Our house is moving along nicely. We've had a complete change of work crew for the interior work and it really does look like we will be in by Christmas. So much so, that I have begun to imagine actually moving in and LIVING in the area. Our suburb, Āgenskalns, is a wonderful suburb just over the river from the old town - a challenging mix of the most gritty Riga life, and the most interesting and charming. It is an eclectic blend of 100 year old stately wooden homes, set back from the street in beautiful gardens with old trees - many of which have now been gentrified; plain old wooden "boarding houses", which contain many small one room apartments that were built to house workers in the early 20th century; and multi-storey concrete monstrosities, locally called "hruschovskas". Many of the smaller streets have simple names like "Bee Street", "Flower Street", "Bell Street", "Pigeon Street", and they wind haphazardly around with no sense of planning. Some of them are still dirt.
The centre of Āgenskalns is a striking old red brick market hall, which hums with food traders and second-hand clothes stalls most days of the week. A tram line rumbles through the heart of the suburb, and it is not unusual for strangers to stop and talk to you on the street. Some of the richest, and also some of the most downtrodden people call Āgenskalns home.
On Saturday, before driving down to the country, we stopped in at our new place to check out our new front door and then did a stroll around the block, to get acquainted with the neighbourhood, eat some ice-cream and take in some autumn colour. We started here...

A visit to Riga Zoo at this time of year is always a must - the ice has finally started to melt, spring is in the air, and the animals have woken up and are a-snuffling.
Every time we go to the zoo we draw.  Usually it was just Tiss but now Mikus has started as well.  Its a great pastime, because it makes the boys stop and examine the animals more closely.  This time, Mikus' rendition of a camel (complete with a very realistic pooing action) was priceless, and Tiss sketched an incredibly lifelike stick insect.  The fun bit was guessing which animals they were at the end - because I (M) had to work ALL WEEKEND, and only got the second-hand stories of the animals they saw. 

We have been impressed by some new stencils that have appeared on inner-city Rigan footpaths a few nights ago. The stencils are huge – about 1 metre x 1 metre, and feature a famous Latvian storybook character, Spriditis, a little boy who sets off into the world to search for luck and happiness, only to find that it has actually been at home all along. The slogans are very in-your-face and relate to the mass exodus from Latvia that is happening at the moment. This highly political subject matter, combined with the excellent artistic execution (reverse graffitti – where you don’t use paint, but use some kind of solvent to clean the design into a dirty footpath) and gutsy, may I even say – DARING delivery (one stretch of a nearby street has these stencils every 4 metres or so!) have made quite an impact on us, the daily pedestrians of Riga. The stencils are signed „with the support of Andris Grutups”, which is a reference to a Latvian celebrity lawyer with all the wrong political connections, and we are not entirely sure if this is actually a marketing campaign sanctioned by the lawyer himself, orchestrated by some savvy ad agency, or a reference by the stencil artist because Grutups is very outspoken about the amount of people leaving Latvia.

Whatever it is, it’s impressive!

I don’t know the statistics of people leaving the country – but it is an issue that has gained huge momentum since the crisis began in January. Over the last 10 or so years, it has been a common thing for country folk to leave Latvia to take up menial jobs in Ireland, the UK, the USA. These were people living in small rural communities, most typically unskilled labourers, and never really touched me personally. But over the last few months it seems that everyone is getting „on the train”, so to speak. Several of our emigre friends, who have lost their jobs or whose work prospects are poor, have found Australia (or their other country of origin) friendlier to them in terms of unemployment benefits and future work opportunities, and have left or are in the process of going. Other educated aquaintances and friends are moving away in the hope of employment and better conditions elsewhere – a landscape architect we know has found that her work has completely dried up here, and decided that Sweden, a place where she had done garden projects before, was a better option. Our friends from Saldus – a tv producer and a builder – have just moved to Norway, where the building industry loves cheap Latvian labour. Every day we hear about people of all calibres, education levels and persuasions leaving – and many friend who have not left regularly express the opinion that „so and so should leave, there’s nothing here for them”, or „if I can’t find work I’ll leave”, etc. People feel that there is no employment to be had here, and even if you can get a job, that the wages and conditions are so poor that they would rather be doing menial jobs overseas and scraping by, living in shared flats with other desperate floor-scrubbers , rather than trying to do it here.

This situation is starting to freak me out... For the record, I am not judging the people who have left or are leaving. They have their reasons - my God, if I didn’t know what I was going to feed my kids tommorrow I would also be willing to travel anywhere for work. But the staggering rate at which this seems to be happening IS worrying. It seems to be a bit like one of the psycho manias that take over big crowds of people or animals, and have people blindly following without thought – you know, like all that Hitler worship and lemmings of cliffs etc. If you’re having a shit time in Latvia, then what do you do? First reaction – you consider leaving!

