Mūžīgi asiņojošā Rīgas satiksmes artērija – Pontontilts

Ir tādas inženierbūves, kam jāsagrūst jau uz rasējumu dēļa. Tām jāsabirzt grafīta putekļos zem dzēšamās gumijas svara un jāļauj ieslīdēt atpakaļ autora fantāzijā. Pretējā gadījumā šādi rasējumi izdzen pavisam reālus pāļus un izaug par satiksmes problēmu tūkstošiem cilvēku. Un, ja šai inženierbūvei paredzēta vitāli svarīga loma, tad ar to būs jāsadzīvo ikdienā, gadu desmitiem bremzējot pilsētas attīstību. Viena tāda inženierbūve 19. gadsimta beigās ieķērās Daugavas krastos – Rīgas Pontontilts.

Morics Grebzde jeb misija glābt latviešus no netiklām dejām

Morics Grebzde 1926. gadā

“Te jau tikai tāda šīberēšana!” 

Nepieklājīgi skaļais komentārs mani izgrūda no omulīgās snaudas un ierāva atpakaļ deju zālē. Mijkrēslī iegrimušais mīkstais krēsls, dejotāju kāju šļūkāšana un balsu murdoņa spēja iemidzināt labāk nekā labi tēmēts piecu pirkstu sveiciens tumšā sānieliņā. Jāpiebilst, ka pirmo sarīkojuma pusi biju atstājis pie bāra, lai audzētu drosmi dančiem. Tagad neviļus biju ieslīdzis pašapcerē aiz aizvērtiem plakstiem. Skurbuļa nogurums spieda pie zemes kā pirms negaisa jūlijā, taču labi audzināta džentlmeņa kodekss lika pateikt kādu stingrāku vārdu brēkulim, kas traucēja manu snaudu. Atvērt acis izdevās tikai daļēji. Ar skropstām noslaucīju zonu man apkārt, meklējot vainīgo. Par lielu pārsteigumu neskūta tēviņa vietā atdūros pie ļoti solīda kunga pāris krēslus pa kreisi no manis. Slaids džentlmenis, atpakaļ atglaustiem sapomādētiem matiem, kas spīzmes ziņā varētu mēroties ar mēnesnīcu uz ezera. Eleganti atgāzies krēslā kā šampanieša pudele ledus traukā, viņš ar lietpratēja aci vēroja dejotājus. 

Šādam pavērsienam man rīcības plāna nebija, tāpēc paliku klusējot. Glaunais kungs to acīmredzot uztvēra kā signālu turpināt.

“Bet paskatieties, ko viņi tur dara! Vai tad kāds no viņiem vispār dejo! Tāda dāmu stumdīšana un grīdas stampāšana vien sanāk.” 

“Mmm,” noņurdēju. Es šovakar nebiju gatavs apspriest politiku. Mana vienaldzība, šķiet, džentlmeni tikai vēl vairāk uzkurināja. 

“Nē, nopietni! Ja jūs gribat redzēt, kā dejo Eiropā, atnāciet pie manis.” 

Manā virzienā pašāvās labi kopta roka. 

“Morics Grebzde, deju skolotājs.”

How They Did NOT Kidnap Latvia’s Greatest Poet

Mouse: "Yes, yes, Mr. Rainis: a big political party makes a big shriek, and great men have great fear." (satirical magazine Pūcesspieģelis on 1925.10.31)

Rainis jolted awake. A loud thump had slashed through the night and the poet’s sleep. Rainis squinted his eyes against the dim moonlight that flooded the bedroom through the open window. Heartbeat thudded in his chest. He sat up in the bed, frozen for a moment, straining his ears to find the source of the noise. No, just the neighbour’s dog barking. Nothing else. But maybe… Maybe he also heard footsteps sinking into the distance... The urge to take a look took over. The poet’s muscles tensed as he slowly lowered his legs on the bedroom floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he suddenly noticed something unusual. Something in the room was different. A gust of air ran across the poet’s face. Instinctively Rainis turned his head to the bedroom door. He gasped. It was wide open!

In Latvia Middle Ages Ended in the 20th Century (at least, on paper)

In Latvia, the Fraktur typeface was called the Gothic, and Antiqua – Latin

One day Latvians could no longer read their longest-running newspaper. Not because of censorship, no, – the paper did not get banned by the authorities. Neither was the language replaced by the Russian which would have been fitting to the Russification policy that was common at the time. And not even money was the issue – the price had not changed, the paper still sat on the same one kopeck as the day before. But one fundamental thing had transformed the newspaper the way somebody bumping into your elbow transforms your handwriting. A new typeface had splashed the pages of the paper making it alien to a large part of the Latvian audience. The words now stared back at the reader strangley round and…some would even say, even naked, having dropped their familiar robe. This new crazy typeface was… the Antiqua typeface. Or, for the people outside the printing industry, just the normal-looking letters we use today. Nothing surprising, right? Pretty ordinary, really… for a modern-day Latvian maybe and anyone else in the world, but back then it could be a real dealbreaker. Latvian printed word had evaded the king of typefaces for centuries. But now the day had come for the Latvian letters to finally take their long-promised form.

How Icemen Saved the World

Icemen by R. Auniņš

The river laid there in its shameless wintertime nakedness, barely covering up with some streaks of snow glistening under the cold winter sun. A couple of weeks ago, the temperature had dropped into double digits and had been sliding down ever since. There was no stopping now – it would be like trying to keep a block of ice from slipping from your bare hands. It was February after all, the coldest month known to Latvians. This meant only one thing – the time had come! Like water drops from a melting icicle, men trickled down from the banks of the river. Once on ice, they scattered in small groups looking for something, like dogs sniffing for prey. They were not ice-hockey players, and yet they brought shovels to clear large patches of ice from snow. They were not ice fishermen and yet they came with axes and hooks. They were... the icemen.

The Gold Rush in Latvia Was Different

In a sudden burst, the crows took off leaving the dead pine-tree naked. Juris stopped the raised spade. Something had scared off the birds. His eyes were poking the darkness like needles going through a pillow, looking for something... someone. For several moments, he was frozen there, waiting, listening into the night. Slowly his sea hardened body came out of a standstill like an old locomotive leaving a station. The muscles regained life and the spade sank into the wet soil again. His movements were calculated and precise, but his mind was on fire like a dry haystack. He could not let them know he was searching here! Otherwise, they would come and take it! All the hard work would be for nothing! He was about to free-fall into the abyss of anxiety when it all was brushed away by a sharp cling. The spade had hit something. Gripped by a sudden fever, Juris started scooping the black soil as if he was underwater fighting for air, and every cut of the spade would bring him closer to the surface. There was nothing else on his mind now, but that one thing buried thousands of years ago right under his feet!

Latvian Age of Exploration

 Levings and Kalnbērziņš with their fans at the start of their trip in August 1925

“In Egypt, the pyramids are so tall they pierce the sky. You can drive a motorcycle up one side and get to stick your head above the clouds!” the presenter got on his toes as if peeking over the edge of a real cloud. The audience leaned towards the stage in awe. Some pairs of eyebrows hit the ceiling of the room. 

“Yeah, I imagine you are pretty often in the clouds. Snorting them!” a visibly annoyed gentleman in the last row spat on the floor, stood up and headed for the exit fighting his way through the hypnotized jungle-like crowd.

That did not bother the presenter one bit. He closed his eyes, eyelids twitching, as if chasing a distant memory and declared: “You won’t believe this, but… the clouds, they, move up and down… like waves in sea…” and started to flap his arms in front of the audience as if ventilating the room.

Now an entire row of people got up and started to move to the exit.