Atlanta. What can I say? Lots, apparently.

I apologize profusely for not writing sooner. I hope that this double blog posting (two in two days… maybe even three if I can get the videos up), as well as the length of this posting (a record length), is penance enough. I don’t know if I used the word penance correctly.

As all of you now know, I didn’t post this past week because I was in Atlanta. So, instead of telling you about my delightfully sleepy little town of Estelí, let me regale you with stories of Atlanta and a specialty coffee conference that can only be described as overwhelming. I will try to be chronological, but I offer you no promises.

My adventure began on Tuesday afternoon, when, in typical Vince fashion, I gave myself about 20 minutes to pack before running to the bus station. I settled into the Expreso bus (which is actually incredibly comfortable and reminded me of my friend the Greyhound), bought myself some peanut brittle, and set out to Managua, where I spent the night at a friend’s house. Managua, as I have written before, is despised by everyone who doesn’t live in Managua. Everyone. In one particularly funny/scary incident, we had a bit of an alcohol-induced violent episode take place in front of our house in Estelí a few weeks ago (that event was catalogued as “don’t tell mom because it will make her worry”), and after the situation cleared, our neighbours came out of their house and commented “My god, it’s like we’re in Managua”. Hatred for Managua runs deep, what can I say? Having spent only the one night in Managua on this particular occasion, however, I can neither confirm nor deny these claims but can say that: (1) I have never sweat so much in my life, (2) I got some bizarre bug bites, and (3) I was not robbed or beaten, as all of Estelí had predicted I would be. So, all in all, not a bad Managua experience. On that third note, I did hear a funny story about robbery in Managua that I’d like to share. Apparently, a few weeks ago there was a person who got robbed in the neighbourhood that I was staying as she was leaving a party. She accepted her fate but did ask the robber for her wallet back (without money), because it had her identification and presumably some other cards. The robber agreed and handed her back the wallet. The woman then remarked that she had no money to take a taxi home, so the robber took pity on her and returned 50 cordobas ($2.50) for her taxi fare. It’s nice to know that robbers can be reasoned with if I ever find myself in that situation (in Managua, of course).

My trip to Atlanta, via Miami, was relatively uneventful, though the Miami airport is quite something. It started with the customs lines, where I stood in line for 1.5 hours and moved a grand total of about 20 feet. I eventually made the strategic decision to switch lines and am glad I did so, because the customs officer was hilarious and instead of asking me questions, decided to complain about the “slowpoke” officer next to him who kept causing people like me to change into his line, thereby delaying his break time. The Miami airport was quite large and a remarkable example of a bilingual institution. Every single employee was bilingual and most seemed to speak it as a first language, opting to talk to me in Spanish. Kudos, Miami, kudos. If I didn’t hate Horatio Cane so much, I might actually take a liking to Miami. In the Miami airport, I also got my first chance to eat food that I have not been able to get in Estelí (although the salami sandwich and coleslaw on the plane were quite awesome as well). I know that you are all on the edge of your seats, waiting to hear my food choices. Here they are: I started with a toasted cheddar and herb bagel with cream cheese. It was as awesome as it sounds. The only time I have seen a bagel here in Estelí is when a friend of mine ordered one and was served what looked like a bagel without a hole. Let me be the first to say that a bagel without a hole is no bagel at all. The best part about a bagel is the cream cheese that gathers in the hole. When that hole is eliminated, what you have is a bun, not a bagel.

I also sold my soul and ordered a latte at Starbucks. I was about to say no whip cream (I’m watching my figure, you know), but then decided against it. I am incredibly glad that I ended up with whip cream. I devoured that whip cream and it was unforgettable. I never would have selected whip cream as something I missed, but wow, that was special. Unfortunately the latte was second-rate after the whip cream delight. I ended my Miami culinary experience with a Twix bar (which I had actually had in Estelí about two weeks ago so I don’t really know why I chose Twix. I think that it was the cheapest option.) and then boarded my flight to Atlanta.

