It was ten past five by the time we got to Klaipeda. It was still hot, the streets were as quiet as Paris in August, and with beer in the Old Town half the price of Riga there wasn't much to do besides drink. "Is there anywhere with lots of people?" we asked the barman in the Black Cat, almost deserted at half past ten. "Try the Jazz Club," he suggested, "they have live music."
An ACDC cover band wasn't quite what I expected. But like the city itself, they had a funny way of growing on you.