Yet Another Baltic Christmas - Day 12, a Mixed-up Estonian Melting Pot Christmas

I’m very excited to welcome Karl Altau today on Day 12 of 24 Days of a Baltic Christmas! Karl still believes in Christmas and in all its permutations. He works on Baltic issues, likes Livonian order, and is forever alert for elves and Elvis!

Wishing you a Mixed-up Estonian Melting Pot Christmas

So how does an Estonian-American celebrate the culinary and cultural goodness of Christmas in the 21^st century?

Without pretending to be an expert, I think you go with the flow and do what you’ve always done, right? You do the Estonian Christmas thing. Obviously.

Karl's first Christmas, in his father's lap

First and foremost is the food. So, you break out the blood and barley sausages and bake those little meat pastries or bacon buns and ladle out the rich, warm and filling sauerkraut. A ham is also involved, I think. Then there are the cabbage rolls and the meat in aspic. I call it “meat jello” because “aspic” sounds too close to “arsenic.” It also definitely sounds better than sült.  

What’s for dessert? What about rice pudding? I begin to wonder. Is that really “Estonian” or perhaps it’s more Swedish or Latvian? Swedish holiday rice pudding always had one almond hidden inside. The person who discovers the almond in their pudding gets to make a wish. That’s what my mom and relatives made – because they lived in Sweden. Whether this is a Swedish or Estonian custom, I’m not sure. Something gets a little lost in translation, and sometimes it was the almond that was lost. Estonians may know the dish I’m talking about. Maybe this also sounds familiar to Latvians and Finns?

I sense a little uncertainty explaining these food origins. Where do these holiday mainstays and customs come from, and where are they going?

Karl with his favorite Christmas horse

There are shelves of books written about Estonian Christmas customs. Many of the customs have seen light in this very same Christmas blog. By the way, blog rhymes with “bog” but not “glögg.” I like the sound of glögg. It sounds more Vikingish than the very passive and contemplative “mulled wine.” It also rhymes with Christmas “log,” which is also called the Yule log. We’ve now gotten to the root of the dilemma.

There is this theory, which was also promoted for a while by former Estonian president Toomas Hendrik Ilves, about a Northern European cultural space for Christmas, which included Estonia, and stretched as far as the British Isles. In a distant way, this is related to the American cultural Christmas space. I’ll get to that part later. Simplified, in this northern sphere the Estonian Jõulud are linguistically related to the Finnish Joulut, Swedish Jul, Old Germanic Yule or Yuletide.

When you go back in time, then you’ll find that Estonian Christmas traditions are not really homogenous, but borrowed from other cultures and traditions. A lot of Estonian Christmas is reminiscent of German Christmas customs. The “poster child” of Christmas – Santa Claus – is in Estonia Jõuluvana (Finnish Joulupukki). Since we became acquainted, Jõuluvana has always seemed to me to be more serious, authentic, and venerable than the modern Anglo-Saxon Santa, recast by Thomas Nast in the mid-19^th century. This Santa in turn evolved as the Coke-inspired 20^th century jolly fat St. Nick, which is more familiar today - a Kris Kringle almost overdosed on Krispy Kremes.  

Thomas Nasts's Santa Claus, source here

Jõuluvana and Santa Claus do share common roots, but have evolved according to how the respective national legends have developed.

During the Soviet occupation, Santa was essentially banned in Estonia. In his place was Näärivana, which became the “official Sovietized” Father Christmas. This creation wasn’t concerned about timing Christmas with the birth of Christ. Näärivana, more akin to the Russian Old Man Frost, could happily help usher in the New Year without all the religious baggage. Children didn’t really mind, as long as he came around and there was the possibility of gifts. Näärid, which indicates the New Year in Estonian, is related to the Swedish Nyår (New Year). In Sweden, the julbock (Christmas Goat) is ubiquitous as a decoration. Estonians will be familiar with a similar näärisokk. But it’s more than just a language connection.

