Word: caf
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...Citroën automobile factory in Vigo, the town in northern Spain where she had grown up. She had recently moved in with her boyfriend Oscar, and had put her own apartment on the market. The two spent their weekends hanging out with friends in Vigo's lively waterfront cafés and were planning to travel this summer. It wasn't a bad life for the 23-year-old daughter of a longshoreman and a housewife...
...even some of those who back the ban think the government is taking it too far. In Istanbul's busy waterfront Tophane district, popular for its nargile - or water pipe - cafés, dozens of patrons sit on candy-colored beanbags, puffing on glass pipes, impervious to the impending change as they fill the air with the scent of fruity tobacco. "This is part of our culture," says cafe owner Ali Unal. "I understand not smoking indoors. But they say you cannot smoke even outside if you're under an umbrella. I don't see how they will enforce this...
Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt, author and playwright I'd begin with a croissant and coffee at one of the many street cafés at Place du Grand Sablon. The Sablon is threaded with antique shops, old bookstores and art galleries. After breakfast, I take my Shiba Inu dogs for a walk in Forêt de Soignes - an immense forest in the center of Brussels that our former King gave to the city. I'd like a light lunch at a brasserie like Taverne du Passage, tel: (32-2) 512 3731, under the domed glass roof of the Galerie...
Dusky Belaga, pop. 25,300, could be any quaint town in the American heartland. As the sun creeps down, joggers maunder the quiet streets. Old men in wifebeaters gossip and smoke over slow cups of coffee in a café right next door to a licensed ammunition dealer, across the street from a well-kept park with a picket fence. A few kids shoot hoops nearby at a shabby basketball court whose bent rims possibly never even had nets. Somewhere in the direction of the town's lone evangelical church, a weed-whacker hums...
...younger generations leave longhouses for logging jobs or work in the cities, growing accustomed to the comforts of an industrialized world - you'll see a thousand gray Astro satellite dishes around Belaga before marking a wild hornbill along the turbid Rajang. I sip limeades with Calvin at a riverfront café on my last night in town. He points to a weathered chieftain's tomb on the opposite bank, a wooden blur amid ferns and rubber and durian trees. The family hasn't maintained it for years, and restoration is unlikely. It's getting darker as the sun dips below...