oldport’s hidden rain cafes and the time i tripped over a goat’s shadow

i woke up this morning to the sound of rain slicing through the roof of my cabin. not metaphorical rain-actual water drumming onto tarpaulin. it was 10.31 celsius, which means i wore five layers and still felt like a wet blanket. the locals here don’t call it weather; they call it ‘the sea’s mood.’ i asked a barista once, and she just poured me coffee and said, ‘it’s always this way. embrace it or get soggy.’

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