For the Christmas holidays, I planned to visit friends in Vilseck Germany, a four-hour drive away. Normally, I would have driven, but this year the winter proved unusually harsh for this area as heavy snow and ice covered much of the country. With the autobahns more dangerous than usual, I decided to take the train and avoid the hassles and hazards of traveling in such bad weather. I arranged to meet up with, Avril, a friend who lived in Heidelberg. From there, we would take the train to Vilseck. A simple plan. Packed and ready to go, I still had some time to spare before heading to Heidelberg. So, I decided to stop for a bite at the Barbarossa, a newly opened coffee shop in my little town of Hochspeyer.
It was bitter cold that morning. The week�s heavy snowfall had blanketed the countryside, but the streets remained drivable. After pulling my car into the parking lot, I got out and plodded through the white fluff to the entrance. Upon opening the door, the coffee shop�s warmth, toasty aroma of freshly baked breads and pungent smell of German java melted my morning grogginess away. I lingered for a few seconds to take in the atmosphere. Assorted colorful pictures, nostalgic reminders of the quaint cafes of the 40�s and 50�s, decorated the walls
A charming antique Coca Cola machine stood proudly in one corner and in another, a large, tropical plant. On the floor next to it lay two large burlap sacks of coffee beans. Tiny bright lights sprinkled throughout the ceiling gave it the appearance of a magical starlit night. The sleek silver and glass counter setup was equally inviting. Slowly, I scanned the rows of assorted breads, sweet rolls and daintily decorated pastries behind one end of the glass encasement. On the other end lay rows of hearty sandwiches of French bread bulging with various cold cuts, sliced eggs, sliced cucumbers, lettuce and tomatoes, all of which revved up my morning appetite. Short of drooling at the mouth, I faced the difficulty of narrowing my choices. Thankfully my time constraint forced me to make a decision.
The plump lady behind the counter presented a grandmotherly look with her blue and white gingham dress and frilly white apron. Smiling, she took my order. First, I picked out two cinnamon sugarcoated donut balls, which she placed in a paper bag for me. I rounded out my order with a thick sandwich and a cup of coffee.
After paying my tab, I headed to a cozy section with black wrought-iron chairs, petite bistro tables with gray marble tops, and a two-seater wicker sofa with huge colorful pillows. Two large tropical plants balanced the d�cor perfectly. Tiny tea candles nestled in coffee beans in ceramic dishes dotted each table and added flair to this relaxed holiday atmosphere. Walls of glass allowed a panoramic view of the snowy countryside, slushy roads and early risers straining to keep up with their big dogs plowing through the snow. This section was empty so I had my choice of tables. After placing my tray on a table, I went back to the counter to get a few more napkins. Returning, I got the shock of my life: a roaring fire in the middle of my tray! Not panicking, I tried to blow it out; but my feeble puffs fanned it high enough to roast marshmallows and Oscar Meyer wieners. �Oh shit�� came to mind, but cussing wouldn�t help me out of this one. I looked around for a fire extinguisher but found none. Thinking quickly, I carefully snatched the flaming bag off my tray and flung it to the floor. As I performed a Mexican hat dance to stomp out the rest of the fire, my two round treats shot out in different directions from the bag like cue balls. Tiny pieces of black, charred paper fluttered around my ankles like newly plucked chicken feathers. After putting out the blaze, I yelled for assistance from the ladies. �Granny� came running. Huffing and puffing and wide eyed upon reaching my table, she shook her head in dismay while gazing back and forth from the table to the floor trying to figure out what the hell happened. From the expression on her face, she had no clue. Neither did I, but I knew that candle had something to do with it. I wasn�t even going to attempt to explain it to her in German. After a few awkward seconds, she left and quickly returned with a broom and dustpan to scoop up the mess. The charred pieces of paper scurried around trying to escape, but she finally got them all, including the two �cue balls� hiding in a corner. Before leaving, she assured me in German that she would get me more sweets to replace the ones I�d lost in the unexpected fire.
Still shaken, I eased back into my seat and reassessed the survivor in my tray: my delicious half-eaten sandwich which was still edible. Barring an earthquake, I vowed to finish it. I took a bite while suspiciously eyeing the tiny candle which flickered an ever-so-soft but gentle flame. Nestled in those coffee beans in that white ceramic dish, the candle looked as innocent as a python poised for its next victim. With one finger, I shoved the ceramic dish an arm�s length away from my tray to prevent the candle from re-flexing its pyrotechnic muscles.
The lady returned shortly with two replacement sweets. I thanked her in German and she left, looking back and frowning at that rascally candle or maybe it was me.
I started on my sandwich again, amazed that this was my first visit to this place and I almost burned it down. I plan to stop in again, and when I do, I�m avoiding any table which harbors tea candles with hidden agendas. I felt bad about the fire mishap, even though it wasn�t my fault. After another cup of coffee, I headed out. But before leaving, I offered the lady, �Alles Sehr nette.� (Everything�s very nice). She smiled and thanked me. Hopefully, this gesture will grease the skids for my next visit. (there�s more�)