Flaneur

Sklep z Kawa

 

Ok, I’m in a café in Warsaw and I’m not even sure what the name is. But it's stunning. I think its the one Malgosia recommended, but the coffee is superb, out of this world. Or from all over the world. Oh, I’ve just found out that it's called Sklep v Kawa. 'Coffee Shop'. And yes, there's a small coffee shop attached. So… There you are. Does what it says on the tin. And I do love how understated this is - they must know just how good their stuff is. It's literally on a par with the Algerian Coffee House in Old Compton Street in London, except the latter doesn't have a fantastic café attached. They have genuine Jamaican Blue Mountain. Even a peaberry variety. Hawaii Kona, Yemen Matari, Mexico Maragogype and Altura, Nepal Mount Everest Supreme, (which is actually grown at the foot of the Ganesh Himal mountain, about seventy clicks from Kathmandu, but which is fed by waters from the melted snow of the Himalaya), Ethiopia Sidamo and Djimah, as well as Yirgacheffe, Costa Rica Tarrazu san Rafael, Guatemala Antigua, (in choices of roastings), Brazil Pergamino sul de Minas (certified by BSCA), Nicaragua SHB, Papua New Guinea Pearl (a romantic word for peaberry), Java WIB, Colombia Supremo Medellin, Puerto Rica Yauco Selecto, Sumatra Mandheling, a selection of Indian plantation roasts. I mean, come on. What more could anyone want? 

Well, how about this: they make all the coffees in little 'Szeherezada' ceramic topped macchinas on a stove at the front of the café right there in front of you. With ginger, cardomum, cinnamon, natural spices as part of chinese medicine brewed in a kettle for two minutes. And Kulczycki Coffee, Ethiopian Djimah brewed with honey. It’s going to take wild horses to remove me. Or possibly excess caffeine. One lady brews and delivers, and another pops her head out from the room beyond to retrieve the used pots. The café itself is small, with wooden tables replete with - slightly oddly (or maybe not - Africa after all) zebra skin wraps around the wooden topped stools. Three small tables for four people and and one for two.

I watch stove lady making my coffee. Brewing the beans with cardomon. Good for the kidneys, apparently, and that's fine by me. She brings the small cup and a little side order of milk. I asked her what's best - with or without? She said she felt without. Mmm. Good choice. A double espresso in a small cup, full to the brim. Simple. But, oh… the aroma from the top - it's not cheap at 8zl, or about a pound sixty, but it's the best I’ve ever smelled, and I haven't even tasted it yet. In fact it would be worth the price just for the aroma. Just sit and smell it. 8zl. Yeah, I’m fine with that. Contemporary music, which is actually ok; Turkish or trad music might be more in keeping with the feel, but conversely could turn this into a museum piece, a tourist curiosity, which I can see it isn't. So i'm ok with it. An alternative would be no music at all. That would also be fine. Maybe what it needs is Darek with his duduk....

Ubiquitous tealights on the table, and the huge german sweetener dispenser spoils it a bit. The single light from the window would be fine. They also have a Pepsi fridge full of Liptons iced tea and of course Pepsi. Which also seems out of place in a place so small and so dedicated, but I’m sure they get asked for it, or they wouldn't have it here. Oh, and that coffee tasted every bit as good as it smelled. Truly, truly great coffee. And my kidneys do indeed feel fortified and ready to face the brutal cold outside. This was an unexpected find. A quick stunning coffee. And now I must be on my way to see a lady about procuring some beautiful girls. All in the cause of the furthering of photographic art, of course.

President Cafe

 

Funny old place. I've lived here over a year and only just found it. You'd really have to know it’s here. That's its blessing and it's curse. The setting is kind of idyllic. Tucked up at one end of a sunken garden just over the road from the main shopping centre, a stone's throw from Andel tube station beside the church; it's convenient to get to, but hidden away, and quiet.

