Happy Century Riga Zoo

Riga Zoo is like a cat with nine lives. Its history is a timeline marred with refusals, occupations and closures. But what might initially appear as a track record of false starts and finish lines with no reward, this animal sanctuary has beaten the odds to celebrate a marathon one hundred years since its inception. 

Historians Elvira Hrscenovica and Daiga Leimane compiled an account of the zoo, researching its beginnings and the tumultuous years which followed. While studying they found that an application to establish a zoo in Riga had already emerged towards the end of the 1800’s. However, at that time, the city council expressed the opinion that “a zoo would be an unnecessary luxury”. In 1907, a file regarding ‘The Opening of a Zoo in Riga’ appears in council documents. On September 29, 1908 an outline for the Riga Zoological Garden association were approved. They undertook a collection for funding and work finally begun. On April 13, 1911 Riga city council and the association signed an agreement on an understanding the park would open within a five-year-period and have at least 75 animal species on display.

At that time the zoo’s creators ascertained the key priority was to show visitors national animals and birds, those within the North Temperate Zone, so foreign creatures played a secondary role. The Riga Zoological Garden was founded on October 14, 1912 after city councillor E. Betihers, forest engineer E. Ostvalds and chairman of the association F. Bahs walked through the zoo then signed a statement of acceptance. There were more animal species at the zoo than requested - 88 on display - when the park first opened its gates. Staff consisted of 10 zookeepers and 13 other employees.

The admission fee in 1912 was very low. For adults the price on Sundays was 20 kopecks, but on weekdays 25 kopecks; for children 15 years or younger entrance was 10 kopecks, but for school children lead by their teacher the fee was 5 kopecks each.

Many animals were given to the zoo as gifts from businessmen, companies, ship captains and anonymous individuals. The first elephant was given by Mr Zirins and the Hibner Company; the first wild boar by Turkestan consul Mr Vortman. In 1914 the zoo received 534 animals worth 28,239 roubles. Even His Majesty Emperor Nicholas II gave a pair of bison. Prior to the World War One the real estate value of the zoo was 130,000 roubles, however the animals alone were worth 42,000.

When WWI started, the zoo’s financial situation became critical. Seven employees were drafted into the army and all German citizens left the association. The city council granted the zoo a monthly benefit of around one thousand roubles per month to help keep it running but in 1915 visitor numbers decreased catastrophically because the main tram line going to Keizarmezs was cancelled. In 1916 the council cut its support altogether. Some of the animals were sold and some were…eliminated. Turning to the community for help, expenses to keep the bison (the pride of the zoo) were covered by commerce advisor Mr Gusevs. A nameless gentleman gave financial support to keep the snow panther while several ladies donated monetary help for the needs of the wild boar Trina. Records show a Mrs Krossa provided firewood, the bakery Samsons, Rikkerts un Ko offered breadcrumbs, and the companies Angelbeks and Mencendorfs delivered rice and raisins.

The zoo was maintained until the end of 1917 when the German army entered Riga. They took 37 of the most valuable animals. Donations stopped, though the property was maintained in the hope it would continue to operate. Unfortunately with the loss of attractions this was not to be and in 1921 Riga city council gave the territory of the zoo and all the buildings to the Social Care department who organised children summer camps in the territory. In the following years many of the zoo’s buildings and fences were dismantled or used for other purposes and the lions’ den was destroyed.

On June 15, 1923 the Social Care department took down Riga Zoo’s sign replacing it with one at the main gate entrance that read: “Children Summer Camps”.

Three years later, at a local council meeting, a question regarding the zoo’s restoration was raised. A special committee was assigned to deal with the proposal but no real progress occurred for seven years. The Ministry of Agriculture’s forest department met to discuss the founding of a zoological garden with two main purposes: the first being the protection of animals and birds in Latvia’s forests and secondly the educational advantages that such an attraction could offer. From July 1, 1933 the department rented part of the former zoological garden territory (34,052 m2) for one lats per year. Two months later on September 24 the new zoo opened, awaiting its first visitors. The Latvia Zoological Garden association was officially registered in December that same year and in August 1935, following long negotiations with the Social Care department, former zoo territory was given to the group for 25 years.

