Sitting At A Coffee Bar...

Sitting at a coffee bar, a large cappuccino and a croissant on the table directly in front, all three having their origins outside the United Kingdom. The restaurant itself, whether it would be Starbucks or Costa Coffee, both had originated from the USA, the cappuccino from Italy, and the croissant from France. It's from this comfy seat in an agreeable atmosphere where I allow my thoughts to manifest unhindered within my head.

Thoughts from the past, plan for the future, looking for ideas to solve a problem, and there is prayer. Yes, sitting at a coffee bar with my elbows on the table and both my hands forming a cup over my face, like this I can pray without attracting attention. Anyone taking a glance would conclude that I'm deep in thought, which truly speaking, I would be.

What are the thoughts that I ponder on as I sip at the froth of the coffee? One is reminiscence. Looking back at the past, especially all the good things. Like that time in 1997 when I was backpacking Australia. What was I doing during one particular moment? Snorkelling over the Great Barrier Reef? No, I had already done that at Green Island, off Cairns and also at Low Isles, off Port Douglas. These were both coral cays reached by catamaran from the northern coast of Queensland, and there is still more of the same to do at the Whitsunday Islands, which, as I will find out, features a continental fringe reef at Heron Island, off the coast of Arlie Beach.

So what was I doing at that particular moment? Yes, sitting alone at a table at a coffee bar in a service station. This was one of many which dot the Pacific Highway while the Greyhound bus I'm travelling in, was at its one-hour service and refuelling, to eliminate any chances of a possible breakdown in the middle of nowhere. There I was, minding my own business, sipping coffee and next to it, a bread roll, somewhere between ten and eleven thousand miles away from home, on an island continent separate from the Eurasian landmass, and therefore I was unknown to anybody across the whole land - the whole of the Southern Hemisphere, perhaps.

Hey, Frank!

I looked up to see a smiling stranger standing there, looking at me as if he had recognised me, and no doubt having gotten my name right, there must be some credit to this.

"How do you know me?" I asked, feeling rather shocked.

Don't you remember? I gave you that map at that hostel in St Louis?

"Oh my!" I gasped. We then started talking. Yes, I remember the incident some twenty months previously. The privately-owned backpacker's den on the residential outskirts of the Missouri city of St Louis. How the HI USA managed to affiliate such property onto its list of Recommended Hostels is something of a mystery. Desperation, perhaps? No other hostel in the whole of Missouri? For a start, the toilet cubicles had the western bar type swing doors which deprived the user of any privacy. Woe be if you needed to defecate! Any passerby can just look in. Then the kitchen harboured a live mouse which was seen scurrying across the floor. And then to top it off, I had to keep all my groceries stored away in my rucksack next to the bed. The kitchen food pigeonholes had dead cockroaches in them which gave an unpleasant smell as well as an unappetising feel. Indeed This was the worst hostel I have ever visited, worldwide, and that is saying something.

It was in this iffy kitchen where I met and made friends with this German chap while we were cooking our evening meals. He wasn't alone back then but one of a group of two or three. We talked about our individual itineraries, and I realised that by mistake I had left the Greyhound USA map at home when I packed away all the documents and traveller's cheques. He then gave me a spare map to use throughout the rest of the trip. Furthermore, I was referred to as that crazy Englishman. All good-natured, of course. And now here we are, two years on, at a cafe on the other side of the world, by sheer chance we meet again. Indeed, God must have a sense of humour! 

I am aware that, to some of my older regular readers, I have blogged this story before. But I repeat it here for the benefit of newer readers. Then again, I can't help writing about it. A billion-to-one chance for the same two travellers to randomly meet at two different locations and at two different times, yet it has happened. The second meet happened while I was sitting at a cafeteria table sipping coffee, down under.

And such the Costa Coffee provides the ideal environment for such indulgence. And such thinking can change to the present issue, Coronavirus. Indeed, I'm aware that I have written so much about this already, but here is something new - and shocking.

Announced on last night's news bulletin:

To ease the strain on the NHS due to the pandemic, it's on the cards that admission to A&E will require pre-booking...

Both Alex and I laughed. Then I thought up this little scenario:

Alex rings the A&E Department at a nearby hospital. 

Hello, is that Accident and Emergency?

"Yes, it is. What can we do for you?"

Well, I need to make a booking for an ambulance to arrive to take my husband to A&E next Tuesday at 14.00 hours. 

"Okay, may I ask why?"

Because that's when he'll go down with a sudden, unexpected heart attack.

"Just a moment - hmm - yes, we do have an ambulance available. Oh-okay, I have booked your husband to be rushed to the hospital for an emergency procedure. Pick-up will be at your home at 14.00 hours. Bye."

Of course, the news reporter, realising the sheer impracticality of such a proposal, hastens to add:

But of course, anyone can still turn up whenever required.

