A coffee connoisseur’s trysting place, hidden on Seattle’s Capital Hill off of Broadway and Denny Way, Espresso Vivace offers one of the best cups of coffee in the famed mecca of espresso. The prices are more than reasonable, producing a hand-crafted, delectable piece of art, far more affordable to even the most “corporate” of crowds.
I drove over an hour through hellish street construction and hectic traffic to get to my favorite coffeehouse in the US. Consumed by the want to relax, read my new book on Travel Writing, and embark on a new career, I came in with hope.
I was seeking solace, thinking that in quiet, my thoughts would seep out. Mistaken. Booming hip-hop music, espresso beans grinding, and the constant buzz of international conversations…I found myself discouraged by lack of ambiance.
Life encourages life, and energy, energy. At first it was my curiosity that pulled me into listening to the trio of Russians deep in a very impassioned conversation. Now though, as they “nyet” their way through a conversation, I am encourage to experience my surroundings.
The air is cool and dry, a welcoming breeze after an unseasonably hot day in Seattle. A large room, the coffeehouse is loud, yet strangely comforting in the bustle of the Emerald City’s alternative crowd. Far more aromatic than the coffee aisle of your nearest market, the smell of fresh roasted coffee fills the room with scents so bold you can taste them. Pictures of perfectly poured rosettes line the walls, and large French windows allow the leftover light of evening to creep in.
Vivace is Seattle’s premiere coffeehouse, serving as both a back-up roasting plant and café. Boasting Seattle’s best baristas, Vivace provides excellent customer service and impeccable beverages. A small sign above the bar reads, “Cell Phone Etiquette”, explaining to coffee lovers how to fulfill their end of mutual respect offered by the barista.
The coffee here is impeccable. Flavors offered are only those that accentuate the coffee’s original flavor, rather than detract from it. You can’t order a 7-11 sized drink, hoping for a caffeine overkill. Each drink is carefully made, with perfect portions of milk, coffee, and the random accent. Just as an artist hones his painting skills, so do the baristas of this fine beverage.
Baristas here are the masters of their craft. Rumor has it, and truth be told, each one has to first work in the café/plant for one year before being promoted to barista. The aforementioned rosetta pictures are taken when the owner, Dave, believes the barista is ready. I spoke with Ricki, a barback for over a year, who is waiting patiently for her time behind the coveted bar. “No one’s quitting ya know, so it’s taking a while to get a barista position.” She will not leave Vivace until she has spent quality time as a barista at her favorite coffeehouse. She tells me that this is an unusually slow night, as the Fremont Fair has drawn away much of their regular clientele.
The café has gotten so busy of late that they now focus on roasting their beans at a separate plant two blocks away. The roasting room at the café now doubles as a back-up roasting plant and as an internet study/meeting room. Tonight, it is serving as a quiet space for two gentlemen looming over mochas and a laptop.
An all-over reenergizing experience, I leave here alert, with a sweet aftertaste and a refreshed outlook. If you haven’t experienced coffee at its finest (and trust me, you’ll know) take the drive into Seattle and delight in the business’ best.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Stephen Hawking and Starbucks Coffee
In 1998, I was volunteering in the Lake District in North England. On my random breaks from my full-time position, I would scurry away to Stratford-Upon-Avon to visit my favorite bard, William Shakespeare. I paid a menial five pounds to stand at the back of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre and gaze in awe of the actors portraying my favorite characters on stage. One after the other, I sat through a handful of shows in only three days time. I wandered the streets of Stratford searching for more Shakespeare to sink my teeth into.
One day, the woman who was allowing me a spare room for the visit, took me to the Shakespeare Institute. Upon arrival, I knew that it would become my mecca, a place where I would have to study erelong. For weeks I obsessed about the Institute, wondering how I could become a student there, how I could be a scholar of Shakespeare, like those dwelling in the somehow sacred halls.
For years I thought about the Institute, and occasionally wrote them in curiosity about how I too could be a part of their alumni. After learning I would need a Bachelor's degree in Theatre, I set to work to receive my degree. In preparing for the summer break between my two final years of university studies, I found out about a Shakespeare Summer School at the University of Cambridge in England. Eyes open with enthusiasm, I applied to the school and was accepted to the program.
I was elated at the thought of being with other scholars, surrounding myself with others like me, who were thought of as theatre geeks or Shakespeare nerds. I spent a few weeks preparing for the journey, even visiting Stratford again before the program started. I lost myself in the performances, wandering aimlessly through the town again, finding myself at the doorstep of the Institute. I pulled myself away, and focused on reading in preparation for my courses. I booked a stay at the Cambridge Youth Hostel for the duration of my stay, and eagerly flounced off to wrap myself up in the complete works of Shakespeare.
Arriving in Cambridge, I couldn't find my hostel. The map was wrong, the streets weren't right...I was lost. After winding streets and swirling round-abouts, I finally found the hostel literally MILES from the campus. I was anxious to sleep, and was disgusted to learn that they had forgotten about me...so I slept on the couch in the hostel's living room for one night.
