The Last Coffee Shop In Santiago

The very minute that he stepped off the plane he knew it was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Anthony had never been abroad at all in his life, he had never strayed any further than a few cities from his London home, simply because he had never needed to. But here he was - Santiago International Airport - gateway to a brand new world for him, one that he couldn't even possibly begin to imagine. He knew absolutely nothing about Chile, or Chilean culture, other than the fact that the national football team were not too bad, well, maybe a few years ago......Marcelo Salas and Ivan Zamarano - players who had become household names in Italy, and anywhere else in Europe where people were interested in football. The Lonely Planet guide he had read on the plane provided him with a little bit more information about this unique place; the longest, thinnest country imaginable, seemingly stretching all the way from the equator to the Antarctic. He had also read somewhere that the areas to the north of the country contained some of the driest deserts in the world, in complete contrast to the huge white peaks of the Andes that could be seen from all over the vast city that he had just arrived in. Of course, none of this meant anything to Anthony. He didn't care. He didn't care about scenery, the sightseeing or anything like that. He didn't care that Santiago was one of the only cities in the world that was within a hundred kilometres from both a beach and a skiing resort. He didn't care about all the beautiful museums, the cathedrals and the 16th century architecture. He really didn't care. Anthony was here in this city for one reason and one reason only, and that was to win back the love of his life - Karen - the girl who had decided to leave and pursue her life-long dream of beginning a new life abroad - ‘preferably in a Spanish speaking South American country'. She had her reasons for leaving, and although he had never even apologised to her for what had happened, he was convinced that he had changed - the only thing that remained unclear to him was whether or not he could convince her that he had changed. He had a difficult task in front of him. All he wanted to do was to find her, convince her to come home and then leave, as quickly and painlessly as possible. If he could do it with his eyes shut he would. He had no interest in the people or the lifestyle, he couldn't even speak that much Spanish, the location of this romantic crusade meant nothing to him. It could have taken place anywhere - Paris, Rio, Portugal or Bombay. He didn't care.

The trip to the massive orange concrete four-star hotel had been a total nightmare. Busy roads, insane driving and he was sure the taxi driver had ripped him off. Something muttered to him half in English, half in Spanish about luggage tax. Bastard. To make things worse the cab had been like a sauna for the entire journey, every request from Anthony for the driver to open the window, or fiddle with the seemingly broken air conditioning was met by an ignorant shrug of the shoulders and a forced smile. Anthony muttered a string of obscenities under his breath as the cab sped off from in front of the hotel, twice as fast as it had moved on the long hot journey from the airport. Bastard. It occurred to him that no matter in world he went, and no matter what language they were speaking, there was always going to be someone out to make money from exploiting others. He continued to curse them as he picked up his solitary suitcase and climbed up the stone stairs and walked through the automatic front doors of the Hotel Bonaparte. A nice friendly female face behind the desk, accompanied by a voice which spoke perfectly in English made checking-in a little easier for Anthony. "And remember Mr Chambers," said the young woman behind the desk, "if you have any problems at all, do not hesitate to call down to reception and we'll see what we can do". He smiled and nodded at the girl and again picked up his suitcase before setting off to find his room. "24E, on the second floor, seventh door on the left as you leave the elevator".

As soon as he was alone in his single room he sat down on the freshly made bed and removed the postcard from his bag. He had forgotten about it all momentarily on his epic journey from the airport to his room, but now he was alone and he could begin to think about exactly how he was going to accomplish his mission. He read the words written on the postcard again and again, he hadn't bothered to study and appreciate the picture of Santa Lucia Hill on what he considered to be the back of the card, it wasn't of any interest to him at all:

Hi, sorry I didn't get the                      A.Chambers
chance to say goodbye                       18 Holloway Road
properly. Just wanted to                      London
say i'm fine and working in                  U.K.
a little coffee shop here                       p.o. box 213
in Santiago.
Karen x

Although he was tired, hungry and jetlagged he decided that he would have to figure out exactly what he was going to do. He only had a week, and there were more than likely hundreds, if not thousands of coffee shops in this city. He walked over to the window of his second floor room and stared through the pane of glass to the street below. It was getting towards the evening, but the street was lively. Loads of little people rushing about, each with their own purpose. Cyclists slowly pedalling home in the sun, lovers strolling along the street hand in hand and sharing a joke, a lonely middle aged man sitting on a bench under a tree by the side of the road reading about war and famine in a newspaper. It struck Anthony as incredible that he could just as easily be on the other side of the world in his little London flat - now, of course, a little London bachelor pad - and looking out of the window he would probably see the exact same thing. Human life. He counted all the visible coffee shops. One, Two, Three....Seven. He considered it a good start, a least he now had somewhere to begin his search. Bright and early tomorrow morning he would start at the closest one - Mario's - and then slowly work his way around them all with his photograph until he found her, he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do then, but for now he was going to have a few beers from the mini-bar, maybe order a sandwich or something from the kitchen and then go to sleep.