In the years leading up to World War Two many improvements and advances happened under the direction of a Mr Gailitis. A tiger cage, monkey house, lions’ den and reptile enclosure were all built. Central heating was installed and glass walls were placed between enclosures and viewers for safety. Paving of roads continued, electric lighting established, water mains were set up and construction of public toilets commenced. At that time there were 311 animals from 112 species at the zoo. In 1940 Soviet occupation of Latvia commenced. The new authority abolished the Latvia Zoological Garden association, giving jurisdiction of the park to the Riga Real Estate Management office. Mr Gailitis resigned from his position. He was later arrested and deported to Siberia in 1941. He died while in exile.

The zoo’s veterinarian Arvids Viksne was elected as the temporary vice-president. Known for his managerial talent, professional skills and humane qualities, he succeeded in keeping the zoo open.

The post-war years are considered Riga Zoo’s “golden age” regarding the big cats: 50 lion and 20 tiger cubs were born between 1945 and 1955. On December 6, 1952 the Bengal tiger Akbars-Purss was born. The cub was fed and raised by zookeeper Olga Buceniece. Later tamed by Margarita Nazarova he became very popular, performing at the circus and starring in the films Tiger Girl (1955) and Striped Trip (1961).

During the 60s, 70s and 80s the zoo sought to establish a more international presence by hosting conventions and collaborating with other zoological gardens, such as Kobe in Japan and Rostock in Germany. Partnerships with more than 50 zoological institutes continue to present day.

Considered one of the greatest achievements is the Ecology laboratory which in 1988 initiated a project to reintroduce the European Tree frog into nature. Once extinct in Latvia these amphibians are now thriving. Riga Zoo also takes part in 68 international captive breeding programs for threatened species. Today there are 421 animal species including 86 mammal, 79 bird, 61 reptile, 62 amphibian, 65 fish and 68 invertebrate types in the zoo’s collection. Although considered small, the zoo still has 250-300,000 visitors annually. 
www.rigazoo.lv

Work of a master or just a disaster?

©KIWIE2012  

I have a question for you. When was the first art work created in the world? Of course, defining “art” can be difficult, but the oldest known prehistoric pieces are the series of Stone Age petroglyphs discovered during the 1990s in India. Geological investigations of ancient quartzite caves established that this rock art dates to at least 290,000 BC. But who’s to say those “holes in the wall” weren't created by some surly teenager grounded in his bedroom grotto for a week for skipping hunting practice? It may be far-fetched, but in a thousand-year’s-time when the citizens of the world uncover the base of a bridge or broken wall covered with graffiti, what will they say about it? And what will they learn about us?

Latvia’s graffiti scene started in the 80s. Soviet occupation meant strict censorship of anything anti-politics and the movement which emerged in New York in the 60s, only filtered through two decades later. It was blended with the Hip Hop dance genre, introduced through DJs and allowed youngsters a kind of freedom of expression, albeit illegal. Penalties for defacing buildings, legally jargoned ‘malicious hooliganism’, included a 3-5 year prison sentence or exclusion from the Young Communist League. A short walk around Riga’s city streets shows the consequences if caught were not a big enough threat to deter the painters, then and now.

Known Latvian street artist KIWIE painted his first piece in 2004 but was influenced during his childhood. “I remember when I first saw something from graffiti when I was only a kid…Somebody just came and painted the wall without asking anyone for permission. There was this "I want to know" feeling and I wanted to be a part of this game. Then I just jumped in the train. It was pretty fast. One day you're sketching, another doing a wall in Graffiti Jam.”

When he says “jam” he’s not referring to a condiment for your morning toast. As a culture, graffiti and street art has its own language, which is part and parcel of belonging to this crowd. Words or phrases like “cannon”, “dress-up” or “hat” are not what they seem. (See below for definitions.) Identity is everything – or rather, becoming known but staying hidden, is the objective. KIWIE said: “Friends know me, some other people know me as well. A lot of people I know don't know what I’m actually doing. I try to not mix my normal identity with the street world. I want my works to be famous, not my face. I'm not doing something bad to walls; I'm just putting some colour on it. I’m living once and a pretty damn short time, so I need to leave something behind me.

