The Thousands

My friend and I had washed up somewhere along the back beaches of Rye. Disoriented, we untangled the seaweed from around our necks and stumbled up to a fisherman. He turned his head to his left and gestured gently towards a trail of people making their way up the dunes. We set off to follow them and took a bush path marked by two large sticks. Two minutes later we arrived at the Latte Bar – a little oasis at the rear of a private residence, converted into a bar for a week during summer.

The Latte Bar is the world – if you lived here, you wouldn’t need to travel. Staff at the Latte Bar say, “No shirt? No shoes? No problem.” They wear panama or floral hats to indicate when they’re on duty and when they are, patrons stand up to the window and order a “latte” and by that you mean a beer. When opening and closing, the barman pronounces “High Five Danger” and that means everyone is in danger of a high five. Stepping up to the bar my friend and I ordered two “lattes”. As the barman was slicing a lemon and topping our brewskies we asked, “Is this illegal? Is the Latte Bar licenced?”. The barman smiled, paused and responded, “Fellow travellers, you can’t outlaw a miracle.”