Kvass and caraway: Ligo at Vitolnieki

While many Latvian Americans dream of making the pilgrimage to their ancestral country, a considerable portion of them are thrilled to leave the iconic beauty of Old Riga to venture into the countryside come late June. Of course we love our Fourth of July hotdogs and fireworks, but one of our favourite holidays is the summer solstice — celebrated Latvian-style.
I’ve been lucky enough to spend Ligo lodging in a museum exhibit in the middle of nowhere.
For two years I’ve celebrated at Vitolnieki, a satellite territory of the Latvian Ethnographic Open-Air Museum, in Rucava. While Latvian Americans often replicate classic elements of the holiday (caraway seed cheese, forests boasting fern flowers), partaking in the festivities in our homeland is a special experience.

The trip itself gives a sense of returning to simpler times, as the fancy Riga-Liepaja bus gives way to a Liepaja-Rucava microbus gives way to a Rucava-Vitolnieki car; the urban atmosphere is stripped away as pavement becomes bumpier and eventually crumbles into gravel. The last grocery store comes before you drive the final 14 kilometres to Vitolnieki, travelling back in time to the 19th century in the process. (Well, mostly to the 19th century. Vitolnieki does have Wi-Fi.)
Apart from a couple modern conveniences to keep one sane, the peaceful fisherman-farmer’s homestead is a genuine example of life as it once was. Here I’ve attacked hay with a pitchfork, washed dishes with fresh well-water, and slept in an old wooden bed surrounded by hand-woven linens.

This year it rained throughout the trip (“List ka pa Janiem,” as they say), but the sun emerged right as we arrived. The event was perfectly scheduled between two bouts of bad weather in the Baltics.
As may be expected, Ligo celebrations began informally as visitors gathered beneath a tree to weave flower and oak crowns. Some attempted to master the craft sans string, but fortunately there were spools around for those of us unable to manage flower stems. We were serenaded by singers performing Ligo songs and fed a tangy soup of sorrel, fatty bacon, and potatoes.

The evening took on a more scripted tone as we received song leaflets and sang to gain access to the primary residence’s backyard, where dinner awaited. Singing a variety of summer-y lyrics for 20-odd minutes earned you permission to enter, eat cheese, and accept multiple servings of home-brewed beer and kvass in a glazed ceramic mug. The kvass’ apple flavour was of special fascination. The ensuing feast lay spread across long tables, boasting an array of rye breads and dairy products; last year there were also smoked whole fish. The second dinner at 11 p.m. followed a similar procedure.
We strolled through the nearby pine forest to light a fire on the beach, which was scattered with beetles washed in by the recent storm. We danced rotalas, familiar and not, laughing as we became hopelessly tangled in human knots. Those of us still awake at 4 a.m. returned to the beach to greet the solstice sun. Despite the grey morning palette, you could see the lighthouses on either end of the shore emitting tiny specks of light.
Somehow a mere five hours of sleep feel restorative when shared with old spinning wheels and books of calligraphy in the fresh country air.

Then it’s back to the city, back to reality ... but with a new sense of Latvianness etched into your being.