“Santa Claus” was frozen out in Estonia for half a century (at least in public), but came back around 1990 as an import from Finland during the emerging thaw in the Soviet space, first arriving in style to Tallinn on a Finnair flight from Rovaniemi. Estonia’s northern neighbor has poo-poo’d the Santa North Pole myth with a legend of its own in which the Finnish Joulupukki comes from Korvatunturi, a place in Lapland fronted by the “Santa Claus Village.” No melting ice caps to worry about. Why fly on Finnair? It’s cozier to travel that way in December than with a team of reindeer. “Santa” had finally come in out of the cold. As my daughter was born in Finland and spent her first five years there, this new narrative began to take hold with my family.

How then does this mishmash of traditions work for an Estonian-American, whose parents fled Estonia, and settled in the U.S., having also traversed through Sweden? I myself spent years in Finland and Sweden. Customs and tradition have become mixed, as evident in my problems with rice pudding. I’m challenged to understand what elements of my own customs are taken from Estonian or German or borrowed from Swedish or Finnish in celebrating my personal Christmas in America.

My brother and I were raised in Virginia in the 1960s believing in Santa Claus, whom we also referred to as Jõuluvana in the company of our parents, relatives, and Estonian friends. On Christmas Eve, He left some smaller knick-knacks in the socks by the chimney. Presents from our parents and relatives were usually placed under the Christmas tree in the living room and we’d open them with our folks on that hallowed Eve. Then there was also Christmas morning, with more presents beneath the tree. We would leave a plate of cookies and glass of milk the night before for Santa Claus/Jõuluvana, along with some carrots for the reindeer.  Those had usually disappeared by morning. During the 1960s and into the 70s, Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer became an important part of this increasingly mixed up narrative for my young mind, so he also got his share of the carrots.  

During those first years – well into elementary school - Santa Claus reigned supreme. We would see him about town already in the weeks before Christmas. He once came to the old hall at the plant where my dad worked – it was quite a big deal. He was a huge VIP. It was the closest thing to “A Christmas Story” that I would ever experience. Perhaps even the biggest deal was seeing him at the grand conclusion of our town’s Christmas parade, which usually took place in early December. For someone busy at the North Pole, Santa made sure to take time from his busy schedule to let the people know that he was soon on the way, with even bigger things in store.  

There came a day, however, when we started to have doubts about the magic of Santa. Once our little fact-checking minds went into gear, certain details in the story began to unravel. How could he get to so many places so fast? How could that beard on department store Santa look so…fake? I believed for a long time. I think longer than many of my other friends. I’m not sure how old I was when I started having doubts - nine or ten? One of my friends who was a year older told me what a fool I was to still believe in Santa. He knew for sure.

Then one night, at some time close to Christmas, I experienced something which was almost transformational. I was in bed sleeping and heard the tapping on the roof. Was that…the sound of reindeer hooves? I got out of bed, or dreamed that I did, and rushed to the window in the early morning light, and saw at a great distance how Santa and the sled and the team of reindeer accelerated upward and away. I don’t know if I rubbed my eyes, or if I had been imagining, but the next day excitedly told my friend that I did after all believe in Santa because I HAD HEARD HIM AND SEEN HIM LAST NIGHT! He must be real. My religious faith was restored and was stronger than ever. My friend told me I was still a fool. Well, that caused me again to quickly doubt my own perceptions. Maybe it had been a dream? I can’t vow for sure what I saw that day. 

     

Santa Claus run in Vecrīga, 2008

Years later, when I rediscovered my Estonian side, I realized that it might not have made sense for Santa to land with a small herd of flying reindeer onto the roof of our house. Our roof wasn’t small but other roofs were certainly smaller. The point is that an Estonian knows well that Jõuluvana is somehow more civilized or perhaps human, in that he doesn’t rely on magic (mushrooms) or sorcery to perform these amazing feats. Physics can’t explain it. Our Estonian Father Christmas uses a real sleigh, grounded to a horse, or even goes on foot, from door to door, knocking and is invited into the home.

Once there, Jõuluvana is greeted by the family and takes a seat of honor. Maybe he is offered something to eat or drink. The children must then “sing for their supper,” or recite something worthy of St. Nick’s approval in order to receive a present. It seems senseless to have to deal with navigating a rooftop, and then stuffing oneself down a chimney. Who knows if the ashes have been swept out below, or if there is even a fire burning or hot coals smoldering. Not a wise way to sneak in at night.

