500 pictures I think. At least those are the ones I decided to keep.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-53334926695868094222011-06-14T12:55:00.003-04:002011-06-14T13:00:12.212-04:00Stone Upon StoneOh looky-loo! In between not writing about the 2011 Road Trip and finishing up my first year of graduate school, I hacked out <a href="http://www.rochester.edu/College/translation/threepercent/index.php?id=3398">another book review</a>. I'm really starting to enjoy Archipelago Press books, and while 2-2 may not seem like a telling result, it certainly means something to me!<br /><br />This review was of Polish writer Wiesław Myśliwski's <span style="font-style:italic;">Stone Upon Stone</span>, a fantastic book just under 550 pages long. Here's the beginning of the review:<br /><br />" It doesn’t take that many pages to figure out that the narrator of Stone Upon Stone is a womanizing, egotistical douche bag. Through a hyperbolic and highly digressive retelling of his life (ironically centered on the construction of a tomb), main man Szymek Pietruszka makes it clear that he is known by all around him as the best drinker, fighter, singer, dancer, ladies’ man—all the men want to be him and all the women want to be with him, etc. etc. But what’s amazing is that as much as Szymek is the type of guy you’d want to elbow hard in the back of the neck “on accident,” you can’t help but feel for and even like him. In just under 600 pages of palpable rural Polish imagery and culture, author Wiesław Myśliwski shows how easy it is to take a man who has seemingly spent his life at the top of his game and break him down piece-by-piece until he has nothing left but himself and the land.<br /><br /> Wiesław Myśliwski (1932- ) is an award winning Polish novelist and playwright whose novels have largely not yet been translated into English (with the exception of Palace [1991, Peter Owen Ltd] and the forthcoming A Treatise on Shelling Beans [2013, Archipelago]). Stone Upon Stone (Polish original published in 1984) has been called Myśliwski’s “grand epic,” and not without reason. In addition to specializing in all things Polish countryside, Myśliwski is a master not only of invoking location, but also of creating characters. The voice of Szymek Pietruszka is so distinct and so unique that it’s almost unreal to think the English translation is, in fact, a translation. That’s not to say it’s been streamlined to fit what could be considered a more “American” ideal or standard for fiction—this book is undeniably European. It’s more like the book was originally written in English."<br /><br />Click <a href="http://www.rochester.edu/College/translation/threepercent/index.php?id=3398">here</a> to read the full review.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-56552010247169791962011-05-12T01:00:00.003-04:002011-05-15T08:37:16.951-04:00How it FeelsSince words have no place, this is an approximation of what it feels like to have completed and survived my first year of graduate school:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vnXP_KfKOZI/Tc_HKPTUDzI/AAAAAAAACWg/42C18a17e2s/s1600/5711808433_01df3a1d2f_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vnXP_KfKOZI/Tc_HKPTUDzI/AAAAAAAACWg/42C18a17e2s/s400/5711808433_01df3a1d2f_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606919039819714354" /></a><br /><br /><br />Wide open, expansive, free, overly pink like cotton candy and, yes, even a little fluffy.<br /><br />I don't normally process or edit anything this...rosy, but it's what seemed the best at the moment. I could jump on a million trampolines for a million years, run a million miles, somersault down a million hills--fair enough, that sounds like a triathlon for people dressed in the latest trends in straight jackets--but it just feels pretty damn good. And I didn't screw up once!Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-7622665175089868162011-05-11T14:03:00.007-04:002011-05-15T08:38:02.975-04:00The Chukchi BibleOh hey! I wrote a book review for my internship class and the <a href="http://www.rochester.edu/College/translation/threepercent/">Three Percent</a> blog a few weeks ago of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Chukchi Bible</span> by Yuri Rytkheu. I really enjoyed the mixture of memoir and folk tale, as well as learning a bit more about the lifestyle of Arctic and nomadic tribes. So until my final course paper is written and before I finaly get to a recap of the March cross-country road trop, here's an excerpt of my review-oriented ramblings:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"A bird flies around, takes a few shits, the shit turns into land and, voilà, the world is created.<br /><br />That may sound like a summary of a terrible animated short or a 1970s acid trip, but it’s simply my poorly hyper-abridged version of one of many truly beautiful Chukchi folk tales that mark the beginning of time and man in Yuri Rytkheu’s The Chukchi Bible. Here’s the real version:<br /><br /> A raven was flying over an expanse. From time to time he slowed his flight and scattered his droppings. Wherever solid matter fell, a land mass appeared; wherever liquid fell became rivers and lakes, puddles and rivulets. Sometimes First Bird’s excrements mingled together, and this created the tundra marshes. The hardest of the Raven’s droppings served as the building blocks for scree slopes, mountains, and craggy cliffs.<br /><br />There’s just something amazing about folk tales. I grew up with them as bedtime stories and have had a soft spot for them ever since, even preferring them to all things Disney. See, I find fairy tales lack that realistic nitty-gritty and hometown hero charm only a culture-specific folk tale can evoke. “Folk tales” focus on specific aspects of a culture, its values and history, whereas “fairy tales” are mostly about dwarves, princes hooking up with princesses, and evil queens getting tossed into canyons. While both forms of story telling are meant to entertain, folk tales are better in regard to educating and reminding us where we come from. And The Chukchi Bible has no shortage of heroes, culture, reality and that delicious nitty-gritty that makes stories like this all the more tangible."<br /></span><br /><br />The rest of the review can be found <a href="http://www.rochester.edu/College/translation/threepercent/index.php?id=3204">here</a>. So far I'm 2/2 on reading and liking works published by Archipelago Books. I've got a couple more from them to start and hope I'll find them just as enjoyable.