This morning I noticed there was actually a cafe of some description across the park from this airbnb so I went there and asked for a double espresso - the only kind of coffee I can drink in a non-coffee country like this. The girl behind the counter (no doubt actually a woman behind the counter but no doubt closer to the age of 0 than I am to the age of 100, so 'girl' seems appropriate somehow) pointed to the coffee machine, which looked perfectly fine to me, and said that she couldn't make a double espresso, only an espresso. So I stupidly got an Americano, I really don't know why.
After that I had to remedy with a real double espresso from a chain. Then even though I have vowed no more pastries, the devil made me get a pulla. So silly.
Other things from today:
'Waiter. One red-green Helsinki and the cheapest triple sec in the house, thank you!' Yeah I don't get it either.
So I went to the Workers museum with Steve and Franziska (however while I was there I left my phone in my bag hence no pictures - I got a brochure I'll show you later). Before I went there though I went to a nearby flea market and saw:
I looked at a lot of CDs, none of them seemed particularly exciting.
How much would you pay for a racist licorice tin? This was priced at €100.
Old friend
No comments:
Post a Comment