My Miami-Atlanta flight was also uneventful, with the exception of the snack service. During said service, I received a “sweet mix” that was advertised as having pretzels, cheddar bites, and cheesy sticks. I am not exaggerating at all when I say that my “mix” had 1.5 cheddar bites, 1 single cheesy stick, and about 30 pretzels. In my humble opinion, that does not count as a “mix”. I would rant more about this but on the way back I had a more balanced mix and the cheesy sticks and cheddar bites were actually quite disgusting…

And then, I landed. Atlanta. The city of... I don´t really know. Coca Cola? Anyways, thinking I would have a quiet train ride to my hostel (it was quite late), I sat down and waited for North Avenue station. Imagine my surprise, then, when a glut (yes, a glut) of protesters got on the train a few stops after the airport. What were they protesting, you ask? Well, I would direct you to Fox News for the answer, but my understanding is that they are not happy with the government’s plan for their taxes (the day I arrived was also tax day in the USA) and decided to “re-enact” a historical event to make their point. Apparently, according to what I assume was their interpretation, the Boston Tea Party was essentially a costume party. Based on what I could tell, they (“they” referring here almost exclusively to slightly obese white males) protested by hanging tea bags from their ears, dressing in costumes, dressing their kids in costumes, using words like fascism and tyranny, and misrepresenting policies. Good times. There are jokes galore about teabagging to be made but I will leave that to Anderson Cooper (more on Anderson Cooper later). I left the train confused and chuckling, not having thought that I would get to see that on my first night in Atlanta (there was also a high school robotics team on the train, in town for the robotics competition, but there was just too much going on around me to be able to process their social awkwardness in addition assessing the protesters). After checking into my hotel, I went to Walgreen’s to purchase some granola bars, because I love granola bars. The sweet call of Nature Valley was too much to turn down and I bought a couple of boxes. I had actually planned on taking those back to Estelí with me but ended up with only a single bar to take back with me, such was the allure of their deliciousness.

The next day was my “tourist” day in Atlanta, since the conference didn’t start until the evening. My choices were the Georgia Aquarium (too expensive), the World of Coca-Cola (too commercial), and a tour of CNN (Bingo!). I decided on CNN and, after a quick breakfast of granola bars, headed down to the CNN Center, both to take the tour and to search for Anderson Cooper. Spoiler alert: I only succeeded in one of those objectives. After a quick browse through the CNN shop, I signed up for the tour and eagerly waited in line. The tour guide then arrived and told us that we had to go through metal detectors (fair enough) and that we should just put our cameras away since there were no pictures allowed on the tour (WHAT?!?). That’s right, folks, no pictures. CNN, a television channel that would not exist without their ability to take pictures wherever they want, has banned photography on their tour. Needless to say, this put me into a bit of a confrontational mood (especially after being offered the chance to buy a $20 picture of myself at a CNN desk). Who better to confront then the tour guide, I thought. After being denied to take a picture of the cool floor of the CNN building (the floor!) and the pile of Emmy’s, I asked the tour guide why I couldn’t take pictures. He answered with something ridiculous about how CNN doesn’t own their weather screen and once got sued when a picture was posted. Thinking that he had provided a satisfactory answer, he began to walk away. I was not done, though. “Excuse me,” I said, “but can CNN take pictures of me?” “Yes,” he replied. “Well, then why can’t I take pictures of them?” “Because we don’t own the weather screen.” “You know, sir, you wouldn’t have a job if CNN couldn’t take pictures.” “O.K., moving on to the next room.” Also, Anderson Cooper doesn’t broadcast from Atlanta, so that was a waste of time. They should really declare these things from the outset. I am not pleased with CNN and will let Ted Turner know about this in a strongly worded yet respectful letter.

You, however, will be pleased to know that I smuggled some contraband video nonetheless. I will be posting them here at some point as an explicit protest to CNN’s outrageous policies. Unlike some people, I have chosen not to wear a tea bag on my ear to complement this protest.

I then walked around downtown Atlanta for a short while and let me tell you that I have never in my life seen a city with the mental health and homelessness challenges that Atlanta is obviously mishandling horribly. The homeless population was enormous and the vast majority appeared to have some sort of mental health issue. Also, a large proportion of the homeless population has taken on some very resourceful strategies, as they are always offering to give you directions (for a price) or hold an umbrella for you in a rain storm (for a price). My trip to the library cost me $1 and walking half a block under an umbrella in a torrential downpour cost the same.