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-44060975361092679602011-04-01T23:45:00.008-04:002011-04-02T02:08:58.390-04:00Sexism and CarsAll over the place with thoughts on this one. I'm bad at organizing thoughts when I'm frustrated...<br /><br />This post isn't necessarily road trip related, but the subject matter came up and has been on my mind now for a week and is still bothering me. And it's at least car related, so let's just pretend it's a well-planned segue into the road trip experience.<br /><br />I think it's a generally known fact that the majority of Latvia is still stuck in a sexist, chauvinistic mind-set. When I say "the majority", I'm still leaving room for those who do not think this way – I've been very lucky in that I've worked and socialized in circles and occupational fields that do <i>not</i> glorify the apparent incapability of women to do much of anything beyond cook and have neat handwriting (yet even in those circles there are exceptions to the liberal/Western "We can do it!" way of thinking, and surprisingly mostly due to actions and choice of the women themselves). Sexism is wide-spread and goes widely unchallenged in Latvia, and in many forms. I'm only going to point out a few. Hah.<br /><br />This sexism starts with little things like replacing a light bulb, carrying a box or uncorking a bottle. <br /><br />I get that there is probably some greater cultural meaning and reasoning behind men being the ones to uncork a bottle of wine or Champagne at a party. And if there's a guy around to replace a light bulb or carry a box in my place, then of course he's more than welcome to take care of that for me because that makes a) one less opportunity for me to electrocute myself and b) one less heavy-ass box for me to carry.<br /><br />I'm not saying I'm against chivalrous acts such as holding doors or carrying heavy items – quite the contrary. A guy I once dated and I were one day crossing a large, busy street, and as we stepped into the intersection he moved around to my right to place himself between me and the oncoming traffic. He did it simply, naturally, and without drawing attention to it. It was old-school chivalry at its best and probably one of the most romantic things ever done for me. But there is a point where excessive babying of women can mutate from chivalry into a kind of aggressive and forcibly sugar-coated repression.<br /><br />The bigger ways in which sexism manifests is in such cases as buying lumber (my best friend was treated like she was on drugs when she went to a hardware store in Riga to buy wood to build a shelf), shifting furniture, and anything to do with cars. <i>Especially</i> anything to do with cars.<br /><br />If it wasn't initially clear, this entire post has been a digression leading up to sexism in Latvia related to all things "car." Last week I translated a project that had to do with customer service stories submitted by the employees of a gas station chain in Latvia. One of the stories written by a male employee retold a situation in which a female customer had pulled up to refuel her car and would have left the station with a partially deflated tire had the employee not noticed it and informed her.<br /><br />Now, that's all well and good, but what got to me was the scenario he laid out for the customer in the event he had not noticed and fixed the damaged tire. The text was something similar to "...and she would have ended up on the side of the road, a woman by herself with a flat tire..." While this statement is undoubtedly true, as in the woman probably would have ended up on the side of the road with a flat tire had the employee not noticed anything, the sentence placed a stereotypical emphasis on the fact that: <br /><br />Client(Woman on her own) + Flat tire(On side of road) = DOOM<br /><br />The fact that it is still widely <i>assumed</i> in Latvia that women will be rendered helpless without a man around to help pisses me off. What century are we living in? <br /><br />Sure, it could be an established fact that most women don't know how to change a flat tire, but jumping to that conclusion is bogus and unfair. I myself am one of those exceptions. I and realize this is probably because I'm an only child, I'm female, and my parents like to torture me.<br /><br />One summer day my father called me out to the driveway where he was standing looking at one of the front tires of his car.<br /><br />Dad: I've got a flat.<br />Me: Bummer – how'd that happen?<br />Dad: No clue. But you're going to change it for me.<br /><br />And that was that. My father stood back and dictated what I was supposed to do to, from putting a rock or brick behind the back tires, to where to place the jack, to which order to loosen and tighten the nuts and bolts. Thus I learned how to change a flat tire. This "skill" came up once in a conversation with a friend's cousin, who was so skeptical and disbelieving of the possibility that a woman knew how to do so that he actually challenged me to go down to the street and change a tire on his car right then and there.<br /><br />The sexism in Latvia goes beyond this still. Some insurance companies in Latvia have special "Lady Insurance" policies, which, while I suppose good in theory, are worded in such a disgustingly over-bearing and sexist way that it actually makes me wonder if each woman who signs up for said policy is also given a little lap dog wearing a pink sweater and a voucher for a manicure for her troubles.<br /><br />I've even had a rental car company employee in Riga make openly snide remarks about women (in this case specifically me) driving. Another employee was going through the pre-rental check list with me when the employee in question walked by and said "Vai meitene vispar' prot braukt?" ("Does the girl even know how to drive?") What surprised me (in addition to being a douche to a client) was that he was probably my age and had this kind of mind-set. While I would have preferred to rear-end his car (or him) and then call out "I guess not!", I just replied "But of course."