“At the start it was because of fun and turned out to be a lifestyle and a part of me. It's still fun. I can't imagine myself working in some coffee shop. All the time I want to do more, because I know I can do better and better. Even if it seems, “This is it!” I could do better. This feeling, it's always with me. I want to create a new style and in order to do that I need to do a lot.”

Regarding those who own the buildings getting graffitied, KIWIE said: “Mostly they say: “Now you’ve got yourself in big trouble, boy!” But then you realise it's because you put some colour on their wall and you start to laugh. It's the same as everywhere. It depends on the damage. If the owner of building is suing you, then you’ve got some pretty big trouble. Four years in jail. But you need to be some badass [for that to happen].”

Calling graffiti and street art the same thing is the same as saying there’s no difference between a lion and a zebra. “To explain better, true graffiti is about “bombing” - to take over a city and trains and all other places, wherever you can get to, and do some damage. Here it's about speed, to do everything as fast as possible and get out. It's about writing your name so everyone can read it and remember. That's the main goal for graffiti writers. But street art is something totally different. It's not about damage, it's about beautiful pictures and funny or not so funny…ironic paintings. Mostly it's with some kind of social message. In one word, street art is “sweet”, graffiti is “aggressive”. But nowadays it's pretty much mixing together, so it might be confusing to understand what is what.”

And confusing for those who try to give artistic merit to the work. “But then, why do you buy a big black painting with a small pink dot in the middle spending $15,000? It is and it's not art at the same time. And that's the beauty of it, I think. It depends on what kind of eyes you're looking with. For example, if you see a tag on street, a crappy one, you say, “Damn you little ****!” And then you see the same tag in a fashion magazine on some lady's dress designed by some famous fashion designer and you say: “Well this is so original; I want to spend my savings on this!” I believe that art is everything that is created by humans. Without so called “art”, people would not be able to build houses, cities, to survive. I believe art is not just about a beautiful picture, it's about how you think and do stuff.”

A misconception from those who dislike the street art is that artists try to get a piece done as quickly as possible with no thought about what’s being painted or where it’s being placed. KIWIE said the way he chooses a location for his work is always done with open eyes. “I like to plan my spots but sometimes it's pretty much spontaneous. It depends. I choose old walls, so when you see my character somewhere it's a sign that this building needs cosmetic rebuilding.”

The time it takes to create a piece depends on several factors. “If the spot is quiet, about 20-30 minutes, if it's a rush and you need to hide all the time one to two hours, if it's a big wall around eight hours.” Street artists are not motivated by the thought that there’s a blank wall or fence and because no one lives in that burned out house it’s an open invitation for defacing. There are unwritten rules about where you can and where you shouldn’t place your work. “That's how you understand if the painter a good painter or just a “toy”, which a kid who doesn't understand much about graffiti, and doesn't know the rules,” KIWIE explained. “Good painters will never do damage to important historic buildings…Although here in Riga it's pretty hard to say, which buildings are historical, because mostly the most shitty looking walls belong to historical buildings. I think it depends on the place and artist. No one will do a tag on the monument of freedom for sure.”

It’s tagging that can give a city an undesirable look, however. An artist’s tag is their mark of identification, and contributes to recognition. This is what many politicians and citizens see as vandalism, rather than something that enhances a street’s appearance. A seven-second scrawl across a concrete barricade, compared with a multi-coloured mural are as dissimilar as chalk and cheese.

There have been attempts to curb the spread of graffiti around Riga through organised campaigns at pedestrian tunnels and building managers covering work as soon as they see it. This has not deterred the artists though. Perhaps part of the issue is accessibility to supplies. “It's pretty easy because we have some shops here which provide us with materials,” KIWIE said. “…The face of city is changing all the time.” And it’s not always under the cover of darkness. KIWIE has been commissioned to paint his signature character around Riga. “People are asking me to paint all kind of stuff. Even some walls in the city centre. There was a situation when I was doing a picture of a character, and a security guy come up to me and asked if I did this. I said, “No, what the …? I'm just taking picture.” And he just said, “If you find who did this, tell him to do another on the wall next to this one.” And that's not the first time.”

