Toyland

We arrived in Tartu, Estonia after a two hour drive through snowy forests and across another barely marked border. It felt high time to visit another museum, so we checked in, parked and went to find the Tartu Mänguasjamuuseumis (Toy Museum). We found it in a frosted cookie of a house next door to a Puppet Theater. Aside from three little kids who ran around in the lobby, we were the only visitors there and got to walk around at our own slow, warmth-seeking pace.
What little information there was scattered about was translated into English, but this was definitely not a fact-heavy museum. It was more like an enormous collection, set up to look recently played with. One room lead into another and then another, each jam packed. It's nice, when you're traveling alongside someone else, to visit places like this that allow you to focus on the items that strike your individual fancy and spot things your companion may not have seen. As we walked through, there were a lot of Hey-Look-At-Thises and Come-Heres.
I loved the fact that there were old photographs of Estonian children with their toys hung throughout the museum. This one was in the "Outdoor Toys" room, showcasing a young Estonian and his wooden bicycle. For me, the photos gave the pieces and their corresponding time periods a bit of context. I can conjure up images of the early 1800s in America or England, but I have no idea what they looked like up here in Estonia. Plus, I really like laughing at the facial expressions children make when having their picture taken. This kid was obviously pretty tough.
The museum began with the "Toys of City Children," which, of course, were all porcelain dolls and tea sets. These were the "Country Children Toys." Aside from these sort of crude wooden figurines there were also faceless cloth dolls, a few of which had drawn on eyes and mouths that looked like the work of a marker wielding child. Being as there weren't markers centuries ago, I like to think that the dolls had been passed down and thoroughly played with for generations before being donated to the museum.
The only thing I like more than toys that look like they've really been used are toys I get to use. We didn't venture into the playroom on the second floor, but the Wooden Toys section gave us some puzzles and playthings to putz around with. With a push and a pull, one rooster would feed and then the other. Back and forth and back and forth. It made an excellent sound and was far easier to gain satisfaction from than the Gypsy Knot puzzles that sat alongside it. I think Merlin was a little disappointed he couldn't try out one of the teeny tiny wooden "Matchstick Ignited Guns." Another 'interactive' feature of the museum was a computer set up in the Wind Up Toy room. You could click on a picture of any exhibited toy and watch a short video of it moving all about. There were ducks climbing ladders, fishermen casting out their lines and some little people who just liked running around in circles.
This is a dollhouse kitchen accessory I've never seen before. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is a meat grinder. I bet there's a toy house somewhere out there in America with a teeny tiny Foreman Grill. The dollhouse room was my favorite. There was one that had been made by a man as he hid from the Soviets in a potato crate. He recreated his entire house from memory and then gave the completed set to his daughter when he came out of hiding. The house had been deconstructed and each floor was placed inside a drawer, which allowed you to get a good bird's eye view of the work one level at a time. Peaking through chests of drawers that didn't belong to me and finding little treasures made me feel absolutely childlike and, I thought, was an excellent way to convey the secrecy of his craftsmanship.
In almost every room, the mänguasjamuuseum mentioned the gender differences in toys, explaining that throughout time playthings have been used to prepare little boys and girls for their future roles in life. This was best illustrated in the older toy collections, where mock hunting and building tools were juxtaposed with miniature weaving looms and, of course, dolls. However, at a certain point in time, it seems weird that boys would still need to learn how to be knights or pirates, or that something like driving would be considered a male-specific life skill.
We've only been in Estonia for three days, but being as we've been in the Baltic region for a little over a month now, I can say that this is the most Baltic toy ever. Mittens knit in traditional patterns exactly like this one are in every souvenir shop, on every hand and in every outdoor market on a little table in front of the old woman who knit them. The only thing more omnipresent than this style of knitting is pork. So, there you have it. The Baltics as a toy. Seriously, how cute are those piglets?

