It’s another sunny day in Melbourne, the sky blue, the wind gusting. I’m not long returned from my Sunday morning brunch. This week it was at an Italian cafe opened while I was away in Darwin. Most of the various cafes and restaurants in the area are knockabout places, warm and eclectic and fashionably scruffy. It sits well with the general vibe on this side of town. This joint is a bit different, it’s clear that the new owners are passionate people who have gone to a lot of trouble to realise a particular vision. And so I sat there in the prettily arrayed space and looked at the menu, creatively put together – baked eggs with cacciatore sausage, omelette with sage and parmesan, and so on. Chilled out mood music played in the background, a combination of Bossa Nova and jazz, pleasant but unobtrusive. Upon making my order the waiter returned and placed on the table a little ceramic container for ground pepper and salt flakes imported from Italy. The waiter was a little man who appeared very certain of his stuff, calm and unruffled and polite – he reminded me in some way of Giovanni Ribisi. At the other tables there were the suburbs young families, couples in their thirties with their young children, reading the Sunday paper and tending to their children. It was good.
I had coffee and then eggs and toast with mushrooms. Every time I come out for brunch I ask myself if I am in a sweet or a savoury mood. More often than not it is savoury, but every now and then I indulge in pancakes or French toast. More often than not I get the full spread, not even thinking about cost. This is all about indulgence so besides the main feature I’ll order the roasted tomatoes and the mushrooms, a hash brown or two, the freshly squeezed OJ to go with the latte, and so on. My eyes scour the menu, as if searching for something new to try, some further excuse to load up and indulge. And so the odd smoothie gets a Guernsey, or, like today, I might finish up with a pot of tea.
I was in no hurry to leave this morning. It was comfortable, I was lazy. Every so often Giovanni would come and check on me, was the meal good, was there anything further he could get me? I would respond in kind, politely, yes, it was fine, yes, maybe some tea. Do you have English Breakfast? Yes, of course. We were like two old fashioned gentlemen exchanging well mannered views, nothing was too difficult, nothing was of any trouble.
Between eating and drinking and peering around at my fellow diners I pored over the Lonely Planet guide to Morocco I had bought with me. I read making little notes in the margins, ticking things to do or places to stay, slowly formulating a very loose itinerary in my mind.
I booked my flights on Thursday. I was surprised at how inexpensive they ended up being - under two grand. I fly with Qantas to Singapore on October 15. From there I catch connecting flights on Qatar airlines to Doha and then Cairo. I spend about 20 days in Egypt and Jordan on a tour, very loose-limbed and reasonably adventurous – the only sort of tour I’ll do. I then travel to Morocco, where I’ll hump my pack solo, checking out Casablanca and Marrakesh and towns in between, and hopefully some of the Rif valley as well. I don’t intend to push it too hard – a week lazing in Marrakesh and being the leisurely tourist sounds good. All the same, I don’t have as much time there as I would like – about 19 days. I have work to get back to at some point, and the wedding of my favourite cousin to attend. So I make my way back to Cairo where I fly out on November 23. Sounds good, can’t wait.
It was a pleasant sojourn in the cafe. I sipped my tea and closed my book, then got up to pay the bill and leave. Have a nice day said Giovanni, thanks, I said, you too.
