another story from france

Now: The Coffee Shop Complex


As the expression of my thoughts strongly push their way to the forefront of my mind. A bypass in which I have secured all creativity; allowing not the embankment to break and the poetic prose to flow. I am stuck.  I stare at these three sentences, having restarted countless number of posts varying in titles and concepts. Yet I start again. In this present moment. Writing what I know and coming to a conclusion I have desired an answer too since these magical spaces became a truth in my actuality.

Here I sit, closest to the door, each swing awakens in me a breath of life due to the chill that stings my back. Admiring the man in shorts desperately digging through the vinyls so compressed his frame is adapted, as a wall, against their weight. Songs of French ring through the air as the “lady in black” is expressing a devout interest in each word that her counterpart expresses. This understanding shown through strong sense of body language. I admire this moment. The one where my attention is taken from the page to the white brick wall so densely covered with the art of musical geniuses from generations near and far. Headphones hang about the space, inviting in all who share this appreciation of connectivity through song. Each detail implemented to convey that of an old record shop serving contentment through simplicities, smiles, and an excellent cafe creme.

The coffee shop. When the world slows down a bit, and the concept analyzed, one will see the coffee shop is constructed to encourage connectivity among all: a place we find ourselves in others. Here we develop an understanding of the simple pleasures in life.

I have never taken the time to truly analyze my obsession with spending time in this atmosphere. No matter the country, I always find refuge in these spaces. As if they take me back to the pleasant realities of my past, allow me to truly observe, be present, and dream of possibilities of future. Here among these four walls it is encouraged that enlightening conversation be had, while falling into the fantasy of a writer’s mind, or trying to find inspiration to form vital thoughts, comes naturally.

The extensiveness of my manifestations come to play in these moments of gratitude and a desire to continue writing about them. In Bayonne, France I find my reality to be at this present moment. One where if I looked back five years ago the concept of being in a place so filled with art and love, while home being spread from Costa Rica to Kentucky still appears a dream. This space could be placed anywhere in the world, but here I am, taking a moment transpired into an hour to appreciate this fairytale. Where the architecture and art form in itself port me back to a world long ago; while the language spoken around sings of romance and paradox with the constant single tone my American ear has yet to decipher.

I still am in daily awe of the reality that is my life… and in moments of pure discord, I find a sense of being grounded in a space that’s concept is solid in all languages, lifestyles, and through a love of something so simple… coffee.