cup of kindness

I like my coffee in ...

* the café at the Cloister Hill open-air museum in Turku, Finland: When I was tired of the hustle and bustle of the city, the impossible demands of the university, even my life-loving friends, I cycled up the hill to the museum with its ancient cottages. The café had several small rooms with antique furniture and was always quiet in off-season. I drank my coffee out of a thin porcelain cup, ate a nice old-fashioned cinnamon bun or a pastry in an empty room and listened to the soft murmur of old ladies chatting in the next room or a clock ticking somewhere. There was a smell of coffee and ancient history. There was a deeply soothing silence, so far from the real world.

* the village pub near the Magic Valley, Ireland: On my day off I walked the forest path to the village. After a ritual consisting of breathing the soft air beneath ancient oaks along the path, saying hello to the horses in a nearby field, checking my email at the so-called IT Centre and stocking up on chocolate and yogurt in the village shop, I parked myself in the pub for the afternoon. Ordered the garlic mushrooms, with a Bailey's Coffee for dessert. Read the newspaper in detail. Idly watched whatever was on the TV in the corner - usually The Weakest Link with the matchless Anne Robinson (I had never seen such cold rudeness in my life). I loved the days when the air outside was soft and wintry and filled with the smell of turf smoke, when there was a fire roaring in the fireplace near me. I thought about the strange people I met every day, what to do about the boy I loved, the feeling of being exactly where I wanted to be in life.

* the Starbucks in an English city, inside a gigantic book store: I ordered a vanilla latte and perhaps some cake and sat there for hours. Read the Times or borrowed books, wrote my journal, studied people, talked to a friend.

Having coffee is more than just having coffee. In my current home town, there are plenty of cafés and pubs. But none that really welcomes and shelters my soul. So my coffee, be it of the strong Finnish kind, with Bailey's or with vanilla and milk, is currently homeless.