A late night and jet lag took their toll the next morning. Also, there was no heat or hot water. The boiler, home-made, was being repaired. It was a lot more comfortable sleeping late and waiting until heat from the kitchen warmed up the place a bit.

That evening, we headed into Riga to see a performance at the National Theater. St. Peter's greets us as we hop off the bus. We pass the soldiers' monument; the Doma Church is around a corner up the street. We pause for a picture, then wend our way past the national radio station (the ornate building) towards the theater. I worry about following the actors in Latvian, visions of Truffaut sans soustitres dancing though my head. (Never did learn French.)

What was it Dorothy said to Toto about it not being Kansas anymore?