I spotted a sandwich board on the side of the beaten up road , Cafe Paradiso 100 metres. The hawkers were out trying to drum up some business, for the boats that ferry the tourists, up and down the toxic waterways. I Keep my head down and walk towards where the sign had pointed.
The backpackers were awake and were ambling along the canal, chatting in their local lingo and taking in the local action. The sounds of their babble competed with the incessant blasting of horns and the screams of 2 stroke engines.
The cafe was right beside me, I almost missed it, it was that small. It was nestled in beside the black, oily canal. It was a little bit of Venice in the Subcontinent.
It was whitewashed, with quaint French cafe scenes, frescoed on the walls.
It was mostly outdoor sitting, steel chairs and tables with white umbrellas. The umbrellas were stained a dirty brown, from the leaf debris that fell from the overhanging trees.
A young local kid with a big Afro and a bigger smile, "Hey bro what's up." He was wiping down the tables, out the front. He greeted me straight away. He'd been chatting to some Austrians and cut it short, to find me a table.
The menu was small, mostly drinks and a couple of eggy breakfasty things. I ordered a fresh pineapple juice and a latte. The latte was a bit of a let down but I love the kids enthusiasm. He'd be a Local Hero, if he lived in Byron Bay.
He thrived on the international travelers and was desperate to travel himself but most likely couldn't afford to.
"Where are you from man? he asked.
"Australia." I answer, speaking very clearly, the way travelers do, to make themselves understood.
"Love your hair man." I complimented him. It was as shiny as a Raven's, from the coconut oil, that they massage into it. He was tanned with a smile, that stretched from ear to ear and carried a child-like innocence with it.
We chit-chatted for a bit. His name was Vik and he'd been working at Cafe Paradiso, for his boss Antony, for the last eight months. Vik said his boss would be in soon for a coffee.
When Antony arrived, Vik introduced him to me. He was a very smooth, silky character, not slimy, just smooth. Tight black shirt and black jeans, stylish hair and a neatly trimmed beard, that hid most of his deep acne scars. He would've been early 30's, single, wealthy family, oldest son, a bit of a player but genuine enough.
He sat at my table and we spoke about his businesses and Enfield motorbikes and what I did with myself. He smoked expensive, heavily filtered cigarettes that weren't too offensive.
He eventually left and I was alone at last and free to write in my diary and send some emails. I checked into Facebook first and checked in on my old life. I never thought much of Facebook before but it was a cheap and easy way to keep in touch with my mates and family, while I was traveling.
I love this cafe, it's more than the sum of its parts. It inspires me and reminds me, of why I'm traveling.
A gondola glides past like a swan. Empty of tourists, It disturbs the shimmering reflection of trees and riverbank. A stench of sulfur wafts up from the churned canal, it catches me unawares and brings me back to earth.
No comments:
Post a Comment