The next morning, I walked into town and registered for my classes. I found other Americans who were just as excited about Shakespeare as I was (definitely not something I was used to.) We decided to walk about the town, and stumbled on a Starbucks. I was sick..."a Starbucks in Cambridge? I thought I left this at home!" My previous visits to England were Starbucks free, and since I worked there at home, I was generally non-plussed at seeing their glaring neon sign in a city that was supposed to inspire with its great architecture and historical significance.
As classes started, I was overcome with excitement about what all I would be learning. My favorite teacher was enthusiastic, knowledgeable, and uber friendly. I was overcome when I learned that she was now the head of the Shakespeare Institute. I was on my way! The excitement quickly became nausea as I realized the actual size and expectancy of our assignments. I made fast friends with women who taught at different high schools in the US. We formed a Cambridge Karaoke Society, and found ourselves wailing out horrible 80's rock tunes at a local pub. We studied late into the night, and I gave in to the lure of the coffeehouse and often found myself seeking solace at the Starbucks I once despised.
Cambridge life was exciting, new, and altogether educational. On one of our last nights at the University, we heard of a lottery to hear a lecture from the world's greatest mind in science. Truthfully, I hadn't heard of the name mentioned, so I completely ignored it. After leaving a lecture taking place at the same time, a group of us wandered behind the lecture hall to see what all of the fuss was about. As the large group waiting slowly dwindled, the few of us remaining waited to see who was coming out the back door. To my surprise, it was Stephen Hawking...Stephen Hawking. The greatest mind of our time wheeled right out there door, smiling, "hello ladies," in a robotic happy tune.
No one seems thrilled at the thought of studying Shakespeare in England...but countless numbers of people are awed by Hawking and his genius. In a town where punting down the river Cam and sharing a pint at the pub are the norm, I found two very unlikely things that have become my memory of Cambridge. Opening up to the possibility of actually liking Americana in another country, I was able to really let myself experience England. Allowing myself to explore and search, I was privileged to meet the greatest mind of our time, despite the fact that I didn't recognize his name...
I have completed my degree in Theatre, and am anxiously awaiting the day when I can afford a return to England, ready to finish my Master's degree in Shakespeare at the Institute of Stratford-Upon-Avon. Too bad you can't pay for a degree with fond memories...
One day, the woman who was allowing me a spare room for the visit, took me to the Shakespeare Institute. Upon arrival, I knew that it would become my mecca, a place where I would have to study erelong. For weeks I obsessed about the Institute, wondering how I could become a student there, how I could be a scholar of Shakespeare, like those dwelling in the somehow sacred halls.
For years I thought about the Institute, and occasionally wrote them in curiosity about how I too could be a part of their alumni. After learning I would need a Bachelor's degree in Theatre, I set to work to receive my degree. In preparing for the summer break between my two final years of university studies, I found out about a Shakespeare Summer School at the University of Cambridge in England. Eyes open with enthusiasm, I applied to the school and was accepted to the program.
I was elated at the thought of being with other scholars, surrounding myself with others like me, who were thought of as theatre geeks or Shakespeare nerds. I spent a few weeks preparing for the journey, even visiting Stratford again before the program started. I lost myself in the performances, wandering aimlessly through the town again, finding myself at the doorstep of the Institute. I pulled myself away, and focused on reading in preparation for my courses. I booked a stay at the Cambridge Youth Hostel for the duration of my stay, and eagerly flounced off to wrap myself up in the complete works of Shakespeare.
Arriving in Cambridge, I couldn't find my hostel. The map was wrong, the streets weren't right...I was lost. After winding streets and swirling round-abouts, I finally found the hostel literally MILES from the campus. I was anxious to sleep, and was disgusted to learn that they had forgotten about me...so I slept on the couch in the hostel's living room for one night.
The next morning, I walked into town and registered for my classes. I found other Americans who were just as excited about Shakespeare as I was (definitely not something I was used to.) We decided to walk about the town, and stumbled on a Starbucks. I was sick..."a Starbucks in Cambridge? I thought I left this at home!" My previous visits to England were Starbucks free, and since I worked there at home, I was generally non-plussed at seeing their glaring neon sign in a city that was supposed to inspire with its great architecture and historical significance.
As classes started, I was overcome with excitement about what all I would be learning. My favorite teacher was enthusiastic, knowledgeable, and uber friendly. I was overcome when I learned that she was now the head of the Shakespeare Institute. I was on my way! The excitement quickly became nausea as I realized the actual size and expectancy of our assignments. I made fast friends with women who taught at different high schools in the US. We formed a Cambridge Karaoke Society, and found ourselves wailing out horrible 80's rock tunes at a local pub. We studied late into the night, and I gave in to the lure of the coffeehouse and often found myself seeking solace at the Starbucks I once despised.
Cambridge life was exciting, new, and altogether educational. On one of our last nights at the University, we heard of a lottery to hear a lecture from the world's greatest mind in science. Truthfully, I hadn't heard of the name mentioned, so I completely ignored it. After leaving a lecture taking place at the same time, a group of us wandered behind the lecture hall to see what all of the fuss was about. As the large group waiting slowly dwindled, the few of us remaining waited to see who was coming out the back door. To my surprise, it was Stephen Hawking...Stephen Hawking. The greatest mind of our time wheeled right out there door, smiling, "hello ladies," in a robotic happy tune.