The KGB Cells of Tartu

On a blizzardy day when all seemed bleak and cold, we visited the KGB cells museum in Tartu. It was a strange, disconcerting place that we didn't feel like lingering in.
The entrance to the museum was hidden in this inconspicuous block of storefronts, flanked by a vacuum cleaner shop and a cell-phone business. There were stairs down to the basement from the entryway and a small sign pointing to the cells.
There was, unfortunately, very little information in English. The museum focuses more on the general deportation and repression of the Estonian people during Soviet rule than it does on the history of this specific location. We were left to make our own interpretations of the menacing strap-chair and dark, solitary-confinement chambers. How much of the horror was imagined, though, and how much of it was left out of our English guides? The building itself was used as the South Estonian center of KGB operations, and is quite large and municipal-looking. There aren't many cells. While eerily-lit and painted, it was difficult to gauge exactly how awful a place this was.
The history of the occupation in Estonia is a dark one - tens of thousands of people were deported to Siberia or killed. In 1941, ten thousand were deported in a matter of days. In 1949, a second wave sent twenty thousand Estonians to central Russia - which was about two and half percent of the total population at the time. Many more were killed or disappeared under suspicious circumstances. In Tartu, people disappeared into the infamous KGB headquarters, referred to then as "the grey house." Somehow, despite being used until the 1980's, the cells have retained more of the previous era, an aura of a pre-cold war past that is more distant than recent. It is almost as though the museum was set up to evoke images of Stalin and to gloss over Chernenko and Gorbachev - which is strange, considering that the people of Estonia have such an intimate understanding of the occupation and the KGB as modern, recent parts of their life.

Traveling in these Baltic states as a foreigner has made me feel as though something is being hidden from me - history, maybe, or some sense of what begat the present era of prosperity and freedom. Estonia in particular has felt very Western European - by that i mean that they have large shopping malls and the roads are filled with recent Japanese car models. This is not a "developing country," however one would like to define that term, but rather a "modern," thriving democracy. Whatever traces of Soviet occupation that remain are hard to find and interpret - it's bewildering considering that the history is so recent. This is a region that has changed so much in my lifetime, but it also feels as though that change has been covered over and obscured. It is strange to find the need to question familiarity, to look for a history that is guessed at more than learned or experienced.

Together We Can Build...

Merlin: On another wintery, snowy day, we stayed close to home because of sickness (mine) and compassion (Rebecca's). Home, right now, is the shore of lake Aluksne, a couple kilometers outside of town. There is nobody around - the guesthouse people show up once a day to microwave breakfast for us - and we were getting a little lonely and cabin-crazy.

Rebecca: To make matters worse (?) I had "Winter Wonderland" stuck in my head. This has been the case for days, actually. It's proved to be useful because 1) I finally realized that my original interpretation of the lyrics, in which the snowman is hitting on the person who built him (a story for another day), was incorrect and 2) Merlin was prompted to suggest the following: "Do you think if we actually build a snowman you'll stop singing about it?"
Merlin: To give you an idea of how isolated we are, distant ice-fisherman have become our best buddies. This is about as close to them as we've gotten, because we don't want to scare the fish and falling through ice scares me. Also, I'm not sure what I would say if I did walk up to one of them.
Rebecca: Merlin was a little skeptical that it could work. The snow was fluffy and cold, not ideal for manbuilding. When I went upstairs to get gloves and looked out the window, I could see he was making excellent progress.

Merlin: I was skeptical, and my back isn't all that thankful for the extended bending and rolling. The going was painfully slow, but it was a satisfying process. There were setbacks, of course, and I wasn't as happy then as I am now, but it was worth it. Also, Rebecca was much quicker with the torso and the facial accoutrements than I was with the base and head, probably because she believed.
Merlin: Rebecca's hat, cattail stubs for eyes, a piece of detritus for the mouth, a bit of dry grass for the mustache... he's almost too human!

