On the road again.
We’re in …. well, no, I don’t actually know WHERE we are. We played Richmond, Virginia tonight – a bar called Cafe Diem. Tonight we’re staying with Chelsea and Beau, and we’re turning in exhausted in the middle of nowhere, the woods and forests south of Petersburg, just short of the North Carolina border.
Today did not start as a good day. Between the bitter cold and an ice-caked driveway, even just loading the car was a bit more onerous than it should’ve been. Then there was an oil change that needed doing, and CDs that needed burning, and money that needed depositing and nails that needed purchasing. All in all, we left Owings Mills an hour and a half later than planned and managed to hit DC rush hour, Richmond rush hour, and a hideous clog of coagulated red brake lights the whole ride south on 95. It was a long, long drive.
And yet, look… o – ok… if Heather ever wants to describe the distraction that just took place, I’ll let her… but… what the HELL was I thinking about.
And yet, looking at the clock, the drive only took us about 3.5 hours – but there’s something about a drive that crosses the sunset barrier. We drive good at night. We drive good during the day. But cross the threshold into darkness (as we are wont to do) and it suddenly feels like we’ve added a full day to the drive.
Sketch for Cafe Diem:
My rememberance of Cafe Diem is a sign sitting on the sidewalk with a chalked reminder that “Monday is open mike night”. I noted that, remembered it months later, looked it up, and decided that we’d check it out the next time the proper planets aligned. I was under the impression that it was a coffee house.
We walked into dark decor, smoke-laden dimness, and impression of wood and glass. High, central, semi-crowded bar, no musicians in evidence – it wasn’t what I was expecting, and I was suddenly dreading the night. I was fearful of a night full of covers and loud conversations and grizzled old men coming on to Heather.
Our experiences in Richmond bars so far have NOT been positive.
We found that we were an hour and a half early for the open mic, and we sat down to think about our time, and what we had done. The bartender came over and gave us menus, and slowly my opinion turned. There was an aura… something in the quality of the cloth on the tables, or perhaps just the TYPES of food offered… not typical bar fare, but high-endish sounding sandwiches… something spoke to me. I felt that we could risk it… we asked about the soup… and then we ventured further. We asked about ginger ale and then about sandwiches and french fries and bread.
I won’t try to go into descriptions, mostly because the focused recollection would leave me puddling drool onto the surface of my laptop.
Go to Richmond. Go to Cafe Diem. Eat the gumbo. That’s all I have to say about that.
And then the guitars started filing in. I was surprised how the night filled out. Perhaps eating my last fry was some sort of signal – but like gamers converging on the lone female Klingon at a con – musicians came out of the woodwork and flooded in. Guitar after guitar, a keyboard, a cello, eventually a drumkit.
It turned into a really good night – we met a lot of people, reencountered some old friends from long ago Richmond trips. No hat-players this time around – but s’ok…
