I had run out of coffee beans or I was lazy to brew my usual morning cuppa. The real reason doesn’t matter; what it meant was that I had to go out if I was going to get my usual fix of A.M. caffeine.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows (these aren’t portes-fenêtres; they’re neither doors nor French in origin), I see the BTS Skytrain station not far away. Trains cross each other in each direction; one leaving Ari for Saphan Kwai, the other heading to Sanam Pao.
The ground is wet from last night’s thunderstorm, pools still glistening. A gaggle of early risers navigate these shoe-and-slipper soakers. Some of them dressed for work, walking in the direction of the BTS station. Others in athleisure gear, heading towards the Crossfit gym in Soi Ari 3.
I too must navigate the streets if I’m to have my coffee, I remind myself. I turn right into serene, tree-lined Soi Ari 2, then left into the busy lane connecting it to the always bustling Soi Ari 1. There used to be an open carpark here; now there are makeshift huts housing former roadside stalls that are now full-blown restaurants.
Even this early in the morning, you can always smell something delicious in the air – moo ping being grilled or croissants fresh out of the oven. This is Bangkok, after all, where French pastries are as common as savoury-sweet pork on skewers.
I turn right again at the end of the alley, past the mango sticky rice shop (not yet open) and the stall selling gai tod (there’s no reason not to enjoy fried chicken before strolling into the school or office). Right again at the ticket booth of the carpark and it’s the hidden café I’ve been visiting regularly of late.
Aribica. It’s a clever amalgamation of Coffea arabica, the varietal of specialty coffee beans we are bewitched by, and Ari, the neighbourhood we’re in. It’s a small and narrow shop, barely four seats along the window sill and another two tiny tables against the opposite wall.
But for those who wake early and need their shot of caffeine, it’s both salvation and a sanctuary.
The baristas behind the bar are friendly if almost always busy with delivery orders. Some mornings I order a filter coffee and wait patiently, writing in my journal, till they have time to brew it. There is no hurry. All the time in the world when you are in the moment, always this moment.
Sitting in a coffee shop is a form of meditation, and also manna for people watching as customers come and go, or come and sit for hours. Some I strike up conversations with; others offer companionable silence.
When things are less rushed, the pink-haired barista (his name is Tie, pronounced “tee”) will offer me some of the drip coffee he made to test new beans. His employer just came back from Austria, he tells me, and have brought bags back from different roasters.
The Ethiopian beans from the Nano Challa Cooperative in Limu and roasted by Felix Kaffee, the World Coffee Roasting Champion 2022, is especially good. I tell Tie this and he smiles with pride, for we both know the barista’s craft and care matter as much as the roaster’s quality.
On the shelf opposite me are two stacks of paperbacks. Some titles I recognise from my own bookcases back home: Life of Pi by Yann Martel. The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell. What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami.
These are doppelgängers, the best sort there are. Shared lives and lived stories.
In the afternoons I eschew coffee, worried about my sleep later at night. Tie recommends their signature Black Cocoa Caramel. It’s designed to be a beautiful beverage, striking streaks of dark chocolate and honey-hued caramel flowing down and dancing with the cold milk.
Sod chun, I tell him. Refreshing.
And it is. This routine, this new ritual. This life in Bangkok, small and sheltered and short. A life lived for time being is still a remarkable life. The ordinary, I find, is delicious and beautiful and refreshing.