Instead of having Santa make cursory “pre-visits” in the weeks leading up to the big night, in Estonia, it is the elves (päkapikud) that may be peering in from the woods to make sure that children are keeping up their ends of the behavioral bargain. To placate the elves, some treats are left for them in shoes by the door, or in a stocking. This might go on for weeks, and seems to match the course of Advent.

Karl's 'elf' with a vial of gold...

  

I never personally had to deal with facing Jõuluvana and being put on the spot by memorizing a poem or singing a tune. The actual Estonian Jõuluvana didn’t actually ever show his face when we were around. It was different in Sweden and Finland. There, among the larger clan, Jõuluvana would always stop by. In two instances, I did get to star as the old man himself. One was in either 1984 or 1985, when I appeared as the twenty-something sweaty fat man for a pre-Christmas gathering of the Naisüliõpilaste Selts (Estonian Women Student’s Society, a sorority) in Stockholm. It was indeed a noble gig. The fact that I was not a real local probably added to my selection and to the mystery, as my face was not quite recognizable under the full and scratchy beard.

 Santa, with Latvian colleagues (the beard and hat were of plastic bags)

At that event, children lined up to come to me to recite a poem, sing a tune, bow and curtsey, and collect a present. My everlasting memory of the occasion was that of a little boy named Tomas, who was only a new walker. He couldn’t have been more than two. He was led up to the throne-like spot where I was perched. His eyes got wider with every step as he approached me. He had never seen anything like me, rest assured. I said “hello Tomas,” or something like that. I didn’t want to scare him, and he obviously wasn’t going to sing, or remember a poem, or do a little jig. I reached into my bag and pulled out a gift. Slowly, I offered it to him. I remember his arms, stretching out to receive the present. With giant eyes, he somehow managed to say “aitäh!” (thank you) – maybe his first words. It was one of most significant moments of my still-young life. It felt empowering to be able to make such a deep impact on somebody’s even younger life. It was really great to witness someone’s total fixation on and belief in what my character represented. It made me happy. The joy of Christmas!  

The second time I “played” Jõuluvana was at an Estonian Embassy Christmas party back in the early 1990s in Helsinki. I was asked to be Santa Claus, because I think no one else really wanted to get dressed up like that. It was a lot of fun to make your grown-up adult colleages recite a verse, sing a ditty, or dance a little trot for you. I know they knew who I was underneath the holiday layers. The most endearing memory was the consul at the time who offered me a stiff drink to steady my nerves and any stage fright that I might be encountering. Whether that drink happened before or after isn’t really important – but it sure was a nice gesture. I could get used to that.

a chocolate cake, made by Karl's mother

I see that I’ve gotten away from writing about Christmas food traditions. My mother’s recipes for gingerbread cookies and rum balls need to wait until next year.  Moreover, I’ve not even begun to delve into the religious aspects of our Christmas, whether celebrating the birth of Jesus or commemorating the Winter Solstice.

The Christmas tree is another important tradition, and I’ve got to say that wherever the tree came from, the Estonians and Latvians have come to a wonderful compromise and agreed that it comes originally from Livonia. I can live with that.

In my experience, we’ve borrowed as needed from all these different cultures and customs, and places and spaces. We’ve mixed them all up to suit our purposes and our comfort zone. It’s as simple as that.

a hybrid "Esto Claus," according to Karl

Speaking of comfort zone, although it is not a “Christmas food,” I leave you with a little description of the origins of hamburger, which my mother found for me to demonstrate how culturally rich and diverse our traditions are:

Hamburger - The origin of the name hamburger for ground beef is open to speculation, although it was probably named for the German seaport of Hamburg. As on of the greatest ports in Europe, Hamburg had long engaged in trade with the Baltic provinces of Russia. The Balts of Estonia, Latvia, and Finland were fond of red meat, shredded with a dull knife and eaten raw. This dish, today a gourmet affair when made with fine steak, and called Beefsteak Tartare, may have pleased the Balts because of their origin, which connects them with the tribes of Tartary, or Mongolia, great riders, hunters, and meat-eaters all. After the people of Hamburg were introduced to this delightful novelty, their liking for it was great enough to immortalize the dish with their name. Or so the legend goes. 