No one seems thrilled at the thought of studying Shakespeare in England...but countless numbers of people are awed by Hawking and his genius. In a town where punting down the river Cam and sharing a pint at the pub are the norm, I found two very unlikely things that have become my memory of Cambridge. Opening up to the possibility of actually liking Americana in another country, I was able to really let myself experience England. Allowing myself to explore and search, I was privileged to meet the greatest mind of our time, despite the fact that I didn't recognize his name...
I have completed my degree in Theatre, and am anxiously awaiting the day when I can afford a return to England, ready to finish my Master's degree in Shakespeare at the Institute of Stratford-Upon-Avon. Too bad you can't pay for a degree with fond memories...
Volunteering in Kendal, Cumbria
Pristine waters, rolling green hills, rock faces with real character...these are the picture of the Lake District. Londoners covered in brand new Timberland gear, anxious to wear out the rubber of their soles on a trek through moutainous fells find themselves sipping tea or shopping for more outdoorsy gear in one of Keswick's many shops.
In a district filled with hikers, canoeists, and cavers, the rich inhabit the bed and breakfasts, while the naturalists enjoy tents and hostels. I found myself in Kendal, Cumbria at the Barrows Green Holiday Centre, expecting to surround myself in the surreal beauty of the area.
I left America to volunteer for the CSV, Community Service Volunteers of the UK. Anticipating a new environment with different cuisine, beautiful accents, and a drive on the wrong side of the road, I flew out of Seattle for an eight month excursion to England. What I found was a rotating group of children needing round-the-clock care, the lot of them disabled in some form. In an ironic twist, my need for respite from my daily life placed me in a situation where I would be providing respite for those children who desperately needed a chance to be free and experience life as the rest of us may know it.
To say that my life was greatly altered is simply not a large enough statement. I spent hours feeding and cleaning children, bathing them and combing their hair. I changed nappies on numerous children each day, some that were my age. Was it disgusting? Oh absolutely. Was it exhausting living in the same holiday centre where they stayed for holiday? Without a doubt. Would I change it for anything. Never.
I was blessed to be on the outdoor team of the Centre. It was my job to assist the full-time staff in taking this diverse group of children on the holiday excursion of a lifetime. In their daily lives, these children would not have the opportunity to hike a fell or spelunk in a huge cavern...but with us, it was a reality. Daily, we took children in wheelchairs in canoes, caves, and up rock faces. We helped children with severe disabilities to abseil down rock walls, climb up district peaks, and explore the wonders of stalagmites. Not only was this a memorable life experience for those children, but for me as well.
I learned more about myself and the world around me through the eyes of those children. It is when we give of ourselves that we are most connected to our purpose. I may not want to work with disabled children for the rest of my life, but I will forever carry their ambition, determination, and can-do spirit with me in whatever I do.
I was exposed to the beauty of England, her experiences offered, and her giving people. I have returned twice to the country, and can't imagine not visiting again. The heart of England lies within her people, no matter their capability or social standing.
In a district filled with hikers, canoeists, and cavers, the rich inhabit the bed and breakfasts, while the naturalists enjoy tents and hostels. I found myself in Kendal, Cumbria at the Barrows Green Holiday Centre, expecting to surround myself in the surreal beauty of the area.
I left America to volunteer for the CSV, Community Service Volunteers of the UK. Anticipating a new environment with different cuisine, beautiful accents, and a drive on the wrong side of the road, I flew out of Seattle for an eight month excursion to England. What I found was a rotating group of children needing round-the-clock care, the lot of them disabled in some form. In an ironic twist, my need for respite from my daily life placed me in a situation where I would be providing respite for those children who desperately needed a chance to be free and experience life as the rest of us may know it.
To say that my life was greatly altered is simply not a large enough statement. I spent hours feeding and cleaning children, bathing them and combing their hair. I changed nappies on numerous children each day, some that were my age. Was it disgusting? Oh absolutely. Was it exhausting living in the same holiday centre where they stayed for holiday? Without a doubt. Would I change it for anything. Never.
I was blessed to be on the outdoor team of the Centre. It was my job to assist the full-time staff in taking this diverse group of children on the holiday excursion of a lifetime. In their daily lives, these children would not have the opportunity to hike a fell or spelunk in a huge cavern...but with us, it was a reality. Daily, we took children in wheelchairs in canoes, caves, and up rock faces. We helped children with severe disabilities to abseil down rock walls, climb up district peaks, and explore the wonders of stalagmites. Not only was this a memorable life experience for those children, but for me as well.
I learned more about myself and the world around me through the eyes of those children. It is when we give of ourselves that we are most connected to our purpose. I may not want to work with disabled children for the rest of my life, but I will forever carry their ambition, determination, and can-do spirit with me in whatever I do.
I was exposed to the beauty of England, her experiences offered, and her giving people. I have returned twice to the country, and can't imagine not visiting again. The heart of England lies within her people, no matter their capability or social standing.
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