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cape town or whatever: sleep-deprived coffee snob ramblings

@Freya Holm3/12/2026blog
cape town or whatever: sleep-deprived coffee snob ramblings

so here i am - wobbling through cape town at 3am with a mug of stale espresso that’s probably been sitting in a toaster oven since breakfast. the weather here is like a damp sock held up by a heater, which feels oddly poetic if you’re someone who’s ever cried into a paper cup. i checked the forecast and it’s still that grim 9 degrees, so i’m essentially brewing coffee in a snow globe.

anyway. let’s talk coffee. or don’t. i don’t care. i’m just here to scribble about how this city is 90% concrete and 10% existential dread. but hey, there are bullet points if you’re into that chaos vibe.

coffee gear essentials: a thermos that’s not a yoga mat, a spoon that won’t murder your enjoyment, and a blanket thick enough to societally reject you if you ask for a napkin
*pro-tip:* avoid specialty cafes if you dislike people pretending they care about your latte art. trust me.

i heard that. i overheard a guy at the bus stop muttering something about a hidden coffee shop where the barista knows your name… or at least your overpriced order. but then again, who doesn’t fantasize about that?


(side note: this map is probably useless. i just copied it from a random blog post. sue me.)

here are some pictures because i’m bored and unsplash exists. first one is a bird on a puddle. second, a dirt road that looks like a hallway to nowhere. third, a bird exactly where you’d expect it.

a small bird perched on top of a dry grass plant

a dirt road surrounded by trees and bushes

a small bird is standing on the ground


if you get bored, table mountain’s a short drive away. or don’t. i’m not your mom. but honestly, the weather here is so bad that even the mountains are probably crying. or at least misting.

i just checked and it’s… there right now. hope you like that kind of thing. also, the locals are like, ‘you want a coffee? no? well, here’s a bowl of rocks. enjoy.’ which is… oddly specific.

yelp says this place has the best ditch coffee ever. i’m skeptical. i once got a latte that tasted like regret and rust. but then again, i might’ve been drunk.

another person told me that a street artist here paints on sidewalks with coffee grounds. it’s either genius or a health hazard. i’m leaning towards genius.

if you’re into that kinda thing, check out this tripadvisor thread. or don’t. i’m not tracking.

history nerds might appreciate the old market district. i didn’t. i’m more of a ‘why is there a mural of a dancing cow here?’ person.

here’s a random coffee blog that’s probably not helpful: https://coffeerepublic.com/cape-town-ist-waste-of-caffeine

[image: a cat inside a coffee cup - unsplash, because even cats are cooler than this city sometimes]

also, someone warned me that the humidity here is 95%. which means your hair will rebel. my hair did. i now look like a soggy baguette.

i’m leaving this post at 5am because my brain stopped working at 2. if you’re reading this, congrats. you survived. maybe get a coffee. or don’t. i don’t care anymore.

p.s. the neighbors are just a bunch of people who also said they’d never move here. same way i said i wouldn’t.

p.p.s. don’t trust the plural of ‘data’ in this city. it’s a lie.

[images: a rainy street, a market stall, a confused tourist]


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About the author: Freya Holm

Loves data, hates clutter.

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