I have found the place where I will write my memoirs/ future literary works. The place is called “the Bridge Café” and it is an oasis of French colonial style in the heart of Wudaokou: an oak stair-case, white curtains draping the tall walls, cream-colored sofas integrated in a library ambiance, open windows letting in the mild Beijing evening- air, people from every corner of the world conversing/ working with lap-tops over qualitative coffee. The café operates three floors, serves the best European- style pizza I’ve come across in Asia, is open 24/7, and wait, stop the presses……. THEY HAVE A WESTERN TOILET.
Bridge, hats off, je reviens.
PS: Came home after gym tonight to a scene of genuine bromantic mys: Cyril had cleaned the room immaculately, Marco was chilling on the floor, candles were lit on our desks and a song was playing which was too good not to share: