Welcome
back, my two loyal readers. I will give a half-hearted apology for not updating
earlier. I admit that I have entered by biannual Glee phase, during which I
obsessively watch clips from the show on YouTube (even though I’ve never
watched the show in its entirety) and convince my musically-inept self that I
too can hit the high notes like Lea Michele. In reality I cannot. My only
consolation is to listen to the glorious bop “I Will Survive/Survivor” on
repeat- highly recommend. This entire escapade takes up a great deal of time.
So what
have we been up on the other side of the world? Trying to speak Russian, mostly.
School is shaping up to be a bit of beast this semester. It’s always been my strong
suit, but I’ll be doing quite a bit of adjusting. I’ve made the horrible metaphor that trying to
understand Nuclear Policy in Russian is like looking at the wall at the end of
a Ninja Warrior course and feeling like you’re only destined to run into the
vertical section. Alas, do not despair! There is almost nowhere to go but up!
We’ve
also been assigned conversation partners who are fellow students at Daugavpils
University; Dasha and I like to stroll the streets and parks of the city as I
struggle to form coherent sentences. She’s actually been awesome, and a great
example of the active listening technique where you summarize what someone has
said to you. Of course, sometimes these summaries of my ideas differ quite a
bit from what I have intended to say but at least someone feels I might be able
to generate legitimate thoughts.
On the
home front, my host mother and I had recently expressed our mutual love of chocolate. Her collection is extensive and hidden all along the cabinets in the
kitchen. After I expressed my interest in baking, she has requested the quintessential
American Brownie. I’ve decided to pull out all the stops (espresso powder,
Dutch cocoa, dark chocolate chunks) so long as I can find the ingredients. Also,
as far as I know we don’t have anything in the States that is Black Currant
flavored. And let me tell you, that is a tragedy. I’m coming home with a whole
freaking book of new recipe ideas, people. Prepare thyselves.
With
regards to food, I will add a minor tangent and say that I despise Herring more
than most anything that I have ever encountered in my entire life. And no, I’m
not being dramatic. Russian mustard, on the other hand, will always have a
special place in my heart. It has been one of the few things I have encountered
with any kind of spice or kick. Michael was smart enough to have brought a
bottle of Sriracha with him, but I might have to make an international
expedition to secure a sauce that is capable of potentially bringing tears to
my eyes.
Speaking
of tears, we have had the fear of all things holy and gracious instilled in us
with regards to the coming winter. The last two weeks have been absolutely
beautiful, the perfect prologue to PSL-worthy sweater weather. But there will
be no Pumpkin Spice Lattes for me this year, and November is apparently the
stuff of nightmares. Last year there was a total of 37 minutes of sunlight
(without clouds or rain) during the entire month. That’s like, less than two
episodes of Brooklyn 99. So I can expect the first few days to be kind of neat
and poetically depressing, but by week two my Spotify might be dominated by
Evanescence. “My Immortal”, more specifically.
 |
| Mindy and I enjoying the (fleeting) perfect weather. |
One of
the highlights from this last week was getting the chance to kayak along the
Daugava River outside of the city. Mindy and I managed to tolerate each other
for five whole hours and kayaked 25 whooping kilometers. Just kidding, Mindy
is a darling. I only threw her off the kayak twice. It was really gorgeous, and
the water was completely still for most of the journey, which would’ve been
cool if we didn’t need to paddle the entire time. But in actuality, much of the
tree-line seemed to have been taken out of a painting, and we had a nice few
hours of girl-talk and bonding. Sometimes it’s hard to think that we’re
thousands of miles away from home- you could’ve gone down the river thinking
you were in Pennsylvania. In other moments, you are so aware that you’re far
from home that it hurts a little.
One of
the most striking things about Daugavpils is the number of buildings that look
like they might be falling in disarray on the outside. Along Riga Street, the main
street in the city, most of the exteriors have been restored to make the city
look like the central transportation and trading hub it once was, but it’s hard to
ignore that some of the buildings look like they’ve been extracted from pictures
following World War II. We were able to go on a tour of the city earlier this
week, and it really feels impossible to wrap our heads around how much history
these streets have seen. For example, one of the restaurants we ate at last
week was converted from an old Gestapo prison. Another building we drive past
on the tram every day used to be the headquarters for the KGB in Daugavpils.
Although you would never be able
to tell from the way the buildings look now, it’s undeniable that this city and
its people have seen many things, and a lot of them were at history’s lowest
moments. Before WWII there were around 55,000 Jewish people who lived in
Daugavpils (out of a total population around 100,000), and there were 45
synagogues. Nowadays, the estimate is around 400 people, and the only synagogue
in town has an attendance of around 8 or 9 per service. There are a lot of
things we read about in history books and try to understand, but being
in a place like this is something else altogether. The events of the past have
made waves upon the present, even if the ripples hide in the smallest places.
Those of you who have known me for
more than about 15 minutes probably know that my parents are immigrants from
Poland. I had the chance to spend some summers there as a kid, and although
there are obvious differences between Poland and Latvia, it’s been a little
strange to feel both out of my comfort zone and weirdly secure. Some of the
Latvians we’ve encountered have marveled at the names of the cities the
American students come from, in the same way that many of us are intrigued by
where they’ve been able to travel within Europe. My reality (as I see it) is
that if only a few things had happened differently in the 1990’s for my
parents, I could be just like any of the students at Daugavpils University. I
could’ve grown up thinking about what life in the United States must be like. I
could’ve wanted so desperately to go to college in the U.S. or to even visit
something as iconic and American as the Statue of Liberty, but I didn’t.
Eastern Europe could have very easily been my home- all the things I find strange
or am adjusting to could’ve been my day to day life. And that feeling has been
odd, to say the least.
Right now, my heart and my home is
with my people. I love you guys (and please drink as many PSLs for me as humanly possible).
meep! i love you honey!
ReplyDelete