Coffee in the City means... Running Shoes

Clouds must be the happiest organism on the planet. They are granted to ability to change shapes while holding hands with outer space or crawling over the hills that are falling into the sea. Here in San francisco, the clouds move rapidly. A sunny morning can easily become a foggy day within minutes. I walked out of the Beresford Hotel into a comfortably foggy morning, hoping for some strong coffee. Dog in hand, I turned left up Sutter and set to strolling. Zig-zagging through the gridded streets I found appealing cafes at every other corner, but the one I chose was Contraband Roasting Company on Hyde.

Contrabandcoffee

The outdoor seating is comfortable, with sturdy tables (a rarity on steep hills) and metal chairs. How I can use comfortable and metal in the same sentence is besides me, but I admit that I enjoyed my stay. The cafe is as chic as the wave of new cafes popping up all over San Francisco, and the coffee is good. I ordered a Macchiato, and went outside to wait with my dog. Expecting someone to bring my coffee was a mistake, but no harm was done, because the time that my coffee sat on the counter gave it the perfect amount of cooling. Sip. Ah. Good coffee. I revel in each sip as the acids and warmth slip around my tongue, layering flavor after flavor. Coffee is complex, and that is why I love it. There is depth to it, and I delight in discovering the multitude of ways in which it should, and shouldn't be prepared.

I have a love-hate relationship with to-go cups though. I love the freedom of being able to take my drink with me if I need to move on to a different location, but I hate that it encourages leaving. With proper planning, one almost never needs a to-go cup, and one can invest time with other people in a place other than their own. Coffee shops have the potential to be epicenters of communication. If people would sit down, put away technology, and start conversations with fellow caffeine-lovers, I can only imagine what sorts of expansive experiences could come of it. Not to mention the incredible amount of waste generated by these little cups. I always leave with a feeling of guilt using a single-use paper cup, but I do make a conscious effort not to bring lids into the equation and risk the spills that could occur in-flight.

I walked the 9 or so blocks back to my hotel, passing by what could almost be considered a fashion show along the way. People in San Francisco present themselves as art-pieces as they stroll through the world. It is exciting to see outfits found in magazines, live in action. What amazes me most is the ease in which people wear these things. No hair comes unruffled, and I rarely see people adjusting shirts or jeans. Maybe it is all done in the privacy of the bathroom upon entering whatever location they are set for. After my experience in heels, I respect women who can stroll the hilly streets of san fran in leather-heeled boots. It seems to be a city norm, perhaps worldwide, and even though I don't agree with it being a necessity, there is something admirable about the pain they choose to inflict upon themselves.

Our second cafe was Jasmins Cafe on Bush St. It is an interesting mix of burritos and breakfast items, but the food was good. I ordered two eggs with toast, and coffee. The coffee is just a regular drip machine that makes partially stale coffee. If coffee is what you want, this is not the place for you. The ambiance was nice outside, and Mango and I had the pleasure of people watching the hoards of leather heeled boots and eclectic collection of persons. It is fascinating to know how many people I don't know in the world, and to have to accept that I can't and shouldn't interact with all, if any of them. However, it ignites a sense of awe at the infinite ways in which humans can live differently the same life. We all exist of the same air, land and water, yet our lives with the aid of cities and society diverge in a plethora of different ways. The passion to make my life something is always heightened in the cities where people all walk around having to pretend like what they do is important. Maybe it is, but is anything really? Review Here

I persuaded my cousin and brother to walk to Pier 33 to catch out ride to Alcatraz. I love winding through the city blocks, discovering the businesses that sustain peoples lives. On one corner I found this shop. The Station is a wonderful coffee shop, and I regretted not being able to sit down in the high ceiling room and stare our the windows or admire the fancy decorative bikes. The cashier was very personable and again I was hit with how many potential friends there are that I would never get to meet.

 

Here is the coffee. As the sip was sipped, the coffee held on dearly to the sides of the cup, indecisive of whether life in the cup or in the body was better. 

 

My next cafe came the following morning. I had been avoiding this shop because of the logo, but finally I put away my judgements and entered. The atmosphere turned out to be absolutely lovely, and the coffee was incredible. Turns out the books can't be judged by their covers.

Ah... The Mill on Divisadero... Do I need say anything else? This coffee shop comes equipped with no wifi and only toast and coffee for the menu. The lack of decisions that need to be made are a wonderful relief from the overflowing world of choice.