Looking the length of the park which, again, because it's not frequented a great deal, is lush and green completely unlike it's impoverished next door neighbour by the supermarket library thing.  You'd think it would be perfect, but somehow it just isn't. Which is a real shame, as it's right on my doorstep.

 

Ok, part of it was the truly awful music. The inside's nice - quite small, but well appointed. But I could only squeeze this quick shot off before I had to leave, because the music was so terrible and the air conditioning was non-existent.  The seats ouside are fine. Relatively new and the tables aren't bad. You know; not bad. Could try harder.

There's a long path up the side of the lawn with benches, and this is clearly where the winos are. Oh god, a bloke ewith a djembe has just walked in. But look around at the faces.... are they all drunk or alcoholic...? The most preposterous peroxide blonde who looks to be pushing sixty, but probably not much more than my age. Leopard skin lycra top. Brushed forward. Fag and friend. Imagine the worst it could be (you'll have to imagine - I'm not cruel enough to take a picture). And yet… some office workers from around, blue collar, so it feels like a known meeting place for gossip. A funny old clientele, then. 

The coffee? It's slightly thin and bitter. They haven't got medovnik, got something else instead, but it tastes really processed. Not quite railway fare, but only a step above. The café as a whole is really not bad, and it certainly seems to have its fans, but I feel slightly irked because with just a little more effort I feel it could be really good.  The parasols - big ones provided by Coca Cola. So they've paid for the furniture, probably; hopefully at least the parasols. They bear oldey worldey scenes of cafes of yesteryear in sepiatone, with 'Drink Coca Cola', 'Ice cold Coca Cola sold here' emblazoned in red across them. They look bloody awful. They'd actually have looked better without the sepia scenes. Why does it bug me so much? Because they are flying in the face of the genuine history of this place, taking away, not adding. You know, with just a little thought.... 

They serve ice cream here, and it actually looks quite good. But none of their enthusiastic regulars is eating one, despite the summer sunshine. Oh, bollocks the djembe player's started. I'm off. This place seems like a summer café because of the park, but you know, I reckon it would be better in the winter, warm indoors in that little space..... Just me and Peroxide Pavla and the music from hell.

A World of Difference

Let’s talk a little about Lviv. I’ve got some time to kill, so this would be a good time to make a formal introduction. Here, sit with me a moment in the busy town square.  Yeah, ok, the clue’s in the picture. It’s really not that busy. Well, let’s face it: it’s 5:30am. We’ve stepped off the long, long train ride from Odessa to discover that no matter which direction you come from, or go to, trains leave and arrive in Lviv at bizarre unsociable hours. Because Lviv is a happening place at such times? Well, it appears not. We have theories, but that’s for another post.

In the meantime, can we find an open café? Beautiful morning light. Better air than Odessa, so far. But almost no signs of life at all. We walk around to warm up a little, maybe even wake up. But I’m flagging, and I know why: there’s an excess of blood in my caffeine system. I really need to find a fix, and It’s not looking hopeful. But I remind myself that this is what being a flaneur is all about: we’re not just aimless wanderers, we have purpose in our step, moment in our stop and inspiration in our cup. It is about perspective through observation – so let’s observe. What is this place called Lviv? Well it has an identity problem for a start: pronounced almost ‘Lwoof’ by the Polish who once had claim to it, ‘Lvov’ when we bought our tickets in Russian-speaking south Ukraine, and ‘Lviv’ now we’re here. The imposing railway station proudly dispells any Russian notions in a font that couldn’t be more bold if it tried. Lbib. So there. There’s a lot that’s bold about this place. Check out the ecclesiastical hardware. 

Claims about the secular architecture are equally bold. ‘The Florence of the East’. Apparently architectural scholars come from all over to see the unspoiled French and Italian influences. Drug withdrawal is making me tense and grouchy, doing nothing to wedge back my fatigue, but despite that, I’m looking around and liking what I’m seeing; I’m sensing I might be open to a relationship with Lviv.

