Today I have gone
for a walk after work. One of those nineteenth century ones, just walking down
the streets, going nowhere in particular, waving at acquaintances and stopping
to chat with them here and there along the way, obstructing the way to other
pedestrians in a somehow irresponsible way. I then remembered Palma cafes and some
occassions my friends enjoyed them in the past, and started searching for them
across the streets of the old own (where was that one placed? ... How was that
one called?)
If there is
something abounding in Palma, this is “cafés”. I am not referring to those bars
were people gather to take a beer and a “tapa”. Not to the summer terraces
either; not even to those trendy shops, such as Cappuccino or 1916. I am
talking about those places where one can read and talk together with other
friends: Sa Llotja, Café Lírico, Al Vent del Mon, Antiquari, Librería de Babel,
Café des Teatre, Sa Botiga des Buffons. Those quiet places with yellow lamps
and customized tables, where mutual respect allows that different
nationalities, ideologies and cultures live together. Meeting points for those
who have in common their love of books.
Palma Cafés are
one of those thousand reasons to enjoy the town. I only know another place
where there are so many: Vienna, where coffee cups are served with delicious pieces
of cake and multicultural newspapers from all over the world, hanging from a
circular table: Landtmann, Sperl, Korb, Leopold, Celsior... and my favourite
one: Café Museum, in Operngasse. My friend Lucia Pessot and I have sat in those
dark wooden tables more than once.
I got into a mall
and “Eau the Rochas” for twentieth time this week, facing a hard glance of the
shop assistant, who has already seen me some times doing the same thing without
necessarily buying afterwards. I pulled a bottle of water out of my handbag and
sat opposite the mall, enjoying the cool night.
And I went back
home thinking about tomorrow.
Love that Capuccino
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