I love drinking coffee first thing in the morning. I love a latte or a cappuccino. I love the hiss of steamed milk, a morning sound . I first heard that distinctive hiss in Florence Italy, where I sipped these exotic coffee offerings and scribbled in one of the first of many travel notebooks.
I can’t remember the city, but I do remember the atrium that served for the breakfast room in a lovely old hotel in a lovely old city – the first of many on a brand new trip.
I love starting out. I like lingering over breakfast and enjoying the early quiet. I love overlooking a new city as the residents wake. I once drank heavy Greek coffee as the sun come over the mountains gradually revealing a a small white church half way down the side of a steep hill. I watched the eastern sun illuminate the Parthenon as I was served indifferent coffee. I watched the deep shadows over the ruins of Palmyra evaporate under the desert sun. I admired the view every time I took a trip to the serve-yourself coffee urn.
I even feel fondly towards the grinding of the truck gears miles away from my own study. I drink my coffee and listen as the trucks descend down a long hill. One of my favorite features of summer is being able to hear all the sounds of traveling: the cars, the train whistles, the airplanes, all can be heard in the distance, rolling away to exotic destinations.
I like waking up, the ritual of a hot beverage (because,in both England and Ireland, it’s all about the tea and I got used to it.). I don’t even care that much about the food, it’s the doing of the morning, the moment of quiet and contemplation, that’s what I love.
And to think, I get to wake up every day!