A major part of my time here in Latvia has been teaching a graduate level course on Intangible Heritage and Community Engagement at the Latvian Academy of Culture. My students were all working, mostly in museums, and brought loads of experience to our discussions. We focused on thinking about intangible heritage and community engagement globally, learning a great deal about practices in many parts of the world--but I also asked students to write short papers on an intangible heritage here in Latvia that meant something personal to each of them. Latvia is a small country so these traditions are key to building a sense of identity despite (or perhaps because of) the country's complex history. Here are a few excerpts from those student essays--how happy I am to learn all these traditions! You can see all the students and me together at the end of the post.
Hockey Celebrations
This unique fan culture developed after Latvia regained independence and returned to ice hockey’s top division in the 1990s. A major turning point came in 2000, when Latvia defeated Russia on Russian soil, sparking hockey euphoria across the country. Support for the national team became a form of national self-expression…The Bauska flag drive was initiated by local fan Guntars Simanovičs in 2007. Since then, it has developed into a fixed ritual repeated after every Latvian victory at the Championship. Fans get into their cars, gather at the Rimi Bauska parking lot, and set off together along an established route. The procession always includes these elements: cars weave from side to side in a “snake-like” formation, drivers honk their horns, passengers wave Latvian flags, and blast Latvian songs associated with hockey... Until recently, I had never considered the flag drive as cultural heritage and I doubt others do. It is simply something we do in Bauska. Now looking at a tradition I through the lens of cultural heritage has made me understand its value and vulnerability. To my knowledge, the ritual is not being documented by the local museum or anyone else, despite having become a beloved tradition for many people in Bauska. Perhaps, once it has stood the test of time, as I am confident it will, a broader discussion about its cultural significance can begin.
Amanta Arbidane
Latvian Pineapple
“Latvian Pineapple” (ķirbju salāti), is a historic and highly active living culinary practice. It encompasses a specific body of knowledge regarding autumn harvest preservation, where a neutral taste of pumpkin is transformed into a sweet-and-sour, crisp winter delicacy using definite marinating techniques and aromatic spices...This dish holds a special place in the culinary traditions of many Latvian families, regardless of their ethnic origin. It serves simultaneously as a festive holiday appetizer and as a testament to the historical adaptability of the Latvian people, who learned to bridge local agricultural resources with global flavors brought by international trade...The process of making “Latvian pineapple” is intimately tied to family memory and the transmission of skills. Peeling the pumpkin, dicing it into precise cubes, and boiling the marinade in the autumn is a collective family ritual that spans generations. Grandmothers pass down their “measured by eye” proportions to daughters and grandchildren. This continuity fosters a strong sense of belonging and ensures that younger generations, upon establishing their own households, repeat the practice to recreate the comfort and memories of their childhood homes.
Julia Trofimova
Gathering Wreath Materials
One of the more popular and noticeable parts of the [mid-summer]celebrations probably is the making of wreath crowns. Wreath crowns are associated with traditional Latvian values also outside of Līgo and Jāņi celebrations, seen as a fitting part of the traditional garb. But during the Līgo celebrations the grasses and flowers are said to be imbued with thefull strength of the summer sun and vitality. Instead of simple plants, they become Jāņu zāles / Jāņu grāsses. Decorating houses, gates and other areas during the solstice were also said to ward off bad spirits that roam around during the shortest night. And of course, it is important to honor with wreaths those by the name of Līga and Jānis, since
Latvia also has a name day tradition…But to be able to make wreath crowns, one must be in possession of the natural materials to make them. Thus, those willing go out into the fields and meadows to gather all grasses, wildflowers, tree branches and anything else suited for crown making...But why do I like the flower gathering part most in particular? Perhaps because it demands looking at the nature around us with a more discerning eye. A small flower on the side of the road can become the central piece of a crown. Flower gathering also feels like play, even if by tradition it is garbed into ideas of vitality and often particular gendered beauty (since there are some plants considered as befitting a masculine wreath crown and others feminine). Finding a particular flower feels like a quest, albeit a low stakes and leisurely one….Besides, people recharge in nature and when perhaps other parts of the celebration take more thought-out preparations, like cooking and making fire, going out into meadows helps to add more dynamic motion and moment of respite, especially if otherwise majority of the day could be spent indoors depending on the circumstances. And perhaps Latvians, who’s folklore is so deeply tied to nature and its movements, feel that need to recharge in nature especially strongly.
