It was impossible to get a decent cup of coffee in town. None of the little food joints opened in the mornings and anyway, they didn’t do coffee. It’s not drunk by the locals – just like Bolivia! – who start their day instead with horrible hot milky drinks or coca tea. The posh place did have an Italian coffee machine but the staff had no idea how to use it.
I eventually wandered down to the bus station in desperation. There, under a shady tree, was a large woman with pink stained cheeks and lips – she looked like an eccentric tramp. But far from it – she was in charge of her own hot drinks business. It was a highly effective operation. From one of several large sacks which concealed urns swaddled in eiderdown she poured out hot water and hot milk into a cup with several spoons of instant coffee. She also had a range of teas and powdered chocolate, chunks of sweet bread and several little stools for customers. By nine o’clock every morning she was packing up, a fat wad of notes tucked into her waistband. Brilliant.
I eventually wandered down to the bus station in desperation. There, under a shady tree, was a large woman with pink stained cheeks and lips – she looked like an eccentric tramp. But far from it – she was in charge of her own hot drinks business. It was a highly effective operation. From one of several large sacks which concealed urns swaddled in eiderdown she poured out hot water and hot milk into a cup with several spoons of instant coffee. She also had a range of teas and powdered chocolate, chunks of sweet bread and several little stools for customers. By nine o’clock every morning she was packing up, a fat wad of notes tucked into her waistband. Brilliant.
No comments:
Post a Comment