I always tell my friends the same hypothetical story of how I’d like to meet someone.
It’s in a coffee shop. With a hot cup of coffee in my hands. I’ll be turning the corner and suddenly BAM! I smack right into him. My drink pours down the front of my shirt (probably scalding my first layer of skin, to be honest) and I’m yelping in pain.
I’m embarrassed. He’s embarrassed and feels terrible (because, duh—the man of my dreams has endless amounts of compassion). And everyone in the coffee shop is second-hand embarrassed… Mostly for me.
“I’m so sorry,” he’ll sputter. And then he’ll offer to buy me another drink. This time it’s iced coffee. All jokes considered.
We’ll sit down and have a long chat about our lives. What makes us tick. What gets us up in the morning. What fulfills us and what empties out our hearts on a daily basis. What our parents are like.
(Ignore the fact that my shirt is stained with coffee and I’m still reeling from the pain of having hot coffee poured all over me.)
It’ll be magical. Momentous. It’ll turn both our worlds upside down. It’ll be all the things and more. I’ll see fireworks in his eyes and he’ll see a Disney sparkle in mind.
This is it, I’ll think to myself. Forget all those other gentlemen callers, the universe has brought me the one! Cease all your efforts, Kaylynn. They are now futile.
And deep sigh. This is I’ll never find someone I like.
We visit the famous castle. We watch a clock tower show (overrated.) We indulge in amaaazing strawberry and grapefruit beer for a euro, from a restaurant owned by the sweetest little man who helped us find our hostel on our first day. We have cute European breakfasts in our hostel. We go on a pub-crawl. We embark on a walking tour in 30 degree heat and learn more about Czech Republic during WWII (personal fav) alongside some self-deprecating narration. We befriend Americans. We get into a yolo-frenzy one morning when we come across what’s called bubble beer. It’s exactly what you think it is. It’s bubble tea but instead of a taro slush or whatnot, you are drinking syrup flavoured beer. I get passion fruit and rainbow jelly; Winda gets plain beer and pearls. She thoroughly does not enjoy her bubble beer. I most likely consume high fructose corn syrup mixed with alcohol at ten in the morning.
We have more Czech potato soup to the point where we feel like potatoes. We go to the Lennon Wall and gaze silently at its chaotic beauty–nodding approvingly to ourselves that we are all indeed dreamers. We have a lovely picnic with things found in our hostel room. We take a romantic paddle boat ride under the Charles Bridge. Winda tries making me call her captain. I refuse. Winda and I fall in love due to her exceptional organization skills and my bratty but surprisingly endearing behaviour.
Joking. That’s not until later on during our backpacking trip.
I’m ready to leave now. To my chagrin, we end up staying an extra night in Prague because busses heading to Budapest are booked full. I am near devastated. I want to leave this country. Everyone here is kind of cranky and I’m over the architecture. When it comes to backpacking, I’m smitten by the way a city feels as opposed to how it looks. I’m all about feeling as opposed to aesthetic value. Winda is like, “But the city is so beautiful!” Prague is stunning if you’re into gothic buildings, Disney-ish castles, and one big bridge–but I, for one, am over it. Prague is like the handsomest guy at the bar but he has absolutely zero personality/dumb as a doorknob/ends up being racist.
Bye, Prague. You were all kinds of beautiful and that’s about it.
I love me some Sunday Funday! Mainly because it rhymes with ‘funday’ and for no other particular reason. I just love things that rhyme.
1. Home of the best stone oven pizza in Vancouver (in my honest opinion), Nicli Antica Pizzeria is white and immaculate.
2. Even their ice cubes are perf. Boylan sodas are made with cane sugar, so we suppose they are healthy ish. I recommend their birch beer or red creamy birch beer–a less sugary ode to root beer x cream soda.
3. Misto salads x warm olives — Sweet baby Jesus, I hate olives so much.
4. Sexy corners of their margherita, prosciutto, and secret pizza. I didn’t tell you here, but their secret pizza is at the back of the menu and is soooo good. It’s the right kind of spicy, with perfectly cooked slices of mushroom and artichoke.
5. Their affagado is life itself. Espressos are simply incomplete creatures without a dollop of vanilla bean gelato.
6. Glenburn Soda Fountain & Confectionary’s banana split x vanilla malt shake. Try anything with their homemade pineapple sauce, and anything covered in their toasted salted walnuts. You will die. You will die and come back to finish the rest of your ice cream.
I literally dream of the aforementioned substances. Plus, Glenburn is family-owned and offer the adorable novelty that are old-school paper straws.