What I also find disturbing, is the attitude that „those who are left behind” seem to be adopting. In conversations with people who have not been THAT ravaged by this crisis, people who are still making a living, I rarely sense any real loyalty to Latvia, or a love for this country – that they believe that while life here may be tough, this is where they want to live, that they feel loyal to Latvia. Few people seem to (outwardly) care for Latvia - I rarely hear talk of a responsibility or an admiration for our language, our culture, nature or people – everyone pretty much concludes that this country is a sinking ship and we are stupid for living here. I agree, the politics here are f**cked up. The economy is also rooted, and the regard of those in power for the rest of us plebs makes me sick. But after I get over all the doom and gloom and crisis and bankruptcy, I really do love this country, and I want to be here. I have my diaspora-Latvian emotional blackmail nationalistic upbringing firmly rooted in my psyche, and still feel a patriotic sense of responsibility for this country. I feel worried and sad for Latvia’s future – not so much because of the economy, but because there seems to be such a lack of people who truly care. Obviously there are exceptions, and obviously, I can’t assume that because people don’t pledge these allegiances out loud, they don’t feel them. I suppose I should count all of my friends who are staying put for the time being as being patriots too!

So there’s some societal context for the stencils we photographed today. Certainly hits the spot!

Well, I haven't written anything for about a month now... we've been so busy, and thinking of something vaguely inspired is a chore. But finally I decided that I'd write about what's been on our minds lately... in fact, what's been on every Latvian's mind lately.... or is that just EVERYONE's mind? That is, this darn economic crisis. I am not going to reflect on the politics or the financial systems, God knows I know very little about it - but what I CAN talk about is what this crisis fells like at street level here in Riga.
I assume the crisis is hitting everywhere to some degree. But as I can understand from international news reports, things are looking pretty dire here in Latvia particularly. I first really started thinking about the possibility of a crisis was when Mara visited us from Oz in October (or was it November?) last year. We spent a few days in Venice, and much of Mara's conversation was about architect friends losing jobs in Australia, about how the crisis is affecting Brisbane. And I was interested (and a bit bemused), because back then, there was very little sign of the crisis on an every day level in Latvia. I wondered to myself if we were not going to feel the crisis as severely, the same way Latvia had not felt the fear of terrorist stuff that seems to have been going on in Australia, Germany, the UK, the USA in the last few years - that we were just too small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things to be included.
Oh, how naive.... then suddenly, around Christmas, things started to go crazy. Or was that after the new year? I can't remember, but in the last two months, the economic downturn is the topic of every conversation, every news report, every daily errand. And although Jem and I have still got jobs (which we count ourselves very lucky for - starting brand new, supposedly stable jobs just before the crisis hit), many of our friends have completely lost their jobs, or parts of them, and the ones who still have their jobs have been forced to take significant pay cuts. Property prices and rent has dropped dramatically, which is not great for us as part of our income is made up of renting out a flat we own in the old town - and our current tenant has just given notice. Our extra freelance work has completely dried up.
A number of our expat friends have already moved back to Australia - hoping that job prospects and social security are better than here. Most of those who haven't already moved back are talking about it. We are helping one friend organise an Austrlian visa for his Latvian wife and their children. We recently attended a going away party and spent the time talking about who will be next, about how each of us is holding up. I get asked daily why I am continuing living in Latvia if I have the option to go back to Australia by doctors, shopkeepers, people I meet on the street.
The crisis has also become obvious in a day-to-day way - apart from the increase in GST, which means that EVERYTHING in the shops is now more expensive than it was last December, all sorts of services are being cut. The airport buses from the hotel up the road have stopped running. The choices of magazine in the local newsagent have halved - they are no longer importing what they used to. Even our old favourite restaraunt Lido (if you've been to Latvia, you'll know it) has less choices on offer, less customers, and weigh the portions so that they don't give you a bit extra. The bowling centre up the road was pretty much empty when we went there last Sunday afternoon. Every fourth shop on the streets around our place has closed down and has a big "for lease" sign in the window.
As a result of all this, eventhough we have managed so far to retain a majority our own personal income and security, there is a pretty heavy dose of foreboding and pessimism - an all-pervasive anxiety in the air. The situation is "psyching us out" - and its precisely that - a psychological beat-up. I find myself getting anxious about financial issues, worried for friends, wondering what will happen next, hoping that we keep our jobs, imagining how we will get by if we don't. I'm sure all the hype doesn't help, and in reality we're doing ok, but the fear factor is rising for everyone here, as well as a feeling of sadness that Latvia seems to have taken a step back by a number of years.
On the upside, though, if we can get a bank loan (and everyone's saying we haven't got a hope), prices for building work have also plummeted.... so I suppose if we can scratch up the cash, we actually may be able to get this house renovated while its affordable. If we're willing to take the risk!
I keep telling myself that we just have to hang in there and work and cut costs where we can, and that in a few years things will start looking up again. I can't see us picking up and moving back to Oz - because I get the feeling it mightn't be that easy getting a job there either - and we are committed to staying here and making a go of it unless it becomes no longer feasible. We are doing ok - better than ok in fact, because Jem is enjoying this new job and the challenges it brings, and I am also going ahead in my museum job in leaps and bounds - so things are all good. I just have to tell my frazzled nerves this on a regular basis!
So I am interested... what's the weather report in the rest of the world? Is it as dramatic for Oz/the UK/Indo/Angola/wherever as it is here?

