Coffee shops & memories
The relationship I have with specialty coffee shops — or simply with places where there’s coffee — is quite different with each.
Like those places where memory speaks to me out loud, I’m in one of them now. I can feel the cold winter wind arriving earlier than usual, like those countryside neighbors who show up unannounced but are somehow always expected.
There are certain cafés I only visit on specific occasions. Usually because of the distance, but also because they tend to appear at the right moment — when I have decisions to make. Then coffee takes on another meaning: it has a role, it must inspire me and bring enough clarity to finally decide whatever it is I need to decide.
Some of those visits are to remember. Others, to forget. Sometimes in the company of a flat white with plant-based milk, other times with a double espresso. And almost always with an oatmeal and cranberry cookie.
Emozia
The last time I was at Emozia was a birthday gift from my sister Laura. So today begins as if I were sitting with her again on the terrace.
Don’t imagine a movie-like terrace. It’s just a small table next to a lamppost. Still, the mix of architecture around it gives the place a bohemian view — the concrete tiles on the ground, the attitude of the people, the confidence with which they wear their winter clothes.
This time I’m also accompanied by the quiet presence of construction work in the Union Square. Luckily it’s Saturday, so there’s no noise today. The rains of the past few days seem to have scared people away. For now, I have calm.
Today I’ve dressed for autumn: beige boots, brown pants, a green fluffy jacket. I almost blend into nature. I noticed it when I saw the trees with their beautiful colors — as if, without realizing it, they whispered what to wear this morning.
Pensamientos de otoño
Two thoughts have been running through my mind today.
First, a peculiar kind of nostalgia for city life — though I’ve already realized I don’t need it anymore.
Second, conversations about immigrants. I’ve heard plenty here: about the Roma people, and about the Asian workers from Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, and Vietnam who deliver food on scooters, bikes, or motorbikes. If you scroll through TikTok, you’ll see videos of them crossing puddles in the rain.
Unfortunately, the news has shown how locals have mistreated them. And sadly, I’ve also heard people close to me express their discomfort with their presence in the country.
Immigration and coffee
I once heard someone explain immigration as something that has always existed — not necessarily increasing, but often used as a scapegoat, where the culprit is always the last to arrive. They were speaking about Europe in general.
My own opinion is more complex. I do believe immigration from Asian countries to Romania has grown.
But back to the coffee. The coffee! The autumn that feels more like winter. The cold air freezing my fingers as I write.
The type of coffee I choose depends on my mood, and on the kind of decision I have to make. And while I wrap myself in the stream of my own thoughts — some optimistic, others less so — I decide to enjoy the bitterness of the coffee. At least today, I can afford it.
In some way, I feel like I’m sharing this coffee with you.
Thanks for the coffee.
Ave Migratoria 