A few nights in a few cafes in a few countries
Undiscovered talent, pyramid schemes, and emotional infidelity
Visiting cafes in foreign places gives you a glimpse into a culture and its people at a singular moment in time.
Most nights spent this way are more or less mundane.
A few are magic.
Pergamino Cafe - Medellin, Columbia
A crowd of American remote workers typing away on their laptops under the setting tropical sun. Every hour or so, a street performer with a speaker on wheels would stop by and perform. Sometimes classics, occasionally originals, and one time a five minute freestyle rap where the performer asked people questions about themselves and seamlessly incorporated their answers into his freestyle.
“from texas”
“non-hodgkin’s lymphoma”
“stage 4”
Seriously, this guy was good. The locals cheered and threw him some pesos. The Americans rolled their eyes. Couldn’t this bum see they had work to do?
Bardo Coffee House - Denver, USA
A rare late-night coffee shop with bar seating. The best of vibes. There was one barista who always had the friendliest smile on her face, and also 16 eager men perpetually occupying the barstools that surrounded her square-shaped coffee bar.
I had hoped her eyes would give me a look that said “you’re different than these other guys” but instead her mouth said “you look like you could use another.” I begrudgingly joined the sausage party in the exterior of the square and began chatting with the man seated next to me.
In the first hour of conversation he seemed to be a sharp, go-getter type. By the end of the second hour I became suspicious he was going to pitch me on a pyramid scheme. But by the end of the fourth hour, closing time as it were, I felt relieved to learn that he was a legitimate entrepreneur, and with a modest five figure investment, I too was about to become a very rich man.
Caffe Bar - Vodice, Croatia
In the 6 weeks I spent in Vodice, I met only one person who spoke English. She was a waitress. She worked in a candlelit bar that served coffee till 2am and encouraged smoking indoors. I found myself there almost nightly.
We shared those weeks communicating through simple words and Google translate. She told me about her life. It was somewhere between charming and bleak. She spoke of aspirations to travel, but her English is limited and no one else speaks Croatian. It was in that moment I first understood the great fortune of being born American.
She opened up about her relationship of five years and how things had been going poorly as of late. Our knees were touching under the table. It was after midnight. She asked if I would like to hang around after her boss left, but I decided I better go, as I was only looking to help her cheat emotionally.
Things were different after that. She had grown distant in a way I didn’t understand. I hadn’t planned on returning to say goodbye, but on my last day I went to print out my bus ticket and realized I had run out of the local currency. The ticketing clerk didn’t accept credit cards and asked if I would go grab her a cup of coffee in lieu of payment.
I walked across the street to the Caffe Bar. She was working. That was the first time I saw her in the daylight. I told her I was about to catch my bus as she handed me my coffee.
“I’m really glad that I met you” she said, smiling.
Looking back, I think a lot was lost in translation. Like how I never fully understand which region she came from, or what her family did for work. And how she thought I was a billionaire who had won first prize at the sex festival.
But whatever the case, I’ll never forget the ever-present loneliness that loomed over that tiny town on the baltic coast of Croatia. It was there in that cafe that two people found a temporary escape.