Rebecca: The snow Merlin stuck on to keep the moustache in place definitely resembled a nose. Eerily unintentional. We named the "Parson Brown" we had built "Lang Brown" (wink wink nudge nudge New Schoolers).
Merlin: We are now inside, sipping Bonaparte Brandy, a delicious Latvian spirit, and wishing that Lang could come join us. I do have to keep reminding Rebecca, though, that snowpeople don't like "warming up."

Rebecca: I hope tomorrow morning, the fisherman is super jealous of our new friend. We think that some suspect smelt from the local store was responsible for Merlin's sickness. Maybe that was fisherman's secret gift to us - leading us to build Lang. Our friends are the best.

(Merlin: p.s. The smelt only affected me because we realized that it was mixed up with pork lard. It felt pretty normal for me, this being Latvia, but deterred Rebecca from eating it.)

Happy Hanukkah!

So, no one in Latvia celebrates Hanukkah. I know, shocking. But it still struck me as sort of sad not to see any blue incorporated into town Christmas displays and not to see any electric menorahs or cardboard dreidels. Today, I noticed these cookies mixed in with ones shaped like bells and snowflakes at the supermarket. It was one of those pay-by-weight situations, so naturally, I picked through the mix to fill my bag solely with stars. It was my little way of celebrating.

Flat-via

Latvia is very flat. How flat? The Latvian language never developed a word for "mountain." Interestingly, "Go Tell it on the Mountain" has been playing every day at breakfast in our guesthouse - and they are singing it in Latvian. What are they singing? Go tell it on the big hill?

The above video was shot as it was snowing quite hard. Unfortunately, that's not all that clear with the poor quality. You can get an idea, though, of the northern dirt roads and the desolate, pancake countryside. Also, this is the radio station that we've been listening to the past couple of days.

We woke up this morning to more snow and then a brief glimpse of blue sky.

The Aluksne - Gulbene Narrow Gauge Railroad

We drove to Gulbene to take a ride on the little narrow gauge railroad that runs between that town and Aluksne, where we are staying. Sadly, there is a bit of a blizzard going on and the scheduling didn't work out in our favor - we would have had to drive home in the dark along badly-plowed dirt roads, which was a frightening prospect. We still got to see the train, though, and the strange Gulbene station.

The rail line is the last, 33 kilometer long segment of the Stukmani - Vecgulbene railroad, which was built in 1903 and was originally 212 kilometers in length. Narrow gauge lines were once quite popular in Latvia, and in the Baltic in general, but are now considered something of a curiosity. The Aluksne - Gulbene train runs twice daily (the first train, strangely, is at one o'clock in the afternoon), and is both a tourist attraction and a working commuter line. The station of Gulbene is huge and ornate and empty. There were a few men drinking beers out of large cans and a smattering of people who appeared to be seeking shelter from the cold. It is a place that must have, once, been bustling.

Now, it is dark and echoey. The station cafeteria was a time-warp, with a few old women eating and a stern lady serving food. We ate some pea soup. Surprisingly, it was some of the best soup we've had in Latvia.The trains are pulled by diesel engines nowadays, made in Russia during the 1960's and 1980's. More functional than romantic, but still interesting.
Each of the three cars (that we could see) looked the same on the outside, but had different design schemes inside. One of them was modern-Amtrak, one was soviet-spare and the third was opulent-plush (above). When the train was heading out of the station, only the modern car was attached to the engine - and ten or so people on board looked less like rail tourists than like regular commuters.
The train pulled out, heading towards Aluksne, traveling quite slowly. We were sad not to have the courage to get on it, but we're happy that we made it home. We are holed up in a cabin by lake Aluksne, listening to the wind out in the darkness and watching the snow inch up our windowpane.