(Woman's Day Encyclopedia of Cookery, Vol. 6, Fawcett Publications, New York, 1966, 3rd edition)

Hamburger fits any holiday or any other day for that matter. It is our common denominator. So the legend goes.

Have a Merry Mixed-up Estonian Melting Pot Christmas!

college Karl by the tree

###

Thanks Karl! I am going to have to look into the rice pudding; I know Latvians have rīsu krēms, which my grandmother informs me was my grandfather's favorite dessert. It was not, however, associated with the holidays, nor was there an almond hidden away in it. She mentioned gold rings taking the place of almonds, as then according to supserstition, the lucky recipient would be getting married the following year; but this is possibly a Swedish or Danish tradition? And just like that I've also fallen down the rabbit hole! In any case, I'm a big fan of mixed-up melting pot holidays, and I'm thankful to you for sharing yours... 

Karl can be traced to @kaltau on twitter, and can often be found elsewhere in the Baltic galaxy! Thanks for joining us for this Estonian Christmas medley, and please visit tomorrow for a fun video on Day 13 of 24 Days of a Baltic Christmas!

The Latvian holiday Mārtiņi and its equivalent across the world

Priecīgus Mārtiņus! (Warning, this is a dense post - but I promise you'll learn about a bunch of really cool holidays and traditions you've probably never heard of before!)

Mārtiņi (Martin's Day) is the name of the festival celebrated in Latvia on November 10^th, marking the end of the fall and the beginning of winter. Halfway between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice, in ancient Latvia Mārtiņi marked the passage from veļu laiks (season of the spirits) to ledus laiks (season of ice). By Mārtiņi it was expected that all preparations for winter were finished, such as salting meat and fish, storing the harvest and making preserves. This day also marked the beginning of mumming and sledding, among other winter activities. Mummers, also called ķekatas and budeļi, are costumed and wearing masks, traveling from home to home bringing their blessing, encouraging fertility, and scaring away any evil spirits.

The seasons and their associated deities and symbols - source here

As with many of the ancient Latvian holidays, there are certain ways to tell your fortune for the following year. For example, young, unmarried girls must toss their skirt into the middle of the room before going to bed; the one she dreams picks up the skirt is the one she will marry. Superstitions were also numerous; supposedly to guarantee the health of the horses through the harsh winter a rooster should be killed in the stables. Coincidentally it is tradition to sacrifice a rooster in Ireland as well; the blood was collected and sprinkled on the four corners of the house to bring fortune in the following year.

Everything you might need to know about the holiday can be found in this book

For Latvia’s neighbor to the north, Estonia, Mardipäev symbolizes the merging of Western European customs with local Balto-Finnic pagan traditions. Mardipäev marks the end of the period of All Souls in the Estonian popular calendar - the season when the souls of ancestors were worshiped, which lasted from November 1 to 11^th). On this day the end of the agrarian year & autumn is observed, and the beginning of the winter period is celebrated. Children disguise themselves as men and go from door to door singing songs and telling jokes to receive sweets, similar to the processions occurring in Austria, Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands, where children go through the streets with paper lanterns and candles.

Source here

Historically a widespread custom in Germany on Martinstag was to have a bonfire, called the Martinsfeuer. Still lit in a few cities and villages throughout Europe, it symbolizes the light that holiness brings to the darkness just as St. Martin brought hope to the poor through his good deeds. It is believed that the procession of lanterns replaced the large bonfires over time. Traditional foods include Martinsgans (St. Martin’s goose) and Martinshörnchen, a pastry shaped in the form of a croissant symbolizing the hooves of St. Martin's horse.