I glance at my watch for a few moments until my temporal dyslexia dislodges and – jeez – it’s half eight! – where the hell is everyone in this town?  I’m a fan of the slow movement, as every self-respecting flaneur should be, but I might just have found a serious – no, make that laid-back – contender for ‘Slow City’ of the year. There is something different about Lviv to Krakow, to Odessa, to almost anywhere else I’ve been… I wonder if I can figure it out sometime before I’m found asleep in a gutter – oh my God! A café!!  It’s tucked down a little mews street not far from where we started out. I don’t see anyone in there, but the door is open… The sign says ‘CBIT KABU’. Ok. Well, we noticed earlier in the trip the similarities between Ukrainian and Czech, and ‘cbit’ sounds reminiscent of ‘svet’, kabu is kind of ‘of coffee’, so we have… ‘world of coffee’. Hmmm. Promising.

Frankly, I’m just thankful to be inside, sat down, off the street, Florentine or no. But actually the atmosphere makes me relax beyond that. It’s warm, cosy; yet it is a beginning of the day place for people waking up on their way to work at… er… 9am. Definitely professional patrons. Quiet, assured. And, I suspect, relatively well-off. This doesn’t strike me as a workers’ caff. A glance at the price list confirms that. One of the things I find most striking is the relative uniformity of cost of a cup of coffee throughout Europe. Unlike alcohol where taxation is a big factor in pricing, coffee varies less. A coffee here is just over a pound. About the same as Krakow/Prague/Budapest/London (I know, you can pay more – up to double that in any of those towns – but that, too, is the point). So my thoughts turn to how much the average Lvivian earns in a month, and what that pound cup of coffee represents. I look around, and this café is swish. It’s not trying to be Western – this is no ‘Café Europa’ – it is Western. And it’s here.

Very self-assured, very comfortable, and its clientele strike me the same way. Part of me is attempting to be a dispassionate observer, but a stronger part of me is relaxing, enjoying this place, and feeling very much at home.  Then the waitress brings the menu, and my mind is made up. Looks like we’re right about our ‘world of coffee’ translation. They sell a simply heavenly range of coffees. And I’m not talking cappuccino, frappuccino, gap-o-chino – no – we’re talking Brazilian, Columbian, Kenyan, Blue Mountain, Ethiopian Yirgacheffe… oh, my, we’re in coffee heaven now. My Ukrainian certainly isn’t up to the job of asking if they’re single estate, but you know… something about this place makes me suspect they might have that covered. (Maybe I should have tried - the staff spoke some English and were friendly enough.) Seriously, I haven’t seen a range of coffees like this outside of Monmouth Coffee House in London, which as many of you will know is something of a benchmark for me. And let’s be clear here: I’m not in Mamut shopping centre in Budapest. This is a sidestreet café in Ukraine. 

The waitress brings coffee and cake. Both are stunning. Actually all three are. Technically we’ve been up for five hours at this moment, but still – what a way to start the day. Sets me thinking about Lviv, and Ukraine and the contrasts and contradictions we’ve seen over the last few days. Stunning well-preserved classical architecture in the town centre, and tram rails so neglected the equally ramshackle trams can’t do much above jogging pace on their way there. Nothing more advanced than scythes and horse-drawn carts for the entire journey from Lviv to Odessa, but Porsches and Hummers abound upon arrival. Absolutely no concept of tourism here, the seriously soviet hotel we’ve checked into where I was actually too afraid to take a picture, and now this oasis of… well, the best coffees from around the world bar none. Well, I’m intrigued. Which is good. Because I now have a reason to explore further, and a wonderfully civilised base from which to do so. Now if they only did accomodation….

Cultural Clash

An unbelievably hot day in Krakow, and I’ve resorted to that last refuge of the English abroad: a straw hat. And if I hadn’t found this in a shop in Prague (that looked so ladylike from the outside that my friend wouldn’t come in with me) I seriously would be wearing a knotted hanky. Really; it’s that hot. Said friend has made his way to Auschwitz, but I’ve only just got to Krakow, and I don’t feel I’ve begun to know it yet, so I want to mooch around here. 