Not to mention their coffee is divine. I hate to support the seemingly pretentious coffee world, but there is an art to coffee that some places achieve moreso than others. The Mill has the details down, including informing you of who will be brewing your coffee that morning and where to pick it up. The sitting arrangement is along a long table, and I often found my conversations melding with those who were next to me. Website for The Mill

Now, at this point I should just stop writing... No one has read everything, and if you have, thank you and I hope that you are at least somewhat entertained by my verbose ramblings. I happened upon the Social Study as I was walking home from The Mill. Inside, the walls are lined with fold up tables so that this coffee shop can become a dance club by night. The coffee was decent at best, but the ambiance is worth peeping in for.

The last place I got to visit was Frog Hollow Ranch where this charming young lad prepared for me a chai latte. They pre-make a concentrate, which is used for the teas the following day. It was delicious, and you can see the vanilla beans floating on the surface in the second picture below. Shops like this line the walls of the Embarcadero, and it proved a wonderful activity for the rainy days in San Francisco

And for the rest of the photos... well these were the left to be desired. I was intrigued by these, by didn't have the time or resources. They are equally hip and polished from the exterior, and the people in their windows often adorned smiles.

 

To sum things up, I have realized how much there is to say about every single coffee shop and that I clearly need more than one blog post for all of the shops I had the opportunity to visit. I hope you gained some insight, and feel free to contact me for further information!

Much love,

Hannah

Choque Cultural

 Here I am. A coffee shop in beautiful Santa Barbara. Beautiful people move around me, typing on their computers, flipping through newspapers, and chatting with friends. Conversations are happening, but this time, I understand them. All of them. People talking about work, and what Sarah did last weekend, and how cold the water has been lately. While I found myself longing for familiarity and understanding in Chile, I find myself wishing I couldn't decode the language around me now. I realize that through the language gap, my imagination was activated to fill in the missing pieces, and I always made up stories for what I couldn't truly understand. People were talking about things of much more importance in Chile; always foreign and exciting. Yet here, I realize that maybe conversations are nothing more than building connections with people, and the substance is not necessarily as important as the who, what and when the conversation occurs.

I miss the language that I could not fully tap into. I hated the limitation bound to my conversations, but as I fill silence now with jokes and fleeting observations, I appreciate the selective necessity of spanish conversations. I could only say what was important at the time, and laughter relied on the willingness of strangers to give me the benefit of the doubt that what I said or heard was funny.

Of course, being home is wonderful, familiar and comfortable. Santa Barbara has blessed me with warm weather and a family to come home to. I am grateful to be here. As I walk through this way of life which I have always known, I am hit again and again with the ways in which it differs from the life I just lived. I have food in my refrigerator, and spices in the cabinet. The people acknowledge me as an equal, not higher or lower. English is the main language in stores and on street signs. If you catch someone's eye, a "hello" is exchanged, no longer "hola."

I made that mistake yesterday. The person on the receiving end of "Hola" was a middle-class white man, and was caught off guard by the simple word that had been so normal for me two days prior. I am still adjusting. I didn't realize how easily and thoroughly we can adapt to new environments. The Chucao's song (above) was a daily occurence in the Patagonian region, while new and exciting finds such as this beautiful Flying Deer Beetle were abundant in our new environment for learning. I was taught to remain curious. I had to be curious in a foreign environment. But the act of curiosity seems to often be lost in our daily lives here. Why not walk through the world open to finding hidden treasures in the patterns of clouds, crawling on tree trunks, or in the ways that we walk? I learned to be constantly aware of my environment, and myself in my environment. The focus of the class was on the natural world and I made a point of extending it to the people as well.

Playing soccer with the farmers was one of my favorite memories. Among the fjords, people could play, with no need of communication other than "Abierto," "Barra," and "gol!!" This reminded me of the power of physical presence. The world of words can be a cumbersome and tiring endeavor, while all humans intrinsically know how to play. Running at full speed down a grassy lawn, defending goals and being a live obstacle ignited adrenaline and laughter. The people enjoyed our company, even though our soccer skills weren't quite up to par.

