Finding Breakfast in an Unfamiliar City

We have a small ritual. On the first morning in a new city, we do not look anything up. We walk in a direction that feels promising and we stop at the first place that has locals in it and no menu in English.

This has gone wrong perhaps twice. It has gone wonderfully right dozens of times — a courtyard in Seville, a counter in Hanoi, a bakery in a town we only passed through because of a missed train.

The point is not the food, although the food is usually the reward. The point is that the ritual forces you to walk, to look, to be slightly lost on purpose. By the time you are holding a coffee you do not recognise, you already know the neighbourhood a little. The day has started properly.