I just got back from a little 53 km bike ride, and I have to head downtown soon, so I'll try to write everything up a bit quicker. Good thing my thoughts always move faster after working out, and it's generally easier.
By the way, I forgot to mention last time — when I arrived downtown, a bus tour guide mistook me for a foreigner and offered me a ride. When I saw the "bus tours" sign in English, I instinctively answered him "No, thanks". I hope he wasn't too disappointed. And one more thing I forgot — on the square in front of RTU, some young people were playing some kind of game, looked like a flashmob. Here's a photo.
And now let's continue the story about Saturday evening.
After Il Patio we were debating whether to go to Jurmala, but we never quite got around to it. We ended up going to feed ducks in the park where those locks hang on the little bridges. I don't know any names of these places, so don't even ask. Riga locals already know where everything is, and for everyone else it makes no difference anyway.
For the ducks we bought two loaves, which I call white bread. What people call bread depending on the region is quite a hot topic. For some, bread is only black, while white is a loaf or a bun. My parents taught me the way I just told you, and I'm not going to relearn it, especially since I'm probably more grammatically correct — a loaf and a bun are types of white bread. There is also, for example, a braided bread, and it isn't any of the above.
As for the ducks, they swam up to us hesitantly and ate reluctantly. They came in two colorings. My theory on this matter was that the grey ones were the babies, and the ones with the green neck were the adults. Katerina (I think) put forward the thesis that they were males and females. The wise rk13, who, like the learned cat (pun intended), knows a lot, said that these were just two different species of ducks, and there was no need to demonstrate mythological thinking here (he didn't say it exactly like that, I'm translating it into my own words).
Anyway, before the ducks even had time to get full, a flock of seagulls flew in (among them, for some reason, one sea gull with a white head) and started stealing their food. In our city, seagulls usually catch bread on the fly if you throw it out the window, but in Riga they've either gotten lazy, or it's inconvenient for them right above the surface, or the bright sun is in their way — but they were snatching it right off the water. To the side of the seagulls, already on land, pigeons were hanging out, and then even some sparrows. These guys don't need much, but by the time they showed up we were completely out, we only threw them crumbs.
Later it became clear why the birdies, even the seagulls, weren't exactly rushing to dine — after us, people came by two more times within an hour. With such abundant feeding, it's amazing they can fly at all, these feathered friends. Overall, the weather was wonderful, you just sit there and feel happy, and you don't need anything else.
(A phrase so cliché, it's just amazing my computer didn't fall apart)
The only thing that marred our oneness with nature was that Kzyaz started feeling unwell. He had this happen before after heavy drinking, and this time he got so scared that he stopped drinking altogether — only takes a glass of wine internally. But now the effect persisted even without hangovers, so I consider this another sign of the apocalypse; I couldn't even tell you which one, I've lost count. The seventh, I think.
After the ducks we dropped by Čili Pica for some tea and dessert. The dessert wasn't perfect of course, but clearly better than what we had at Taller. It was called a "layered something", and the whipped cream was real, not out of a spray can, and the ice cream wasn't bad either, and the fruit seemed fresh too. I also drank a coffee something with Baileys liqueur, but I didn't taste the liqueur. So Čili Pica is no Il Patio of course, but it's not bad either.
Find the joke yourself
My point is that declarations without deeds are worthless. The word intelligent is spelled with an e, in the spot where the ad has an i.
rk13 and Katerina had nothing else to do downtown, so we walked them to their minibus. Anyway, we decided that Knyaz wouldn't go to the jazz, but would go home, and Vasya would go to the jazz with me. Ultimately, of course, the apocalypse went to the jazz instead of us — the concert got canceled. We stood around a bit, snapped a pic of the phone number for refunds, and looked at who else goes to jazz. First, some semi-mobsters arrived in a jeep. Then dressed-up young guys and girls in white suits and evening gowns, respectively. Curiously enough, the mobsters were even more disappointed. Which makes sense, really — if you're young, dressed sharp, and have a girl by your side, you don't really give a damn about the jazz. So instead of the jazz we (or rather I) wanted to go see Gran Torino (the blue-dicked superhero isn't playing anymore, must be unpopular), but it ended at 11:30 PM, and I would have missed my bus.
There's no point in showing you this notice, except for the fact that I have room in the layout for one more photo, and besides, you'll find out who was even supposed to perform.
Then again, this was all for the best. First of all, we went to Stockmann, where by a lucky coincidence Trakās Dienas, or Crazy Days, were going on, and I stocked up on my favorite 300g Fazer plain milk chocolate bars for half the usual price.
And secondly, upon arriving at the flat, instead of jazz, rk13 and I had a very productive session setting up a cultist router. But more on that in the next part.