An ode to Olympia

Since I'm having a hard time finding time to blog (due to school work), I've decided to incorporate the two. Here is an essay I'm due to hand in this week. It made me super nostalgic about Kalk Bay, hence me posting it. The assignment was a "descriptive essay", which is also why it's so long winded and what not. So, consider yourself warned!

"Olympia, a place like no other"

There’s always a line out the door. All different kinds of people: bohemian families with children that have knotty blonde hair and are wearing tie-dyed shirts, German tourists with their snake skin shoes, the old man with his weathered book and rowdy students chatting loudly with bursts of jovial laughter. A cool breeze whips around the corner, but nothing deters these high-spirited patrons from their routinely visit. The Oceanside smell mingles with whiffs of freshly brewed coffee and homemade baked bread, as the door swings open and shut. The muffled sound of conversations and china clinking grow clear as the door opens, inviting us inside. Olympia café is a landmark to Kalk Bay, and one of my favorite spots.

Kalk Bay is a colonial seaside suburb with cobblestone roads leading down to the cold Atlantic ocean. Turn of the century architecture dominates the homes and buildings upon the hills sweeping down towards the shore. Everyday, early in the morning, the harbor comes alive with colorful fishermen going about their daily work. Kalk Bay has become home to a wide range of people, from the cosmopolitan of the world to simpleminded laborers. Like a gem, Olympia Café lies nestled in the middle of this eclectic urban scene. The Café opened in 1998. Before that it was a simple South African style fish and chips store, selling a slim selection of cigarettes, chewing gum and potato chips, along with some archaic video game machines. Present owner of Olympia Café, Kenneth McClarty, saw potential in this little corner side venue and decided to open a deli. It quickly grew in popularity, and transitioned from a small bakery to what it is today, a bustling coffee shop and hot spot of the city.

Once inside, the next challenge is to find an open table. The loud and stifled atmosphere is almost overwhelming. A quirky server, dressed in tattered jeans, a stained white t-shirt and worn apron, approaches me: “Have you written your name on the board?” I glance up at the black board he’s gesturing to. “No, not yet,” I reply. “Well, go ahead,” he shouts as he rushes to the customer signaling him from the far right corner of the restaurant. No one seems to disturbed by his loud reply, as the reprise of laughter and general loudness drowns it. As I wait for my table, I take the time to enjoy the art that is Olympia Café. The black and white linoleum tiles on the floor are old and scratched. The paint on the walls is chipping in some places, but is masked by the artwork displayed. Every couple of weeks or so a different artist is showcased. This week it’s photographic art, featuring pictures from Kalk Bay itself. My eyes are drawn to a photo of a red weather-beaten fisherman’s boat moored at the harbor. The name on the boat reads “Good ‘ole Sally”. The rain clouds in the picture simulate the ones that hover over Kalk Bay today. “Simone!” The waiter’s voice pierces through my daydream. “Your table is ready.”

He seats me at the bar by the window, facing the street, railway track and harbor beyond. I order a cappuccino with extra foam – their’s is the best! The old man with his book is seated to my right. Now the hardest decision of the day faces me: what to order? Their menu isn’t that big, but everything on it is enticing. I decide to try something new. My steak salad arrives, the meat still sizzling from the pan. The aroma fills the air, and customers at other tables peer at my food inquisitively to see whether they should order the same. It’s not just any ordinary salad: the steak is perfectly cooked to a medium rare state, crusted with mustard seed and spices. It is then laid on a bed of delicious rocket, baby spring lettuces and fresh spring onions. Mixed in are halved cocktail tomatoes, cucumbers sliced into quarters and grilled button mushrooms. The salad is drizzled with sweet balsamic vinaigrette. I take my first bite – for this I have been waiting all day. It’s succulent and tasty, and I am very pleased with my decision to try something else for a change. The meal is over all to soon, and I am left with another cappuccino gazing out at the unique view. By now it is late in the afternoon, and the bohemian children are growing restless. The youngest bumps a coffee cup, and it tumbles to the ground and shatters as cold milky coffee splashes onto my white shoes. The server doesn’t seem to perturbed, and I realize that I should’ve dressed accordingly, especially when knowing that anything could happen at Olympia.

I feel relaxed here, without a care in the world. The loud chaos is strangely soothing and rejuvenating. They don’t seem to care how long you stay, and so I always stay a little while longer. Sunlight now pours through the big window at which I’m sitting. This makes me even lazier. Another train rushes by, the yellow and black lines flashing rhythmically as it passes. I take this as my queue to leave, even though I would love to stay, there are still many things I need to do today.

I reach the counter to pay my bill, but a clean exit isn’t possible at Olympia. The counter is stacked with delicious pastries, croissants and perfect ciabattas. I grab a couple of chocolate croissants and a loaf of bread and place them in the old-school brown paper bags provided. These will be tasty treats tomorrow! There is no place like Olympia Café. No other restaurant can compete with their rustic atmosphere, scrumptious menu and fascinating range of customers. It is the combination of all these factors that makes this café so special. As I leave the warm interior behind, I look forward to the next time I’ll be visiting my favorite place.