A SPACE FOR REFLECTION

Last issue we slammed the cookie-cutter ubiquity of the corporate global cafe franchise. This piece of tea-infused prose kicks off our series in praise of the world’s independently owned, distinctly different spaces for gathering, drinking, shopping, communing or sharing.

Brewing up
Veronica Simpson discovers an oasis of calm – and exquisite tea - in the heat of Nicosia.

It’s two thirty in the afternoon, and I’m navigating my way alone through the afternoon heat and the dusty streets of Nicosia for the first time, feeling every inch a foreigner in a foreign land. Seeking solitude after the dazzling intensity of a dear pal’s big fat Cypriot wedding, and an escape from the endless consumption of frappés, frappucinos and countless powdered coffee derivatives that seem to fuel these wonderfully enterprising, inventive, sociable and generous people, I am drawn towards the antique streets and ancient paths that the Venetians laid in this city, a few hundred years ago. Crumbling plaster walls, ancient wooden doors, the rusting curlicues of vine-draped balconies - it’s as if the merchants of the Middle Ages still walked these streets.

It’s siesta time for most sane people (here I’m twice excused, being temporarily half sane thanks to the overindulgence of the night before, and permanently English) and the streets are almost deserted. I see a signboard pointing to a dark alleyway where nothing appears to be happening. But the sign says ‘today’s special: aubergine and feta cheese tart’, and promises ‘delicious teas’. So, against my usual instincts for personal security, I enter the deserted alleyway and walk 30 yards down it til I find myself in a light-filled courtyard, with a dozen empty wooden tables, a quietly pulsing Buddha Bar-esque soundtrack and a slim, young, Persian-looking guy with a beautiful face waiting peacably for customers.
My tired eyes take in the cluster of different spaces on offer: cushion-strewn sofas in quiet nooks; white walled tea dispensary, with gilded tins arranged on shelves behind frosted glass; and elegantly casual bar area, glowing with coloured light. The sun-dappled courtyard calls to me. My host hands me a menu filled with the most exotic assortment of teas I’ve ever encountered, the provenance and properties of each one lovingly described. I pick Lotus Oolong and wait for my lunch to arrive.

Revelling in the cool, quiet, empty space, I watch the play of sunlight over the pale blue painted walls ahead of me, patterned by shadows from a wizened vine that creeps along a loosely strung electricity cable, and find myself joined by a tiger-striped tabby with enormous green eyes. He bestows his graceful presence at my table, basking in my obvious admiration.

With a whole afternoon ahead of me, I’m in no hurry. I look at my tourist map to try and get my bearings, wondering why I feel so alien in my own skin today. I decide to leaf through my Moleskin notebook I carry everywhere, now stuffed with mental flotsam: observations, inspirations, reminders, scraps of conversation, poems. And one of them I'd jotted down – ‘Wild Geese’, by Mary Oliver – suddenly makes me want to cry.

‘You do not have to be good,’ she instructs my delicate, hungover heart.
‘You do not have to walk on your knees for 100 miles through the desert, repenting.
‘You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
‘Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
‘Meanwhile the world goes on.
‘Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.
‘Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.’

Such sweet comfort I get from these words. Fat, hot tears roll down my face and land in my cup, a symptom of my usual emotional incontinence (poetry, music, random acts of kindness, even sportsmen and women receiving trophies on podiums - anything can trigger this flood). I let them roll. Here, I feel, it’s OK to cry; all emotions are acceptable. A huge slab of aubergine tart arrives, with a crisp green salad drenched in fresh lemon juice. The man who delivers it quietly overlooks the fact that this strange Englishwoman is weeping. Comforted by his grace (or reassured by his disinterest), by the continued purring of my tabby companion, and the delicious combination of salty cheese, gooey aubergine and thick filo pastry, by the exquisite flavour of my tea, I’m restored to myself.

Life can be good, my soul murmurs, and Mary’s poem assures me, as it concludes: ‘Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.’
And the loving assemblage of the delicious, the meaningful and the beautiful that surrounds me in this quiet place pours balm on my fractured nerves and assures me that all will be well.

Now could you even imagine this experience taking place in Starbucks?

Brew is a tea lounge by day, cocktail bar by night, and can be found at 30b Ippokratous street, 1011, Nicosia, Cyprus.
brewlounge@yahoo.com

Photos by Sofroninos Sofroniou, reproduced, with thanks

If there’s any kind of unique and special place in your neighbourhood – or one you’ve encountered on your travels – we want to hear about it. Do please send us your suggestions or contributions to: contribute@magnificentme.com