Microcosm of a coffeeshop
Four Letter Word Coffee in Burgazada, Turkey
Have you ever encountered a boat far from the shore, at the heart of earth? Nor resting at the harbour, the shop is supplied and reached in all sorts by the incessant to and fro of ships. From the coffee beans to the customers, the denizens of the wooden shrine to the sail umbrellas, they all come with an arrow of scheduled boats.
Customers line-up, sit and mingle on the deck, waiting for a steaming cup or the sound of ice crackling in a heterogeneous bundle of milk and espresso.
Herein lies the beauty of the place, in those first spotted white nylon deck chairs, a hub of sails roof to anchor your soul. In and out of the chaos of Istanbul, an invitation on Burgaz is peace mingled with sun. Welcomed to a different rhythm, the ship stays put on rotating earth, while the revolving sun touches the place, casting playful shadows on Iznik tiles. However, when the golden hour strikes, it has it for the cakes stand illuminated in sunrays.
Music is textured, refracted through a revived gramophone. Tracks of different eras are interrupted for the muezzin’s prayer. And as the careening baristas adumbrate around the tables, one asks for the story of the shop. Moulding a warm ceramic cup, expressing wonder in conversation, they discover the story of a friendship in Chicago and a redefinition of coffee in Turkey.
The uneven street ground implements a dance of steps, for the members of the crew, for the cats nestled under the tables. Waking up at night, the feline seeks comfort while candles are being set up. The presence of a man lies in the body of an old cat, Charles Bukowski. Resembling a spotted hyena, he recovers from abandonment in milk extras. Gigantic eyes circled in black, balance of devotion and robotic stance, a saccaded juggling set of paws.
Four Letter Word is prone to calm, yet respects the daily interruptions of a coffeeshop. Thriving with arrivals, a flow of individual discoverers, post-swimming sessions regulars, participate in the small society.
The microcosm is reinforced with affection, when children get down their bike to call for their mum, one of the founders. Their exchange, a few front teeth missing, in an endearing batter of kid’s wit. For the anonymous and islanders witnessing the scene, it’s all smiles.
While conversations come and go, the coffee beans roll and plunge in the roaster drum. Pale green warms up to the heat, shivering in aromas, a tanned combination the place only knows how.
Four Letter Word Coffee, Burgazada, Turkey
Originally published at capucinefachot.com.
