Another transfusion of coffee: Week Three

November 10, 2022 by
Oh how I value the sanctity and sagacity of a small routine.Albeit a staunch advocate of vagrancy and spontaneity, my morning routine of a different coffee venue each day has been my way of combining structure with exploration.It’s been a way of acquiring a picture of life in a place, to be faintly immersed in it, allowing me to discover new areas; finding the beauty of its nature, its architecture, it’s location. 
And Charleston, known for horse-drawn carriages, family-style beach weekends, and lines of high-society ancestry, does not fail in the java department.


Yes, coffee culture has been an intangible heritage for me anywhere I travel, from parking myself in Cafe Central in Vienna, which opened in 1876, to sampling third-wave roasts at Melbourne cafés, to lining up in the rain for my morning libation at the original Starbucks at Seattles Pike Place.

Every day for three months in a small Spanish village, I walked on an ancient Camino path for my one euro café con leche. I drank Turkish coffee boiled in a cezve while eating my weight in pastries in a dank Parisian apartment in the 5th arrondissement (Did you know that eating pastries make your clothes shrink?), struggled to shoot morning espressos with my hosts in Lisbon, and in Italy, where they take their coffee very seriously.I have almost been up to the famous Jamaican Blue Mountains coffee plantation because nearing the top, our bus had to slowly back down the winding one lane road as a car had stalled out at the top and needed to be somehow brought down.

I have ceremonially sipped “kava”, which basically tastes like a mixture of muddy water and liniment, on a remote Fijian island, sitting on the hard ground for hours, the community bowl continually circling. And I have thrown clothes out of my suitcase in order to smuggle back bags of Kona coffee from the Big Island.

So you see, I am somewhat a staunch and steady champion.

And I also relish the sea. 


The Coast is Clean

I lie on the sand listening to the anonymous heartbeat of waves against the shoreline, the sound so slow and rhythmic, it seems like the beach is sleeping.For me, being by the ocean is a time of personal renaissance, an opportunity to think about reinvesting in things that truly matter, to dialogue between the man-made and the natural. To ask – What matters right now?At the ocean, I am a proud member of The Do Nothing Club.

Most don’t understand the importance of doing nothing, assuming that it’s either procrastination or laziness, but in truth, it’s one of the best things you can do, because doing nothing can give us the energy to do something.It takes time to do nothing. “Slow drip” efforts applied consistently over time is the real game changer, and the ability to completely enjoy and savour a moment is pure sweetness.

In an age of speed, nothing could be more invigorating than going slow. The most ridiculous of all is to be brisk about our food and our friends and our work and our surroundings. Doing this, we habitually miss most of what it going on around us.

The time that is un-rushed has the most beautiful harvest, deep and profound moments. 

I don’t know about you, but I stake my soul on beauty. And the sea. And coffee.

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