Latvia Tour Tale

My son and I couldn't get out of America at first. There was a hurricane (?) in New York so our plane circled for hours over the midwest and landed in Detroit only when it ran low on fuel. By the time we reached New York, it was late evening, we missed our flight, and we had to spend the night. The ride in a big, white limousine provided by the airline to JFK made up for a lot.

I was ill with a low-grade respiratory infection the entire time we were in Latvia. And I had left my mother in a comatose state in America (she had had two strokes), removed from artificial feeding because we had no hope. I did not expect to see her again.

The concert at Mazaja gild was phenomenal. The audience was so emotional and responsive, the band: my dear friends. There were beautiful flowers everywhere...

The tour dates were different. On several I was the "opening" act at large, outdoor rock venues. The audience was very young and mostly interested in getting drunk and hearing the songs they had heard on top 40 radio. One person even shouted for me to "Go home".

We had a very odd drive to Liepaja for a set at the "Dzintars" festival. It was the middle of the night and we were in two cars. Somewhere in the dark country, strange lights from above flashed on us. The car in front pulled over thinking that we were signaling to stop. We never determined the source. My son slept in my keyboard case during the set. People who thought they were my relatives brought more flowers, always flowers.

Though I am emphatically opposed to cultural prejudices, in Latvia, it remained very clear that there were those who considered themselves above others. It was this lingering sense of superiority that offended me. And I suppose this attitude was not the fault of the individuals but the soviet system that fed their minds. They believed they were better. I don't blame them. But it made me angry.

Latvia had recently become a free country after more than 50 years of forced soviet occupation. Instead of the anticipated crowds dancing in the streets, many people were withdrawn, terse, isolated. Wounded deeply. I compare it to a 50 year rape. Which demands a long, slow, painful healing. To regain the self-esteem. This was three years ago. Hopefully, the healing has continued. I'm no expert. But this is what I saw and felt.

Below are my journal entries from this "tour":

7/22/92
A week now since I left. Still unclear as to why I'm here. Not sure what the mood is. People are not open. Not quite unfriendly, but certainly reserved. Unsure of themselves. Unsure of their direction. Life is hard, but perhaps not as hard as they think. Have to stand in short lines a lot. Lots of waiting, but it's no different than in American cities. A certain innocence. A lot of promise. It's like they're reaching for their potential elsewhere when all they really have to do is look within. Latvia could become a "rich" country. They just have to take pride in themselves and establish their own standards. That's what I think.

First night at Tante Ruta's. Smelly house. Filthy toilet. Flies. But still... Rushed in and out. Saw the house next door that papus (my father) is building. Don't like it, but I think it would be good for him. Would prefer to live in Preikuli (my father's childhood home) -- if we could oust that fellow making a mess of the house. Cold well water. It's a good house, but again -- there's not much there. Not willing to become a field laborer. Perhaps I am an American. I like my home. Zebran snored in my ears last night. My mother. My lungs are infected like hers. I cough and it hurts. Is she still alive? Does she suffer?

America. Igo (the "rock star" with whom I spent a night) thinks he's American. Wants to be. Really too bad. Nobody in America would care for his songs. And nobody here cares for the Latvian element. It's confusing. And Russians abound. They're like the "nasty" people. There is a lot of negative sentiment against them. Mostly because they have no sense of value for their inhabited country. Rapers in a sense. Still act as if they are the landlords. Don't like them.

Liepaja -- the sea. Too many people. Grey apartment buildings. Grey in general. Hope I find the quieter, "spiritual" places soon. I really don't need to try to fathom others here...just find my own. To Riga tomorrow. Perhaps that will be the best starting point.

Music. That I'm looking forward to. Hope my keyboards can be fixed.

The adventure continues.

Zebran makes fast friends with little kids everywhere. Glad. Think he values this trip so far.

Hard staying with others. They're overly courteous. Want to feed us all the time. Don't know what to make of our non-meat thing. Just leave us with our bread and cheese and green things -- we'll be fine -- really. Very little coffee. I adjust.

7/28/92
Here. My own apartment for a week. It's nice to have that isolation, that ability to form my own time. Up to now, it's been like the "social tornado" that Thor's mentioned. Here is Igo's Riga apartment. He's a good-hearted person. I sense a great vulnerability in him. Ah yes -- the Peter Pan thing. So I cleaned up a little -- though I left the old potatoes in the fridge. Who knows? Spent the day in search of toilet paper and dish soap. Scored on the TP -- zero on the second. Try again. Zebran does much better when it's just he and I -- grateful for his companionship -- he keeps me busy -- but it would be nice to be completely, totally alone. Would center better. Like Riga. I guess I like cities. Some cities. They're a good place to start from.

Rehearsal with Jauns Meness yesterday. Juris was completely thrown off by a 3 beat that I wasn't even aware of in "Ar vilcinu". But then we became comfortable. Fell into "Heavy Stone". Did quite well with "She Says" and "Time to Ring". 4 songs. Not bad -- considering I had planned on 10. Wondering whether to try "Leatherwing". Gossipy. Factual. That's cause I haven't internalized any of this yet.