Source here

As we see with the German version, the day has blended the pagan with the Christian; the resulting variety of traditions is something we see across the continent. November 11^th is the feast day of St. Martin of Tours, honoring the friend of children and patron of the poor. In Slovakia, the Feast of St. Martin is like a 2^nd birthday for those named after the saint; they are given small presents or money. However it is also a day of foretelling the future, as if it snows then there will be snow on Christmas. This is a theme that repeats itself in the Czech Republic where the first half of November is the time when it often starts to snow. Czechs roast goose and drink Svatomartinské vino, a young wine from the recent harvest. Wine, a symbol of the harvest, is a recurring theme also; in Slovenia and Croatia the “must” (considered impure and sinful) is baptized and turned into wine, while in Austria Martinloben is celebrated as a harvest festival with wine tastings, art exhibitions and live music.

St. Martin, source here

In Denmark Mortensaften is celebrated with traditional dinners, most often goose as in many other countries on this day, such as Sweden, where the entire day of Mårtensafton is a celebration of the goose. Other Martin’s Day foods abound, such as the rogale croissants in Poland. In Portugal magusto (chestnuts roasted under the embers of the bonfire) and água-pé (an alcoholic beverage which is a byproduct of wine) are consumed, as St. Martin's Day is the celebration of the maturation of the year's wine. However in Spain the goose is replaced by pork, in that St. Martin's Day is the traditional day for slaughtering fattened pigs for the winter. In Switzerland the 5+ hour long Repas du Saint Martin includes all the parts of freshly butchered pigs, while the Auvergne region of France (our home while we lived in Clermont-Ferrand) traditionally hosts horse fairs instead of feasts on this day – bringing us back full circle to the Latvian association of Mārtiņi to horses; on Mārtiņi we pass from the influence of Ūsiņš, the horse deity of summer, to that of Mārtiņš, a winter deity.

The preparation of magusto in Portugal, source here

In the United Kingdom, St. Martin's Day is known as Martinmas, when historically cattle were slaughtered and preserved for the winter. However November 11^th in England is now better known for being Remembrance Day, commemorating the end of WWI and honoring those that serve in the military as Veteran’s Day (US) and Armistice Day do.

The American cemetery in Normandy, France

Whatever it may be that you observe, Martinmas or the Danish Mortensdag, Martinpäivä in Finland or the Feast of Saint Martin, I wish you a beautiful day. Although we will be honoring our veterans tomorrow, today we will celebrate Mārtiņi – the first of many, as now we are blessed with a Mārtiņš of our very own, little Vilis Mārtiņš!

The Mārtiņš symbol, source here

The Christkindlmarket, Cloudgate and Chicago Cultural Center

When you’ve only one week in Chicago and the majority of that is spent with family, there isn’t a lot of time left for sightseeing. I grew up in Chicago and so only a few of the typical touristy things hold any draw for me, but seeing as the holidays are just around the corner and we had one day to ourselves – off we went! We hopped on the brown line in Lincoln Square, giving the boys their first ride aboard the el train, and soon were downtown with the rest of the holiday crowds.

Our destination was the 18^th annual Christkindlmarket. I first attended this German American holiday market while studying German in high school, and that very first one (1996) was held in Pioneer Court. The very next year it moved to Daley Plaza and has been there ever since, attracting an estimated 1 million visitors every year. With a large Christmas tree, choirs, dance groups and Santa, it is a great place to get into the holiday spirit… if you can stand the crowds. Best get there early if you would like to sample the kilometerwurst or glühwein, especially if you would like your mulled wine in one of the souvenir mugs. There’s an aftermarket on ebay, I tell you. In previous years I have enjoyed looking around to see what the various vendors are selling (one year I even worked there), picking up toys and ornaments for Christmas presents. This year, with four impatient boys (my brother Māris met up with us for the morning) we headed east.

The former Marshall Field & Co. building now houses Macy’s, and although the window displays aren’t as grand of a story as my nostalgia permits me to believe, the boys enjoyed the hoopla. With large crowds, moving parts and shiny objects in the windows, street musicians banging away and giant trumpets overhead, it was easy to feel overwhelmed by the big city-ness of it all. We made our way inside, braving the Black Friday crowds in hopes of buying a single box of Frango Mints. After taking one look at the line for the elevator I turned on my heels and we got out of there, as quick as those chocolates would have disappeared.

