3×3 in Rucava: A personal perspective

Daina Grosa | 

Our family just attended our first 3×3 camp in Latvia. We had already had a great introduction to the way 3×3 works back in January 2000 when we braved the Australian summer heat and headed off to the camp in Falls Creek, Victoria, for what proved to be an exhilarating experience that we wanted to repeat in the near future.

At the time we were rather exhausted as we had ventured to the camp with an active four-year-old and a (barely) one-year-old toddler. Our children are now slightly older and as we have already started to forget our “trials” in 2000, we felt ready for something on a grander scale.

The 3×3 camp in Rucava was to take place July 15-22 in the southwestern Latvian town close to the Lithuanian border. We had been informed that we would be transported to the camp from Rīga by bus on the morning of the 15th. So we headed off to Dailes teātris at 10 a.m. The first bus drove off without a hitch. But tragedy had struck the second bus—the one we were waiting for—on its way from Rucava to Rīga. We were deeply shocked to learn the driver and his young son died when the bus collided with a train at the Kalvene railway crossing and rolled over. Even more astounding was the news that the Rucava 3×3 camp leader, Dace Jurka, had originally planned to be on the bus but had changed her mind at the last minute.

Such an eerie introduction to the camp left many wondering about fate, God and the powers that be.

This was the 22nd Latvian 3×3 camp held in Latvia. Many of the people in charge looked like they already knew each other well and greeted each other with warm hugs and smiling faces. Seeing as we were true newcomers (as were most of the other camp participants), we entered the Rucava school grounds with a touch of apprehension but a strong feeling that we would very soon feel at home here.

We had chosen to board with one of the locals. We were immediately whisked away to the other side of Rucava (a two-minute drive away!) and introduced to our “landlady” for the week: a homely, smiling rucavniece who showed us to our quarters. We had stayed with friends and relatives in the countryside before so we were not surprised at all by our accommodations. Our main criteria for a pleasant stay is hospitality and a smiling face from the host. We immediately felt this warmth from our host, so we were certain we had been put together with the right person.

The walk back to the camp at a brisk pace would take 20 minutes. But with our two dawdlers in tow—who had to inspect every cow, dog, chicken and cat on the way—the walk took a bit longer. Our motto: the more fresh country air we breathe, the better!

We knew a few people—all “Westerners”—but in no time at all we had chatted to strangers with smiling faces and warm hearts, keen to meet this Latvian family from “down under.” It did not take too long to feel like part of a big family. A great way to meet people was at mealtimes. I don’t think we ever ended up sitting next to the same camp participant twice. I hope the reason for this was not our active children who scared mealtime “neighbors” away! Every mealtime proved to be an introduction to another soul, some keen to chat, others more reserved. The 3×3 organizers actively promoted this by encouraging everyone to greet each other using the personal pronoun “tu” instead of “Jus” in conversation, to wear our name tags at all times and to deliberately find a new person to sit next to each mealtime.

Some statistics may be worth mentioning at this point. There were 426 people in the Rucava 3×3 camp, including all the participants, organizers, cooks, cleaners and local rucavnieki who attended. Of these, 102 participants were locals while the remainder came from all four corners of the earth, some from the United States, Canada, Magadan (in far eastern Russia) and Australia, but most from within Latvian borders.

The first evening was spent in the Rucava open-air amphitheater, enjoying the talents of the locals, both young and old. Particularly impressive were the elderly Rucava ladies (our host was among them) singing ancient local songs in their national costumes. The festivities came to a premature halt when nature took over. A freak storm—a sudden wind followed by a full thunder and lightning extravaganza—put on a grand show that was later described by camp organizers as consistent with the theme of the camp, which was “fire.” We all later marvelled at the pine trees that had been struck by lightning only a couple of metres from the camp buildings.