I found it easier to interact with strangers there than strangers here. There seemed to be a willingness to mingle with the unknown on both parties. We are collectors of things, feelings, ideas that come from the world around us, and perhaps are more willing to incorporate the experiences that will expand us and challenge us. However, I hope to maintain a way of life that allows me to continually introduce myself and interact with new people wherever I am. Everyone has a story and a way of life to share, and I am always honored to be a brief character within it.

Beauty reveals itself sometimes discreetly and sometimes obviously like in the tobagones to the left. The colors of the water pierce hearts colder than the temperature of the water. Something I thought about often was how we know how we affect other humans by the ways in which they can express it so we can understand, yet nature can't express her needs. She is forced to silently accept the changes and stresses that we impose on her. Perhaps she is speaking a language that has been forgotten. I hope to learn her language so that I can communicate to her with action that helps her continue to sustain me and those I love.

Something our class did to try to help was to remove Gorse, a horribly invasive species. The most efficient and least painful way to do this was to tie chains around the trunk and haul them out with a tractor. It was vigorous work, and left us tired by the ends of the days. It was also rewarding, but only for as long as we were in Parque Pumalin. As we drove away, we passed hills cloaked in Gorse fields, and my stomach dropped at the impossibility of removing all of the plants. The more we move around the globe, the more things we change. Some are more problematic than others, yet everything has an impact. Now, the question for me, is how to make the least lasting negative impact. sigh... environmental studies...

But then, there were moments like this. My tired eyes clogged with sleep would roll out of bed, unzip the zipper, and catch the sun creating paintings that would be gone as quickly as they were created never to be seen again. Life seems to be made of moments like these. Beautiful happenings that only occur once in a lifetime. There is an art to letting in and go of these moments gracefully, accepting them as they are, cherishing the sights, smells and sounds, and storing the memories delicately alongside the others in our beings. Many of these spoken of moments play over and over in my mind, triggered by the senses, leaving remnant feelings in my physical body that remind me of where I have been and what I have done. While part of me longs to recreate them, another part smiles knowing they will never be recreated, and that is the magic. Our life is made of moments, and while a camera helps to save them, the memories are always the most potent.

I allowed myself to be absorbed by this environment. I adapted to its natural rhythms, and learned the names of the trees and flowers. Above is the Canelo Tree, or Drimys winterii, with miraculously vibrant green leaves with white undersides. This is the first tree I learned, and I found comfort in knowing why it was there, what it needed, and the services it provided for us. It became a friend, who I was excited to see sometimes short, sometimes tall, always fully present. This intimate relationship is what I love about nature. It is there, always exactly as it is, waiting for us to listen in a new way.

Now, as I wrap up my final post about Chile, I want to thank you for spending time to learn about my experience. Sharing experiences is a way to validate ourselves in this world full of them. I am honored to have met all of the people and places that I did along my journey, and I wish the best for them on the rest of theirs. As for you, please feel free to send me questions or comments or invitations to drink coffee and talk in person. I would love to hear the stories you have to tell, I hope you enjoyed mine.

Con mucho amor,
Hannah

Vida de la Ciudad

It is nine o'clock in the morning, my usual time for breakfast and blogging. I eat my breakfast alone, but I do not feel alone. Below me is a chorus of cars rushing off to everywhere, while in the distance I watch a crane spin above the city creating a new building for more humans. Above me, feet are shuffling from one room to the next. I hear a familiar song outside, and when I step out on the balcony I see a man below me hanging his laundry and singing to the music; in English! I give him his moment and quietly slide inside. Honkhonkhonk. The sun in reaching down the walls of the buildings to try to touch the confined trees as the sky changes shades of blue.

I am waiting for the bread to rise. 

Kneading the dough soothes me as my hands interact with food. The more time I spend spinning around the sun, the more I affirm my love of food. I love food. I appreciate the time and care that goes into making it right, and the delicate art that comes along with it. I feel food in my body, running along my curves like the sun on the buildings, energizing all that it touches. In Santiago I enjoy my meals in somewhat of a solitude, which makes me all the more grateful of enjoying them together with friends and family in the future. Sushi is Nikos favorite food to make, so we have made it twice since I have been here. His English is good, and his patience with my Spanish is uncanny. I am very grateful.

 

Today I will ask my legs to take me where the wish. The city is large, and yesterday I walked seven or more miles exploring the streets, saying hello to the sky. Today I will take a different route, and use my oversized map to find my way. I love to know where I am in the world, yet I often find that I am more lost than found. The streets are disorienting, and the buildings obscure my view of the sun. I always make it to where I should though, because I never begin with extremely concrete plans. And with that being said, let the day begin!