Thus it is I find myself in Kazimierz, the Jewish quarter, and so far, my favourite bit of Krakow. The Town Square is grand, certainly; full of horse-drawn coaches and architecture. But the square here is wonderful on a more human, intimate scale. There’s a vibrant little market, quite antiquey, and yes, it’s surrounded by bars and cafés. I didn’t get to visit them all, but I was really pleased to find them, and I’ll be coming back to do a spot of leisurely research I promise. But it’s hot. And I need refreshment. And that’s when I heard The Clash. Rock the Casbah.

I’d been wandering, wondering, along the south edge of the square, and my legs just wandered me in. Just a little place open to the square, and here I am, beardy bloke in a straw boater nodding along to The Clash in a Post Punk Café. (So it proudly proclaims on a sign inside – I didn’t even look at the café from the outside – maybe it’s not actually called the PostPunk Café at all…) There’s a fantastic array of posters, flyers, cd covers all along one wall, and enough British artists to make you feel pride in our heritage, yet the chairs are comfy, there’s flowers on the table, and the slightly punky waitress gave me a friendly smile, so it’s very Post, and I don’t feel too much of a wally. Small. Simple. Comfy. And they did play some really great music. There’s a bigger downstairs, too, so I’m guessing this place comes alive in the evening. I forgot the heat; I read a book and lost myself. Now and then I looked out at the activity in the market square. Clean lines, no fuss and bother. A perfect place to relax.

The coffee? Not bad at all. Small cup, so pretty strong. I was mainly on the bottled water to be honest. If you love Vivaldi or hard house, this may not be your frappuccino. But I loathe techno in cafés, it’s just 21st Century muzak. And I’ve gone thirsty rather than drink in cafés playing the bloody Four Seasons. No, this place worked for me without even trying. It’s an odd identity, with it’s cream leather stools, black varnished tables, neat, pretty flowers, and Psychadelic Furs. But it seems comfortably assured in that identity, and invites you to go with it. An hour later I realised I had.

A Little Light Relief

Actually there are two Café Ebel’s, both of them are good, and I don’t have any pictures of either of them. But I do have the picture below, which I’m just busting to share with you. It’s the view from one of the Café Ebels, the one opposite the Franz Kafka Museum. In a nice little courtyard that’s quite a suntrap, you can sit beneath parasols watching cultured folk come, look at the outside of the museum, point and take pictures of the er… statues (fountain? Installation pieeece?) and wander off again. 

Twice I’ve watched women lay on their backs in front of the pesseurs with their mouths open, using cultural perspective to get an unusual holiday snap. Both were Australian. On the eve of an independent Britain can you imagine such a commemoration being commissioned? To stand in front of the museum to one of its greatest writers? Come on; wander down to Café Ebel, order a nice long cool lemonade, sit outside and marvel. Oh, but allow a little extra time for queueing: Ebel lock their toilet and keep the key behind the bar.

Fish on the fly

Think of this as an exercise in irony, if that works. The thing is, I’ve been rubbish recently at getting some reports and photos up on all the lovely cafés out here – too much time sitting in them, too much time working late at home, and then suddenly it’s 5am, and I wake up inclined at a rakish angle on the sofa, still in my clothes, but now with cheese in my hair. (I don’t know; maybe someone else has keys to my flat. I don’t even remember eating cheese…) So. I’ve got a couple of photos of Café Rybka here and I’m just going to put them up, tell you something very quick about the place and I’m going to do that before I eat. Because I’m really hungry, and that’ll make me do this quickly. I hope. 

Here’s where the irony comes in: because as I’m dashing this report off, the first thing I should say about Rybka is that it’s probably the most chilled out café in Prague. Maybe even Europe. It’s licenced. They do some great slivovice. The coffee’s not bad at all – pretty damn strong. Succinct little cappuccinos. Can be a little tar and froth, but you might be glad of that.