The next six days of this camp raced by like a whirlwind. All I remember is that at a constantly hurried pace I was forever either handing my children over to the camp kindergarten (for three- to six-year-olds), racing to an ievirze (as the camp activities are called), being transported somewhere by one of the camp’s buses, eating yet another delicious meal or falling exhausted into bed after a full day’s activities (after killing an army of vicious mosquitoes that had taken us hostage in our bedroom).

The ievirzes at this 3×3 camp, about 30 in all, were many and varied: floristry, jewelry making, felt toy making, the art of ancient Latvian weaponmaking, theatre, discussions about Latvian politics, the Latvian oral history project (mutvārdu vēsture), a seminar focusing on family issues led by Māra Tupese and Līga Ruperte, Latvian cooking, literature, various folklore topics and many, many more activities. It would have been a hard task not to find at least one activity that sounded interesting!

In addition to all these ievirzes, on offer were excursions to a list of interesting sights in the Rucava region: the Latvian brumbies (savvaļas zirgi), the local “holy spring” (svētavots), Pape beach for regular swims, and a half-day excursion to Lithuania, including the dolphin show near Klaipeda and the amber museum in Palanga. However, the most interesting of these excursions was the trip to Nida beach where the organizers had planned such a varied program that it was impossible for anyone to complain about boredom: a sports carnival, a folkloric performance by Liepaja theatre actors, the opportunity to join local fishermen when they hauled in their day’s catch, and a feast of fish soup and rye bread. The most moving of this afternoon’s activities was a theatrical yet deeply symbolic “uguns daudzinājums”—fire worship—as a climax to the theme of this year’s 3×3 camp.

Most of all I enjoyed the chance to exchange ideas about any topic under the sun with other participants young and old. Our children had a great time as well, playing with Latvian kids in Latvian, not English, as they are used to doing in their home country of Australia. It was also interesting to chat to Latvian teenagers (there were about 50 of them at the camp) and catch a glimpse of their world view.

Overall the whole family found this week to be a hectic yet extremely positive experience, one we would certainly want to repeat sometime in the near future!

Daina Gross is editor of Latvians Online. An Australian-Latvian she is also a migration researcher at the University of Latvia, PhD from the University of Sussex, formerly a member of the board of the World Federation of Free Latvians, author and translator/ editor/ proofreader from Latvian into English of an eclectic mix of publications of different genres.

Placenames may reveal Latvian ancestry

Andris Straumanis | 

Thousands of tourists are streaming to the real Rīga this year as Latvia’s capital city celebrates its 800th anniversary. Those who can’t make the trip to Latvia might try searching for the Rīgas, or Rigas (without the diacritical mark), in their backyards.

Several places with the name of Rīga can be found in the United States, not to mention other Latvian-sounding sites such as Livonia or Baltic. And the United States isn’t alone: Similar sites can be found in Canada and Australia.

The Web offers online placename databases for several countries that can be used to find the spots.

Perhaps the best digital resource in the United States is the Geographic Names Information System, run by the U.S. Geological Survey. A search of the database for “Riga” turned up places or geographic objects in Connecticut, Kansas, Michigan, Missouri, New York, North Dakota and Virginia. The database is linked to Microsoft’s TerraServer database, allowing users to see USGS topographic maps and, in many cases, aerial images of places.

The places with Rīga in their name include:

  • A lake, a dam and a mountain in Litchfield County is western Connecticut. The mountain, Mount Riga, also is claimed by New York’s Dutchess County, which also has a Riga Lake.
  • A populated place in Trego County in Kansas.
  • A township, cemetery and a canal in Lenawee County in Michigan.
  • A populated place in Ripley County in Missouri.
  • A township and a school in North Dakota’s McHenry County.
  • A town in Monroe County in New York.
  • And a stream in Virginia’s Orange County.

But the database doesn’t reveal much if anything about the history of these places. While most of the places in North America that have names suggesting some tie to Latvia probably have little connection, a few do.