<br /><br />I'm aware that much of this is based on how I was raised and where I was raised. My parents made it their job to make me solve problems (re: "torture") to outfit me the best they could to deal with what the world may throw my way. Anything they didn't teach me I had to figure out for myself. If a light bulb is burnt out and no one else is home, guess who gets to change it? Me. This box of books needs to be moved from point A to point B and no one else is around, guess who gets to move it places? Me. If I'm driving by myself and wind up with a flat tire, guess who gets to change it? Me. And while I would like to say that a line needs to be drawn – or even erased, depending on how you look at it – in regard to what is expected of women in Latvia, or Eastern Europe for that matter, I am also well aware that there are unfortunately women who take complete advantage of the fact that society is trained to expect them to be the weaker sex. <br /><br />It's 2011 for Christ's sake – can't we let go of some of those preconceptions and expectations? Or at least stop pretending we have no bones in our bodies and all we care about are flowers and ponies (no offense or insult to ponies intended, because seriously, have you <a href="http://www.hedweb.com/animimag/cool-pony.htm">LOOKED at a pony</a> lately? AWESOME.) Like, that desk lamp is honestly too much for you to carry? Honestly? You're not strong enough open that jar of pickles by yourself? Really? No, I mean REALLY? Then tell me, oh fellow independent woman of the 21st century, what is life like alone at home at the end of the day? Based on your theatrical lack of self-sufficiency I'd have to guess there are a lot of shattered glass jars and pickle juice covering your kitchen floor.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-69059790116871062011-03-27T03:57:00.001-04:002011-03-27T03:58:59.744-04:00Road Tripping, Tripping RoadsI want to write about road trips/THE road trip. I really do.<br /><br />Just give me a few <s>minutes</s> <s>hours</s> days to catch up to myself.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-9277359247752827662011-01-11T02:24:00.007-05:002011-03-02T00:21:33.173-05:00Freaking ReflectionsFreaking America.<br /><br />Freaking winter break.<br /><br />Freaking everyone else having either left or been left behind. So to speak.<br /><br />I'm restless and have no idea what I want to do to combat that. Usually this is not the case. Well... at this exact moment I'd like to bust down the door of the people living above me and smash the gears out of the sewing machine being used with the object currently nearest me. Which is a hair tie or a cardigan. Needless to say it would be a very slow and awkward smashing.<br /><br />Who sews at 02.30?<br /><br />The holidays went better than I had expected (apologies to the family for my doubts), but the after parts were strange. It was odd driving my dad to the airport to see him off to Latvia. Usually it's me seeing him off back to the States. Same with my best friend. But I'm more okay with it than I was a week and a half ago.<br /><br />Though New Year's Eve left me bitter. The experience of partying/visiting with friends and family at home in Riga and then rushing to the square by the Freedom Monument at 10 to 00.00 for the countdown is indescribable. Champagne bottles being passed around, emptied or kicked across asphalt. My middle-aged relative saying she hadn't taken a drink directly from a bottle since her college days, then stifling her laughter with a swig of bubbly. Mandarin oranges being shoved into your pockets by strangers. People dressed as chickens or call girls. It's like Halloween+Christmas+Easter+Independence Day. Then the fireworks. Oh, the fireworks. The fireworks well before midnight, shot off by Russians eager to get the party started. Then the city-sponsored fireworks. Then more Russian fireworks.<br /><br />Then mulled wine, then sledding on plywood slabs by the Dom Church. Then throwing snow. Then chasing after some random golden retriever. I don't think I'm exaggerating or selling New Year's Eves to come short when I say the 2009-2010 exchange was the absolute tops. Man. I don't even want to try to beat it.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-29430317198555233022010-12-18T17:05:00.003-05:002010-12-18T17:09:10.172-05:00Homecoming BenefitsDespite my initial worries about being back for a winter break period for the first time in three years, it appears things won't be as dire as initially expected.<br /><br />I had forgotten that my room at my father's house is a veritable treasure trove of SimCity CD-ROMs, phrase books in several languages, a Rubik's Snake and lava lamps. If these post-finals swollen throat glands turn into something serious, at least I know I'll be able to entertain myself until it blows over.<br /><br />I'll also work on my lock-picking skills. No joke. Watch me.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-60543866346900692792010-12-12T17:33:00.002-05:002011-03-02T00:23:01.590-05:00Finals, HolidaysTesting an application I just got for the iPod Touch that will render my MacBook useless in one more capacity. Sorry, MB.<br /><br />I got to talk to my best friend for a while via Skype today. She told me how the annual Christmas party among friends went, down to the tiniest detail, per my request. Masochistic on my part, I know. I wish they had videotaped it so I could on some level pretend I had been there with them. I'm going to come right out and say it now: I'm afraid of what this year's holiday season will be like. I haven't been in the States for Christmas in three years.<br /><br />It will be strange not going to the habitual Christmas Eve mass in Riga, pressed tightly into pews between complete strangers because you're all trying to keep warm. It will be strange not walking through the month-long Christmas market in Old Town, laughing at the boar, moose, duck, horse meat sold in tins by that one weird guy. It will be strange not spending Christmas Eve with my cousin and her family, trying my best not to be involved in any bloodshed while roughhousing with their four kids. Strange not waking up at 4 AM Christmas morning to call family back in the States to wish them a happy Christmas while trying not to fall asleep again...<br /><br />I feel like I should be excited, not complaining. If I even am complaining? But this major of a shift in activity and setting after an extended period of time is just plain unsettling. <br /><br />I miss my friends. I miss being in Latvia. I miss Latvia in general. This could all just be a side-effect of the end of the school semester, but wow, does this ever suck.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-80300854225888740392010-11-11T13:09:00.004-05:002010-11-13T12:44:19.909-05:00Veterans, Dumplings11 November is Lacplesis Day in Latvia. This day isn't, like it is for most of the rest of the world, celebrated for the end of WWI. It's celebrated for the victory over the Bermontian Army at the battle of Riga in 1919.