Rainbow Street, part II

The grand opening of an upscale coffee shop (Tsche Tsche) took place the other night in a for-the-purpose-built house, strategically erected where the pot of gold would be located if indeed Rainbow Street was a rainbow. It surely looks impressive, even by Abdoun, (or why not Stockholm) standards. Flocking around the minimalist décor were the not-so-bold and the beautiful, sipping pricey moccas and nibbling away on prefabricated sweets. I hate to sound working-class nostalgic after living only two weeks on this street, but that’s what we Western bohemian bourgeoisie always are. Alas, I miss the days where the menus here weren’t displayed with graffiti font in English, boldly asking for 2 JDs (3 Euros) for basically the same black shit you get 10 meters away, from the chubby but cheerful guy and his frail coffee wagon on the 1st circle – for a quarter of the price. It tastes like camel piss and it’s usually tepid, but at least it’s served without any exchange of words in stupefied English.