Māris knew the perfect place to stop in for a breather, the Chicago Cultural Center. The largest undertaking of the Tiffany Glass & Decorating Co. in history is located in this very building that thousands of tourists pass by every year on their way to Millenium Park. The glass dome consists of 2,848 faceted glass jewels cut in a fish-scale pattern, and even on a cloudy day the room was bright as day. The rest of the hall is immaculately decorated as well, featuring Tiffany’s patented favrile technique mosaics.

We stopped at the Bean (Cloud Gate) because how could we not as no visit to Chicago is complete without a stop there (source: Noras tētis), watched the ice skating for a bit, then headed even further east into Lurie Gardens. Soon our fingers were feeling the cold and our boys were feeling the lack of nap, and so we reluctantly marched back to the closest el stop. Although it was nice playing tourist for a day, I was glad to get back to Lincoln Square and warm up with a cup of coffee at my grandmother’s house….

Freiburg im Bresgau II

Last week I wrote about our trip to Freiburg im Bresgau and the Latvian Daugavas Vanagi property there, Bērzaine. I wrote “Located in the hills of the Black Forest and home to a 500 year old university, the city has managed to keep its old town intact despite the wars.” Turns out that’s not exactly the case.

The Münster cathedral in Freiburg im Bresgau 

My grandmother e-mailed me with some of her memoirs from what she remembers of Freiburg during World War II. She was fleeing from Latvia with her family and eventually ended up in the United States, but she wrote that Freiburg im Bresgau was her family’s first stop after leaving Latvia and passing through the many checkpoints en route. She arrived on October 27^th, 1944.

Bija skaists rudens, staigājām pa Melnajiem mežiem. Atmiņā skaista universitātes pilsēta līdz 1944. gada 27. novembrim, kad amerikāņi nakts uzlidojumā, galvenokārt ar degbumbām, to noslaucīja no kartes... Ļoti labi atceros to nakti. Tad arī manam brālim Jurim kāda šķemba ievainoja roku, noraujot divus pirkstus... Gribējās Tev to pasacīt.

“It was a beautiful autumn, we hiked in the Black Forest. I remember a beautiful university town until November 27^th, 1944, when the Americans wiped it off the map in a night raid with firebombs… I remember that night very well. Then also my brother Juris had his arm wounded, losing  two fingers to shrapnel…”

Over the years my siblings and I have devoted many hours to researching our family tree and the history of our country, our family and Latvians in Latvia and abroad. I have interviewed my grandmother (as well as several other family members) but I am ashamed to say that I had forgotten or never asked about this time in her life.

Var jau būt, ka dažas vēsturiskas celtnes netika pilnīgi nopostītas un vācieši jau daudz savas vēsturiskās vietas ir restaurējuši. Atceros tikai, ka otrā dienā skats bija neticami baigs, vel šur, tur dega, bija daudz cilvēku, kas klīda meklējot piederīgos. Visiem vīriešiem bija jāiet glābšanas darbos. Manu mammu, Uldi un mani aizveda uz kādu mūķenu klosteri, tālāk kalnos. Juris jau naktī bija kopā ar citiem ievainotiem aizvests uz kādu slimnīcu. Freiburgā pēc tam nekad neesmu bijusi. Ja Tu gribi, vari jau par to uzrakstīt, bet tādi stāsti manai paaudzei ir daudz...

“It may be that a few historic buildings weren’t completely destroyed, and the Germans have restored many historical sites. I just remember that the scene the next day was unbelievably horrific, here and there a building was still burning and many people were searching for family members. All the men were recruited for rescue operations. My mother, Uldis (another brother) and I were taken to a convent in the mountains. Juris had already been brought to some hospital during the night along with the other wounded. Since then I have never returned to Freiburg. If you want, you can write about it, but my generation has many such stories…”

A little belatedly I did some additional research on the history of Freiburg during WWII. In May of 1940 the Luftwaffe (mistakenly) dropped approximately 60 bombs on Freiburg near the train station. Then in October of 1940, 350 Jewish citizens of Freiburg were deported to the southern French internment camp of Camp Gurs where they remained until the majority of survivors were sent to their deaths to Auschwitz on July 18^th, 1942. Later on, the raid my grandmother wrote of, on November 27^th 1944; more than 300 bombers destroyed the city center, with the notable exception of the Münster cathedral, which was only lightly damaged. Freiburg was then occupied by the French Army in 1945, and fell within the French Zone of Occupation. The French Army maintained a presence there until the last division left in 1991. Freiburg’s old city was not kept intact as I had quickly written, rather it was rebuilt around the Münster cathedral following the medieval city plan.