It may not be everyone’s cup of tea but doesn’t the saying go that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Unless serious funding is allocated to wipe out all graffiti – including the murals, stencil works and stickers popping up – this is a culture which will continue to have a voice and place around Riga and throughout Latvia. “I think because that we're so small and live in some weird place called The Baltics - a lot of people ask where it is - we generate our own style, so when artists from other countries visit Latvia, they're surprised about what's going on in streets and the scene.”

So, eyesore or an ornament of history? Only time will tell.

Definitions:

Cannon: A slang term for spray paint cans. This term is thought to originate in Brooklyn, New York.
Dress-up: To completely write all over a specific area like a door-way, wall or window that is untouched.
Hat (Honour-Amongst-Thieves): A person who is described as wearing a “hat” is an artist who is considered trustworthy in the graffiti community. They know a lot of information about artists but don’t tell the authorities.

A coffee house called Kafka

Gone are the days in Latvia where a traditional cup of black tea with a slice of lemon and a spoonful of honey were ordered at a local cafe. Nowadays, coffee is likely to be the beverage of choice. But in a burgeoning market where milky recreations attempt to pass themselves off as a proper cup of java the trained baristas are digging in their heels, remaining faithful to the old “true brew” methods.

Zane Abele-Ploks, owner and manager of Kafka, situated in Old Riga, was taught the process at an early age.

“As long as I can recall, I’ve always been quite sensitive about coffee. If we’re to blame previous generations for how we as individualities turn out to be, then certainly this passion for coffee has to do with “make some coffee”. [My parents] had instructed me in the process of making Turkish coffee. Someone would grind the beans in a manual copper grinder for me, and then I’d do all that [ibrik] magic on my own as the grownups laughed through their conversations in the living room. A bit lonely, but certainly it paid well in compliments and extras I could exchange for this coffee service of mine. At that age just like most of kids, I wasn’t a coffee drinker myself, so the only quality control I could do was olfactory. I loved the aroma of the drink, but strongly disliked the sludgy texture of the coffee made by Turkish tradition.”

“As time went, my parents dropped the time consuming ibrik tradition in favor of a fancy drip coffee machine from Germany and a rather stinky coffee blend from some non-identifiable place in the world. I hated the stuff, and, feeling there’s more to coffee than I see around me, begun my adult life with an even more fancy home espresso machine and an Illy blend. Sometimes coffee was great, but mostly a sheer disappointment, and what I disliked about the home espresso the most was the enormous amount of time and energy I ended up investing in cleaning the equipment, and how random the pleasure of the well-made espresso really was. For a long time I blamed the coffee blend, not the machine, and so the great big search for the most delicious coffee beans begun. It could’ve gone on forever, but somewhere on my way I was introduced to the Aeropress – an ugly duckling of a coffee brewer. It’s all manual, requires almost no cleaning at all, takes up almost no kitchen space and basically I get the cleanest, most balanced and enjoyable coffee experience with the least effort. Love at first sight…”

But she said everyone has a personal preference when it comes to how they enjoy their java. “I think Latvian taste for coffee is quite all right but it‘s different from the taste of those coming from what I call “starbuckised” cultures where coffee is mainly consumed with a lot of steamed milk and all kinds of fancy syrups and additives. We’re a conservative nation, so a lot of people stick to the safe choice of a black long coffee, perhaps with some milk on the side. Though there’s a difference between coffee taken as a comfort drink – and in that case it’s most likely going to be some kind of a coffee based milk drink, and coffee taken as a taste experience or a stimulant – for those occasions straight black stuff certainly wins.

“Regarding the local taste for coffee – good coffee is one of everyday luxuries a lot of people could afford, if only they wanted to. Not everyone has enough time and money for cafes, but quality coffee – one with a traceable past, origin, freshly roasted and preferable ground just before brewing – it’s not really that much a question of budget as an issue of mindset.”

To learn more about coffee production she travelled to different coffee origins, learned from roasters both in Europe and USA and trained in Germany and Austria. She regularly attends seminars and events to get inspiration and “energy” which enable her to explore more. A month ago she was in London for that reason, but realised “the whole scene is dominated by Aussies and Kiwis”. She said the disappointing thing is everyone is doing the same thing with their coffee because it’s trendy. “It seems for such a big market it should be more experimental.”

