The Cafe

The woman behind the counter eyed me standing at the door, a mixture of curiosity, or maybe suspicion, and anticipation on her face. Her manner conveyed a sense of purpose, an air that is common to owner-operators.

“Good morning.” I said, hopeful that I would have my pick of the tables. A small, 2 seater in a corner had caught my eye as I walked in. It was away from the main dining area, which is always my preference.

Her face relaxed and her demeanour softened. “Table for one?” I nodded. “Do you mind if I take the corner table?”

A moment later I stood at my table, eyeing the menu as I set my bag down against the wall. I settled on my breakfast choice and made my way back to the counter.

“What can I get you?”

“Can I have the chilli eggs please and…”

“Do you want that on sourdough or a croissant?”, she cut me off mid sentence.

“Sourdough please.”

“Fried eggs or scrambled?”

“Scrambled…and can I have a cappuccino please?”

I sat back in my corner, feeling the chair creak and give a little. In the other section of the room people sat and chatted. Some stared at their phones, others still engaged in quiet conversations.

I pulled out my copy of Theroux’s ‘The Patagonia Express’ and opened it to read. The small older lady on the table in front of me took out a kindle, presumably to do the same. It struck me as funny that I, in my 40s, was trying to break away from tech and read a physical book and the old lady, who must have been in her 80s at least, was reading in a less old fashioned way. I settled down to my reading.

The ding of the kitchen and the owner’s presence pulled my attention back from my book.

“Chilli eggs and a cappuccino?”, she asked.

I have always wondered why they ask. Maybe it’s in case a mistake has been made, but surely a simple “Here is your…” would be equally confirming.

I nodded. “Yes, thank you”, playing my role in this little interaction perfectly.

As I sat eating and drinking - trying hard to read but struggling to focus, the long empty table next to mine began to fill. An older man, the look of a retiree who had spent his working life on the land, sat first and constantly shifted his gaze between the door and his phone. Another walked in and immediately the first man’s eyes brightened.

“Saved you a seat” he said. The second man nodded and walked over.

“Can I join you rascals?”, rasped a third. The raspy voiced man stood apart from the other two. He wore an aged leather jacket and torn jeans. I wondered if, in younger days, he had been the wild man of the bunch. Whatever the case, this part of the room had become crowded and noisy with the reunion. It was time for me to leave.

Stepping out into the drizzle, I glanced at my watch and considered my next move. Too short a time to return home just yet, too long a time to be where I needed to be. The grey sky reflected my state of limbo. I resolved to take my camera to the Point Leo lookout. I was due there in an hour or so and I would either find an interesting photo opportunity, or a place to sit and just be still.