I learned the hard way, then forgot and relearned, that writing in a coffee shop is the right space for me to reach the writing zone. The sounds of so many voices is white noise, and the earbuds in my ears are just camouflage. Because I do listen to those deeply personal conversations at the nearest table.
But eventually I settle in and get the words on the page.
Like my son’s search for a pub, this search for a Dublin coffee shop to call my own has felt existential. To write, I must caffeinate, and the right place is more than a place that makes good coffee. It has to have that vibe, that zen, the certain je ne sais quoi, that indescribable quality that you know when you know.
The need is so strong, I listened to cafe sounds as I wrote this, because I’m not in my writing place.
Insomniac Coffee is my before class go-to for takeaway coffee (note, takeaway not to-go). The Monday morning barista recognizes me, and we share a few words to make the week start better. She keeps nagging me to get the app. I appreciate that she remembers I keep telling her I’ll do that.
I’ve tried K.C. Peaches, which is a buffet-restaurant-smoothie-coffee place less than a block from the Nassau gate at Trinity (side gate). It’s a hangout place, modern, but they’re often so busy I feel guilty taking up a table to write. They have a basement dining room that feels a bit like a grotto, all the cool kids hanging downstairs, smoking and giving poetry readings where they snap their fingers in appreciation. No, just kidding, but definitely the grotto feel, but I suppose a young, undergrad vibe. Not my space (but still really good and open to large groups to hangout for awhile).
Last week, I tried the Costa Coffee right across from Trinity. This place is massive, in an old building with high ceilings and wood panel and trim. Looks like it could have been a bank back in the day. The large coffee is the size of a soup bowl and has two handles. I left there with a case of the jitters. Couldn’t keep my mouth shut in class, though, so maybe not a good pre-class coffee. But what a way to go.
The first place I tried is called The Bestseller Cafe on Dawson Street where the LUAS (metro) and cars and people and buses clog the street, and small to tiny restaurants and takeaway and stores line the streets. Their tagline – Wine, Coffee, Theatre, Books – is definitely my vibe. Bookshelves line the walls, they manage to pack the tables too-close-for-COVID, with an eclectic decor, and I’ve never been there when it wasn’t crowded, but I’ve always found a table. They have sandwiches on gluten-free bread, and their mocha hits the right mix of espresso with a touch of chocolate but not over-sweet. And always with coffee art. It’s so chill, I don’t even bother with the fake headset.
I started writing a new book while sitting there, looking across at a faux horsehide chair. In front of me are twin cafe tables with a long pink-velvet settee. There are snugs in the back and more books along the walls to satisfy my literary aesthetic. There’s a placard at the table advertising a new theatre production. In short, I found my coffee place.
Where do you belong?
I’ve been thinking quite a bit about this human need to belong, to find connection, a place where the heart feels welcome. Being in a new place so far from the U.S. makes finding a place and a group necessary for survival.
The first day in Dublin, walking and lost and about 30 seconds from a full-blown panic attack, I walked by accident into Hodges Figgis Bookseller, “Ireland's oldest bookshop serving Dublin and the wider world since 1768.“ I poked around the 4-story building, glancing at books familiar and new, at a vast assortment of Irish writing, and purchased James Joyce’s Ulysses.
The bookstore calmed me as few things can, because I’ve always felt an inherent connection to books. I felt the same when I worked at the library, and of course now in “my” coffee shop. I feel it when I go to the National Library of Ireland reading room (I’ll have to do a whole post on that) or the manuscript room at Trinity.
Books and the people that love them are my tribe.
When I was a kid, my mother watched a tv show called Cheers, a Boston bar where “everyone knows your name.” We all have a need to belong, and they found their place—fictitious though it was—on a barstool in a bar, not unlike the pub culture here in Ireland. I think of people like those in Cheers, and even in my books, as found families. The family of our hearts. The people and places who open up to you in welcome.
Where does your heart feel at home? What kind of place soothes you?
Join me on my Irish adventure. I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’ll end up, but I promise it won’t be boring. More pictures are up on Instagram.