The Münster cathedral as we saw it in June, 2012

There are reminders of the violent history of Europe all around us here in France: monuments, cemeteries and plaques. When traveling to Normandy a main goal was to see the beaches the Americans came ashore on, and on our visit to Amsterdam we walked past Anne Frank’s house. However with my grandmother’s email I was once again reminded how easy it is to forget, even “over here” where it all happened.

Paldies vecmamma, ka dalijies ar šīm atmiņām. To my grandmother: thank you for correcting my mistake, and thank you for allowing me to share a part of your story.

Freiburg im Breisgau

It might seem that the past few months have been spent traveling, when in fact we’ve spent quite a bit of time at home. Somehow the recap of our Amsterdam trip spread out over the last two months, and most of the every-day was condensed into a few, long posts with the Jāņu celebration stuck in the middle. Looking back at spring, our time here was hectic, it just wasn’t spent traveling as much as it might appear from this blog.

If it wasn't for the baby bjorn carrier we would have to buy a double stroller...

That being said there is one last trip that we took on a long weekend while the Kalamazoo grandmother was visiting, and I do want to include some pictures from it, as it was a pretty spectacular trip for such a short period of time.

With the in-laws, Freiburg, Germany

The boys were happy to have grandmother come visit (as was I), but we were sad that grandpa couldn’t come with. He was scheduled to attend the annual delegates meeting of the Latvian organization Daugavas Vanagi, the Latvian Welfare Association in Freiburg, Germany. The not-for-profit, charitable membership organization assists Latvians in need, supports and promotes Latvian culture, education, and youth development and honors all the soldiers who fought on behalf of Latvia’s freedom and independence among other goals. You can read more about the US branch of the organization here and about the branch in Germany here.





So since he couldn’t come to us, we decided to go to him! Freiburg im Breisgau is about 6 hours northeast of Clermont-Ferrand close to the French and Swiss borders (the point where the three countries meet is called Dreiländereck). We didn’t drive straight there, in fact our detour added on quite a few miles and hours, but more on that in a later post. Located in the hills of the Black Forest and home to a 500 year old university, the city has managed to keep its old town intact despite the wars.

Bērzaine

The Latvian Daugavas Vanagu (DV) property there is called Bērzaine (named after the birches of Latvia), and originally was meant to be a home for war veterans. As the years progress and less veterans utilize the facilities it has morphed into a guest house offering long-term housing for Latvian families and students in Freiburg, as well as rooms for board for travelers. Located at the base of Zähringer Castle hill, the ruins are but a short hike from the center and we couldn’t resist a look.

The Zähringer castle ruins and tower

The location was home to a hilltop settlement called Alemanni, named after a young king, sometime at the end of the 5^th century. First mention of the name Zähringen dates from shortly after the year 1000, and the first definite mention of the castle was in 1128. Between 1275 and 1281 it was destroyed and rebuilt several times and in the Peasants' War in 1525 the completely destroyed castle became the property of the House of Baden. The remaining ruins with a large round tower (13^th century) have viewing platform that luckily was open while we were there, giving us an opportunity to see a grand view of the city and surrounding Black Forest. (The key can be borrowed from a neighboring café and restaurant, if I correctly understood the German of the nice couple that waited for us to take a look before locking up.)

The Black Forest

We participated in a few of the lectures and meetings, but mostly enjoyed spending some time with Kalamazoo grandpa and in a Latvian atmosphere. Lauris made some new friends as Bērzaine is host to a little Latvian school, but our stay ended on a sour note after he took a nasty tumble down a flight of stairs, bumping his head and skinning his cheek. Mikus had to trump his brother, running a fever and prompting a late night pharmacy run, so the next day our tour of the city was short and sweet.