<br /><br />Tonight in Riga, the east bank of the Daugava River will be amass with bodies and lights. The brick walls of the presidential palace will be lined with people lighting candles and sticking them into any free space, warm with the smell of melting wax and an atmosphere thick with patriotism. Folk groups will perform, singing old songs of battle and victory, people will gather at small bonfires scattered along the normally traffic-busy, but now closed off, main river-front street.<br /><br />I want to be there. I want to walk the crowds with my friends and complain about the cold, split a box of pelmeni and drink kvass from a glass bottle. I want to light my own candles for remembrance.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-40213836427513674052010-10-15T21:04:00.004-04:002010-10-15T21:14:44.428-04:00October HighlightsOr mediocrelights, really. Not that they're insignificant, they're just not bombastically exciting.<br /><br />It rained a lot in New York, but I still spent a lot of time walking around outside, especially in the woods across the street from the apartment "village".<br><br><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TLj6p_99-oI/AAAAAAAACU4/D3dr9z1ivwc/s1600/DSC_1042.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TLj6p_99-oI/AAAAAAAACU4/D3dr9z1ivwc/s320/DSC_1042.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528444142050212482" /></a><br /><br /><br><br><br />I also rediscovered the wonder of egg-less recipes, once again proving that just because you don't have all the "normal" ingredients for baking doesn't mean you can't make something as awesome as scones.<br /><br><br><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TLj8VCJ6sNI/AAAAAAAACVA/7Co_5Q-bQho/s1600/DSC_0832.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TLj8VCJ6sNI/AAAAAAAACVA/7Co_5Q-bQho/s320/DSC_0832.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528445980883202258" /></a>Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-82258017498349396352010-10-15T16:38:00.006-04:002011-03-02T00:25:31.927-05:00List ExpansionAdd to the list of things I'm still not used to: States-style grocery shopping.<br /><br />I'm still in the mindset of European-style grocery shopping. You generally keep the basic long-lived items around the house (rice, pasta, onions, garlic, spices, flour, porridge, etc.) at all times, but buy breads, fresh produce and meat on an as-needed basis.<br /><br />Not having a car, bike, or Wheelies makes this type of shopping style incredibly difficult and at times expensive (if you break down and buy something from the Corner Store on campus, which wants people to pay CLOSE TO $5 FOR A JAR OF PICKLES). <br /><br />Case in point: two weeks ago I took the campus line bus to the grocery store, where I gathered, hunted and duly paid for what seemed like a normal amount of food items. Kind of an "only buy what you can realistically fit into your bag or carry" tactic. Too bad for me, this is an amount of produce that is good for around three days if prepared and eaten normally, or five days if you get REALLY creative. (Flat-bread+soy cream cheese+cucumber+yellow bell pepper = like a cold, veggie pizza, only much, much sadder.) If anything, the lack of standard "North American" food items in Riga and overabundance of seemingly random items honed my skills of combining individual ingredients for edible results, but when all you have in your refrigerator is onions, relish, apricot jam and half a lime, it puts a strain on your abilities.<br /><br />Maybe my dilemma stems from the fact that I don't understand boxed foods anymore. Those pre-packaged dinners-in-a-jiff that are such a hit in the States. At the campus store, I can buy 20 different kinds of Rice-a-Roni or Hamburger Helper dinners, but I can't find a single box of plain, white rice. I almost didn't find the small box of bullion cubes at the store among the entire aisle of soup cans.<br /><br />I miss deciding to make something for dinner, stopping by a grocery store on the way home after work that day to pick up the ingredients and just making something. I liked not having to pre-plan my meals days in advance. I liked walking to the Central Market on weekends with only LVL 5 in pocket and coming home with 20lb worth of produce and LVL 1.50 left over for a magazine or newspaper.<br /><br />Luckily tomorrow is Saturday; I'll have food in my fridge again soon. Tonight I have to make a careful list of what I need and remember to get everything on it. There won't be any quick, running back to the store later that day or the next to pick up something forgotten. I know I need to relearn a few things about being back here, but in a sense I'm afraid to. Because I don't want to forget how it was back in Riga.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-39310480657469427542010-09-23T01:41:00.003-04:002010-09-23T01:52:11.123-04:00Autumn ASAPI guess this is what Indian Summer feels like? A stretch of two weeks in the 17º-19ºC range and suddenly we're back up to 26ºC?<br /><br />I was ready for autumn last week. One of the things I'll miss the most this year is the turning of the leaves in Sigulda, Latvia. The city is hugely known for being a great autumn destination solely for the stunning view over the Gauja River Valley and the crazy spectrum of fall colours.<br /><br />Even the beginnings of fall in Latvia are full of promise:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TJrqHoYn7II/AAAAAAAACTc/-szOmtJx7K4/s1600/3071690827_3364d349f5_z.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TJrqHoYn7II/AAAAAAAACTc/-szOmtJx7K4/s320/3071690827_3364d349f5_z.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519981710116646018" /></a><br /><br />In New York I have a bit less to work with as far as fall colours go...:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TJrq5vGgvUI/AAAAAAAACUw/ZF3rh60zNsw/s1600/5015683163_d618b65d26_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TJrq5vGgvUI/AAAAAAAACUw/ZF3rh60zNsw/s320/5015683163_d618b65d26_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519982570913185090" /></a><br /><br />Ah well. It's still kind of nice, though.