That evening, the conference began with a few opening speeches and a welcome reception. I am not a networker and therefore did not network. I did eat the hors d’oeuvres, though. When I got back to my hostel, I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things to bring back to Estelí. It was then that I noticed the first in a series of clues that led me to believe that my hostel was in Atlanta’s gay district. I walked down one aisle (the cereal aisle, I believe) and there was a gay couple picking up some groceries. Thinking nothing of it, I turned the corner to walk down the next aisle (snacks) and was shocked to see what looked like the exact same couple, only twenty years down the line. I thought it was a little weird to see two gay couples in the same grocery store (where there were only a handful of people shopping at this hour anyways), but it wasn’t until the next aisle that “a little weird” turned into flabbergastedness as I saw a lesbian couple shopping. That made me three for three and only then did it hit me that I may have been staying in Atlanta’s gay district. The several gay couples in the Cuban restaurant the following night and the drag queen who conversed with me on Saturday night (it was quite a conversation, let me tell you) really just drove the point home. I am an observant one, wouldn’t you know!

The conference began the next day and while I won’t report on any specifics, I can describe the whole affair in a single word: overwhelming. There was a dual culture shock (of the big city of Atlanta and the weird coffee culture at the expo/conference) and I’m still not really sure what was most shocking, though I am leaning towards the latter. Just to give you a flavour, here are just a few things I experienced:

- The World Barista Championships (not to be confused with the skinny tie, weird beard, retro vest, and skinny jeans championships which, though seemingly prerequisites to compete, were not officially noted anywhere). Up until a few days before the conference, I thought that Starbucks invented the term barista to make their employees feel better about themselves. Apparently I was mistaken. There are barista champions, barista judges, and barista fans, completely with signs. The judges were my favourite, as they bent down to assess the barista’s grind pounding technique, studied how the barista cleaned his or her cups, and evaluated the correlation between what the barista said (“this coffee from the hills of Peru has an earthy, gritty, nutty flavour and fruity texture.” I don’t need to point out that their adjectives are ludicrous and completely undescriptive.) and what they tasted (fruity flavour and nutty texture… uh oh, that’s a deduction). The competition involves baristas making five drinks for four judges in 15 minutes. There are probably other rules but I don’t understand coffee lingo and therefore couldn’t follow.

- The U.S. Taster’s Championships. Eight sets of three cups. Two of the three cups have the same coffee in them. Can you identify the outlier? Can you do it both accurately and quickly? The one guy that I saw could not. He ended up one for eight and I could actually have done better then him by just choosing the first cup every time.

- There were several labs being offered, including how to brew coffee. Apparently “throw grinds into machine, throw water into machine, and turn on” is not all there is to “Master Brewing”.

- The trade show floor was packed full of everything you could imagine for the coffee chain. Do you need packaging for your coffee? Booths 1329, 1872, 1431, and 1554 could help you. Are you looking for a large coffee toasting machine? There are about 13 booths to help you with that. Perhaps you are just looking for flavoured syrups? Well then I would direct you to one of seven stands looking for your business. Nobody was actually selling stuff to individuals like me, though, because when I tried to buy some tea for Rebecca, I was asked how many cases I would need. Apparently, “three bags of this one and four of that one” is not the contract they are looking to sign. Also, the trade show floor had a ribbon cutting ceremony with big novelty scissors. It was weird.

- The Roasters’ Guild After Party. I didn’t actually go to this. What the hell is the Roasters’ Guild? It sounds like that thing the engineers have to do when they graduate.