Laura Vilka
Weaving the Midsummer Crown
When I was a little girl, my mother would wake up earlier than everyone else, weave a flower crown for me to wear during the festivities. As I grew older, I learned the skill of weaving myself. The act of weaving a crown carries symbolic meaning; by forming a circle, it represents a beginning and an end—a cycle. The choice of flowers for the crown is also significant. Typically, these flowers are gathered from meadows, and on the evening of the celebration, they are collectively referred to as Jāņu zāles (Midsummer herbs). They are believed to bring happiness and blessings to everyone who weaves them into a crown. Generally, plants are selected that are non-toxic and have stems flexible enough not to break during the weaving process. Popular choices for crowns include daisies, cornflowers, bedstraw, ox-eye daisies, and clover...Interestingly, the celebration of Midsummer was prohibited during the Soviet era; yet, it managed to retain its significance throughout the years of occupation, becoming even stronger and more enduring after Latvia regained its independence. This is likely because Midsummer lies at the very core of Latvian identity. And the traditions associated with them—including the weaving of flower crowns—are a way to return to one’s roots and feel a sense of belonging to both nature and one’s people. For me, the celebration of Jāņi is a special occasion that allows me to feel a closeness to nature and the universe. Weaving a crown is a way for me to bring order to the world around me; its symbolic meaning grants me strength and peace.
Liga Keisa
Pastalas are one of the oldest types of footwear in Latvia. They were typically crafted from a single piece of leather, with the edges folded upward and cinched together using a leather thong. While construction may appear simple, making pastalas requires specific knowledge regarding leather, cutting patterns, the shape of the foot, and the correct method of cinching. Mostly pastalas we can see at the song and dance festival, folk dance concerts, folklore events, in museums, at craft markets, and during Ligo and Jani celebrations (summer solstice). However, what I find particularly interesting is that pastalas also appear in much more unexpected, contemporary ways. A very personal example involves my own 9 year daughter Frederika. During the Ligo and Jani festivities she has paired pastalas with sportswear. While participating in a “Stirnu buks” trail run during the solstice period, she chose to wear pastalas with her athletic clothes for the post-race awards ceremony. I really like this example because it illustrates how intangible cultural heritage continues to live today. She wasn’t trying to mimic someone who living in Latvia a hundred or two hundred years and not dressed in full traditional folk costume. She was a participant in a modern sporting event, wearing athletic clothes and pastalas instead of sport shoes and tray trough her outfit feel and demonstrate to others her connection to Latvian traditions and the summer solstice season. If we were to require that pastalas be worn only in combination with a precisely reconstructed folk costume, their potential use would be very limited. If people can incorporate pastalas into their modern lives its mean we have reasons for wearing pastalas and continue keep alive the skill required to craft them.
Elina Rudevica
Sklandrausis – the “sun-shaped” pie from Courland
The sklandrausis—a rye-flour dough filled with layers of paste, made from boiled potatoes and carrots, resembling a small, round sun, is a traditional Livonian (Livonians – the Balto-Finnic people who have formed in Latvia over 1000 years ago) dish that later spread to other kitchens of Courland as well. The precursor to the contemporary sklandrausis was an unleavened rye-dough flatbread baked on a campfire. After first potatoes arrived to Courland a carrot-and-potato filling was added to these flatbreads. To hold the filling, the edges of the dough were folded up—forming a sort of fence (known in the local dialect as sklandas)—which is how the pie got its name, so if we would like to make a direct translation to English, the tittle of the dish would be fence pie...Personally, I find this renaissance of sklandrausis over the last few decades to be highly significant. It is not just a story about a small, round pastry, which many people find strange; rather, it speaks to the cultural preservation and resilience of a small communities – as Suiti—or an endangered people—the Livonians through their culinary heritage.
Zane Steinberga
Painted using pigments from the Latvian land; painted by Evija Rudzīte.
Old Believer Icons
I am an icon painter, and I have always been genuinely interested in everything related to icons. That is how I came into touch with the sacred heritage of the Old Believer community in Latvia...I am interested in the Old Believer tradition and their cultural heritage because, as a representative of today’s community of icon painters in Latvia, I feel a need for continuity and a sense of inheritance—a sense of belonging to this cultural heritage. It was through the Old Believer community that the tradition of icon painting came to Latvia. This refers to the so-called Baltic School of Iconography, whose founders and representatives came directly from the Old Believer community. Beginning in the 18th century, the Old Believers established their own icon-painting workshops, where masters continued the traditions of Old Russian icon painting. The Grebenščikov Old Believer congregation in Riga became a major center of icon painting in the 1920s and 1930s, not only in Latvia but also on a European scale. My colleagues and I may not be the direct heirs of the Baltic School of Iconography,but one can trace how this tradition was passed down from master to student, from the school’s beginnings right up to the present day.
Evija Rudzīte