Then a middle-aged male patient was interviewed in A&E at a Portsmouth hospital, testifying on what a wonderful idea this pre-booking was, explaining that he did not have to wait for the usual four hours to see a doctor, but was seen to straight after admission. How all this could work out in practice is still a mystery to me, but again, I have never claimed to have an academic thinking pattern.

And so I sit at a Costa Coffee in the town centre, watching the passerby through the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows. I feel intrigued as I watch them sauntering to-and-fro, with a few pacing as in a hurry. As for the hundreds maybe thousands over a ninety-minute period, not a single suit and tie to be seen, that is, except for any passing school uniform worn by both genders. And it wasn't even warm outside. Could these highly intelligent men be hiding as if in embarrassment? After all, this pre-booking for A&E was their idea, not from the doctors or nurses. And today, as I write, London, along with other towns across the land gets tighter restrictions in the fight against the virus.

Where we live, we are at the moment, on medium restrictions. There is no "Low". Instead, there is Medium, High, and Very High. Therefore, we are living with minimal restrictions. For now. That means I have to wear a facemask when I enter Costa Coffee or Starbucks. I must order my coffee with the facemask on. But I can remove it when I sit at the table (thank goodness!) It's as if the virus either won't or cannot reach the seating area, therefore cannot be breathed in. Or a case of a colleague and I at work together all day in an office (without wearing facemasks) but cannot have a drink together in an (air-conditioned) pub. Indeed, the virus knows exactly when and where to strike!

Only yesterday I had my normal Friday afternoon swim. Pre-pandemic, I used to follow the swim with a sauna. But not anymore, as such facilities are considered "too dangerous." Never mind that the heat in the sauna would kill the virus, and such hot air is even breathed in, therefore making unhappy any virus which could be lingering in the trachea or lungs. After all, they say a good hot sauna is good for treating a cold (another virus, apparently) but not Covid. Anyway, at the men's changing room I got talking to this other swimmer who was also towelling himself. Eventually, after he had dressed, I reached out my hand with the intention of introducing myself by means of a very British handshake, but instead, this guy retreated, as if I was the disease itself, despite that we were both very healthy and showing no signs of symptoms. What have those smartly-dressed top nobs done to our national psyche?

As I sit by the window of Costa Coffee, I am grateful, in one way or another, to have much of my life behind me. Approaching seventy, I'm not quite that agile, athletic guy I once was, running half-marathons, cycling miles across the country and competing in triathlons. But I don't want to say that I did it my way, as Frank Sinatra once sang. Instead, I would rather acknowledge God, his grace, goodness and mercy, and say that I hope I did it God's way.

One type of patronage I tend to see quite frequently in the restaurant is the Little People, who tend to make the loudest noise, their wails often shattering my daydreams. Within our present situation, I'm beginning to feel sorry for the up-and-coming generation. What kind of a world will they grow up into? Personally, I'm beginning to think that the world we are passing on to them will be riddled with a national debt which will take many years to recover from, as well as leaving behind a legacy of universal fear felt in the air, even of getting too close to each other, with handshakes frowned upon and a hefty fine imposed on anyone who attempts to hug.

Meanwhile, our oceans are becoming clogged with a new kind of pollutant, the discarded facemasks. Despite what I perceive is a general dislike of them by the public, it does look as if these gags are here to stay. When these men in suits say "Dance" then we all dance. If they say "Jump" then we all jump, no questions asked. If they say, "Wear a mask at all times, even in bed" then woe betide anyone who just might disagree! Already, according to the newspapers, it's already "No sex, please, we're ill."

The virus restriction or the crane?

And it's during times like these when belief in God and his divine creation and redemption are all looked upon with disdain, as the rise in atheist philosophy along with Darwinian evolution pushing the Bible into the realm of pseudoscience and fantasy, and therefore denying the reality of Jesus Christ, his death on the cross, his burial, his Resurrection, and his Atonement for us.

I sit in the coffee bar, a child cries, the enclosure of the restaurant amplifies his wails, which wouldn't be so obvious if outside. What kind of a world would this child grow up in? With this growing rage against God gripping the West, what hope awaits this little one?

I cup my hands over my face and quietly attempt to pray. I see no solution to all this, but I also know that everything is in his hands. Furthermore, God has already known about all this from eternity past, even long before the creation of the world, he already knew. Just as he knew of my birth and the exact number of days I will live for. Not only had he formed me in the secret part of the earth, but he knows my every move, my every thought, emotion, and motives, and I'm aware that in no way can I escape from his presence. How King David's Psalm 139 provides comfort to every believer who feels hopeless and distressed over everything that's going on around him and yet should still be thankful for all the good things God has allowed him to enjoy.

And this certainly includes travel and the chance meeting of a lost friend where no one would ever expect to see again halfway around the world.

I take a final look inside the empty coffee cup where the remains of the leftover froth of the cappuccino had congealed around the inner edge. I push the chair back, arise and make off home to be with my beloved. But I'll be back...