To add a few more food-related notes to this adventure, on what I believe was Friday night, I went to a Krispy Kreme donut shop near my hostel. There was a true plethora of flavours available to choose from and I simply did not know what to choose. I asked the expert (Krispy Kreme donut lady) what my very first Krispy Kreme donut ever should be. That was a bit of a lie since I think that I had one about five years ago when Krispy Kreme came to Calgary but I was not in the mood to explain that whole story. She was very excited to point out that I had come in at the right time, because the originals were just being made fresh and that really made it no competition- I had to have an original. I officially placed my order with her, one hot original donut, and waited at the till. When she arrived with my donut, she whispered “I slipped an extra one in there for you”. My look of pure joy and overwhelming happiness must have looked more like confusion because she repeated herself, and let me tell you it was just as sweet to hear the second time. I thanked her profusely, fought back my tears, ate two melt-in-your-mouth hot donuts, fought back more tears, and then returned to my hostel.

In terms of my Atlanta meals (food was obviously a significant part of this trip), they were the following: breakfast consisted of Raisin Bran (I missed you bran) and granola bars, lunch consisted entirely of samples from the expo floor, and dinner consisted of deliciousness. Breakfasts were therefore pretty straightforward but the latter two points call for some expansion. One incredible part of an over-crowded trade show with over-zealous vendors trying to promote their over-priced products is that a huge number of those products were sampleable. Every fourth or fifth booth had a sample, be it of the latest smoothie flavour, a new coffee beverage, or a small sliver of cake to complement coffee. With hundreds of booths on the expo floor, it was quite easy to fill my tummy (with sugar, really, which led to a hard crash in the afternoon, which in turn drove me to places like Krispy Kreme). Every once in a while I would have to feign interest in the product (“And how might I prepare this delicious raspberry beverage in my store?”) whereas other times I would go with honesty (“I have been living in Nicaragua for three months and haven’t had any chocolate in that time. Can I have two of these chocolate shake samples?”). Ideally, the vendor would be occupied and I could slip in and just grab a cup with only a quick “Gracias, no hablo inglés” before moving on. Good stuff.

Dinners were one meal that with the exception of night #1 (granola bars), I did not skimp on. On my second night, I went to a delicious Cuban restaurant for a massive sandwich and yucca fries (this was the first meal in years that I have been unable to finish. Kudos to you, chef. Kudos.). The next night I ate a Caesar salad pizza at the Mellow Mushroom. It, too, was delicious and came on a night where I was craving a Caesar salad but also wanted some sort of pizza. I hadn’t thought of combining those two items until they magically appeared on the menu in both written and cartoon form. Finally, the pièce de resistance was Mary Mac’s Tea Room. Holy effing delicious. Pardon my language. First, because it was our first visit, my travelling companion and I received complimentary pot likkers and cornbread. Good start. Then, for the entrée, you could select a main dish as well as two side dishes (chosen from about 35 side dishes that I had to translate into Spanish. I tried my best but I am not equipped to translate words like “pot likker” (I am also not equipped to define “pot likker”). As it is, translating food words is dicey because you never know if you are going to inadvertently cause an allergic reaction due to mistranslation…). My own choices were 3 pieces of Southern fried chicken served with sweet potato soufflé (insanely good) and macaroni and cheese (not as good as mine, but it certainly did the trick). Not content to leave with a full stomach, I went into overload with a homemade peach cobbler for dessert. It was no Hilde cake, but it came dangerously close. Dangerously…

O.K., I really need to stop typing. There may be more memories that come back to me but I will share those later. To conclude, let me say that all in all, the conference was good (but overwhelming), Atlanta was good and delicious (but overwhelming) and I have so many notes that I have been typing that I have reason to believe that I am developing carpal tunnel syndrome (I am not joking). This may or may not affect my future blogging. In all honesty it probably won’t.

As one more ridiculous side note do you know that the pharmacy in Atlanta would not sell me Sudafed? You obviously didn’t know that (unless you are Rebecca Ross who has heard this already) but now you do. Apparently not having a state to put into the computer system precludes you from accessing medicines in the United States. The pharmacist actually said to me “well, do you have any friends in Atlanta who could buy this for you?” to which I replied “Ma’am, I arrived in Atlanta last night and am staying in a hostel one block away from here. Who in god’s name would I have met in the last 12 hours who would be willing to join me at the pharmacy to buy me Sudafed?” (I actually just said “no.”). I officially blame Walgreen’s for the incredible headache I got on the plane ride home where my ears refused to pop to the point that I thought my eyeballs and/or my frontal lobe were going to pop out of my head.