RIGA—In an unprecedented move to both celebrate Latvia's rich maritime heritage and address the nation's economic complexities, the Latvian Parliament, Saeima, has announced the official plan to phase out the euro and adopt sea shells as the new national currency. The decision, which was met with resounding applause across parliamentary chambers, promises to revolutionize economic policies and foster a renaissance of beachcombing.

Minister of Finance, Skudris Kalnins, extolled the virtues of relocating financial systems to a more tangible and, in his words, 'naturally Baltic' medium. 'For centuries, our majestic Baltic coastline has been overlooked,' Kalnins declared at a press conference held from atop a dune in Jurmala. 'By adopting sea shells, we celebrate our past, secure our economic independence, and finally give the world a reason to pay attention to our seashells. Frankly, they're beautiful yet utterly undervalued assets.'

The plan, affectionately termed the 'Shell Shock Initiative,' will see various shells, ranging from large oyster varieties to the more abundant cockle shells, assigned monetary values. Current estimates by the Ministry of Finance suggest that a basic meal of fish soup could cost approximately five oyster shells, whereas a weekend retreat at a seaside Jurmala villa might require up to a thousand cockle shells.

Sea shell exchanges and testing centers are set to sprout up along the coast, providing services like authenticity verification and shell valuation. Anita Vilks, newly appointed Head of the Bureau of Baltic Custodians (BBC), explained, 'We're hiring local beachcombers as shell inspectors, equipping them with the latest in shell authenticity technology, including magnifying glasses and judgmental stares. This is not just about economics—it's about community enrichment.'

However, detractors argue that the plan might not be as sustainable as initially suggested. Noted economist and avid collector of seashell figurines, Dr. Margers Suplins, expressed skepticism, 'If everyone’s collecting shells, who's left to build sandcastles? It’s basic economics: sandcastle deficit will inevitably lead to a decline in beach aesthetics, leading to a dip in tourism.'

Tourist, Alannah Jensen, who flew all the way from Pennsylvania with an intent to just lie on the beach, seemed confused yet intrigued. 'I thought I was just on vacation, but now I'm handling currency. I guess I’ll redecorate my home with my spending money. It's all very European, if you ask me.'

This initiative has already brought unexpected pursuits among Latvia’s youth, with hordes of entrepreneurial-minded teenagers braving the cold Baltic waters to mine mussels and harvest potential fortunes. The educational implications are also being felt nationwide, with elementary schools adapting curriculums to include classes on marine economics and advanced shell picking strategies.

As Latvia embarks on what it proudly calls a journey toward 'alt-financial enlightenment,' analysts across Europe remain both fascinated and flummoxed. Whether this bold initiative will prove to be a stroke of economic genius or merely a well-intentioned tidal misstep remains to be seen. For now, one thing is clear: the sound of the sea has gained a whole new meaning in the Latvian economy.