Amor 

Hannah

Homey

Late nights spent at big houses with beautiful and friendly Chileans makes me feel at home. Eager to speak English, they surround me with company and soon I feel welcome and find myself laughing and enjoying myself. I am the gringa who wears a poncho to the party. I am perplexed by the familiarity I surround myself with in Chile, and the comfort I find with my new friends. I have been fortunate enough to meet people's families here, which further extend who someone is. In this culture it seems that there is more of an emphasis on family than in the EEUU. People have ties to who their grandparents are and have corresponding levels of class. It seems like a source of pride, as well as an obstacle to overcome. It has roots in a deep history. Who am I in accordance to my family? 

Affection is prevalent in relationships here as well. Friends stand close and rub each other's backs and hair. At home, I find I fall into this category, yet I always fight against a feeling of my personal space being invaded. We have been bred to inhibit only our own space and to share that space only with partners or best friends. However, the greeting kiss right off the get go with new friends pops the bubble. The irony is that the Chilean commentary on Americans is that we are too friendly. The Chilean bubble is inclusive of friends and family, but exclusive of customer service. It seems that their independence comes down to how and why they spend their money, which they can do on their own without the help of customer service. At restaurants here you have to flag down the waiter to ask for the check, and you can bet that they won't be around during the meal to ask how things are going.

Salud!

Coffee; Café

It is 9:00. The sun plays with pastels on the smog lined sky. A faint silhouette of the mountains is visible from where I sit, but they are obscured by a veil of city life. I breathe in. My eyes are scratchy from the exhaust fumes and my new found allergy to Lana or wool. I bought some needles and sheep yarn to occupy my hands while I listen to the world around me. This was good for a while. I would listen to the Spanish dancing on the air and converse with my friends while creating. Yet, it is becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. I am allergic to sheep. Too bad I will never give up my poncho... 

The things we choose to keep in our lives insclusive with minor amounts of suffering vary widely from person to person. I, for example, am too stubborn to take allergy medicine, despite being allergic to 67/80 plants of the native vegetation in Santa Cruz. Yet, I will forever be found in the middle of the head high grassy fields. I also will finish the scarf I am knitting while wearing a poncho, and will continue to begin my morning with coffee, even if it means that around 2:00 I will crash. 

My first coffee in Chile was at my 10 hour layover in Santiago. It was decent, but I found myself excusing the mediocre flavor by way of it being an aeropuerto coffee. The presentation was entertaining and I remember the gratitude I felt while sweet caffeine made way through my system. I may have even written about it in my first post. 

Shortly after my first coffee I found myself in the heavenly El Barista Caffé in Puerto Varas. This turned out to be a grand veil of illusion. The coffee was good, the ambience is incredible, yet this is the only place in Chile to date with good coffee. How did I become such a snob? I was jaded by this coffee and expected the stores to be stocked with coffees that we couldn't get in the states because South America is where most of the coffee is produced. When I reached the coffee isle in the store though, I found myself sorely mistaken; Nescafé monopolizes the business in chile. The worst part is that all of their coffee is instant... The majority of my coffees thereafter looked like this.

I would be served hot water in which to mix my instant coffee. Bumbumbum. I respect that Chileans subsist with this form of cafe. Perhaps, they have become accustomed to and enjoy the flavor. I have witnessed many innovative ways to make the perfect cup of instant coffee as well. My personal favorite is made by dumping a package of sugar into the instant coffee and then mixing it viciously with a tiny bit of water. After about 2.76 minutes of vivacious whisking, you add the boiling water and the top becomes a beautiful froth. I see the adaptation to this form of coffee as a mutualism, where Chileans have evolved a specific taste for it allowing it to persist and thrive.

So how did it get this way? Coffee in South America is produced to export. So guess what? Us up there in Lalaland have access to and dominate the coffee imports. While I find myself unbelievably grateful, I also feel a punch of guilt deep down knowing people here don't have the option of the coffee grown so much closer to them. Maybe I am making generalizations, I have only been in Chile and much else is left to be explored. However, this singular product has made me the most aware of how our world is interconnected economically. The products of the land I am currently residing on benefit me 5000+ miles away more than here. 

