This summer
was a summer of relationships. My friendships deepened so much that every
goodbye felt like a knife to the heart and every time I wiped away my tears and
said “You’re ok,” a thin Band-Aid (that would soon fall off) came up over the
wound. I hate goodbyes. Goodbyes are a thing of the devil but this summer was
particularly hard as I headed off to a new school, a new year, a new state, and
new cafes (ok that part is pretty nice). Let me first take you back to June. I
finally saw the West Coast (men). What a lovely place to be and dwell (and
date) -- gosh it was a trip that flew by yet I can’t seem to get it off the tip
of my tongue. Here is a log of my time out West based on not the sights or the
cities, but the coffee.
In the air:
After
the words “The decaf is instant,” I found myself being poured a cup of regular
coffee at 9 pm. It was weak and burnt and tasted like what I imagine death to
taste like or the underside of a rock, either one. Nevertheless I was headed to
the West Coast and paid for my plane ticket so I was going to have that “free”
beverage and straight up enjoy it.
Portland:
I had the
jitters for most of my trip to Portland, mainly because of the over consumption
of coffee, but also because there was a small (large) part of me that truly
believed that I was going to have a bicycle related death while roaming the
city. I forced my two West Coast traveling buds to hit up Coava while in
Portland. Other than a rather sketchy car rental company, it was our first
stop. I spent most of the time there staring at the general area that Fr
ed
Armisen and Jerry Seinfeld sat when they stopped by there on Comedians in Cars
Getting Coffee, although their table was missing. Of course I know it didn’t
matter that I couldn’t physically sit in the two seats that they did, and it’s
not like I was planning on doing that for the last three months. . . (flips
over a table). The hipster wait time was about 10 minutes and the baristas were
pleasant and laid back, much like everyone I encountered in Portland. I got
drip coffee in a mug so heavy it sent my hand straight to hell (like a good mug
should).
The cafe
was constantly filling and draining of small clumps of people who are starting
trends or at least attempting to. There were qualities of Brooklyn that I
somehow felt at Coava, but the overall ambiance was still very much its own. With
a bamboo shop in the back and man buns everywhere, the place was as smooth and
tasty as the coffee. I snagged a bag of their delicious beans before heading
out, because nothing tastes better than coffee that’s been stuffed into a
suitcase for a week.
Seattle:
See
ya later – I’m moving to Seattle where the city is fine and the mountains on
the horizon are even finer. It’s the reason New York and I are currently
fighting. The low humidity was reason enough to make me lease an apartment and
stay forever. (Please note that I am usually a mere five on the scale of all
things shallow, aka the scale of attraction, aka the scale created by men,
however, with the West Coast’s low humidity, my curls and I become a generous five
and a half). My five-and-a-half-self strutted into The Oddfellows Café after a
great night in Seattle, consisting of Mexican food on a dimly lit rooftop and
cocktails at a speakeasy whose secret door was only opened by the press of a
doorbell. (I would like to take this time to formally apologize to that
speakeasy for the ding-dong ditch we performed that same evening). So needless
to say at this point my five-and-a-half looking self was on cloud nine, not to
be confused with looking like a nine because I was still generously applying
makeup to pass as what I felt was a six.
With a
large airy space filled with big windows, an open kitchen and large oak tables,
this café felt like the screened-in breakfast nook of your dreams. My friends
and I tiptoed to the back of the café where we snagged a table outside in the
four table sized alley with lights up above and plants as well as paintings
scaling the brick walls. I squealed countless times in delight only stopping
when our waitress popped up behind us. Thus beginning the coffee. I branched
out as I often do on vacation and got a cappuccino. Maybe it was because the
roasted bean color of the mug complimented my nails, or because the cappuccino
actually was life changing, but listen up people, this cappuccino had me
reaching nirvana. After about two hours curled up at our small table we hit the
road mainly to get fish thrown over our heads. CAUTION: Fishes will sometimes
be thrown too low and hit you in the head (wipes fish off my own hair). I’m still
having dreams about The Oddfellow Café and ya’ll should be too because its
ambiance is, dare I say, the best I’ve ever experienced.
Somewhere along the Oregon Coast: Espress(o)
yo self with an Espresso Hut, east coast. It’s a drive through hut that has
more promise to make me happy than any man ever will and for that reason the
east coast has got to get a hold of one of these ASAP. I had a chai that was so
good I nearly died. Thanks hut, for helping three girls with a mid-day sugar
rut.
Bend: Bend felt like the city in “The Truman Show” and I’m still
slightly convinced that it is. Everyone was attractive, almost a little too
nice and somewhat doing well. It could be because if you didn’t want Starbucks
or Dunkin which were right there, then you could go to any of the 4,254,689
little mom and pop coffee shops that were around town and if you really didn’t
want that, today you could stop at a nearby espresso hut or by simply getting
caffeine injected straight into your veins on the street corner down by the
park. (The latter is of course a joke but if there is a thriving market for
that, someone please let me know).
Needless
to say it was an amazing trip out west. Thanks for the memories, West, keep a
mug of coffee waiting cause I’ll certainly be back.