My morning constitutional took me four kilometres or so today, through often ankle deep but everywhere melting snow and grubby slush, down the main road that runs past my apartment block to the Metro station at the end of the line (the line itself runs below this road, and connects my southern extremity suburb with the city centre and, beyond, ultimately the northern city limit). By the time I got there, I was chilled but refreshed: as ever, the exercise did me good. I crossed the path by the Metro entrance, past the little fruit and veg stall (now selling Christmas trees and mistletoe sprigs as well as potatoes, onions, apples and so on, with Christmas fast approaching), and entered the Costa Coffee franchise there.

The warmth inside promptly fogged up my glasses, but I had already seen the place, at 10:15 or so, was already packed, with few spare seats, so no chance of a table to myself. I ordered my large vanilla latte with almond milk and a small sprinkling of chocolate, and took it to a corner seat, just in from the window. There was an old boy, probably a few years older than me, nursing an espresso and half drunk Diet Coke and reading a magazine, and at my request grunted and gestured at the other chair, inviting me to sit, then returned to his reading, ignoring me from then on. I shrugged off my parka, took out my own book, and settled myself comfortably for an hour’s relaxation.

Cafe society is alive and well in Warsaw.

It’s one of the things I love about my adopted home town. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place with so many cafes and coffee bars and the archetypal bar mleczno (a relic from Poland’s Communist past, selling home made and very cheap traditional food and drink at cheap plastic tables and chairs that has in recent years gained a new cachet). Most apartment blocks have one or the other at the ground floor level, so as there are probably thousands of blocks scattered around the city residents are spoilt for choice. A lot of them are branches of the major franchises like Costa Coffee, Cafe Nero and, of course, Starbuck’s, and hence quite expensive, but some of the best are the local places, family businesses, with home cooked fresh cakes and salads and pastas, and a more limited choice of coffees and fruit teas. There are I think four of these within perhaps three minutes walk of my front door.

The bigger ones, the Costa’s and Nero’s, are usually packed, as mine was today, with young professionals tapping away on laptops and even doing Zoom calls, and groups of women on shopping expeditions having a quick top up between stores. There is a strong passing trade too of students picking up a latte-to-go to slurp on bus or Metro on the way to school or college. And there are people like me, with time on their hands, enjoying a breath of fresh air and a good book or magazine, sipping coffee someone else has made and munching a fresh roll or donut. Just chillin’.

I love it.

I could happily spend all day sitting at a window seat in one of these oases of calm, just watching the world go by, drinking a few cups of latte or maybe a fruit tea or two, and reading my book. Or writing something, like this. I’ve done so a few times: one of the bigger malls, a twenty five minute Metro and five minute tram ride from home, has a sizable Starbuck’s there, complete with a solid oak table about three metres long, with matching cushioned stools and plenty of power sockets (and of course free wi-fi) and I’ve spent time there, pre-retirement, prepping invoices and reviewing client documentation for four or five hours at a stretch.

My problem with that isn’t so much the thought of actually working, but the fact that my laptop is an old Lenovo ThinkPad that weighs a ton, once I’ve added in a power pack and cabling, so lugging it around with me is not something I feel much like doing. At some point, I need to get something newer and lighter that I can stuff into a shoulder bag and carry around without suffering a dislocated shoulder. But there is no rush.

In the meantime, I just take a book with me, stuffed in my overcoat pocket or a small shoulder bag or backpack, and I lose myself just as easily in that. I’ve been doing it for years now, because on the road I often had a lot of spare time and no-one to spend it with in Beirut or Tel Aviv or Almaty or some other outlandish place, and my time spent in those often unique coffee houses essentially sold this cafe society to me. All life is there, and half the fun is sitting there watching watching groups or pairs of people, talking animatedly or furtively in a strange and unintelligible tongue, and just wondering who they are and what they are doing. Sometimes it’s undoubtedly best not to know – but still: curiosity is still there, and the imagination is a wonderful thing.

Anyway, that will do for now. An hour in Costa sipping latte has worked its magic and provided me with a bit more grist for the mill, and led to this little insight into my world. I hope you’ve enjoyed it.