The pasticceria- pastry shop – looks inviting.
The middle-aged woman with brown tints in her grey hair, sparkling eyes with laugh lines in the corners, and a beautiful wide smile, is folding a pastry box behind the display of cakes, pastries, and even pizza when I arrive.
She doesn’t speak English, but she enthusiastically tells me what I can add to my plain croissant.
I recognize a couple of words – marmalade, chocolate.
I’m quickly overjoyed by her enthusiasm and energy, and really just want to listen to her talk for the next half hour.
Sigh, I opt for something more savoury, a croissant filled with ham, cheese, and lettuce.
She brings the coffee and croissant to my table, smiles, makes eye contact, and I can’t help wondering how difficult it would be to move to Sofia, learn to speak Bulgarian, and spend the rest of my days here.
Alas, she leaves the serving area, heads back into the kitchen area to supervise, it looks like, some younger staff.
I don’t see her again.
I’m at a cozy little table, partially hidden by a pillar.
On the white brick walls hang a number of original abstract oil paintings from various artists, though I see at least one signature repeated in the corners of the canvases.
There are plenty of houseplants in the cafe, some in floor pots by the main window, some on shelves, at least one on every countertop, and even one on the refrigerator behind the display cases.
On the pillar beside me are two old black-and-white framed photographs of Sofia.
One I recognize as the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral; the other is a street scene with an important-looking building in the background and several men in winter fur hats sitting on some benches along a stone wall.
Several other customers arrive, order at the counter, and take a seat.
Other customers order pastries and cakes to be boxed and taken away.
The little pastries and cakes are not sold by the item; instead, they’re placed on a plate and then weighed – desserts by the kilo.
The staff do not handle money; when paying, one must put the cash into a machine, which spits out the change.
Beside the cash machine are two large ceramic apples, one green and the other red.
From the ceiling over the display cases hang angel puppets, some with brown wings and some with white, but all with coiled-wire halos.
This cafe is a brilliant start to my day, drinking excellent coffee, eating tasty food, watching all the beautiful customers – the types of people who care about how they look and buy little cakes as gifts for their friends or for the office – come and go, everyone seemingly happy and smiling. Sigh.
