A Cherry in Riga

I woke up early that morning. I could not believe that I was here. It was a gray morning; it was still early so I can not say that it was the sky. My Europe seems to revolve around CNN, however sad that is. My excitement was getting to me, as soon as it seemed light enough to walk around; I stumbled in to take a shower.

My hotel had the worst shower. I guess I could imagine it being worse. It was clean, but how much does a company save buying only half of a shower curtain. Maybe, this hotel has a happy hour rate, and so the bathroom voyeur set demands such a thing. Natasha told me that she would meet me at two o’clock. So I guess I have almost eight hours to kill.

Showering was an interesting experience trying to use the low water pressure shower head and half of a shower curtain. If a dry floor is the measure of success, I was a miserable failure. I remember my dad used to yell at my brother and me when we used to leave the floor all wet in the bathroom. I guess that he was correct; he showed us time and again that the water did wreak havoc in his room. I guess I will get grounded if he ever finds out.

I got dressed and left my hotel room. I walked down the stairs, there was an interesting stained glass mural in the hall way. I think it is of sunflowers or maybe it is lilies. It is quite pretty especially as the light shines through the prisms around the edges of the window. As dark as it was outside it still seemed to beam through the window and down the stairwell. I dropped my key off at the desk. They were watching Latvījan TV2. It was a concert of some sort, but it was in Russian so I had no real chance of understanding what ever it was.

I tried to figure out what the name of the street I was on. It was simple; it was Valdemars Iela, the same as the name of the hotel. All in all I must have spent ten or fifteen minutes trying to figure out what a Rīgan street sign looked like. I am sure that the whole thing would have taken two minutes had I brought the card with me like Natasha had said. Yeah right, I was too smart for that, and look where it got me. I hope when I try this again, I will just take good advice and bring the card. At least someone could tell me that way and point in Russian until I found the place.

I walked down Valdemars Iela to what looked like a big park. From what I remembered the night before this was where the art museum was. I figured what the heck, taking my life in my hands; I jaywalked across the street catty-corner. I guess a little of Czech experience is rubbing off, or if I ever get back to the United States I am just pre-signing my death warrant. Strangely, there were very few cars, except of course when you needed to cross the street at a light. Crossing the street seemed an interesting challenge. Almost as if death were not enough payment for getting creamed by the slow and lumbering on coming traffic.

I think I wandered several kilometers in each direction. I went to the famous meeting clock and the freedom memorial. The guards stood silently in constant vigilance over the memorial that probably stood more for freedom here than any of ten memorials do in America. I guess to think that these people were stripped of everything that they held dear and were then held hostage for fifty years. It seems sometimes the one thing that we stand for we have lost. I think it is greed or maybe not greed but a loss of fear. It has been too long since we knew anyone who had lived under oppression. I guess in many ways it was inspiring.

It was getting cold so I stopped in the international American haven. The steakhouse never lets you down. No matter where in the world you go, the golden arches always have hot fries and coke. Just what the doctor ordered for a chilled Florida boy. I had never been this far north before. It is kind of strange to consider that I am as close to the pole as I ever was to the equator. I sat and considered how close Latvījan was to Czech, then considering that I did not understand either with any proficiency. It was getting to be time to find some roses for Natasha then head back to the hotel.

As I left McDonald’s I wondered where I would find flowers, and how do I get back to my hotel. I got about two hundred feet into my journey when the weather went full-Seattle. Thirty-five degrees and pissing down rain, all I could think was that I had seen worse. It was early in the day when I had that thought. I bundled up put on my baseball cap and started walking looking for a flower shop. What is the Latvījan word for flower? It is certainly not “kvetina”, I must have walked for half of an hour until I saw roses in the window of a small shop. I bought a bunch of roses being careful to make sure that I had an odd number.

I have been told by those people in the know, that you do not give an even number of flowers to a Slavic woman. In the Slavic countries they give even numbers of flowers to the dead at funerals. So, I deftly avoided the obvious faux pas that stared me in the face. They were lovely I thought they still had not opened. I like to watch flowers blossom. I hope she did as well.

I got back to my room with a few minutes to spare. I got to my room and took off my wet jacket and back down to the lobby. I should have figured she was not exactly an on time person, but it was much worse. The shaved man in the lobby was telling me not to wait for her, to go out and find another. I told them that she was going to show. She was not like most of the other girls around. When I saw her my day brightened, her smile was lovely. She was wearing a white jacket and a striped golf hat. Her black hair falling around her collar, made her seem idyllic. She really is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.

I kissed her on the cheek, and she said “Allo”. Her accent was sexy, kind of deep but very feminine, just like I had remembered it. When you do not see someone for a long time, you tend to build in your head what they would be like in a given situation. She came up to my room and I gave her, her flowers. She smiled and said “voda, them need voda.” I smiled and looked to find a glass or something to put them in. She was watching the television when I came back from the bathroom trying not to get pricked by the thorns. Why do they leave the thorns on roses? Some things I will never understand.

