The afternoon sun is full in my face, exactly as I’d requested this morning.
Let’s head somewhere in the mountains or by the seaside. I want to feel like I’m at a writer’s residency.
The weather is fantastic, but my plans are purely sedentary. There’s somethings I want to get off my mind. We found a café along the new subway line heading out toward the outskirts, a place we used to reach only after a half-day on our bikes. Now, it takes just about an hour via the subway, then the local train, and the subway again¹.
We unintentionally landed at a Bali-esque café minus the humidity and bikini tops. Slabs of oak and cherry wood make up the tables and beams. The interior catches the soft sunlight filtering through sheer white curtains and warm strip lights hidden in the corners. Even the bathroom door handles are rustic exposed branches, opening to a floor of Costa Esmeralda granite, a wide ceramic sink, and a full-length mirror. A touch of luxury without any pretension.
Instead of a thatched hut, the overhead is the classic shipping container², cleverly concealed by sparse hanging ferns and wilted ivy. Another entire section is draped in dried plum blossoms and willow branches. A conversation pit occupies one corner, layered with furry animal-print blankets and bohemian throw pillows.
Are we on vacation?
I’m wearing my sunglasses indoors because looking across the table at d means facing a blinding glare. In the photos, he’s completely backlit while I am fully blown out. We’re sitting in these wicked low chairs that are a tad awkward for typing, but the background playlist (eg., folklore, you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love, wishbone) happens to be the exact boring pop that allows me to focus when writing.
I’m alternating between typing and annotating Fruit Fly by Josh Silver, the ideal way to spend a weekend getaway.
Footnotes
- Riding the subway full way actually takes longer.
- It's common for illegal structures to be built in this fashion.