- Raz, it’s useless
- I had it for 9 years
- It’s gone. I’m sorry…
- 9 YEARS!!!
The smell leapt and danced above the cup, a warm kiss in the cold morning air. Our limbs were heavy and sore. I pressed the coffee down the Aeropress to the last drop. The little device had been softening all my mornings since I got it from Amazon, 9 years ago. Easy to carry, it made delicious coffee anywhere. The Aeropress was a reliable companion. I took it everywhere. My precious…
Mornings in Barra started the same way. A rough early start, coffee, and surfing. The mechanic called me, la Chichona was ready. We left Barra, picked up la Chichona and headed to paradise. After 6 days in a tent, the van was luxury. We parked by the palapa and resumed our dirtbag lifestyle. The waves were smaller but we were alone. Us, the land, and the sea. Paradise.
We set up the gear in the shade. Chloé had washed the dishes with sand and sea water. I reached for the Aeropress but a piece was missing, the lid. I know with a disturbing accuracy where my things are. If they are not where they are supposed to be, then someone had moved them. I turned to Chloé. She had taken the Aeropress to the water with the dishes. My eyes screamed in panic.
I ran to the beach. Chloé had put the pile of dishes on a rock while she washed them one by one. I looked around the rocks, on top, under, in the sand, in the water. Nothing. I kept searching, desperate. Without the lid, the Aeropress was as useful as an empty battery. And Chloé lost the lid.
I had the Aeropress for 9 years. I took it everywhere I went, as precious as my passport. The worst was that it was only sold online. Amazon did not reach the forgotten coast of Oaxaca. Plus, I had no fixed address. How would I get a new one? How can one live their life without coffee?
Chloé was sorry. I could not blame her, accidents happened. An immense sadness silenced the Palapa. I was freaking out, way overdramatic. The sound of an engine broke my mood.“WOOOHOOOOO!” yelled Dan. What a coincidence! We met Dan on the beach in Chacahua before coming here. Like Marco and I the year before, Dan and his friend Pete had stumbled upon paradise.
Dan and Pete were Canadians in their forties. Dan was quick with a joke, he laughed often and well. Both used to live in Toronto and now, like snowbirds, they follow the sun to warmer horizons. They set up their camp around the palapa and took all their gear out. I peeked inside. Pete had bought his van two weeks ago. He was still converting it.
The foam on the walls, the wood shacks, the electric cables hanging from the sides, the overall chaos. It reminded me of la Chichona before the trip, back in Montreal. I thought of all the help from my friends, the joy that first time the light turned on. The first time water went down the sink… Despite the challenges, financial stress and tears caused by the conversion, there were good times. The afternoon parties with Marco, skateboarding on the Home Depot parking lot... I gazed Pete's mess and smiled.
Then I saw it, not looking much, hidden among the mess like Aladin’s lamp. My precious…the Aeropress!!! Pete had one, and he knew a company that could deliver in Mexico. Immediately, Chloé ordered a new lid and shipped it to his house. The news brought my smile back. We celebrated with our new friends, feasted and laughed. And we surfed and surfed and surfed until Paradise had no more waves to spare.
With a warm cup in hands, I reflected on my emotional rollercoaster. Joy, panic, despair, sadness, and joy again. All caused by the loss of the Aeropress lid, an 8$ plastic piece. Truth is, the Aeropress was there long ago. Long before la Chichona, before Shitty Sugar, before I even started travelling. It had grown with me and saw me change over the years. Day by day, the Aeropress has become a necessity, an essential service. Today I still have it with me. The same old, beaten, 10 year-old Aeropress. My precious…
Some attachments are beyond reason, and sometimes that’s okay.