When we first arrived in Dublin, we noticed a French press coffee maker in the kitchen. Brilliant! We bought ground coffee at the grocery store, and Marcus prepared to brew coffee on our first morning in our new digs. But the French press was broken. He took one look at my mournful, jet-lagged face. “I’ll make it work,” he promised. It wasn’t easy, but he did. (Never travel without an engineer.) 

I messaged the friend of our host* who had checked us in: Coffee maker broken. His reply: No worries! I’ll replace it today. 

*Note: The owner of our apartment was out of town, so she had her friend greet us on arrival, something not uncommon in the Airbnb world.

We were out sightseeing all day. When we returned to the apartment, there was no new coffee maker. Had we missed him? Was he reluctant to enter the apartment without us here? I messaged him. Him: Yeah, my car broke down. Sorry. I’ll deliver it tomorrow. Us: Thanks! Hope you and your car are okay. On our second morning, Marcus managed to work his coffee magic again. That evening a sparkling new French press sat on the kitchen table when we returned home. Us: Thanks so much! Him: No worries! Anything else you need, just ask.

So I was a bit mystified when we checked out a week later and the host sent me a message. Her (not Him): Your incessant demands for a coffee maker were OTT [over the top]!!! I supplied instant coffee for you to drink.

Okay, let’s not even address the “incessant demands” comment and get to the crux of the matter: Instant? Really? Do they even make that anymore?

A few days later I was reading an Irish novel to Marcus in the car (to keep his mind off the single-track roads and blind curves), and I came to a part where the main character, who is British, reflects on the fact that the Irish don’t know how to brew a decent cup of coffee. They just drink instant. Yikes! I didn’t know the protocol. Maybe I did overstep my bounds!

Wait a minute! What about all those coffee shops I’ve seen in every town we’ve visited. I can’t drink caffeine after my two morning cups, so I’ve never tried the shops, but walking past them I smell real, brewed coffee. And then I recalled our visit to Starbucks just hours after we arrived in Ireland, while we were waiting for Tourist Information to open so we could stow our luggage for the day. [Passing time: Dublin, Day 1] I nursed a cup of coffee for an hour while we waited. What I declined to say was that the coffee was so bad I could barely drink it. After an hour, I finally threw it out. And I thought Starbucks would be a sure thing.

We are now the proud owners of an Irish French press. We bought our own. We continue to brew coffee wherever we’re living, and I’m a happy camper. These blogs are powered by Java, in more ways than one!