JurmalaMapOctober, 2001 Nothing beats a resort town in autumn. The stream of tourists has petered out; the locals are going into alcohol-fuelled hibernation; the various cultural, social, and mass tourism et al. sites have been left to their own devices.  Café owners put chairs outside by force of habit.  Old women sit with their backs to sun’s last warm rays.  Peasants sell the last of the season’s mushrooms.  An accordionist in hip bone-sized glasses plays for a couple under the influence.  A sober couple pays no attention to the romantic appeal of the beach.  The air is fresh on Riga’s shore (a line from a Soviet-era song by Vladimir Kuzmin).  |