The medovnik is surprisingly good. You know, straight up kind of stuff. And occasionally they do toasties. Don’t count on it; like I said, it’s a laid back place. They might do them when you drop in, but you know… maybe no-one’s been out for supplies. But they’re just right if they’ve got them. Pretty cheap tasty little snacks. But that’s about it.

So what’s the appeal, then? Well, it’s a locals place, and if you want a wooden floor, wooden tables kind of space to spend the entire day – anything less than an afternoon would be missing the point – just smoking, drinking, reading (they are a bookstore too – Czech tho, no English stuff – like I said, it’s a locals place), hanging out and smoking some more, well this is The Place. Oh and dogs. Lots of dogs hang out here, too. But you could tell that from the picture of the front, couldn’t you? And even the dogs smoke.

Some places make their money by being high turnover. You want a coffee, you buy one quick, you get freaked out on the intense red and yellow plastic veneer and you bugger off sharpish so your seat is free for the next consumer. It’s all worked out, and you find yourself blinking in the daylight in no time. Rybka (Little Fish, by the way) offers the other approach. If you stay there long enough – guess what? – you buy something else. And then your friends arrive and they stay because you’re there, and pretty soon you’re all eating, drinking and smoking (hey, they sell smokes too). Or your friends don’t come, so you buy a book and stay anyway. I mean, where else would you be? It’s one of the places that makes me most wish I spoke better Czech. But don’t think I haven’t met some characters here anyway… 

So, in a nutshell, that’s Rybka. I’ll get some better pics soon, and I will revisit it more fully later. It’s that kind of place. But right now I’m Hank Marvin’, and I can hear the Italian sauce calling my name from the kitchen. In a voice like Gina Lollabrigida – I’m that hungry. Oh – you’ll find Rybka in Prague 2 (of course) tucked just round the corner from Globe bookstore, about halfway between the river and Narodni Trida tube station. There’s lots of tiny streets – expect to lose your way, but expect to find 3 other cafés, 2 lovely designer clothes shops, a couple of bookshops, a film school, churches, countless antique shops…

A truly civilised start to the day

It had been a long journey, to be sure. Almost 24 hours by train from Lviv (or El Bob, as it became known), and that was after another day and night trek there from Odessa. My deodorant was working hard for its reputation and mine. I’d had to bribe the carriage attendant just to sleep in a couchette that was already paid for, and we’d discovered a whole new meaning to the term ‘stopping train’ after we were shunted into a siding in Krakow mid journey for SEVEN HOURS. So when Gordon, the intrepid cyclist I’d shared the compartment with offered to buy breakfast if I could recommend a good place in Prague – well: it had to be Café Savoy.

Situated just before Legii Most (the bridge) on the Ujezd side, even a first glance makes it clear that you’ve found civilisation. Beautiful classical facades, and a warm glow from inside, which, upon closer inspection, with humble nose pressed to their glass, reveals that the beautiful classicism extends throughout. Voila!

I’m expecting Gordon to be shuffling uneasily by this point. This is no cheap gaff. But no, he’s clearly as keen to shake the dust off his boots from the Wild East as I am. So we step inside, and despite our unshowered countenance and more-than-usually-hursuite visage the clean, pressed uniforms of the staff bustle us to a table. So let’s cut to the chase. Breakfast at the Savoy. Why? Because it looks like this.

Yes. Precisely. Because there are mornings when that’s absolutely what you want. And it’s horrifically expensive, right? Well, no, not really. That’s the beauty of it. It really is affordable. Sure, if you’re strapped for cash, there are cheaper alternatives – Trafika II just around the corner for instance. But for an affordable 2 hour extravaganza, Savoy is the place. I reckon this lot (and more) came to about £6 a head. We really were there about 2 hours, and we still couldn’t finish it all. No café is perfect for everything, because individual character is what makes each one worth going to, but Savoy is everything you could want from this type of establishment. The staff are courteous, efficient and seemingly unflappable. The décor is opulent, but not overly grandiose or gauche (though it has to be said, the ceiling is breathtaking). The food is… well, you can see for yourself.

