I wandered around Old Town in the morning for two hours.
Seems the cafes in the Lithuanian capital don’t open until ten o’clock.
I admire the locals for their ability to put off their coffee until late morning.
I’ve sought out the Love Story Cafe, a place jotted in my notes as a place to see one day after reading about it in someone’s blog long ago.
I remember nothing about what was said about the cafe, only the name.
So here I am, sitting in my green velour chair, across from an empty pink velour chair.
Lithuanian pop music plays over the speakers.
In the corner, a group of women sit under a canopy of artificial pink and white roses.
The name – Love Story Cafe – baffles me.
There are no tables filled with lovers here.
No clientele who appear to be waiting for a tryst.
No couples whispering in a secret rendezvous.
But, ah, I finally notice the second room is a jewelry store, filled with engagement and wedding rings, and through a window is a machine for setting stones in rings, set with a large magnifying glass.
A group of four sit at the next table, ask if they can borrow my spare chair.
My imaginary companion slides over in her pink velour chair.
One of the four must be an architect.
He is showing the other three photographs and drawings of a building that must be nearby in Old Town.
Although I don’t understand what they are saying, it appears that they may be in the process of refurbishing or repurposing one of these old buildings.
I’m excited by the idea and can’t help glancing over at the drawings.
So as not to be obvious, I also look around at the decor of the cafe.
The lower walls and counter are covered in green wooden latticework.
And the cafe is not exactly barren of the images of love.
Above the bar is a jade bust of a woman in a provocative pose, her cheek against her shoulder and her eyes closed.
On a wall is a painting of a woman with long black hair and oversized blue eyes.
The viewer is drawn to the eyes, not just because their size is so distorted, but because they are very sad eyes.
She carries a potted plant in one arm and I imagine she is sad because she is abandoning a lover, taking her most important possession with her.
My coffee arrives and a piece of unnamed cheesecake that looks to be a mix of chocolate and caramel, but on first taste I realize it is strong with the flavor of cinnamon.
I dine quietly, my gaze wandering between the architect’s drawings and the sad eyes of the woman in the portrait.
