It was a rare moment of blissful buzz and contentment. On a Friday evening at Logan International Airport, having spent three days seeing Boston, USA, I was heading to Michigan for a friend’s wedding. Checked-in, I grabbed a Dunkin’ Donut and sat amongst the quiet throng at the gate where much that I loved came together in one moment — travel, anticipation of seeing friends, people-watching, donuts. And I had no worry — an oddity in itself for me. I can vividly recall savouring it all. Strange as it is, one of my favourite places is Logan International Airport, simply for the provision of this moment.
A taste of Vienna
It was a café like no other I had experienced. Normally the sole focus of any trip to a coffee establishment is a book, my laptop, an acquaintance or two, or even the coffee itself. But here, in Vienna’s Café Dommayer, it was so much more. It was everything.
It was my first evening in Vienna and my Airbnb hosts had very kindly invited me to join them for the annual Summer Night Concert at Schönbrunn Palace. On our walk there we passed Café Dommayer. My hosts tantalisingly spoke of its coffee, delicacies and history. But for them words would not suffice, they wanted me to experience it for myself, and so despite time being against us, they excitedly ushered me in.
Coffee houses in Vienna are an institution, a mainstay of its cultural fabric with its own distinct way of life. The first one opened way back in 1683 when, as tradition goes, Austrians chased away invading Turks who left behind something rather odd — coffee beans. Regulars over the years include famous names such as Sigmund Freud and Leon Trotsky, and at this particular establishment, Café Dommayer, Johann Strauss II performed publicly for the first time.
In 2011, UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation) listed Viennese coffee houses on the intangible cultural list for Austria, saying that they have “a very specific atmosphere…where time and space are consumed, but only the coffee is found on the bill.”
Walking into Café Dommayer felt like entering into a bygone era, with small chandeliers, velvet red couches, thonet chairs and marble tables, along with waiters dressed in waistcoats and bow ties, all contributing to a classical, formal vibe. “This is Vienna!” my hosts proudly kept telling me.
As we settled into our seats a lady sitting two tables’ away quickly grabbed my attention. Wearing a scarlet red tweed jacket, and with hair neatly bound in a bun, she studiously read the newspaper through her lowered oval-shaped glasses. But for the occasional glance and sip of coffee, her position and posture barely seemed to move, as if the surroundings offered little that was new or noteworthy. This is her everyday. If coffee houses such as this one typified Vienna, it felt as though this lady typified its clientele.
Newspapers are an integral part of the furniture at Viennese coffee houses. But you won’t find them lazily folded together or hastily placed in a holder. Instead they are attached to wooden stick holders to neatly preserve their structure and encourage relaxed reading. Once finished the holders are placed in a station fixed to one of the walls, primed for its next reader.
I am fortunate in that my hosts were not only able to guide me in my etiquette, but they also provided a running commentary on our surroundings. A large chunk of our chat involved discussing the waiters. It is a position that carries great honour, and they pride themselves on giving away little by way of friendliness. You could say they are surly— and to them it’s a high compliment.
It was difficult to briefly tear myself away from the surroundings to choose what to have from the menu. But I soon realised that this in itself is part of the café’s cultural milieu given the sheer number of different coffees available. The challenge in choosing was made all the harder by not knowing what they all meant. I asked for help from my friends, and they highly recommended a melange (French for mix), which is one shot of espresso and a splash of hot water topped with hot frothy milk (or in other words, a cappuccino with a little extra water). To accompany it I opted for a slice of Austria’s famous sachertorte.
I was firing away question after question at my hosts when our waiter came first with our cakes and then the coffees. The cups were dainty and each one was accompanied with a small glass of water to cleanse the pallet. Each glass had a teaspoon balanced on it to indicate that the glass has been freshly filled. Yet another quirk to this most fascinating of establishments.
Unfortunately we couldn’t linger for too long once we finished our coffee (the melange was good but I missed having a bigger mug) and cakes (the sachertorte was tremendous, as expected) because the concert was due to start and we wanted to get a good spot. Our hasty exit felt like an insult to our hosts and Viennese tradition. Unlike some modern coffee shops, where extended stays can feel like an imposition, sticking around is encouraged, even if just one coffee is ordered. Viennese coffee houses are places for old school relaxation and social interaction. Little wonder that it’s said that they are like “an extended living room” for people. And with no laptop in sight, I wondered if those wanting to work know they will be better served — and perhaps more warmly embraced — elsewhere.
I arrived into Vienna a few hours early feeling apprehensive and unprepared. There is a magnitude to the city’s history and status, and travelling alone and only staying for three days, I had little idea how to best navigate the city. I didn’t even know where to start. I thought reading the guidebook on my journey from Prague to Vienna would help, but it only added to the fear.