And there’s just the right amount of hauter – a step back from arrogance into the domain of comfortable self-worth. On an early visit here I spoke with the maitre d’ on my way out. “I’ve visited many cafes here in Prague” I said “and Savoy makes the best Cappuccino in the city.” “We know.” He replied. So, only snobs and tourists here, then? Pas du tout, mes amis. Whenever I’ve stopped by, the majority of the patrons seem to be local business people, one or two middle class families… the emphasis seems to be on quality without fuss. Definitely somewhere for a business brunch or afternoon strategy meeting.

And business does tend to be brisk. Café Savoy: the benchmark for both cappuccino and breakfast. Well, there you are. Enough said. If a man who had cycled betwixt the pill-boxes of Albania, the pot-holes of Moldova and endured 48hours of trains to emerge into the civilised sunshine of Prague asked you where he should go for breakfast – where else would you take him?

Eastern Europe

 

One of the most interesting places to take coffee these days is Eastern Europe. As you’ve probably noted from other posts, I spend most of my time in either Prague or London, so let me introduce you to half of my home territory. Now, I know there are several definitions of 'Eastern Europe', so for clarity let's use my own! I'm writing in English, and most English speakers think of the former Soviet Satellite countries as Eastern Europe. Many of those countries now prefer to think of themselves as 'Central Europe', but if Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Poland et al are ‘Central’, it really doesn’t leave much of an ‘East’. Belarus, Ukraine... And Russia perhaps. But since identity is at stake, I turn to Slavenka Drakulic's comment on the matter that 'Europe is that which is not Russia'. So, East is East.  But the desire to be 'Central', and therefore at the very heart of 'that-which-is-not-Russia' is part of what makes the journey worthwhile to these countries.

Much has changed in the last two decades, but their new European identities were formed on ideas of 'Europe' as romantic as our ideas of them at the time. Just think 'Prague' or 'Budapest' and see how your mind wanders... Imagine then how 'Paris' and 'Vienna' must have felt to the East.  So there is a romantic ideal at the heart of the Café culture of Eastern Europe which may aspire to an idea of Europe much purer than our actual everyday experience of being European.

There’s also the pace of things out here, too. Perhaps it’s a post-product of communism, but there’s a slower, more deliberate pace of life in the East. There’s some definite contenders for ‘slow cities’ here. Some great architecture, no necessity to rush, a desire to be part of the romantic ideal that is Europa – it all makes for a flaneur's paradise. Yes, but can you get a good cup of coffee? Absolutely. I just got back from Ukraine and found a café there with varieties of coffee I haven't seen outside of Monmouth Coffee house in Central London. Transport links get better and better and if stag parties can get to Prague for the weekend, so can you. (Just head for a different part of town when you get here, that's all). For extended flaneuric explorations train is a great way to get around.

Leisurely and reasonably priced (sometimes downright cheap) it's the perfect way to trundle from city to city in search of good company and the perfect cup. I'll add transport details as I get them. Obviously airlines change their schedules as often as their menus, but I get the impression that the long distance train timetable in Eastern Europe doesn't change from one decade to the next. And as always, if you travel out here, do send in your impressions, recommendations and information and I'll incorporate it into the site. So dig in, dark pearls of the East await!

Kava Kava Kava

 

Where better to start than where I started, just over a year ago? Kava Kava Kava. The name promises so much. Coffee in multiplicity. And that is actually one of its selling points; but more about that later. Details first. Kava is situated at Andel, on the yellow tube line, and a centre where many trams meet. It’s a thriving shopping area, with some big multinational names too, and more cinemas in one place than can easily be comprehended. As a result, it’s chock full of relatevely eager consumers, relatively wealthy expats and relatively well-behaved evening revellers. All things are relative at the end of the day. And Kava seems well set up to cater for this. So it’s a funny one for me, because it’s the best and worst of both worlds. It was the first café I discovered here, because: 1) it’s at the end of my street 2) the staff speak some English 3) they have internet access So if you’re a new expat, this place is a godsend.