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-13468198574370305552010-09-17T21:39:00.005-04:002010-09-18T15:53:37.203-04:00Shipping MethodsTurns out getting things set up to ship from Latvia to the States was easier than I had imagined. The trick was getting things taken care of once my shipment got to this side of the big pond. <br /><br />First my shipment was shipped from Riga to New Jersey. That was the easy part - the people at <a href="http://www.lasl.com/">LASL</a> (Latvian American Shipping Lines) are professional, efficient and helpful -- that goes for both the Riga and US offices taken from New Jersey to Pennsylvania for a random customs check. Then it was held for a week or so there before being shipped to Rochester, at which point the shipment just stayed there. Because the customs officials there "didn't have my phone number". Sorry, the two valid phone numbers LASL gave them for me must have been too much too handle. If you can't handle making choices, just ignore them, right?<br /><br />Eventually I was given the go-ahead to pick up my shipment, which luckily coincided with the same weekend I had rented a car (which is incidentally WAY easier/less stressful than renting a car in Riga, but only because the States seem to expect less of you). I also thankfully didn't have to pay the $20 storage fee I'd been told I would have to pay. Anyway, I got my shipment in the following condition:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TJQafUH1HBI/AAAAAAAACR0/hRmI83uVwOw/s1600/DSC_0079.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TJQafUH1HBI/AAAAAAAACR0/hRmI83uVwOw/s320/DSC_0079.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518064568715516946" /></a><br /><br />Needless to say, but US Customs seems to exhibit a certain sense of efficiency. Right? Kudos for creativity and complimentary colour use of the red sign next to the green tape. Also, thanks for not stealing any of my stuff. Though to be honest, there were so many books in there I probably wouldn't notice if one was missing.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-54674923402665593592010-09-12T23:16:00.004-04:002010-09-12T23:44:16.752-04:00Transportation or the Lack ThereofPublic transportation in the city where I now live is anything but convenient. If I want to get to the grocery store by bus, I get to take a 45 minute trip to go 4 miles, but only after walking a dandy 1.5 walk to get to the bus stop itself. The only convenient thing about any kind of mass-transit is the university shuttle, which gets me to, well, the university. Put a Target or regular-sized grocery store on campus and I'll stop complaining.<br /><br />To put it most simply, I miss Riga. I miss Latvia. I miss a public transportation so convenient and consistent that I know it like the back of my hand. I miss living in a city where it takes me only 15 minutes to get from point A to point B, pretty much no matter where you are in downtown. I miss bus tickets that cost LVL 0.70 (~USD 1.40). I miss a round-trip train ticket from Riga to Sigulda that costs me LVL 2.10 (~USD 4.20). <br /><br /><b>I miss not having my hands tied</b>. If I at least had my bike here or, hell, even a skateboard or Razor Scooter, I'd feel less boxed in than I feel now.<br /><br />If you're in Riga or planning on going, definitely take advantage of the mass-transit system, if only because the prices are cheap (in comparison to countries like Germany or Italy).<br /><br />Riga also now offers several rentable bike systems, everything from a bike shop on the eastern side of Vermanes Park (Elizabetes Street), to BalticBike (by airBaltic). BalticBike I know costs LVL 1 per hour; register for it online <a href="https://nextbike.net/lv/index.php?id=944&L=en&fullhtml=1&type=0">here</a> and enjoy a decently convenient ride with bike stands located throughout Riga and Jurmala (Radisson Blu Hotel Latvija in Riga, across from the McDonald's in Old Town, near the beach in the Bulduri neighbourhood of Jurmala, and several locations in the Majori neighbourhood).<br /><br />The train station is much less shady than it was back in 1994, and much more convenient. The EC Fund has even helped out in sprucing up train car interiors. The <a href="http://ldz.lv/?object_id=861">passenger train network</a> itself is fairly well-developed, but does not - I repeat - DOES NOT travel internationally, with the exception of a once-daily train to St. Petersburg (and which DOES NOT excuse you from needing a valid visa to travel into Russia). It's always cheaper (though by only a few santims) to buy a round-trip ticket instead of two one-way tickets. Tickets are bought for specific destinations and have no time stamp; they can be used at any time of the day on the date the ticket was bought. A round-trip ticket is valid for a trip to the destination on the date the ticket was bought and a return trip from the same destination either on the day the ticket was bought or on the following calendar day.<br /><br />The <a href="http://rigassatiksme.lv/?setl=2">Riga Public Transport system</a>, I love. Sadly. Tickets are best bought in the new "e-Talons" card format, which are most easily purchased at <a href="http://www.narvesen.lv/">Narvesen</a> convenience stores. Yellow e-Talons tickets are essentially single-use tickets good for 5-20 rides. Single-use as in once the rides are used up, you toss the card. For once, buying an e-Talons is cheaper than buying a ticket from the driver (which you have to do if you don't have an e-Talons or if yours winds up being out of trips), which now costs LVL 0.70 per person, per ride.<br /><br />The easiest way to get around and even out of Latvia in a bit more style and comfort (which honestly depends on the destination...I've ended up on a scary 30-person minivan for a 2.5 hour trip to Saldus mid-winter) is to travel by <a href="http://www.autoosta.lv/main.php?lng=eng">coach</a>. Tickets are reasonably priced and best bought a few days in advance, especially if traveling to larger cities on the weekend. Tickets can be bought online at www.bezrindas.lv, but it really is easiest to just go to the Coach Station and buy them from a service counter. On that note, Vilnius and Tallinn are both a mere 4 hours from Riga!<br /><br />I have none of these options here - or at least none of these options in a convenient way. I think I've made my point for now.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-44032919200086819412010-09-04T18:37:00.003-04:002010-09-04T18:40:33.737-04:00Missing RigaSome shots from the Riga Canal boat tour. I highly recommend taking this tour - if you want you can even disembark at one of many stops along the way. If you go on a Monday, the price is LVL 3 instead of LVL 5. Best of all, no annoying tour information. You just sit back and relax and enjoy the sounds of the city and river.