Riga is a beautiful city. The pride of Latvians shows here. Buildings renovated feel so . . . noble and warm. Radio station in a grandiose structure. Same with Xerox company. Oh -- business will flourish here. Latvians will become capitalists of the first degree. But then -- what of the schism that would occur between the urban rich and the rural poor? Just like the rest of the world. And what of the urban poor?

Flowers. Incredible flowers. Everywhere. People here pacify their emptiness with the simple, delicate beauty of flowers. They understand the art of nature. And they're not the sterile, false hybrids that Americans have come to accept as de facto. Simple, scented, intricate sweet pea flowers and calendula-like blooms. Few roses.

And, yes, the freshest carrots in the world. Zebran and I ate the most phenomenal salad today. Positively sensual. Cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, carrots.

It's not so hard here, once you figure out what to do. I could live here . . . but I do miss the custom of home. Yeah -- the raisins are definitely funky-looking.

Rain. Chilly. OK since we had so many hot days in the sun and water. Brown girl again. Feels good to work out finally. Wish this cold would cease.

Mended a shirt a few days ago at Ainars'. (Ainars -- like a strong support -- he takes good care of me here. Responsible. Competent.) Tried to do it as well as mamma. Utter failure. Where is she? Has she finally crossed that border? Is she finally in that white light? I don't sense it. Maybe when I finally become well . . . ("Heavy Stone" brings tears each time).

Latvia doesn't seem any more polluted than most of America. In fact it seems quite clean comparatively. (Brown, cold Marupite [a river]. It just hurts us more.

7/29/92
Dreams last night, though by now (of course) I've forgotten them all. Awake at dawn (5 AM). The sun sets near 10 PM. Alone. Zebran's staying at Ainars' house. He's out of control. Crying when it was time to leave. Think he's in love with Martins. So -- let him stay.

But consider what I consider to be a luxury now: a real bed (instead of the floor). Hot water. Toilet paper. Impossible luxuries: Showers. Washing machines. Good coffee.

Jauns Meness and I practice in a redone, centuries-old church. I don't sense any antagonism in the buildings -- though it could be there. Perhaps they're so old and they've seen so much that they're just permanently parked in that dark place. Yeah -- they're definitely dark core.

And my songs sound so different. So difficult. Juris is a heavy-handed drummer. Can't make sense of Gints' guitar. Like Ilvars ("Zalitis"). Bass in the heart. Zane's voice is incredible. Ainars is fun. Maris is frantic, but good. Still haven't found those twistable Latvian words. Incredible. I am completely, absolutely, alone. Hello. (Centering.)

7/31/92
Dreams. Half dream. Disturbed. Rose and fussed about. Difficult to sleep. Dreamt (oh it won't translate) about some kind of competition/test. Many people. A camp of some sort. A board game with minimal guidance from an ominous Buddah-like "god" figure. Game had people in "tautas terpas" (folk costumes) and inside out "villaines" (shawls). Unclear. And further on (before bedtime) we were expected to eat everything or as much as possible at our "bedsides". Everything was supposed to be edible/eaten, including metal, etc. Zebran and I had a poorly formulated "plan of attack". We ate bits of things not by our beds. Did poorly as far as quantity. Still had a great deal left at deadline time. Had a fear of being punished. We were clearly the losers in this competition. Woke with the feeling of having been chewing on dry metal incessantly. Very ill at ease. More in the dream, but unclear. A child/monkey in a swing. Laughing. Succeeding in something.

And also. And also. A very clear image of mamma saying "Es gribu dzivot" ( I want to live). Imagined her using sheer willpower to defeat her brain, her body and forcing herself to function. Like an alien. Like a zombie. Rest, uneasy soul. There are paths to follow on the other side. She's blind? Afraid? Still can't find her way? Will sing "Heavy Stone" for her tonight. Tears bound to come.

Yesterday, mimed "Ar vilcinu" in front of a "punk" audience. ( Lip synched while the CD played). No applause. May refuse to do such things in the future. Against my ethics.

Zane immersed, enchanted by (Never).

Hope tonight's concert goes well. "Jauns Meness" really has put in a phenomenal effort for my sake. Will party later. Hope I don't drown in frustration.

8/2/92
Feel like shit today. The morning: a most bitter foul hag -- constant nagging at Z (and the same returned from him). Tired of being sick, tired of being tired. Numb brain, stiff body. And when we finally went out into the city, I was fined 50 rubles for having only one talon on the trolley (Sundays, you need two -- I didn't know). The little krievu dzeks (Russian jack) refused to permit me to do another. Blithered at me in Russian. Fucker pocketed the money, I'm sure. Rattled me for hours. Bastard. Little twirp. If I had more gumption, I would have ignored him. Get carted off to jail, I guess. I have no tolerance for sheer, what is it . . . , abuse of power. The fact that he was a little Russian twirp was the worst. What right does he have to judge my honest intentions? It really does hurt me to be judged so wrongly . . .