She said the larger coffee chains don’t affect her business negatively just because they are bigger. “Latvians have a saying “kur ir, tur rodas.” I strongly believe in competition. Only if there are different options, different places and traditions and brewing methods available is there’s an opportunity for public taste to evolve, develop. There are still very few places in Riga where one can taste coffee brewed in any other way but espresso – so from coffee perspective I wouldn’t say there’s really an issue of competition.”

However, Zane said she doesn’t get to visit other cafes as often as she would need to comment on whether coffee houses overlook these important aspects. “Constant perfection is something to strive for, but keeping common sense – no one can be perfect all the time, right? As much as cafes can keep striving for consistently good quality, customers can really help by demanding the best, and saying it aloud if they’re not happy with what they’ve been served. Only if they don’t “keep mum”, the coffee, service or just about anything can be improved, right?

“The most universal rule for great coffee experience lies in knowing what you want – just like with anything in life, I believe. From a more down to earth perspective: properly stored beans with traceable and preferably not too distant roast date; clean, well-maintained equipment. That applies to home coffee connoisseurs as much as professionals. Most often overlooked are water kettles, grown in scale, dirty jugs and poor quality water. Another thing is that over steeping coffee to supposedly make it stronger – it just doesn’t really work that way. The best balance of taste and aromatics can be achieved in less than four minutes of ground coffee contact with water. Usually even less – like espresso is a matter of seconds, Aeropress – a minute of ground coffee and water contact, drip and French press – a bit more than three minutes.”

She sources her beans mostly from suppliers and roasters in Estonia and Lithuania so she has more control over the quality of the coffee she serves. In time she hopes to hold more “cupping sessions” where people interested in coffee can come and taste up to 12 brew profiles. “You’re not actually drinking a lot of coffee but it is a lot of sensory experience. You can smell it – figure out what you feel.”

Spring storking

Latvia is colloquially called the Land of the Storks. The country has six times the number of nesting storks than anywhere else in Western Europe. Reasons for this are not entirely understood and based more on speculation than research from what I’ve read. Perhaps it’s just that the Latvian landscape is so stunning – who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by such spectacular scenery being a new parent? 

Ok, so seriously, this bird prefers wetlands and marsh areas for its prolific diet of frogs and insects of which Latvia still has plenty – bogs and bugs. One theory about why the country now has so many white storks is that after the Ukrainian Chernobyl disaster in 1986 they were forced to find other places to breed after their natural habitat was destroyed. Hence all Baltic States being the beneficiaries of the blessings these birds are supposed to bring.

Around 10,000 white storks fly from West Africa to Latvia every year, arriving during April to set up nest. And when I say nest, I mean something like you see on a Flintstones cartoon containing pterodactyls. Measuring around six feet deep (1.8 metres), nine feet wide (2.7 metres) and weighing up to 250 kilograms, this is not a small feat. Males collect building material such as sticks and the female places them…nothing wrong with being house proud, ladies.

In the bigger nest, smaller birds make their homes tucked in the branches – an ornithologist’s heaven. In the countryside you see nests on top of farm house roofs, church spires and wooden stands erected specifically for nesting purposes. And, of course, the chimney, which is where the saying comes from that storks bring new babies. Also, this type of stork is known to be a monogamous mater and each year breeding couples return to the same nest. It’s not uncommon to see one bird minus previous mate spending a solo season in Latvia. They lay between two to six pale coloured eggs then head south again in August after their young are able to fly, fending off the bitter winter months.

When winging back to Chad or Niger from Latvia they take a journey through Romania, onto the Bosporus to the Gulf of Suez and through the Nile Valley before reaching their final destination. At around 4500 kilometres, the journey takes one and a half months.

They are seen as harbingers of good luck and prosperity so it’s no surprise their presence here every spring is enthusiastically welcomed. It’s a sign winter has gone and warmer weather has arrived. Time to make some babies!

Egg.

The talent of decorating Lieldienu olas (Easter eggs) should be a requirement of becoming a citizen of Latvia in my opinion. Mainly because it’s fun. And Latvian. It’s a tradition that stems back a few centuries now and the country has ancient folk songs whose lyrics include many mentions of magical chicken merchandises which is a flash way of saying “egg” because I didn’t want to repeat the word too much.