Possibly the most famous building in the city is the Münster Cathedral, and this was our first stop upon arrival downtown. Construction of the Romanesque cathedral was begun in 1200, but only the transept and two flanking towers remain of the original. The West Tower has beautiful stone masonry, and small detail like the 14th century tympanum (illustrating the theme of Original Sin), and statues of the Apostles and Old Testament kings contribute to form an amazingly ornate façade.

Münster Cathedral

Although we didn’t climb the tower that morning, we did enjoy ice cream on Münsterplatz, the square on the south side of the cathedral. With a view of the Archbishop’s Palace (1756), the Historical House of Trade and Wentzingerhaus (1761), the time was spent pleasantly.

The Historical House of Trade

Next we stopped in the town hall square, with the fountain featuring Berthold Schwarz, said to have invented gunpowder in Freiburg in 1350. As Freiburg was founded in the 12th century, I can imagine there might be some truth to the claim.

Boys with boats playing in the canalization

We had a beautiful stroll through the city culminating in yummy sandwiches to-go for our trip back to France. Despite the skinned cheek Lauris enjoyed the day, with the trams and the canalization competing for his attention. The gutters that have for hundreds of years channeled water through old town still function today, and after seeing a few young boys playing with boats on strings in the mini-canals we searched for a toy store as a little sailboat would have been a perfect souvenir. Sadly no stores were open on a Sunday and so although we left empty-handed save for the sandwiches and a few knick-knacks from a tourist shop, the memories of this quaint little German town will stay with me during the rest of our time in France.

Hautes Fagnes, Belgium

The trip from the Petite Suisse Luxembourgeouise to the Hautes Fagnes went quickly as we cut through Germany to reach the moors, and most of the time was spent cruising on the autobahn watching the scenery flash by. Less than an hour east of Liège, Belgium, is the Parc Naturel Hautes Fagnes-Eifel that ecompasses the Hautes Fagnes, the valley of the river Our, several lakes, and the Eifel. It runs into the German Nordeifel nature park, and the combined Deutsch-Belgischer Naturpark covers an area of 926 square miles.



The view of the high fens from the tower



Our destination was the Signal de Botrange, which at 2,277 ft is the highest point in Belgium. After stopping at the Centre Nature de Botrange to learn about the ecology of the area and grab a few maps, we found ourselves walking through the restaurant to find the unmarked door to the tower that stands guard over the area. The view over the non-native conifers to the moors that stretched all the way into Germany was desolate but beautiful, and with enthusiasm we bundled up for a short walk to experience the nature reserve.

Created in 1957, the reserve protects a very delicate ecosystem. The windy, harsh climate attracts and supports plant and animal species from high mountains and northern latitudes, and the peat bogs are unique as well. Fire can be fatal for the entire area; I remember how fire would travel underground through the duff and live on for weeks in the southern US where I fought fires, I imagine a peat bog fire would be similar in that it would burn incredibly hot, deep and travel underground.

We set out on boardwalks laid out over the bog, and I found an intense calm in the absence of sound other than the wind. Few other people had ventured out which might have been due to the weather; although it was overly warm in the sun, as soon as we were in the shade it seemed cold and the wind cut right through.



The wind turbines provided high contrast to the nuclear power plant to the north

Clumps of beech, oak and birch broke up the landscape as well as the plantations of spruce. As we walked, we saw evidence that the reserve was attempting to eliminate the non-native species and replace the middle ground between road and moor with native seedlings. Other than the boardwalk and a few informative placards, this was the only evidence of people. Practically deserted now, however the Hautes Fagnes have at some point been home to humans as traces have been found of the Via Mansuerisca, a road thought to date back to the 7^th century.

Just south of the Park Roberts found his ville...

Once back in the car we wound our way north, soon crossing the border into the Netherlands. With tired feet from a long day of hiking and climbing we found a roadside restaurant to fill our stomachs before shooting the rest of the way to the next destination on our trip, Amsterdam.