Oh, Christmas Tree

A young man at an outdoors store told us that the town bowling alley was no longer, the woman at the Valmiera Dance Theater box office told us that there was nothing playing until Sunday, the movie theater was playing 'Harjis Poters.' So, we went to the Tourist Info center for a suggestion. "There's the Christmas Tree lighting tonight," the teenager there offered with an unenthusiastic shrug. "It's not very long but...." Yes! Yes! We'll take it! 'Not very long,' sounded perfect on such a cold day.
At 5pm, the start time we were given for the lighting, it was already pitch black and people had really started to show up. The attendees were basically split in half, one group around the tree and one, across the lawn, around the little stage that was set up against the Valmiera Cultural Center. A group of school children in Santa hats sang carols and a table sold light-up pinwheels and gingerbread cookies. We kept our sites on the tree, though, wanting to catch the moment it lit on video. About ten minutes of recorded carols followed and then, finally, a man came up to the microphone to speak. "The mayor! The mayor!" we thought and got ready for a countdown.

Turns out, he was just introducing the next act. Latvia has a long folk singing tradition, so it was no wonder that a merry band of costumed, tambourine-playing singers took the stage. Comfortable taking our eyes off the tree for the moment, we watched as their farm animal costumes made shadows against the building and they switched from song to skit, all in Latvian. It was beginning to get very, very cold and even the little kids that wrestled in the snow around us seemed to be running out of steam. Then, the matriarch songstress began to shout something and we thought, "A countdown!" Turn, point, click on..... and then the singing started again.
Things went like this until something was said that made the crowd around the stage make their way across to the tree. They all dashed by us, mostly children, their parents, grandparents, great grandparents (people have children really young here) and a few ironic teenagers. It couldn't have happened at a better time, because our left and right feet, respectively, were beginning to hurt with frozenness. We had just begun to walk away when the crowd shift began and we scurried back to our spot in the snow waiting for our cue.
Of course, our cue was in Latvian. So, we missed it. It didn't sound like a countdown, but rather a chant by the folk singers. Honestly, it seemed a little anticlimactic, but hey- you can't have Boyz II Men lip syncing 'Silent Night' at every Christmas tree lighting. We still felt tickled by our luck, being there in what some may call the Rockefeller Center of the Vidzeme Region of Latvia on the night of the Christmas Tree lighting.

Castle Hunting: Pils Cēsis

When we got to Cēsis we thought we'd check out the town castle - expecting some disheveled mound blanketed by snow. When we were issued candle lanterns and a map... well, let's say it was a fun castle hunting experience.
Most of Latvia's stone, medieval castles were all constructed at the same time - the beginning of the 13th century - by the Livonian Brothers of the Sword. The brotherhood was chartered by the Riga Archbishop, Albert, in 1202, with aid from Pope Innocent III. The castles and the militia were both created to accelerate the forced conversion of the Livonian people to christianity - a campaign known as the "Livonian Crusade." The German and Danish people who were occupying the area were intent on freeing up the trade routes that extended south and east from the Gulf of Riga, and considered the "pagan" people in the area a threat to their supremacy. Between the beginning of the 13th century and 1230, nearly eighty castles had been constructed, or were in the process of being built, in Latvia alone. Most of them are in ruins today, but some are in better shape than others.

Cēsis was one of the larger castles built during this period, and served as the Brotherhood of the Sword's (then known as the "Livonian Order) headquarters from 1237 until 1561. It was destroyed by its own troops in 1577, ahead of the advancing Russian army of Ivan IV Vasilyevich (who is better and more affectionately known as "Ivan the Terrible"), for fear that the Russian forces would capture and hold the fortress. It was partially rebuilt, then destroyed again in 1703 (by the Russians, of course) during The Great Northern War. It is a huge place, and not in such bad shape, considering the two demolitions and three centuries of neglect. Certain parts of it have been bricked up (as you can see in the above photo) to prevent further disintegration, but other than that it's been left mostly untouched.
The best part about it is the largely-intact "western tower," which is four stories tall and has a whole bunch of interesting nooks and crannies. We were completely alone as we explored the building.
The brick and stone domed ceilings were impressive. At the tope of the tower, it was possible to walk out onto the dome and hear the very hollow echo of the space below. It gave me the heebie-jeebies - I'm not light enough for old, crumbling masonry - but Rebecca was braver.
As you can see, they are working on restoring another one of the towers. We were amazed by how few footprints there were in the snow. A place like this should be attracting many more tourists.
The lanterns came in handy as many of the staircases and inner corridors were pitch black. It was a very appealing way of providing lighting, and much nicer than electric wires running everywhere.
One of the amazing things about Europe is how little they worry about safety. In America, this kind of place would be bristling with banisters and window-bars, everything would be lit up, there would be exit signs and they would close off snowy, winding staircases like this for fear that someone would fall and kill themselves. Here, they only told us to be careful on the ladder down into the dungeon, because it could be "slippery." I'll say. It was a twenty-foot metal ladder down into a stone pit - it feels nice to be trusted like this, and free to poke around without being hemmed in by safety measures.
The Latvian castles have been especially enjoyable because the snow adds a certain medieval chill to the stone. It's been really beautiful and it makes the views timeless, in a way.
It took us a while to see everything - the map helped, but there were all sorts of passages and stairways that we discovered ourselves. It is difficult to understand how someone could design the blueprint for something like this and apply it to rough material, using only semi-skilled labor.