For example, Riga is a small town in the western New York’s Monroe County, southwest of Rochester. Established in 1808 in the breakup of the larger Town of Northhampton, the community historical committee on its Web site reveals nothing about why Riga was chosen as the name. Even documents such as J.H. French’s 1860 Historical and Statistical Gazetteer of New York State shed little light.

Another Riga, in southeastern Michigan’s Lenawee County, is a lightly populated spot where “For Sale” signs appear frequently. A visit to the community’s cemetery reveals that the town has been home for people of German ethnicity. The town also in 1990 was briefly considered for a low-level radioactive waste disposal facility, but was removed from a list of potential sites after it successfully sued the state of Michigan.

"Riga" placenames also are found in Canada and Australia.

Libau, a community in Canada’s province of Manitoba, does have links to Latvian history. The community, on the south end of Lake Winnipeg, is where a group of Latvian immigrants settled in the early 20th century to take up farming. Libau is the German name for the port city of Liepāja.

To the east of Manitoba’s Libau, on Lac du Bonnet, is Lettonia Bay. The community of Lac du Bonnet, southwest of the lake, was home to Latvian immigrants in the early 20th century.

According to Geomatics Canada, the province of Quebec is home to a Lac Riga and to a Lac de Riga. And in Ontario, near Sudbury, there’s a Riga Lake.

The South Australian State Gazetteer’s online version reports a homestead called Riga Downs.

Livonia is the name of the province that became part of modern Latvia. Quite a few Livonias can be found in the United States in Indiana, Louisiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, New York and Pennsylvania. But again, the story of why a place was named Livonia isn’t always clear. And when it is, the trail may not point back to Latvian ancestry.

For example, Livonia Township in Minnesota’s Sherburne County, northwest of the Twin Cities metropolitan area, apparently has little to do with the province. It was named instead for the wife of a judge who settled in the area in 1864, according to the Minnesota Historical Society.

The same is true for Baltic. In many cases, the naming of a place as Baltic-something probably has more to do with seafaring or with other lands that touch on the Baltic Sea.

Riga, Michigan

An abandoned building in Riga, a small community in southeastern Michigan, bears a welcoming sign. The town is among the places in the United States with a name that suggests a Latvian connection. (Photo by Andris Straumanis)

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

A primer on Latvian folk instruments

Amanda Jātniece | 

Although it is always the kokle that first comes to mind when talking about Latvian folk instruments, it is by far not the only one. Here, a brief overview of Latvian musical instruments.

Percussion instruments

Worldwide, percussion instruments are considered the oldest instruments. Most characteristic of the Latvian percussion instruments is the trideksnis (rattle stick), a short wooden handle with small metal pieces attached in rows around one end of the handle. The player shakes the trideksnis like a rattle or hits the handle against his or her other palm, which causes the metal pieces to jingle. Large rattle sticks, called velna bungas (literally, "devil’s drum"), are about 4 feet to 5 feet long and are struck against the floor. The eglīte, or bell tree, is a small spruce tree with the top branches folded down and tied to the center stem, with all sorts of bells, trinkets and decorations attached.

Although there is virtually no archaeological evidence of drums (bungas) in Latvia, it is known from the oral tradition and from historical writings that they were used as signal instruments—to signal a wedding party’s arrival, for example—and also played to accompany dance music.

Bells (zvani) had both a musical and a practical purpose (for example, to keep track of cows) and, though sometimes made of metal, were more commonly made of wood, which was much more plentiful in Latvia. Other percussion instruments include the triangle (trijstūris), buzzer (dūcenis), washboard (robdēlis), tambourine (sietiņš or bubins), and vargans, or Jew’s harp.

Wind instruments

The simplest and oldest of the wind instruments were the whistles (svilpes), which had at most one or two sound holes. They were made of bone, horn, shells, animal teeth, bark and clay. A specialty of Latgale to this day are clay whistles in the form of horses, birds and dragons (svilpaunieki). Stabules (recorders, reeds, flutes) have several sound holes and are made of bark, reeds or bone, but most often of wood. Both svilpes and stabules were favorite playthings of shepherds.

