When you wake up before everybody else does, your coffee options are limited. Walking down the main drag of Katoomba, I found myself with nary a soul to peer at through the glass windows of the cafés... they were all shut. But thankfully, the woman stationed at the entrance to the train stop provided me with my first double shot of caffeine for the day, and guided me to a nearby hotel open at this hour. Here I lounged about on Victorian style furniture, sipped a flat white, and made conversation with the woman on the morning shift.
We had just concluded that Katoomba was fabulous, when she inquired, "Have you been to Blackheath?"
I had never even heard of it, but now I was all ears. "No?"
In her high pitched voice, (for the culture in the Blue Mountains seems to be that the voices are higher for women, and lower for men… compared to Sydney, that is,) she shared that this village was awash with beautiful autumn foliage, and had a vibe of its own. It was just two train stops away. I made the impulsive decision to get onboard the train when peak hour was over, and see what I could find.
But before that, it was time for a coffee, and I knew just the place.
The Yellow Deli was just waking up at 7:30am-ish, but before I reached it I was approached by a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses, who turned out to be based in Blackheath itself. What a co-incidence! Or, perhaps, evidence of the small world of the Blue Mountains. They volunteered that Wentworth Street was the place to go for the sensational natural phenomenon, and added their home street was also lovely. I made notes. A plan was taking shape.
Over my final double shot, I was gifted with a small map of Blackheath by the waiter I told about my plans. He seemed to be
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