Before we left we had to extinguish and turn in our lanterns, which was sad. There is a newer "castle" attached to the outer wall, built around 1800, which is really just a large manor. We looked around in there - it's an art gallery - and found little of interest. Also, I bumped my head pretty severely going up a staircase. There is a period of adjustment, almost like emerging from a movie theater, after leaving a castle and finding oneself in the modern world. It takes a moment to catch up with the cars and cellphones and the American music on the radio. This was one of my favorite castles that I've ever been to. It wasn't all that pretty, or well-preserved, but it was atmospheric and interesting. Having the run of the place was nice, too.

Winter Wonderland

Latvia is sort of short and squat (much like their elderly) so a decision had to be made in Riga, whether to go west or east. We chose east, driving to the Vidzeme region, excited by the many mentions of castles in our Lonely Planet and feeling like we had had our fill of off-season Baltic beach towns.
We began driving past dense forest, frosted white, a series of glittering lines and curly cue branches, with deep green poking through. The sky was really clear and blue. Before Latvia, we hadn't really had a sunny day since Krakow, Poland (about four weeks ago) and we felt so lucky to be having our sixth bright day in a row, the light bouncing off the snow. Sporadically, we'd see a grey plume of smoke reach up, up over the trees. One or two figures could usually be made out, burning a pile of brush. I assume it was more for maintenance than warmth.
Luckily, we had purchased snow tires when leaving Riga, because the towns in and around the Gauja National Park have their share of narrow, winding, icy roads. We would never have been able to reach this inn in Sigulda, at which we were able to rent a cozy little room. Even more than in Riga, we were really aware of how little sunlight there was. Both mornings, around nine oclock, we walked over to breakfast in the dark, with a few strips of pink or yellow on the horizon.
Further proof that we were definitely 'on-season' somewhere for the first time in months, a team of teenage skiers with "RUSSIA" on the back of their jackets, clomped into the bistro during our dinner. They looked like they were in town for some sort of competition and we decided to read the "Adrenaline Sports" section of our Lonely Planet, a paragraph that we had initially skipped over. It turns out, people come to Sigulda from all over (including Russia apparently) to practice and compete in luge and bobsled. We ran into the track, built for the former Soviet bobsled team, when looking for the bowling alley (a sport more our speed). Apparently, there is a tourist bob you can ride. A licensed bobsleigher steers. I really, really wanted to do it, but they were closed while we were there. It's probably better. I shouldn't be given too many opportunities to break out my "Cool Runnings" voice.
Merlin spotted this through the woods next to the track and we went over to investigate. We slipped our way around trees to find ourselves right at a ski slope. There isn't a word for mountain in Latvian, because there simply aren't any here, but the Vidzeme is known to have the best 'big hills.' They looked like they were all set to get the season going, making snow as more fell from the sky.
Winter activity season had officially begun and would not be complete without ice skating. Near a castle we saw this man hosing up a rink. Somehow, he managed to keep his balance, walking back and forth, getting the ice good and ready for the swarms of children that will undoubtedly tug at their parents' sleeves to visit this weekend. A large tree stuck right out from the center of the rink and the entire surface was at a pretty extreme angle downhill. As exciting as the prospect of ice skating sounds, it really just reminded me of how much I would like to bobsled.
Of course, the best part of winter is snuggling up indoors with some soup. Merlin has become quite smitten with soljanka, a soup that we had first seen in Poland with the description "Ukrainian," and have seen on every menu since entering the Baltics. I haven't been able to enjoy it, as its fairly meat heavy, but Merlin says its delicious. This one had half an egg in it, a dollop of sour cream on top and green and black olives (most just have one type). I stuck to my cocoa and breathed in deeply, now and then, to take in some good ole bacon steam.