Now that I have let that off my chest I will go on to dedicate the rest of this blog to the best coffees I have had in the past two months. They are not in order by best to worst, but are partially chronological:

1. Cafe Caleta

 

Here I found myself in Parque Pumalin, amidst the trees and turqouise river only a 5 minute walk from a bakery. I was pleasantly surprised, and was able to complete large quantities of class work while sipping on warm beverages. However, they did not have cafe en grano, so I subjected to tea made in hot milk. The architecture of this cafe is worthy of an entire post, and I highly recommend passing through here!

2. Cowboy Coffee; café de gaucho 

Okay I admit it. I bought a bag of El Barista coffee because I couldn't handle the flavor of Nescafé. The downside of this was that I would find myself without a mirror and a full set of coffee grains hanging out in my mouth that wouldn't be pointed out until a few hours later. However, it was worth it and is a memorable part of my life in the backcountry.

3. Well you already know this café...

El Barista does it again.

4. Café Alemán; Castro, Chiloe

The coffee here is nothing to rave about, but the ambiance and pastries are. This a sweet little German shop, where I had my most memorable breakfast. Heck, I'll include a picture of that too it was so good. 

Who knew blueberries on eggs would ever be a thing ?

4. Cafe Ristretto; Castro, Chiloe

Here was some really decent coffee. After five straight days of rain, this cafe was a refuge for us. Above is Perris mockachino. It is so sweet is debatably caffeinated, but is undeniably delicious. 

Below is Kate's pot of tea and my cappuccino. This was so wonderful, I practiced my best and most patient willpower to sip and savor every moment of this cup. The feelings of this place for me are safe, trendy and warm. It is recommendable.

5. Some Cafe in Cucao Chiloe

This cafe is located in the campground in Cucao at the entrance to the coast. Somehow it is inclusive with wifi and was also the first French press I have seen. The coffee is good and the cafe is gorgeous with an equally beautiful view.

6. Then began Yerba Mate

I am a new member of the mate crew. I'll admit that when I return home to the states you will be finding me with Mate in hand. It is a wonderful ritual, and it slows you down with company before you speed into the day.  However, I somewhat ashamedly drink coffee and mate simultaneously in the morning...

7. 

I have no excuse other than that sometimes coffee deserves a bigger container than breakfast.

8. Barista... Again

9. And only one more time for good measure

  

It was my favorite place. Can you tell??

10. Matematemate

I say it 3 times because that is the minimum amount of rounds necessary before commencing any activity with an Argentine in the morning. In this case, you'll notice the hands are that of a climber and dear friend. After this mate I rode the mate high and crashed before he was ready to climb. We did climb though, and that was magic.

11. Family

It is the sentimentality of this one that earns a spot here. After 15 years without contact, I found Carolina who used to take care of me when I was a child. She has welcomed me into her home, and the coffee above was drunken at her parents house who also remember me from my early years. Nescafé proved a very fitting piece of this encounter, and it was paired with a homemade slice of cake.

Then... And now...

12. Morning

I filtered some leftover barista coffee through paper towels for this cup, and enjoyed a view of the city over avocado and eggs. It was a perfect start to yesterday.

14. Cafe Mosqueto

Niko and i hit the town and splurged on this decadent sugar coated coffee. The ambiance again was a key seller to this cafe. The coffee... Mas o menos.... I do not know if I will be following trip advisor any more, however.

15. The Coffee Machine

As I have written all of this, I have been sipping in coffee that was made through the coffee machine. What a strange and wonderful phenomenon to be able to sit and type while a partially inanimate object prepares your daily dose of caffeine. As the cars drive by, I catch glimpses of American songs playing too loudly from the speakers. Yet, the city seems calm at his hour, and I am about to embark on a pancake making mission. 

For those of you who wonder what I do at cafés, here is a sketch of Castro from one of my notebooks. I find time in the cafe to be productive when necessary as well as a wonderful time to look friends and strangers in the eyes and talk about the worlds in which we are living.

I also want to thank my family, namely my dad for making this trip possible for me. I am unbelievably grateful, and the coffee is truly the only thing I have to complain about. In two months I have had less than 10 cups of good coffee, but have had a lifetimes worth of incredible experiences.

That being said...

California, I am coming home. See you in two weeks.

Love, Amor, y besitos,

Hannah Osita