Has it been a year already?

Andris Straumanis | 

Twelve months ago, Latvians Online made its debut on the Web. After several months of deadline-pressure work, five people in two hemispheres launched a mostly English-language Web site that we all thought had potential to accomplish something interesting in the world of Latvian media. If nothing else, it would be fun.

Granted, Latvians Online in one sense was not new or different. It was a merger between LatBits, a Web site run by Arnis and Daina Gross in Melbourne, Australia, and SVEIKS.com, run by Todd Rossman and myself. LatBits, established in 1997, began as an e-mail newsletter covering the Latvian presence on the Internet. It eventually became a Web site, too. SVEIKS.com, a news and features service, appeared on the Web in January 1999 and represented a merger of two independent Web sites run by Rossman and me.

But in other ways, Latvians Online was new. It combined elements of the "three C’s" that some Web experts point to as necessary for the success of an Internet business: content, community and commerce. It relied—and continues to increasingly do so—on what some would call a distributed workforce. We have people in Melbourne, Australia; suburban St. Paul, Minn., and Stockholm, Sweden. We have regular reviewers and writers in Wisconsin, London, New York and Rīga. (In fact, I have to admit to having met only some of the folks I work with.) Certainly in the Latvian diaspora, we were doing something not yet seen on the Web.

And Latvians Online also was new because, I believe, we have all gone into this with a certain sense of love and adventure.

Latvians Online, in both philosophical and economic ways, is a labor of love. We haven’t planned to get rich doing this, and so far we are on target. Like many ethnic businesses, our purpose goes deeper than merely trying to generate income. We all care deeply about the Latvian community.

Latvians Online also is an adventure. While all of us have years of experience and skills in various aspects of online media or Latvian community work, we have had to learn much along the way: digital video editing, server side includes, marketing techniques and the gentle art of persuasion are among the technical and social skills we’ve added to our toolkits. We’ve been reminded time and again that Latvians Online is very much part of a worldwide community. We learn quickly when we’ve done a good job, or when we’ve made a mistake. We’ve had people yell at us, we’ve had people laud us. And even among ourselves, relationships have at times been strained.

So much has happened in the past year, both within our little Latvians Online world and outside it, that our first anniversary seems almost a footnote. But I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished so far and look forward to the years ahead to see where we end up.

But for now, I should close. Daina Gross, our managing editor, is probably sitting by her computer in Melbourne, drumming her anxious fingers on the keyboard and wondering if I’ll ever meet a deadline. Not this time, Daina. But once we put this latest update "to bed" (to use an old print journalism expression), I’ll be sure to toast her, Arnis, Gita and Todd for the commitment they have offered during our first year.

Liels, liels paldies!

Andris Straumanis is a special correspondent for and a co-founder of Latvians Online. From 2000–2012 he was editor of the website.

Thanks, Aļina, you’ve made my day

Andris Straumanis | 

The early afternoon telephone call from a London-based producer at BBC Radio Five Live came as a surprise. Latvia, once again, was in the news. Would I be willing to be interviewed?

Prince Charles, on a Nov. 8 visit to Rīga, had been slapped in the face by a carnation-wielding young woman from Daugavpils named Aļina, according to news reports. She told journalists that she was protesting Latvia’s aspirations to NATO membership and the British government’s participation in military strikes in Afghanistan.

The producer was searching for someone who could go on the air live and answer some questions about Latvia.

It didn’t make sense to me that a radio show in Britain wanted to talk to someone in the United States about a country that was closer and just as accessible. I volunteered to track down some home telephone numbers of contacts in Latvia. But the producer pointed out that the scheduled time for the interview was to be about 10:30 p.m. London time, half past midnight in Latvia.

So a few hours later I found myself back on the telephone, listening to radio host Richard Evans wind up a discussion about British football. And then he introduced the next topic, the flower power attack on Prince Charles.

As I listened to my name being announced to God knows how many British listeners, I suddenly recalled Latvian President Vaira Vīķe-Freiberga’s well-done rapid-fire give-and-take with the host of BBC television’s "HardTalk." The president had stood her ground, looking and sounding as if she’ve done these sorts of interviews a hundred times.

But I’m not used to being asked questions. What if I blunder? I’m a print journalist, not a radio journalist. I’m used to writing, erasing, reworking, crafting, but not to tap dancing on the air. What if I’m asked something really serious? What if I want to back out right now? What if I just hang up the phone…

I was on.