Castle Hunting: Sigulda Castles

Latvia is a land of castles, in a way that is inspiring and overwhelming. There are so many because Latvia was, at one time, on a major trade route between the scandinavian countries, the Russian metropolises and the more southern European empires in present-day Germany and Poland. A rich patchwork of fiefdoms sprouted up in the land that was once called Livonia, and a number of small conflicts necessitated the construction of more and more castles - also wars with Sweden, the Russians, the Germans and others. Today, most of the castles are ruined or are later buildings, like "Sigulda New Castle," pictured above. This castle is more of a manor house, and is pretty much indefensible. It was used as a sanatorium during Soviet rule.

Behind Sigulda New Castle is Sigulda Old Castle, which is more impressive but also not much more than a pile of rocks in the snow. It was extremely cold on the day we were poking around and the sun was nearing the horizon (at about three in the afternoon - sunset here is currently at 3:43 in the afternoon), so we didn't stay all that long. It's amazing how darkness sneaks up on you in Latvia. It seems as though the day is just starting, then the sun goes away.

This castle was built in 1207, which is a very long time ago. It is actually pretty impressive that the main gate tower is still standing, and that it's in such good condition. There is something about an un-restored castle that seems more authentic, even if it's ruined. Seeing the rough stonework and the heavy, original material makes the weight of history more immediate than the patched up, rebuilt tourist traps that many ruins become. I would have liked to spend more time, but my fingers were getting frozen to the camera...

This is the view northeast from Sigulda Old Castle, across the river Gauja, towards Pils Turaida ("Pils" means castle or fort), which has been restored and is a completely different kind of fortification. It's amazing that these two castles are within sight of one another.
Unlike the new building and the ruin outside Sigulda village, the Pils Turaida is quite touristy - though not in the bitter cold of November, apparently. We were one of only a few people wandering around the castle and the surrounding museum and sculpture park. The construction of Turaida was begun just seven years after Sigulda, in 1214. The site was more advantageous to the defenders, the walls were made of brick and the main feature was a huge, thick tower (which can be seen in the center of the picture, above). The gate towers (the squat cylinder on the left is one gatehouse, the other is gone except for its foundation) flanked a long spit of the hill's shoulder, with precipitous drops on either side. It was the only easy route along the knoll to the main tower and the other castle buildings.
Inside, the tower has been partially restored and is lit up with corny, faux-medieval candelabra. We were mostly alone here, too, except for a small group of tourists who we met on one of the tight staircases. The walls of the tower are about twelve feet thick, with a staircase passage running inside the bricks - five floor seems a little excessive until you see the view...
Latvia is trying very hard to establish its identity as a castle destination, and it has poured a lot of money into the refurbishment of its stone-and-mortar assets. As a result, there are buildings like Pils Turaida, which are mainly constructed with new brick by modern craftsmen. It's interesting to go, but it doesn't have the same historic feeling. At least, here, the tower is mostly original - and they let you climb it. The view out over the frozen landscape was pretty spectacular all the same. The castle sits above a bend in the Gauja, and the television tower of Sigulda is visible beyond, in the top-left corner of the photo.