Google directed me to "the best coffee in Cassis," a search I might not have made if not informed by Australian coffee culture. An inviting interior with various shades of brown had to be quickly navigated in and out of (in this era of Covid). One of the three outdoors tables beckoned to me, and as I removed my mask I noticed that the bitter bean's aroma was of such strength that it lingered in the air outside the door.
At the table next to me sat an American who had tried to make conversation with me while I was ordering. While more amiable than the average American, he still carried the stereotypical assumptions of American Exceptionalism - so I quickly shut *that* down. Two tables over were an Australian couple, lean and enjoying themselves more than I was. Perhaps they had conducted the same search on Google.
I pulled out my secret weapon against loneliness, my smartphone, and started to tinker with it, doing this for a while, when a cat, more familiar with the grounds than I, decided to find my feet intensely interesting. I watched with relief as the four-legged soul reminded me to be as deeply present as possible. After a minute or so it retraced its footsteps back inside, with an attitude that suggested the cafe was its steady base.
Returning to a more interiority-focused experience, I struggled a bit to feel like playing with my smartphone was the best use of my time, but I *was* tired, and there weren't a lot of places to sit where I didn't have to spend money. Grain De Folie, at least, invited lingering.
And then there she was: a fellow traveller asking to share my table. We recognised two things about each other fairly quickly: we both loved to explore the unknown (and had a track record of doing so), and we were both dissatisfied. I got the impression she was part of the LGBTIQ community, ironically because of the way she talked about her boyfriend. Her evocation of his presence suggested that she was willingly participating in a culture of heterosexuality where the more feminine of the two has to make certain sacrifices. I can't say I haven't flirted with a similar kind of subjugation myself, so I mentally shrugged and made the most of the encounter.
She related to me with both interest and familiarity, because, as she explained, she had spent four months travelling around Australia and New Zealand. (What did she like the most? The coffee.) I had far less experience with Switzerland, but knew it well enough to note the similarities between the two - a proclivity for living close to nature, economic prosperity, and a certain kind of conservativism (compared to much of Western Europe). Learning that she'd spent time in Nepal, I asked her what the people were like, and was presented with one word: religious. Overall she'd found the whole trip enjoyable, so I took note: I will maintain an interest in travelling there.
(It's always interesting to me how people choose their travel destinations. I speculated whether the Swiss woman felt at home amongst Nepalese mountains because of the vertical geography of her birthplace.)
The globe trotter mentioned that the coffee in Italy was much better than any she'd tried in France - but of course she'd never tell the French that. At this, I noticed her dissatisfaction, and maybe even self-dislike. I have issues with my own inner critic, so I could relate. She left twenty minutes later, in search of her boyfriend. Cassis being a small place, we both returned to the same cafe later that day, acknowledged each other in a disarming manner, and I gave her the warm smile I couldn't muster up earlier on. This softened her brow, and I could tell that she respected me more for finding that positivity within me. (She couldn't quite return it.)
As far as transient encounters go, this one was a case of instant connection over shared interests, reminded me of my own hard-won travel wisdom, and strengthened my ever-growing realisation that living in Europe can be as unfulfilling as living in Australasia.
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