She told me she was hungry, that she had not had breakfast. I smiled and said “Wake up!” She asked where I would like to eat, as if I knew one restaurant from any other. We walked hopping over the puddles, and just resting on each other. We were like kids walking arm in arm. I think we were smiling like dopes. I was certainly happier than I could really imagine. She explained each building and told me about every nook and cranny that we passed. She certainly was quite well informed about “her town”. This was one thing that I was certain of, Rīga was her town. As far as I am concerned she is the boss in her town. I could not believe the face I got when she heard that she was the boss. I was just a little American boy in strange Russian town.

After being elected boss of the group she smiled moved the hair back into place and put my hat on, “Then you should take your hat, if I am the boss.”

“All I could say is yes ma’am.” And softly smile.

I think the kind of restaurant she took me to is called a “Lido”. It means people. The food was traditional Latvījan cuisine. Our kabobs and rice were tasty. I did not dare have any sauce, but she seemed to like it. We looked all over the dining room of the lido. Finally, we found a free table. We smiled and I uttered my best Czech “Dobrou chut’!”

Removing her hat, she smiled and said “Bon Appetito!” I patted her knee and we started to eat. Soon we were joined by a mother and her several year old. Our new guests spoke Russian and it seemed to bother or at least take away from Natasha’s concentration. The little boy was eating French fries and sharing mom’s pork. I told Natasha to speak to me with her eyes. It is better sometimes, you can say many things if you just look at each other. She nodded and played with her food. Her hand rested on my knee and we looked into each other’s eyes. She nodded to the little boy, telling me that she thought he was a cute little boy without saying a word.

I winked at her. She cocked her head slightly and winked, I think. It was so cute; she can not wink with just one eye. She blinks both eyes. Could winking be hard? You almost want to kiss her when she tries to wink. Could it be possible that they do not wink in Latvīja? Who knows, but what a terrible thing for a culture to miss?

I know that I looked at her a thousand times at dinner, just to see her alabaster skin. Her skin is delicate and translucent; touching it is almost as tender as a baby’s. Her lips carefully tinted, but wore no other make up. She certainly was beautiful. No, I do not just mean physically, but something inside of her was happy and that made her that much attractive. We spoke about my morning and she did not understand why I did not sleep late. I told her I had, how could I sleep more than ten or fifteen minutes in a new place. My curiosity was killing me all morning; I had to see her town as best I could.

We finished and she said we could go for coffee to wait for the rain to stop. We walked as quickly as we could to the coffee shop. She smiled and continued my guided tour of Rīga at a sprinter’s pace. Her self-consciousness about English began to fade. I like it when she stops caring so much, and she just tries to speak. I know there were many mistakes, but that is not important. Her willingness to communicate with me was touching. Topics began to flow between us; she really has a great mind. Architecture, History, and Science it did not matter, she spoke about them all, little by little even in a foreign language I began to understand Natasha. No longer did she seem trapped in a foreign language, almost as if “Natasha-speak” became a new language. A little later we decided to go back to the hotel where it was warmer and we could talk more privately.

We walked more slowly than before. I think now it was about being together. I thought about many things, but I think we were silent. Many sideways glances and smiles filled our walk like delicate jewels in time. Up the stairs and down the long hall to my room we strolled. Stopping to appreciate the two stained glass windows on our way upstairs, we meandered up to my room. We got entered and shut the door.

She smiled and turned on the television. Immediately, she hogged the corner, taking the lion’s share of the bed. I lay down next to her, my head on her belly. We were watching cartoons and she laughed. Not a small snicker, she had relaxed and deep belly laughs followed. I really like it when she laughs. Is it really to much to think that I like it when she is happy? I kissed her belly through her shirt as she stroked my head. I slid up her body so that my head was on her shoulder.

We watched many cartoons and then music videos. I do not think she likes kissing. I think she is the second person I ever met who did not like kissing. She stroked my chest softly. My hand softly caressed her belly. Flat and firm, dancing certainly keeps her fit. I touched her skin for the first time, she shuddered. Circling her belly button softly trying to just feel its shape, she giggled when I found her navel piercing. She relaxed as I pushed her shirt a little higher and softly pressing my face into her neck.

She looked down at me and kissed my face. Her kisses were like a thousand little butterflies flying passed my skin. I think she must be the most desirable woman I have met. Her kisses fluttered across my face and down my neck. She stopped and rested taking her respite on my chest. Her arms around my body and her legs around mine, we lie there for what seemed like hours. She just smiled and occasionally would rub against me to make sure I was awake, or maybe kiss my chest.

Maybe sometimes it is better to be together in a small way. She tried to tell me things with her eyes, but I think her little smiles spoke more loudly. I know she is happy now. Her boy was with her, and I know that that was the best thing she could hope for. Someone to depend on, someone who would never let her down no matter how far apart we had been or might be in the future. This was a huge realization for a pair of hearts yearning to find a way to be happy, truly happy for a little while.

Rīga is a great town, and I do suggest visiting there. It really is the most western of the Baltic capitals. You can learn so much there about the way things were during the occupations.