Barclayville, Liberia: My Quest for a Decent Espresso in 97% Humidity
i'm a coffee snob. i've been traveling the world with my mule-powered grinder, searching for that perfect, grassy, blueberry note in a single origin. some say it's an obsession; i say it's a calling. so when i found myself in barclayville, liberia, i wasn't surprised-just dehydrated and mildly panicked.
the weather here is a constant 20.94Ā°c, but the humidity is sitting at a ridiculous 97%. it feels like the air is made of wet wool. i just checked and it's... basically a sauna that never turns off. my beans started clumping within minutes. note to self: store them in a ziplock with a silica packet from the hotel soap.
my guesthouse, the "serenity lodge" (quotes because there's nothing serene about the rooster that crows at 3am), was at 2593120 main street-actually, the street has no name, just a number that looks like a census code. the wifi password? you guessed it: 1430592314. i think the owner just typed the first thing he saw on his calculator.
barclayville itself is a dusty grid of crumbling brick buildings, a market that smells like cassava, diesel, and occasional hope. there's one cafe that claims to serve 'expresso' (with an 's') using a chrome moka pot that's probably older than the country. i asked the barista, a lady named auntie marie, about bean origins. she just pointed to a burlap sack that said 'guinea' in faint letters. i sipped it. it tasted like charcoal and regret.
i asked around for any trace of a proper third-wave scene. that's when i met *joseph, a lanky guy with a tattoo of a coffee cherry on his forearm. he roasts beans in a steel drum behind his shed, using a bicycle-powered fan. the beans are single origin from a small farm up in the Podunk hills (he said the farm's name was something like 'bong mine'-i think he was joking). the roast date? he writes it on the bag with a marker, but it's usually ' yesterday' or 'some time last week'. i bought a bag anyway, and we brewed it with my portable pour-over setup. it was... drinkable. had a hint of chocolate, a lot of char, and a finish that reminded me of wet dog. but hey, progress!
never trust beans that look too oily. always ask for the roast date-even if it's a lie, it shows they care enough to lie.
overheard gossip at the market: 'someone told me that the cafe's 'expresso' is actually just boiled tar.' another whispered, 'i heard the beans are re-used from the previous day's grounds. they just dry them out and sell them again.' i'm not naming names, but i did see auntie marie collecting spent grounds in a bucket. make of that what you will.
here's where i'm hanging my hat:
the closest you'll get to a vacation from barclayville is heading east to harper, a coastal town with a beach that's more sand than trash (allegedly). it's a three-hour drive on a road that will eat your suspension for breakfast. or you could cross the border into cƓte d'ivoire-tabou is just a hop, skip, and a bribe away. they have spices that'll make your nose weep. just watch out for the guys in green uniforms.
some images from my time (unsplash, because i'm not paying for any of this):
i've been documenting this journey on my site Coffee Globe Trotters. if you're into gear, i've also written about my favorite portable grinders here.
before i forget, there are a few resources that actually helped me navigate the liberian coffee labyrinth. the Specialty Coffee Association has a surprisingly good guide to sourcing beans in difficult regions. TripAdvisor has one review for the cafe-beware, it's from a guy who thinks 'dark roast' means 'burnt'. Yelp is blank, shockingly. and the Barclayville Community Board is where the real tea (or coffee) is spilt.
so, should you come to barclayville for the coffee? only if you're as crazy as i am. but if you do, bring your own beans, a good insulated mug, and a sense of humor. and maybe memorize the wifi password 1430592314-it's the only thing that works consistently.
barclayville will stick with me, not for its coffee (though joseph's trying), but for the sheer audacity of trying to enjoy a pour-over in 97% humidity. i'm out, chasing the next bean, wherever it hides-maybe even in the atlantic ocean*.
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