As I've mentioned before, when I'm at home, I'm not much for coffee shops. While I love sharing coffee with a friend, I prefer to make my own both because it saves money and because more often than not, it's more suited to my taste than cafe offerings.
And while I'm observing that while traveling too, I've been on a bit of an indulgent streak since abroad. I can't seem to resist (nor want to) the temptation, after several hours walking, to plop down in a nice little cafe con leche (I'm sorry, it just sounds magical for some reason to me). Fine, and usually a pastry. But I'm walking it off, I swear.
Anyway, I look for the cheap looking cafes. I'll take something simple with the sound of dishes and loud-talking baristas any day over the pretentious tourist-oriented Cafe whatever-whatever. I don't need fancy linen on my table to have a coffee. Counter or a cheap plastic table works for me, which might not have been true back home, but is here. Here, the important thing are the windows.
Surprisingly, a lot of people seem to avoid the window seats, especially if they're counter/bar/whatever you call 'em style, facing out. I wonder if it's because they're in company. Though even then, I like to be distracted a little, because sitting in a cafe gives you a perfect excuse to gawk without seeming like a weirdo.
People-watching has been fun in a busy city like this one. I play a little game where I look for the locals and try to figure out where they're going, what their story is. I love watching locals because they're genuine. They're just there as opposed to striking a pose or trying to look like something they're not. They're just existing, which is always thrilling to observe. From afar. With a telescope. Like glimpses into another world.
I also love sitting in cafe windows because it makes me feel a little like a mannequin. Is that weird? Perhaps. I've noticed this weird phenomenon - people out in the street will hold your gaze more openly if you're sitting behind glass.
One of my least favorite things in life is how quickly people (myself often included) look away instead of holding your gaze. I like to look people in the eye.
In passing, women will give you a one-over, and catalog your dress, but turn away when you try to look them in the eye. Many women, I've found, try to imbue all their modest confidence in a pose, a jutting of the hip, a bold lipstick. We don't look men in the eye because it spells trouble, and we don't look other women in the eye because it might confirm that they're better, sexier, more confident. Our worst fear.
And the men. The men are a furtive gazer's delight. Most men, while in company, will steal glances, but turn red when you meet their eye. Almost as if in the next second, you'll walk up to them and shake them out of their life which (if we're being honest) most of them aren't particularly happy in.
Men's looks signify nothing, yet are laden with meaning.
Out in the wild, holding the gaze of the opposite sex is rare. Half of us worry about being approached, while all of us worry about being rejected. But behind the safety of coffeeshop glass, we can look at one another at will.
I revel in these secret meetings, in being observed like a mannequin behind store windows, and letting my eye roam freely. So I sit by the window. When alone, but also in company. And for a little while, place myself on a spinning plastic pedestal that allows me to step out of my identity and into your fantasy. Into my own fantasies of whom I could be, were I not locked behind a cafe window.
This little exercise has been in response to the Coffee Shop Prompt of this week, wanting to know:
Is a seat near the window, or one more nestled away ideal for you when out for a coffee? Include some snaps to show us what the view from your table looks like. Real coffee shop photos and real-life stories.
The photos, I can ascertain, are real. I took them myself. The chocolate croissant was most definitely real. As for the stories, I'm less sure. You mean the ones in my head? I'll have to get back to you on that.