Just a few pics of our winterwonderland of the last two days. These first ones are of the boys out in the forest in the blizzard of yesterday (no, we couldn't convince them to wait until the high-speed winds had stopped before we went out). Jon and Courtney, those beanies you brought back from South America have been put to good use!


And here are some snaps of today's trip to the park. The boys ganged up on me in snowball fights, which quickly degenerated into "great big hunks of snow" fights. A good time was had by all.

Ok so here's the Latvian 90th anniversary celebration roundup! Someone up high smiled at us benevolently this year and gave us a four-day weekend to celebrate. One of the highlights was definitely the light festival that was held over the long weekend. I'm glad I wasn't on the organising committee for the celebrations, because if someone would have pitched the idea to me: "our major event for Latvia 90 is going to be a festival where we light up objects all over Riga" I would have told them to go away and come up with something more interesting. But oh, what a mistake I would have made! The light festival around Riga was nothing short of brilliant. Familiar landmarks around the city were lit up with the latest in lighting technology - and while each separate 'light installation' was a fairly quick view, the overall experience was quite inspiring and exciting. Our local park, Vermandarzs, was filled with huge coloured floating globes, and the old oak and linden and fir trees were lit up individually, so that you noticed (for the first time ever) how sculptural the trunk was, or what a space was created by the shape of the branches. There was a certain eerie wonderment to strolling through such a familiar environment which was lit more like a moonscape than a park. Other highlights included the national theatre (where Latvian independence was declared), lit up in faded willy wonka candy colours - like an old, hand-coloured photograph; the fountain in front of the opera house covered in a big plastic bubble - like a snowdome - and the lady inside lit to look like a mermaid underwater; the dome square laden with moving projections of birds and clouds and flowers; and burning posts of fire grouped together outside the Arsenal art gallery, whereby a man would periodically come and dump a bucket of fuel of some kind in the top and sparks would rush up skyward. The whole of Riga was out and about on these nights (which started around 5pm when it was already pitch black!) and the city streets felt alive, happy and bustling.
And then... there was independence day itself. Every year we put down flowers at the freedom monument - this year we had to do it in the dark because during the day there were so many concerts and official proceedings in front of the monument we couldn't get near it. The boys went to the military parade and apparently were very excited by the helicopters and guys in uniforms in armoured personnel carriers.
My own personal excitement on independence day this year was participating with "Saucejas", my singing group, in a piece of music that was composed especially for this occassion by one of Latvia's well-known composers. We were lucky enough to be involved from the beginning, and the part that we sang was written especially with us in mind. Other groups that participated were the "Suitu sievas" (for those who know them) and "Auļi" (a bagpipe/drumming group), a well-known opera singer, the Latvian symphony orchestra and the Latvian radio choir. It was a real experience going to rehearsals over the past few weeks - to see up close the discipline and professionalism of the symphony orchestra and their conductor was impressive. I've got to say that "calling" a song while I had the symphony orchestra accompanying was also pretty cool! So most of my day was spent in a last-minute rehearsal and then in the concert itself, but well worth it. The piece was based on interpretations of the song "Put Vejini", and was quite moving at times. My parents actually made the trip up from Saldus to attend the concert, which was a treat for us, because they come to Riga so rarely these days.
Anyhow, while on the subject of Latvia 90 I should also give an update on the suiting issue for Tiss - I ended up making a compromise and buying him a nice shirt and slacks (sans jacket) for the occassion. Tiss himself was very happy with the outfit, and he fitted in perfectly :). I've added some pics below. One part of his little concert that moved me to tears (you know, laughing and crying at the same time) was that aside from the poem that Tiss said, something along the lines of "Latvia has big rivers, big forests, and a big sea...", he also got to do some solo song "calling", which he hadn't told me about, so I was pleasantly surprised to see that my son is a good singer, confident and very serious on stage!