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In the evening I found a small, tucked-away place called Seno Kiemo Uzeiga. I took a seat at the bar and ordered saltibarsciai - a delicious cold borscht (to the Baltics what gazpacho is to Andalucia) - and mushroom crepes. Lively, old-fashioned music poured from the speakers.

"I like talking to foreigners," the young woman who had come and sat next to me said. She had large liquidy eyes and luxuriant black hair. She had just graduated from high school; her name was Agne.

"I love this bar," she said. "I know everybody here. Most all of them are university students. I like hanging out with older people." A policeman wobbled in and started unbuttoning his shirt.
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