I spy

We are in Seoul. In Mok-dong. My favourite thing about being in Mok-dong is that it is easy to sneak out to the Dunkin' Donuts. There are two of them near my Mother-in-law's place.

It's hard to get drip coffee in Korea. Coffee shops are everywhere but all they sell is espresso and espresso products- cafe latte, Americano, cappamochiatto. It's just like in Prague, but the shops in Korea don't generally have the same old-world ambiance, and more to the point, I don't have the time to enjoy it that I did in Prague. Why should the ambiance matter? The point is that an espresso is fine if you are going to sit down and concentrate on your drink and sip slowly. But an espresso isn't a walking coffee. For walking, you need a big coffee. And there aren't big coffees in Korea. Except at Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks. Luckily, Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks are now everywhere. Starbucks is always okay, burned but full of flavour, it is the same the world over, but in Korea it is extra expensive. A big coffee is $4. Dunkin' donuts is about half that price, but getting good strong coffee isn't a given.

Koreans seem to like weak coffee. Either they fill the coffee with sugar and cream, so the taste isn't important, or they infuse it with hazelnut. The hazelnut actually goes well with a weak coffee, but is a different drink from a real coffee. It seems that because of this, the drip coffee at Dunkin' Donuts is by default on the weak side. Further, not many people get the drip coffee. So when you order it, they often have to make it then, and when they do, they make two cups worth. This is where some variability is introduced. They don't want you to wait too long, so though they are making two cups, they fill yours up when it is half made. So you get a nice strong cup of coffee. On the other hand, if you walk into a Dunkin' Donuts and there is coffee on, not only is it quite old, it is the weak half of a weak brew. You are better off going for the Americano.

Koreans like weak coffee, and yet the coffee in Starbucks in strong. Something doesn't make sense here, and likely what I've said is bullshit. But it is a theory I've put past Koreans, and they don't disagree. Perhaps I haven't put it by Koreans who care about their coffee.

So we are in Seoul. And I sneak out for a coffee at Dunkin' Donuts. The one nearest my Mother-in-law's house has turned into a Starbucks. I have that instead. It is hot and strong and a hell of a dancer. No; that was about me. The coffee was just hot and strong.

I would usually take my coffee outside and drink as I am walking, as I said, this is why I prefer the big coffees, but today I have time and don't want to get back home too early. I sit down at a table, facing a wall. Usually if you are alone in a Starbucks, you sit with your back to the wall, facing out. You go to a coffee place for coffee; if you stay , it is to meet people.

You sit at a table pretending to work on something interesting -- alternating fits of scribbling and thoughtful pauses, you are working on something difficult. But not too difficult, you have to look approachable. A pretty girl will come and ask if the other chair across from you is free. You smile, say Of course. and go back to your work. She will sit and occasionally sneak a peak at your scribbles. I'm sorry to bother you, she will say after minutes of watching out of the corner of her eye. But that looks like some clever math you are doing. You will then get into an interesting conversation about graphs, and solve some nice problem together.

But this never happens. The closest it ever gets to this is that someone comes up and asks if they can take the other chair, back to their table full of happy people telling happy jokes. Apparently, the chair looks lonely. I don't want to look like I am waiting for someone to approach. I'm past this time in my life. I face the wall and avoid making eye contact with anyone. As a foreigner in Korea, I may very well be approached. But the people that approach are not the ones that I want to have approach.

I stare at the wall, slowly drinking my coffee, with a dour look on my face. I am working on interesting math, but I keep it hidden inside, giving no hint to the hopeful girl trying to approach. People walk past behind me, talking animatedly, and bump my chair. I grumble a bit, and shoot a low glance over my shoulder. Low enough that it won't catch them, but big enough that they know it has been shot.

As I turn back, there is an man in the seat across my table. He is looking down, eyes focused on his phone. I catch him in a viscous glare, and clear my throat. He doesn't look up, but lifts his hand to rub his nose, and mumbles from under his hand not to look at him. His whispered warning comes in an unmistakable Russian accent. I'm taken aback, but break off my glare, and look back into my scribbling.

"Keep looking at your little paper," he says, dismissive of my work. "Pretend I'm not talking to you."

"What happened to your accent?" I ask into my shirt collar. The accent has disappeared since he first spoke.

"That's just an ice-breaker of sorts. It lets people know I'm a spy."

"Ohh." I say, impressed. "I've never had coffee with a spy."

"I'm not here to impress you. I'm here on business."

"A mission?"

"Yes."

"A spy mission?"

"Yes." He says, shifting in his seat and lifting his cup up to take a drink. He leans forward on his elbows, keeping the cup up to cover his mouth. He is staring past me. "I have some information about your father-in-law."

"Me too." I say.

The man's phone chimes. He looks for at it a second, reading a message. He then stands up and walks out, paying me not a further look or word.

"Rude cock!" I think to myself.

I turn to watch him leave. As he goes out the door, and he starts to run down the street, I turn back to my table. His coffee cup is still there. I suppose it is my responsibility to throw it out now. "Not likely!" I say to myself, furious. I pick up the coffee cup to throw it across the store. As I pick it up, I see a key under the cup. I pause, and pick it up the key. It is small and plain, as for a locker, but with no markings on it.

A pretty girl comes and asks with a big friendly smile, "Can I sit here?" gesturing at the seat across from me. "Go ahead," I say, standing up. "Here, have this too." I hand her the spy's coffee. Leaving my empty cup at the table, I walk out, slipping the key into that little extra pocket in my jeans.