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TILKV_pq4YI/AAAAAAAACRs/J61b6NAnTqo/s1600/4947368482_fd86ea40fe_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TILKV_pq4YI/AAAAAAAACRs/J61b6NAnTqo/s320/4947368482_fd86ea40fe_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513191373067182466" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TILKVlHSG1I/AAAAAAAACRk/N_OdOfg9Qf8/s1600/4947364736_e5b744fb4c_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TILKVlHSG1I/AAAAAAAACRk/N_OdOfg9Qf8/s320/4947364736_e5b744fb4c_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513191365943630674" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TILKVU3TDCI/AAAAAAAACRc/VMcvQMecl04/s1600/4947378076_f8b26b0d8f_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TILKVU3TDCI/AAAAAAAACRc/VMcvQMecl04/s320/4947378076_f8b26b0d8f_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513191361581616162" /></a>Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-41476910437928723822010-09-01T17:45:00.004-04:002010-10-15T21:16:06.473-04:00A New StateOf being, of mind, of residence. However you slice it, this, my friends, is new.<br /><br />The State of New York is proving to be an interesting place. The fact that the city I live in now is so close to the Canadian border takes the edge off of what I would refer to as "stereotypical New York angst", making people nicer, happier, helpful, more polite...<br /><br />Basically, it makes them Minnesotan.<br /><br />I'm hoping that once we get over the initial few days of receiving our syllabi and calendars for courses things will pick up in the world of academia. For now I wake up at 7 AM, an hour before my alarm goes off, and wonder what the hell I'm going to do with the 5-6 hours until it's time to catch a bus to campus. At some point I'm going to have to figure out how to get to a grocery store via the school's bus lines. And by "some point" I mean "preferably before I run out of food and starve to death". There are options for eats on campus, but I really don't think it's my style to pay $3.50 for a granola bar.<br /><br />The graduate housing area I live in is nice enough. It's mostly foreign graduate students and graduate students with families and kids. And sometimes grandpas. I've seen at least one. So there are plenty of kids' toys and jungle-gyms and hey! a sandbox in the surrounding area. I will not get bored here.<br /><br />I haven't met anyone living in my building, but have seen them many times and can say that I am most likely the only non-Asian person in it. In truth, most of the park seems to be inhabited by the Asian graduate student community. Which is fine, and sometimes hard to deal with, as around dinner time it's easy to catch tantalizing whiffs of noodles or pot dishes cooking in their apartments. I want to meet people and make friends, I suppose, but showing up at someone's door with a bowl and my own pair of chopsticks hardly seems the way to go about it.<br /><br />Also, the eggs here are pure, snow white. And stick to the cartons and subsequently crack when you try to pry them off. Raw egg, it turns out, is rather hard to control and clean up.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-48445024271018931242010-08-19T10:42:00.002-04:002010-08-19T11:01:03.516-04:00Eyesight RamblingsAh, another post from me about doctor-related things. I suppose the only reason I've been to see various specialists about seemingly small issues I would have otherwise left to fend for and fix themselves (had I been back in the States) is because, wait for it,<br /><br />HEALTH CARE IN LATVIA IS DIRTY DIRT CHEAP.<br /><br />This, of course, provided you have a decently-to-well paying job and can afford the odd $20 of chest X-rays and what-have-yous necessary for work permits or general curiosity. If you're old and have a crap pension plan, it's a whole other story, and in that case you're probably a bit up shit creek with getting by overall. Which is wrong and unfair. This, of course, also considering that consultations aren't all that cheap, but that most prescription medicines (inhalers, for you fellow asthmatics) and vaccinations and X-rays really are cheaper than a week's worth of red meat. Which, if you're like me and don't eat read meat anyway, is great because why <i>wouldn't</i> you want four identical X-rays of your chest cavity to turn into modern art in your home?<br /><br />But I digress. Anyway, I've done a bit more research on whether or not it would be worth my time and money to make an appointment with an eye doctor again, as I believe the papillary conjunctivitis (re: rusty screw feeling under my left eyelid) has returned. I apparently took care of it once, medicated the peepers for two weeks, then disregarded the doctor's instruction to consult a contact lens specialist and just started using the contacts again. And lo! Problems! 1:0, doctors. Fair play.<br /><br />Where all this is going is that I have reason to believe that it is the specific brand/make of contact that is causing problems. This I believe because I wore contacts in high school and throughout college without any problems - and I wore contacts the first ~1+ year in Latvia without any issues. After some article searching and reading I've come to the potential conclusion that the specific type of contact I've been buying and using in Latvia has slowly built up an allergic reaction in my eye. Damn you, fatherland optometry!<br /><br />I'm reluctant to go back to a doctor, as I know what I have and would just rather have the prescription for the same fiery eye-drops of last time instead of paying someone close to $40 to tell me what I already know. Oh, wait, sounds like America!<br /><br />It also seems that nothing is covered by the health insurance I've paid for through work. The clinic I've been going to for the past two years isn't covered by my programme or company, and nowhere else nearby either takes my insurance, or has any openings before next Wednesday, by which time I will be back in the States and hugging a $2 alarm clock and cotton bath towel set from IKEA.<br /><br />However, on a certain level, I feel that if I do nothing about the eye I could be sporting an eye-patch sooner than and much later after Halloween.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-65377596398864044302010-08-14T16:56:00.001-04:002010-08-14T17:00:42.814-04:00Heat Wave<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TGcDOaKe8oI/AAAAAAAACQo/_erE5mcH3v8/s1600/DSC_3033.