The ganu rags (literally, "shepherds’ horn") is basically a modified stabule. It is made of wood, but with an animal horn attached to enhance the sound. This clarinet-like instrument produces sound with a single reed. Unfortunately it is not heard all that often today. The somas dūkas or dūdas (bagpipe) has been played in Latvia since about the 16th century. It was usually made of sheep’s or goat’s skin, but sometimes even of seal’s or dog’s skin. The bagpipe was and still is a popular instrument, especially for dance and wedding music.

In Latvian, a horn or trumpet made of wood or bark is called a taure, while one made of actual horn is called a rags. Both were considered shepherds’ and young men’s instruments, played to pass the time in the fields, to signal the beginning and end of work, or when lots of noise was needed, such as during wedding celebrations and certain holidays.

Stringed instruments

The stringed instruments are generally more recent. Spēles and pūšļa vijole are primitive instruments that are hardly used anymore. Spēles looks like a hunting bow that is either plucked or a second bow is pulled across the string to produce sound. The player can bend the frame to change its pitch. Pūšļa vijole (literally, "bladder fiddle") is basically a string attached to a wooden base with a blown-up animal bladder acting as a resonator between the base and string. Again, sound is produced by pulling a bow across the string.

The ģīga (trough-fiddle) has a mysterious past—no one really knows where the instrument or its name came from or how old it is. It’s assumed that it is probably related to a similar instrument that was popular in Sweden in the mid-19th century. Also called vienstīdzis or divstīdzis (one-string or two-string), the ģīga is a long, rectangular (about 2 feet to 3 feet long, and 4 inches to 6 inches wide) hollow wooden box with one or two strings attached to the top. It is played horizontally on a table or lap, or less often held vertically, and played with a bow.

And the kokle… That best known of Latvian folk instruments and idyllic symbol of Latvian folk music. Its gentle strums evoke golden memories for most older Latvians, and it is not rare to find a kokle displayed on a prominent shelf in living rooms.

Although a very old instrument, the kokle is still played a lot and holds a special place of honor among Latvians, as well as Lithuanians (kankles), Estonians (kannele) and Finns (kantele). The zither-like instrument is a whittled-out wooden box with a thin wooden cover with sounding holes, often cut in beautiful patterns. Strings are strung across the top of the box in a ray form, that is, strung almost parallel to each other, but closer together on one end, wider apart on the other end. Each string is tuned to a different note in the scale. The oldest kokles have five strings, later versions up to 17 or even 23 strings. Modern "concert" kokles span three octaves and are able to play in all keys. The kokle is usually held in the player’s lap or set on a table, but sometimes it is hung around the player’s neck. Modern concert versions of the kokle are so huge that they must be placed on a stand in front of the player. With the left hand the player silences the strings he or she does not want to hear, while the right hand strums the remaining strings, forming the appropriate chords. Players sometimes also pick separate strings to accentuate melodies. The kokle was and is still used for all sorts of music and purposes.

Modern instruments

The accordion (akordeons), button-accordion (garmoška), violin (vijole), the cītara (chord-zither or dulcimer) or cimbole (cimbalom) are some of the more modern instruments that have made their way from other cultures into Latvian folk music and have found there a very welcome home. Both the accordion and the violin are heavily used to accompany Latvian songs and dances. The cītara is a mid-19th century introduction to Latvian folk music and has taken on a very prominent role in most rural ensembles (lauku kapelas), particularly in the eastern half of the country. The cimbole—similar to the cītara, it is trapezoid in shape and is played with two wooden mallets—is most often found in the southeast corner of Latvia near Belarus and is very similar to the Belorussian national folk instrument.

Now you’ll be able to recognize and know more about what you’re hearing the next time you pull out that folk recording!