A blast from the present

A blast from the present

Well, where there is a doc there is medicine, unless you’re computer burdened and can only associate d-o-c with Word. God help us but I think I’m becoming such. Not my fault except, of course, it is. I’ve chosen the medium to continue.

And so I shall.

On Paulay Ede utca leading from Nagmező to Liszt Ferenc tér there is a place by the name of Cafe Zsivágó, and it has all the pretensions to the old world, the old style, the cafes of central Europe as I would have imagined them 100 years ago. It certainly has all the grandeur with the front section reaching to a high ceiling, the paintings along the wall marking the level which is continued by the gallery which runs from behind the counter area to the back of the establishment. A neat little poke of a room hides inside an archway to the left, and upstairs there are available perchings to allow the full experience of watching – intently if you so wish.

Above and over my right shoulder laughter comes, descending. In that little corner, separated from the greater part of upstairs, a couple, almost hidden, have taken up residence. Indeed a cosy affair. Not the place for the boys and the beer I imagine. A bit too sedate. Hot chocolates and laptops are the order of the day, the latter clashing with my fin de siècle illusions. Bloody Mac!

Ah, but a taste of my hot chocolate and all doubt dissipates. Express divinity personified! And even as I write this I salivate for more. Jesus, and I was going to buy a beer. Sometimes the universe chooses for you and here it surely has.

Now I’m still not about to sing the praises of the place in terms of service. I was sitting upstairs and never approached. However, it could be the policy. And sitting down here with a bit of fresh air, courtesy of an open window, coupled with smoke from the shop assistants of the surrounding outlets who somehow need to congregate right there, I am rather content. The music has run from Louis Armstrong to something a lot more classical. This is what I’d expect – not the bleeding WIFI brigade, though I am not a stranger to this myself and so will not here set myself up the hypocrite – but it’s akin to a Chinese takeaway inside the Acropolis – but I guess this is not meant to be old, just old-fashioned, or old-school, or something, and I’m occasionally glancing at my mobile on the table. The illusion is there – the boundaries are yours.



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