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TGcDOaKe8oI/AAAAAAAACQo/_erE5mcH3v8/s320/DSC_3033.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505372615560065666" /></a><br /><br />Even cats have a rough time dealing with the heat. Mine can't even stand to sleep on his stomach.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-79505607702473137042010-08-14T15:53:00.005-04:002010-08-14T16:19:02.963-04:00Saturdays and EggsI'm working through another weekend evening to try and ensure that I will be done by tomorrow and in time to go toss my cousin's kids around in the Gauja River. It was around 30ºC in Latvia today and will probably be the same tomorrow. Great swimming weather.<br /><br />Though I'm supposed to be translating right now (I feel most of whatever I write or do at otherwise inappropriate times comes about when procrastinating), I can't stop thinking about the omelet I had for breakfast and the egg situation in Latvia.<br /><br />Oh yes, we have a situation. About eggs.<br /><br />Although life in Germany gave me the choice of buying brown or white eggs, life in Latvia generally greets you ONLY with brown eggs. White eggs only show up around Easter, right in time for them to be bought out and used for traditional egg colouring. (Truth be told, they might be available year-round somewhere else, but I'm used to not expecting to see them anymore.) So, brown eggs it is. And that's cool. I'm down with brown eggs; I have been since Germany.<br /><br />The thing I'm not so down with is the fact that, when living in Latvia, you are reminded on an egg-by-egg basis just exactly where that egg came from. Almost every single carton of eggs is filled with individual reminders that, even if Egg did come first, this one definitely came from Chicken. Specifically, from the internal, body-juice, feathery nether regions of Chicken. <br /><br />Eggs in Latvia are, as could be surmised, not cleaned very well or at all before being packed into cartons and shipped off to grocery stores for shelving. Standard cooking procedures at home have also changed. Gone are the days of carefree egg cracking straight into the bowl. Now everything is prefaced by wrinkled noses and gasps of disgust as eggs are turned over to reveal bits of feathers, bits of other egg and even blood before attempting to wash it with several cleaning fluids before use.<br /><br />Granted, you can always opt for the plastic six-pack of eggs of non-specific origin, wrapped in a thin, black carton slip sporting a picture of a glistening body builder, but as these eggs neither come with miniature tricep and bicep bulges, nor do they make you strong enough to challenge strongman Raimonds Bermanis, the extra four santims don't really seem worth it.<br /><br />Now, instead of popping the lid off the carton at the store just to check for cracked shells, I also check for the carton that has the least amount of carnage still attached to it. The day I find a tiny chicken beak or underdeveloped wing tip in a carton is the day I go ovo-vegetarian.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-79090026297947741502010-08-13T15:38:00.006-04:002011-09-30T23:15:58.551-04:00Ze donats/The Donuts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TGWi9OmgthI/AAAAAAAACQg/0-HlUlnLSOI/s1600/4551089314_1b16d8bc41.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DsN0C_SbGTE/TGWi9OmgthI/AAAAAAAACQg/0-HlUlnLSOI/s320/4551089314_1b16d8bc41.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504985292305643026" /></a><br /><br /><br />First – I wrote this somewhere else a while ago, but it is once again relevant because I may be grabbing handfuls of breakfast there tomorrow if a) I get enough work done tonight/early tomorrow morning (such are my Friday nights, boo hoo), b) if I wake up in time to not miss three consecutive trains out to Riga (it happens, life moves on) and c) the Ze donats is open early enough for the pending feeding to be considered breakfast. (And d) who am I kidding? Breakfast is clearly an any-time applicable meal concept.)<br /><br />Second - DOUGHNUTS. For some reason these pop-culture type re-spellings of words (also: drive thru) really, really bother me.<br /><br />Third - oh my HOLY BUTLERS OF AMSTERDAM*. I'm not a fan of cake doughnuts, but these circles of perfection are a nice middle ground between cake and raised types. They also cost only LVL 0.25 a piece (unless you go for filled, which run 5-15 santims higher) and come in all kinds of flavours with exciting names, like "Džons lemons" (John Lemon). That's right, they're clever, too. The people, not the doughnuts.<br /><br /><a href="http://twitter.com/zeDonats" rel="nofollow">Ze donats/The Donuts</a> is located on Kr. Valdemāra Street in riga, between Dzirnavu and Lačuplēšu Streets (closer to the corner of Dzirnavu Street). The staff are extremely nice, the place itself is really unassuming and comfortable and the eats, well... Let's just say "two's company, three's a crowd" does NOT apply to this as a Sunday morning breakfast item.<br /><br />This place used to be a slight problem (reference name's days, birthdays, last-day-of-work-on-contract days, random days) as I used to live a half block from it. The only benefits were that it wasn't open late (thus eliminating any post-office day depression fixing via sugary carbohydrates) and that I tended to quickly forget that there was anything in this country similar to a "good doughnut". Now that I live outside Riga, temptation has dropped considerably. This lack of temptation, however, makes taking the 30 minute train ride and 15 minute walk from the station to the cafe all that more important because, dammit, if I came all this way I'm going to go there and eat WHATEVER I WANT.<br /><br />I also just discovered their <a href="http://www.virtulis.lv/">website</a> is up and running and full of annoying sounds. <strike>Just wish it had opening hours available!</strike>Hours of operation are found under the "Kontakti" section.<br /><br /><br />*I don't get it, either. That's how I roll.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-32738227538457201692010-07-29T00:11:00.003-04:002010-07-29T00:25:53.012-04:00The Difference in InsectsAs far as mosquitoes go, there's not a huge difference between Minnesota's honorary state bird and its Latvian counterpart. Both result in gigantic red welts on your poor, abused skin. Minnesota mosquitoes, however, have a nasty itch that accompanies their bites.