It takes ages to get internet access set up at home here, and cafes like this can be your lifeline. And it looks familiar to eyes from further West. Which is as it should be, since the owner had a certain Starbucks firmly in mind when setting the cafés up (there’s two so far). So let’s cut to the chase. All things are personal; what do I like and what do I not? Well, if you’ve got a laptop with wifi and you’re eating or drinking here (even a long-drawn-out cup of coffee) they don’t charge for the internet access. Which is nice. The staff are friendly and most speak some English, but don’t expect bonhomie. For internet reasons alone I took coffee in here almost every day for three months and not once did anyone venture a “Hi! How are you?” in either language. That’s something that usually happens by my third visit to most cafes in London, that awfully unfriendly city. Which I thought was a shame, as one definitely sees familiar faces returning here often.  

Yes, yes, but is the coffee “The Best in Prague”? Well, technically the sign that proudly proclaims this in English outside says they sell the best coffee. And that may be true. But they certainly don’t make it. Oh, I don’t know, maybe that’s me being harsh, with my English distaste for people declaring themselves to be the best at something that is to some great extent subjective. Look, it tastes like…. Starbucks. If you like Starbucks, you’ll love this. Same mugs, different logo. Coffees from around the world. Kinda should be good. Nice idea. But blow it all, I’m a caffeinophile and I’ve yet to tell which coffee they’re using. In my humble opinion it’s a selling point, not a tasting one. Why are there only a handful of places where it really works? Monmouth Coffee House in London springs to mind. 

You’ll probably notice the quality of light in these pictures. Sorry about that. I’m not actually a bad photographer (honest!), but the lighting in Kava is subdued. That could make for a perfect hideaway, or a place to hatch caffeine-fuelled plans with fellow conspirators. But the furniture and layout seem to be at odds with that. The hard chairs seem designed to make you drink and go. Go on, get back to work. And it’s open plan; no wooden cloisters or hideyholes. I find it difficult to read or relax. And maybe that’s the plan. There’s certainly turnover. And so it’s not, in my book the ideal port de flaneur. It seems to say to expats “Come and hang out, man!” like the café in ‘Friends’. But then kind of encourages you to drink up and move on. No sofas here.

So why do I keep coming back? Well, apart from being my nearest café, it’s actually the food that draws me. The cakes are good, the Medovnik usually moist, and it’s one of the few places you can get a variety of breakfasts. The coffee is expensive by Prague standards, but the food is pretty reasonable. Good Czech fare, straightforward, no fuss, and a few American bits and pieces thrown in for good measure.  Nachos with all the trimmings is my recommendation to you. Here’s a decent bowl of broccoli soup and garlic ciabatta for 50kc. For an extra 15kc they gave me the whole ciabatta. A pound fifty and lunch is sorted. And then on with the pressing business of the day, to …er….lounge around somewhere else.

If you're wandering....

Good afternoon!

(If you're online reading this in the morning, you may perhaps be on the wrong page. Try www.work.com or somesuch.)

Welcome to the blog site for www.flaneur.be, the online European Cafe Guide. Which naturally, is the companion to a leisurely stroll through Europe's better cafes (one hopes). Exhaustive it is not. Perish the thought. But I suspect we'll get there in our own good time.

Is the coffee good? How is the ambience? How agreeable are the staff and clientele? What if one feels peckish? These are the pressing questions we shall endeavour to answer in words and pictures.

Come, take a stroll through this ever expanding territory: wake up to Europe, and smell the coffee.

indulgently yours,
D'Aradia, Prince of Bloomsbury