Cesis is still a beauty. It would just take some colour and mending to make her shine again. Once colourful wooden houses have turned gracefully grey. The pre-summer greenery makes up a youthful contrast. In between you find houses that are facelifted back to their old glory.
One such house is the local music school. A teacher hangs out of the window, while her young student plays the piano. Lilacs in blossom give the scene a favourable frame.
Opposite the church stands another ancient beauty. She speaks to me of good days in the past, when her caretakers made sure she had what she needed. Paint and bricks, supported by a beautiful garden.
She used to be dressed in lace curtains. The laughter from cheerful dinners reverberated through the house. Then came the not-so-good times. The candles burnt down. The laughter died out. Nowadays, joy and freedom have returned to Cesis.
The house hopes somebody will take care of her. I wish one of the locals would give her the love she deserves.
Some of those locals stop and start a conversation despite their reputation as introverts. They laugh and stroll on when the ignorant visitor does not understand a word.
Former Communist attitudes are gone. One exception is at the railway station. A stern lady who did not seem to have smiled for a decade gives a grunting reply when I ask where I can buy tickets. But it could be that she is tired of telling stupid foreigner number 7654 that you have to buy tickets on the train.
Not many tourists were around at the time of my visit, though. A German couple, a few native ones. That added to the treat. Nothing beats tranquillity. The traffic in Cesis is sparse. No signs of aggression. No hurrying feet. Blissfully absent is also the omnipresent loud music that comes from any restaurant in Riga.
Then you have the welcoming castle ruins. The meadow outside the moat has been left to flourish. Full of wildflowers and insects.
A few slow steps later, it is time for a glass of wine under a wide oak while listening to the absence of stress. The buildings, the people, the cobblestones want to take care of me. “Everything will be fine.”
When you visit a place as an outsider you get a feeling of where the land lies. You can sense tensions, fear or apathy. Even if you do not understand the language. Such streams of discontent have bypassed this town.
I look out from the hotel veranda down to a small park. The descending sun tries to make itself noticed through the foliage.
Two philosophical men walk along the pond. A young woman in a pink skirt accompanies her dog while two giggling girls run by. An elderly man sits on a bench, sharing his thoughts with a passing duck.
Latvia has its problems. Low pensions and high inequality, by European standards, are among them. Latvians have much to catch up on, but they are on a wholesome track, judging by what I saw in Cesis.
When people walk by, casually waving their carrier bags, you know you are in a good place.