This is what I learnt as a virgin Easter egg artist:

You need a pot FULL of onion skins. This is what gives the awesome colour. We went to the market and there were ladies selling shopping bags full but most Latvian people store the outer skin through the year so they have enough come Easter.

Push the skins down into water so they are immersed then put on the element and boil. Simmer for about 20 minutes and check the colour. It should be a rich brown...you might want to have a fan going or the window open because the scent is...savoury. Not unpleasant. Just oniony. Then cool the liquid - but don't throw out the skins!

While the liquid is cooling start sorting your eggs out. White ones work best but brown can also be used. Dip your egg in water so whatever material you use will stick to the shell...or semi-adhere. We used random herbs, rice, lentils and dried flower buds and an old Polish coin from 1969 I found in some dirt. Apparently hay and birch leaves were the norm, back in the day. Then carefully wrap in thin bandage and roll cotton around it. You don't have to tie the thread - it just sticks.

Once the liquid is tepid submerge eggs in the mixture. If the water is too hot your eggs will crack. Try and get eggs totally underneath. Bring back to the boil for about 20 minutes. Then turn off the element and leave. We abandoned them overnight because it was getting late and I have to say, it's likely they turned out better due to that reason. 

Easter breakfast in Latvian homes traditionally begins with an “egg-knocking” competition. 

With an egg in hand, each family member challenges someone to crack their egg and see whose is stronger. This continues until all the eggs are cracked. The egg which doesn't crack is the champion. And according to old beliefs, the one whose egg shell is strongest lives longer.

What romance is made from.

Latvians, it has to be said, win brownie points when it comes to romance. 

It’s not surprising when they boast one of the most well-known and revered chocolate factories in all of Europe. But from the 200 products that Laima creates, one in particular stands out, not only with its taste but the story of how it came to be.

In 1937 (75-years-ago) a young and talented chocolatier apprentice was in love. He wanted to show his sweetheart how much she meant to him so he created a bonbon in her honour. He named it Serenāde [se-re-nah-duh], a love song for the palate.

The sad thing is no one knows or remembers the name of this maker. Another one of those times when Latvia’s history is exposed and company takeovers during Soviet occupation and resulting wars caused records to be destroyed…common place. The amazing thing is how the Serenāde brand has continued to increase in popularity and is Laima’s best-selling product. So much so they make 13,000 tonnes per month to keep up with demand. And what does it taste like?

The two main ingredients in the centre filling are apricot pulp and crushed hazelnuts. Coated in chocolate, you’ve got a blend of tartness with a sticky-sweet toffee-type texture, all enfolded in a royal blue wrapper.

It is unlike anything I’ve tasted back home or elsewhere on my travels. And since it contains fruit it’s healthy. Or that’s what I tell myself...

Precious...not to be confused with Lord of the Rings.

Back home we have a word for something like this. It’s ‘taonga’, which in Maori means ‘treasure’. The reason being, that you can’t buy it for yourself. It must be given. And to receive one is a great honour.

The story behind the Latvian Ring goes something like this:

Back in the 13th Century, Latvia was invaded by German Crusaders. At the time Latvia’s chieftain was a six-foot, eight-pack, enviously-bearded male…the kind legends are made of. His name was Namejs [pronounced Nah-mays] and he ruled the Semigallian tribes.

During the German invasion Namejs was forced to retreat south to Lithuania. One thought is that he employed a local artisan to craft a ring that would represent the unity of Latvia against her enemies – three bands entwined then held together by another. Until that time there had been disagreements and fighting among the three ancient tribal regions Vidzeme, Kurzeme and Latgale. It is rumoured Namejs said something along the lines of: “We must stand together against the Strangers... then, when they're gone, we can quarrel amongst ourselves.”

Another hypothesis for the ring being commissioned was so Namejs’ son would recognise him when they were reunited after battle. Apparently the GCs heard about this and attempted to find the boy and kill him. Trying to protect Namejs and his son, Semigallian males made and wore replica rings.

Along the River Daugava, similar looking rings have been found and dated to the 13th Century. Each is hand-crafted so no two are the same. Boys receive their ring as a rite of passage into adulthood. Women can wear the braid as a ring, bracelet, necklace or brooch.

It is a symbol of belonging to Latvia, being Latvian, or having a connection to this country wherever you are in the world.