But little did I know that a quick trip to a classic Viennese coffee house would provide the perfect riposte to my fears. I had sampled a quintessential part of local life and tradition, and as I walked with my new friends to the concert I felt lighter. The task and privilege of seeing Vienna no longer seemed so overwhelming because within hours of arriving I had already tasted so much.
The little girl at carousel number 10
Is there a more life-sapping duty than waiting at the baggage carousal at the end of a flight? After spending an hour, five hours or (gulp) 12 hours in the pressurised cabin of a busy plane, with little room for manoeuvre and slim enjoyment by way of food, the last thing anyone wants is to collectively gather around a tediously slow conveyer built waiting for luggage to arrive.
I was in this situation a couple of weeks ago. I’d just arrived in Edinburgh from Bristol and it was approaching 11pm. In front of me was someone who clearly hadn’t read the script for these situations. She was excited and energetic, seemingly enjoying the delights of carousel number 10.
She was around 5 years old.
As one large yellow and grey rucksack emerged, the little girl jumped on it, dragged it off the carousel and just about carried it to her parents, almost crashing into me in the process. But there was a problem. “No darling!” a lady with a Scottish accent hurriedly said as she rushed towards her daughter. “That’s not our bag — that’s someone else’s!”
Those of us who had front-row seats to this adorable little drama raised weary but hearty smiles as the bag was returned to carousel. It was a heartwarming and welcome interlude from the draining wait for luggage.
It’s a story that still lingers in my head. Waiting is a mainstay of life. Beyond the nuisance of waiting for luggage, there is the waiting for a spouse, a new job, a house, or whatever. The desires that fuel our waiting can be so much that we jump on the first hint at an answer to our longing, convinced it is our time. But this isn’t always the case. A closer look may reveal that what we hoped was the answer is not quite right for us. Not this time.
This happened some years ago. A job came up that looked perfect. I applied but on hitting send an overwhelming sense of uncertainty came over me. I prayed it away, convinced the feeling was nerves and certainly not of God. But it didn’t work, the unease persisted, and so I withdrew the application and peace returned. It may sound super-spiritual (I wish that was the case because that’s easy to ignore!) but it was the right decision, something I believe has been confirmed in the years since.
The little girl from carousel number 10 is a personal reminder to me to not jump on the first hint of my desires being fulfilled. It pays to have a little look at the approaching luggage before wheeling it away to see if our name is written on it. And if it isn’t our luggage, hopefully what’s rightfully ours won’t be too far behind…
Happy in Prague
It’s Tuesday afternoon on a hot June day in Prague. I’ve spent the last four hours sampling the streets and sounds of the fabled city and I am feeling my legs and, crucially, my stomach. I’ve come to the popular expat hangout Globe Bookstore and Café. It’s not as grand as I expect (the Globe reference has deceived me) but I’m not disheartened. I like the rugged, vintage feel, with creaking floorboards and homemade posters advertising local events on noticeboards and the backs of bookshelves.
A dimly lit hallway leads from the bookstore to the café. I settle into a seat outside in the shaded courtyard. The air is warm but not stifling. Occasionally a gentle breeze passes through and brushes welcomely against my clammy skin. An indie acoustic playlist filters through the windows, accompanied by the pleasant clattering of crockery. As I soak in the calm surroundings it then dawns on me: this is my happy place. It’s beautifully quiet, I am about to enjoy a pub meal whilst reading an unputdownable holiday book, John Mayer is on the playlist, and I am in Prague (a city long on my to-visit list) in just the most delightful bookstore-cum-café.
I place an order and return to my book.
A few minutes pass when the casually-dressed waiter brings out an order for another table. An alluring aroma follows him which stops me in my reading — the gorgeous whiff of freshly fried chips. My order of club sandwich and chips feels validated and cannot come soon enough. But first, the beer. I’ve ordered a locally brewed IPA which arrives in a dimpled pint glass. It’s refreshingly cold with a sweet, caramel aftertaste that lingers long on the palate. The meal soon follows and is equally delectable. I could stay here for the rest of the day.
Whilst eating I casually drift between reading and people-watching. There are three of us outside. An Asian girl sits opposite reading. Only a few pages of her book look left to read. I always feel that if I do nothing in a day but complete a book, the day’s a resounding success. I feel excitement for the girl that she may leave this place having completed her book. Go, girl! To my left is a Czech man who spends most of the time speaking on the phone. At one point I notice his head arched back, eyes closed and mouth pouting. Clearly the latest phone conversation is boring him stiff. To my horror his eyes open and he clocks me. He shakes out of his posture and I return to the last of my thick-cut chips. Not awkward at all…
I arrived here leg weary and hungry, and a little irritable. But I am leaving with renewed strength not just in my legs and stomach, but also my heart. Everything about this place, and this moment, has nourished my soul.