Lost in Translation

Dear Friends,

A week ago Friday, I went along on the teacher excursion into the countryside and villages west of Riga. In the small town of Sabile, we stopped to admire the rolling geography and crumbling architecture, in addition to the small vineyards that are maintained in the vicinity. Sabile, located on the 57th line of latitude, is the northern-most location of any vineyard in the world. File that away, purveyors of random facts, for your next game of Trivial Pursuit!

Now, many of the teachers were looking to buy some of the local wine. As we popped in and out of the small shops, however, no wine was to be found. (Off season perhaps?) Just as the group was about to board the chartered bus, I noticed a small fleet of middle-aged, female teachers ambling away from the bus, steadily moving along the narrow sidewalk.

Curious about where they were going, and assuming someone had found the wine and the others were merely following to make their last-minute purchases, I turned to the woman nearest me. An older lady who works somewhere in the school, I think.

"Where are they going?" I asked. "Did they find the wine?"

"Neh, neh, neh...," she bellowed, flailing her arm in the direction the herd was traveling. "Poopin! Poopin!"

Beguiled, and perplexed, I stepped onto the bus and took my seat. Minutes later, the ladies returned. Though they carried no bags, they chirped merrily among themselves.

Best,
Tim