Unlike most other parts of Europe, many Americans generally know nothing about Latvia. Two years ago, if someone had told me I would be spending a year there, I would have replied simply, “where’s that?” That’s the same reaction I received when I was telling family and friends about my trip.

When I explained it was near Russia — for shame, I know! — they gave an unsure nod and dropped the subject. Thus, I once received a letter from my sister that was addressed properly except for the addition of “Russia” behind Latvia — this, of course, incurred the scorn of my mailman.

Their, and my, ignorance of Latvia was understandable. It’s a small, poor country near the Baltic Sea whose identity has been overshadowed by imperial powers for centuries. Only in the last twenty years has the world really gotten to know the country and people through their regaining independence and Western integration.

So our exposure to Latvia — free Latvia — has been very limited. The language is obscure and rarely found outside the country (with notable diaspora enclaves). The people can be reserved to the point of frustrating newcomers. Any international news about the country is sure to be bad.

A sculpture in Riga that resembles Latvia — beautiful but damaged and rough around the edges. Photo by Nathan Greenhalgh/Baltic Reports

When I won my Fulbright to Latvia, and, yes, I chose Latvia as the setting for my research, I was both excited and nervous. I didn’t know the language and knew very little about the history and culture. I wasn’t sure how I would manage everyday tasks, like going to the grocery store, on top of conducting a long-term research project. But, I was willing to take the challenge. Latvia seemed so mysterious with its Soviet past and I wanted to explore.

After I arrived, I learned something very quickly: outsiders cannot (easily) fall in love with Latvia. But they can learn to appreciate it; they can get a taste for it.

My first impressions of Latvia were terrible. What I encountered was a country mired in its own history. Rather than embrace their future and potential, Latvians would rather wallow in the past. Corruption is intractable and the birthrate unsustainable. Russia seemed likely to invade or cut off the energy supply at any moment. The air was tense with ethnic hatred — both Latvian and Russian swirling around. The economic crisis hung over the country like a dark cloud. And I was unlucky enough to experience the coldest, snowiest Latvian winter in a lifetime.

I thoroughly enjoyed my research, but living in Latvia was no walk in the park. I struggled to make Latvian friends and the culture seemed closed off to me. At times I could hardly disguise my disdain and discomfort. If someone asked my thoughts on Latvia, I’d give them an earful. But this was mostly an act of frustration that I couldn’t be a part of their culture more.

Being back in the U.S., I can see that the situation wasn’t that bad. My memories now turn to the more positive side of my time there. I remember fondly the folk singing and traditional dancing. I miss the food and beer, especially the beer gardens. Young people were quite tolerant and open to me, if for no other reason than to practice English. And I am quite sad to have missed Līgo and Jāņi, Latvia’s most amazing holidays so I’m told. Underneath the political, economic, and social problems are everyday people who are proud of their country and their culture.

Now people ask me, “how was Latvia?” Since the question is so vague and open-ended, I merely reply with the non-descript, “fine.”

Yet inside I keep thinking, “you wouldn’t understand.”

I’ll answer any questions they have, but I’d rather they experience it on their own. With time people will learn to love Latvia, but it’s a misunderstood place with a hard shell. It takes time to get to know Latvia, but if more people would try I’m sure they would acquire a taste for it. Just like I did.

Michael G. Dozler is a graduate student of international affairs who received a Fulbright research grant for study in Latvia.

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