You’re out walking. It’s getting late sooner then normal. It’s cold. Crisp leaves tussle around your feet, as you walk through abandoned streets. You’re high up, above the town. Down there, far far down, people are singing, screaming at bad jokes, trotting along in their skyscraper stilettos.
Up here it’s silent. Up here it’s peace. The autumn wind is gently peaching up your cheeks as you flip up the collar of your coat.
As you turn a corner, yellow light streams out onto the curb, from a nearby window. Soft yet blinding, in the darkness of nightfall. Inside people sit bent over steaming mugs, above them are shelve thick with all sorts of books, tablecloths and chairs are all mismatched. They seem to somehow have all the time in the world.
The bell above the door chimes as I enter Klosteret Kaffebar, or ‘The Monastery Café’.
On the speakers: World Cry by Lloyd (then Options, by Pitbull)
Price of a cappuccino: £4
Time on the clock: 19:06
3 things I see: An Illy X7 for sale, Elvis, Prince, Madonna and many others in picture frames, scattered across the walls, the floral print on the cushions, which brings back happy memories of trying to not spill ice-cream on grandma’s living room carpet.
3 things I hear: Tapping on a Mac, bartender talking, cards being shuffled
3 things I smell: Vintage fabrics (aka dust and decay, but in a nice way), croissants, the Moroccan hair oil i was hoping would stop my split ends from splitting even further.
3 things I feel: The sting of my cold hands, good vibes, like time stands still in here
I order my cappuccino (and a croissant, of course, which I fill with jam clearly meant for waffles) and pick a table in between the most people. I feel cosy today.
After studying the bookshelves (there re many great writers here, such as Aurelius and Seneca) I spot a note that says ‘Leave a book you’ve read, take a book you haven’t’. Clearly sharing is caring in this little stumble-upon-timebubble of mine. I wish I had finished some of the books in my backpack. I have both ‘How to Be a Woman’ and ‘A Room of Ones Own’ in there, excellent trades for any book. But sadly, no. I will have to come back. Unless this is like The Room of Requirement, and I never find it again.
I am already planning my next visit, as my cappuccino arrives, in a zebra-striped cup, might I add. It doesn’t have any latte art, which I found disappointing at first, but then, thinking about it, I concluded that this is neither a fancy nor hipster place, it’s not here for some certain type of group, it is a curious and homely thing. The milk is smooth, the coffee a little bitter, but it fits. All I need is a rocking-chair and a cat.
Final verdict: 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 4/6