******************

"Hi, excuse me." He was met with a easy smile from an old lady who then walked towards the front of the counter. "Hi, excuse me," Anthony repeated, "Can you help me? I'm looking for this girl." The old lady behind the counter took the photo from his hand and studied it carefully before handing it back and shaking her head. "Very pretty." She said, "Girlfriend?" For the last five or six years Anthony's reply to this had always been an automatic ‘yes', but this time he had to pause and think about his answer. "Yes." He lied, "I've been wandering around this city for five days looking for her. I've been in and out of almost every coffee shop on every street and I still haven't found her." The woman behind the counter looked puzzled. Too much English, Anthony thought to himself, does anyone, anywhere in this city understand me? "O.k. Thank You. Gracias." Without waiting for a reply he walked through the open door of the coffee shop and back out onto the hot street. He began to worry that maybe Karen did work at one of the coffee shops he had visited earlier on in the week but had hid on seeing him coming, he still didn't even know what he was going to do or say when he finally found her, but he would address that problem at the time. Forward planning was never one of his strong points. The next coffee shop on the list that he had constructed was situated across the road from where he was standing, a bright, lively café with a seating area outside offering both a table in the sun or a respite in the shade. He decided that he was going to take a seat in the dusty little park at the end of the block and have a drink of the water he had taken from the vending machine in the hotel lobby. In the back lane behind the row of shops he has just walked along there were some kids playing football. Running, screaming and having fun. On the bench parallel to the one on which he was sitting there was an old man, smoking a cigar and watching the kids play football. Occasionally he would shout a word of encouragement to the youths, waving a fist above his head and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. Anthony once again began to think about the similarities between the life on display here in the suburbs of this South American city and the one which he was used to back in London. It was the first time in his life he had been open minded enough to think about another culture in terms of anything other than it being ‘foreign'. He realized for the first time that people everywhere were the same. The same pains and the same joys, the only difference being the stage on which they were performed, and the language in which the stories were told. A strange feeling came over him, for a short period of time he had felt part of something, even if he wasn't involved. He had experienced a certain sense of belonging, and could have sat and thought about the children and the old man all day, but something in the corner of his eye caught his attention and brought him back to reality.

It was her. It had to be her. He could recognize her a mile away. Serving a couple of teenagers some Coca-Cola out in the seats of the café across the road which he was just about to visit. At once he stopped thinking about everything else. He was gripped by the nausea, the sickness, the inevitable dizziness of seeing someone and not really knowing what to do. He was sweating like a horse and praying that she didn't notice him, at least until he worked out his next move. As he sat there watching he noticed that she looked slightly different. Her hair was shorter, he clothes were brighter, and her pale skin was slightly tanned. He noticed she was smiling and laughing, along with the people she was serving. Her new friends perhaps. As he sat on the bench in the shade under the little tree he still couldn't even begin to imagine what he would say when he approached her, and more importantly how she would react. He decided he would observe a little longer, still hoping that she wouldn't notice him. As she waltzed under the sun, her red skirt reflected the light all around her, her radiance spreading to the customers dining in the little café. He could see her exchange smiles with everyone she passed. She looked happier than she had ever been in London, more at home. The rolled up sleeves of her white blouse showing off her sun-tanned arms. He had found her. In the last coffee shop in Santiago, and after seeing her he knew exactly what he had to do.

******************
The taxi trip back to the airport had been a great deal smoother than the one on the way in to the city a week ago. As he sat there in the back of the taxi he shared a joke with the young Chilean driver. It didn't matter to him that the full effect of the punchline was lost somewhere in the translation, it wasn't really the joke that made him laugh. It was the fact he had come so far in the last week and now he was going back to where he started. London. As the cab pulled up to the airport he handed the driver a crumpled note and with a smile told him to keep the change before stepping out of the taxi, collecting his suitcase and preparing to board the plane home.