All day today it snowed – by turns in fast and furious flurries, like a storm of ice petals, stinging eyes and cheeks; by turns in a fine dusting that glittered and swirled in the wind. Along the Royal Way, the old merchant houses gleamed darkly, while the sombre bulk of Żuraw, the old mediaeval crane, brooded over the frozen waters of the Motława.
Having failed dismally to find the Royal Chapel in the dying light, I decide to seek shelter from the cold in the bars and cafes that line Piwna street, sampling the apple charlottes and lattes as I wend my way down towards the Long Quay. At CICO ('Come in and Chill out') in the shadow of St Mary's, I renounce the coffee in favour of a heady mulled wine thick with bitter-sweet cloves that numbed my tongue and spiced my breath. At Dolce Vita, I hit the coffee again, this time laced with a generous shot of Riga Black Balsam and Kahlua. 'Night fuel,' said young waiter with a wink, as I drain the bitter brew.
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