Friday's concert was really a phenomenal success. Three encores -- Jauns Meness charming and happy. Guess I really did extend their horizons. Kind of a series of emotional confusions. Played OK. Tired of being sick -- difficult to sing -- difficult to hear. The audience like "She Says" (we played it as an encore too). The band did too. It's now known as the "valsits" (little waltz). Long applause after it. Feted with champagne & kringelis (a sweet bread ring) afterwards. Feel honored (apparently the concert had all the politically correct people there including Art Troitsky?) but still somehow not fulfilled. Gimme, gimme, gimme. Phenomenal effort on Jauns Meness part -- especially Ainars.

What do I want?

Uneasy. Unstable. And still fucking sick. Thought I would be filled with the spirits of the gods. Instead it's the inhumanity of the city again. Though Vecriga (Old Riga) is phenomenally beautiful. Discovering some of the nuances (the cat on top of a building -- the faces). Very art deco. Like that.

Yesterday to Bralu Kapi (Brothers' Cemetery). Like the sandstone sculptures but I don't like the death memorial. Let the dead depart. Give them rest. That they died in war is a pity, not a glory. Hope I link soon with someone who'll help me find what I seek. Not many days left. Zane has offered. Gints to Sigulda. We'll make it. What about Dundaga? Seems neat.

Stones. I saw a stone at Brivdabas Muzeja (the Outdoor Museum). Liked it there. Began to get a sense of the language of the earth here. Tall trees. Sandy paths. Rolling hillocks. A sense of how people lived when they were closer to the earth. It's like when people begin to depart from that they begin to lose their pride.

Flies. Lots of flies in rural homes. Was it always that way?

Smadzenis ta ka kiseli (pudding brain)... Really do hope my body heals soon. Really would like to be clearheaded here . . .

Ugly day -- though Vecriga was nice. Still don't know why I'm here -- though after the concert I have a better idea.

Will I find my gods here? Are they even here? I feel an empty response, though I could sense tall women walking through the tall trees at the Brivdabas Muzeja.

Tall women. My kindred spirits.

Went up the Peteris baznica (Peter's church) lift. Very strong deja vu from the 5/10/92 dream. But we were OK. Will read again. Maybe something is looming...

8/4/92
Felt mamma waking me 2 nights ago. Don't remember why. Saying goodbye?

Sigulda today. A greater sense of the past. Beautiful hills with Gauja (river) down below. I need to come here again on my own. On bicycle. Then I could walk down those many stairs (wooden) to meet the strong current.

Again I sense the tall women among the tall trees.

Latvia's forests are incredible.

Tiny toads.

Mullein: Devinviru speks (Strength-of-nine-men)
Clover: Zaku kaposti? (Rabbit's cabbage)

They have waxwings here, but I've forgotten the name: _____Some kind of material. Zidastites ( ____tails)

Another favorite: Cielavini. Tiny black and white birds. Smaller than sparrows. Delicate, swift.

Also the visual surprise of a stork's nest in the top of a tree -- two storks perched on top.

Tall women moving among the tall trees. Birches and pines. Not that many oaks yet. Healing...

8/17/92
Home. Fuzzy. Happy.
A few flakey thoughts B4 I forget them:
Kuldiga: Very young gypsy boys smoking cigarettes looking for brainless tourists to steal from: likely catches. Giving one of them a serious look: don't mess with me.
Skrunda: Tall hill rising steeply (almost vertical) from the Venta river. Pines. A trench running along the top where the Germans had their front. Ant mounds. Sliding down the hill squatted on our feet like skis. Zebran afraid. Much war residue. Tortured landscape. Tall building from the Soviets. Periodic radiation. Much talk of UFO's. Driving to Liepaja: a flash of light in the car from an unidentified source. Car in front stopping: why are you flashing your lights? Not us.

The Venta a beautiful river. Baiba's farm -- OK. Don't know yet.

Back. Centering. Home. Here. Maybe more later.

8/19/92
'Nother Latvia image: picking blueberries in the tall woods. Small and sweet. Fingers, lips and tongues blue-purple.

Then helping push Marcis' car out of the sandy road.

Homeless woman in Copenhagen. Neatly packing her belongings the next morning. Like Copenhagen: everyone rides bikes.

Only began to notice the faces, etc. on Riga's buildings late. Wish I had seen them more instead of the grey faces. Especially liked the man-pouring-water statue on the firefighter's museum. And the glimpse of man-holding-globe in Vecriga. Grey country. Polluted?

Mother lives. How far will she raise herself?

Tall women walking among/between the tall trees: goddesses.

Ingrid

Another Latvian Tour Tale
Zion Tour Tale

Zion Tour Tale