The first question was easy: What kind of place is Latvia? From my earlier discussion with the producer, I knew the BBC was looking for basic facts: small country, Baltic Sea, 2.4 million people, the capital city’s 800th anniversary. And soon we were chatting about the architecture of Rīga and about relations between Latvians and Russians, topics most anyone could learn about by surfing the Web or perusing a few books.

And before I was even warmed up, the interview was over.

The way I figure it, I got five minutes of fame. That means I still have 10 to spare. For now, I have a story to tell my family, colleagues and friends about the day I was on the BBC.

Thanks, Aļina, you’ve made my day.

Andris Straumanis is a special correspondent for and a co-founder of Latvians Online. From 2000–2012 he was editor of the website.

With fieldwork done, it’s time for Mārtiņi

Amanda Jātniece | 

“Laid iekšā, saiminiece, man kājiņas nosalušas!” (Let me in—my feet are freezing!). Thus begins another winter and another mummers’ season in the traditional Latvian year, with banging on the door, masked people demanding to come in and be fed, loud singing and dancing. This festival, called Mārtiņi, marks the beginning of winter and occurs halfway between the fall equinox and the winter solstice on Nov. 10.

Mārtiņi is the end of the harvest season. The field work has come to an end by now. The end of threshing is celebrated at Mārtiņi. Horses and cattle are brought in to spend the winter in the barns. It is a time for gathering and preparing food and getting ready for winter, as well as being thankful for a good harvest.

The namesake of the festival, Mārtiņš, is a lesser deity or mythical character associated with the waning of the sun, as well as with war. With the farm work done and the ground and rivers frozen, in years gone by fall was usually the time that raids and wars began. Mārtiņš and the spring character Ūsiņš (celebrated at the opposite end of the year on May 10) have several similarities: they both care for horses, both are associated with sacrifices of roosters, and they symbolize the waning (Mārtiņš) and waxing (Ūsiņš) of the sun.

The hallmark of the Mārtiņi celebration is the costumes and masks, the "mummers." In the evening people dress up so that no one can recognize them. They then go from house to house, where they are greeted with cheers, songs, food and drink. Much singing, dancing, joking and—sometimes—even scaring of children follows. Some mummer groups even prepare a short humorous skit. The mummers, usually called budēļi, čigāni or ķekatas, demand food and drink. The better the fare offered, the better the hosts’ harvest will be next year. The mummers comment on the cleanliness of the house, and sometimes steal a small object or two in jest. They dance around the whole farmyard, bringing blessings and fertility to the animals, buildings, fields and gardens. Then the bunch goes on to the next farmstead, where the whole scene is repeated.

Sounds kind of like Halloween? Of course it does, because many cultures have similar traditions in the fall. Latvians traditionally continued these masked visits all winter long until the Meteņi celebration in early February. Although outside of Latvia we associate the costumed revelers almost exclusively with the beginning of their season at Mārtiņi, most of their activity actually occured around the winter solstice (Ziemassvētki).

The budēļi are said to bring good fortune. They tend to disguise themselves as familiar objects, people and animals, not the supernatural or gory characters so often seen at Halloween parties. Common Latvian costumes include the tall lady, the short man, a gypsy, a bear-tamer and bear, a goat, a wolf, a heron, a rabbit, a tree or a mushroom. The main thing is that no one recognizes you!

Because Mārtiņi occurs after the harvest, it is a wealthy festival with lots of good food. Mārtiņi also is slaughter time, so there is usually a variety of meats at the festival meal. The best known delicacy is rooster. Traditionally, a black rooster was killed to ensure the well-being of the horses (“Mārtiņam gaili kāvu deviņiem cekuliem; Tas baroja, tas sukāja manus bērus kumeliņus”). Pork, pīrāgi, root vegetables, cabbage, bread, apples, cranberries, grey peas, beer and sweetbreads are some of the other foods offered.

Of course, every Latvian region and family develops its own traditions, even outside of Latvia. In central Wisconsin, for example, small groups of budēļi come from all over the state, as well as from neighboring states, and meet at a rural farmstead. Then, after singing, dancing, games and a big meal, the mummers and the homeowners settle in for the night and tell ghost stories. The next morning they finish off the feasting with a pancake breakfast.

Mārtiņi also is often a common theme at fall Latvian school parties. Mārtiņi is a short festival—just one day long—but it is a joyful introduction to the long winter season.