<br /><br />I swear, the more I itch, the more the bites seem to multiply.<br /><br />Tomorrow night I fly back to Latvia for around month before flying back to the States to resume academic life in New York state. Excitement! I still don't know where I'll be living! More excitement! Most of all it's one month left in Europe before I sign myself up for at least one academic year of living in the States. That may be what I'm most worried about. This is because I'm not used to customer service anymore, I'm not used to people being polite. I'm not used to people talking to you about the boots their crazy aunt bought for their sister's poodle while you wait in line for the ATM. It's just plain weird. Thus, being back may well derail me. I'm hoping I'll be able to handle a new environment in an old environment with a semblance of grace and calm.<br /><br />I'd really like to say something a bit more regarding...anything, really, but my feet just itch too flipping much. I've also got a boatload of things to pick up tomorrow to bring back for people (fantastic North American candy for my co-workers and the most unnatural, sugar-loaded pancake syrup I can find for my cousin's kids), as well as my own packing to do. Not thinking straight right now. Clearly.<br /><br />Bahaha!Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-17678046277109519422010-07-01T12:13:00.002-04:002010-07-01T12:16:23.628-04:00Clap Paws, Squeal with Glee.Or something to that effect. My dad is a fan of this one time in a Garfield comic...<br /><br />We leave Berlin on the night train tonight for Paris. We're sunburnt, tired and sore. Life hurts right now, but I'm still high from the excitement of flying back into Germany. I love this country.<br />Living in Latvia makes travel easier and generally cheaper, so I can afford to indulge in my travel obsession and fanaticism.<br /><br />We may attempt to learn French by 10 AM tomorrow morning.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-69108868591528892832010-06-29T22:21:00.003-04:002010-06-29T22:30:23.393-04:00Driving in LatviaLatvian drivers SUCK. Period. Amen.<br /><br />Yesterday I got to experience three different kinds of angry, stupid drivers. In a way it was my best worst driving day ever -- and that's a comment to the skills and consideration of the other people and considering I tend to follow driving rules and speed limits like the Bible. <br /><br />The best example was a woman who was on the bumper of my rental car going 90 km, which isn't fast, I know, but it's the legal maximum in Latvia on highways. So I'm driving the speed limit because I don't want a ticket, not today, thankyouverymuch, when this woman tailing me starts honking her horn like it's her job. In the rear-view mirror I can see she's waving her arms wildly and her mouth is flapping as she rattles off a series of what could only be curses and poxes upon my house. Alright, she's upset, I get that. Then she swerves into the other lane, barely zips diagonally between me and the car in the neighbouring lane, speeds up to at least 120 and then cuts back across to the other lane without signalling and speeds off into the afternoon. <br /><br />The funny part of her actions? Her car was covered in triangular stickers with a red border and black M in the middle - the stickers that tell you the car is a car used by a driving school. This woman was an instructor.<br /><br />And thus I learned the probably source of all crappy driving in Latvia. Huzzah! Just in time to leave the country for a bit and soak up western European civility.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030407858363331246.post-89728919017891329632010-06-29T04:33:00.002-04:002010-06-29T04:47:09.982-04:00Moving, Cats, DustThere is an old woman sitting dejectedly on a chair on a balcony across the courtyard and two floors up. She looks like she's being punished. The door is closed behind her and she looks less than thrilled to be out in the fresh air. I wonder what she's done wrong.<br /><br />Irrelevant. Today is the final day in the Riga apartment. Excitement and sadness. And a bit of frustration. I'll start with frustration. I love my (now former) flatmate and she's a wonderful friend and person, but when you move out and leave your key in the postbox without cleaning anything in the apartment and leave a bunch of your unwanted items behind for me to clean up, my positive feelings become a little harder to dole out. Good thing my best friend is coming out later to help me put this place back to order.<br /><br />Sadness. This is a good place. It's a good location. The rent was decent enough. The landlady was a riot. The fridge is big enough to hold all of our assorted jams, mustards, and sauces (as we rarely had real food around). My cat had plenty of windows to guard from the onslaught of angry, dirty pigeons. Etcetera. Also, moving in general is a stressful undertaking.<br /><br />Excitement. I leave with a few friends for a 10-day trip around Germany(!!!) and France. Then I get four days to pull myself together again before jetting off to the US for the rest of July. This will involve carting the cat, howling and piss-stained (the cat, not me), through four airports and three flights, followed by a two-day car ride across the eastern states. I'm excited for all of this, minus the piss part, but am also concerned for the cat. After today's vet visit, he has even ME convinced that I'm the worst person on the face of the planet. I hope the huge bay window facing the bird feeder in Minnesota will more than make up for what is to come.<br /><br />As soon as I publish this post I'm off to keep throwing my belongings into unmarked boxes and bags -- it'll be like Christmas when I open them again in a few months or just days. I always want to write something more frequently, but June was a wild month in Latvia. I finished my contract at work and went in part-time to help out until they found someone to replace me (which has yet to happen), did some driving around Latvia with my dad, who was here on research/vacation purposes, and then the whole moving thing.<br /><br />I can't keep my family obligations and thoughts straight right now. Hopefully I'll get some mental air cleared soon so I can make things interesting on here again.<br /><br />That old woman is still out on the balcony. Now she's chewing her nails. What a world.Kaijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11825038249960814222noreply@blogger.com0