It's 11am on a Monday morning and dammit, I need a strong coffee. While everyone else in Sydney is queuing up for their second brew of the day, I've just left the house and I fancy a sunny spot somewhere quiet. So I stroll down to my new fav in Newtown. I'm lucky-there's a seat out front, half in, half out of the sun. Satellite cafe is aptly named. Like a distant moon orbiting a busier, larger neighbour, Satellite sits a little ways back from bustling King st in a quiet, tree lined suburban street.
But there is nothing suburban about his cafe.
As I sit back sipping on my deliciously robust latte, I notice a lot is going on here. There are tables free on the footpath, but behind me in the darkened depths, the bass is booming and I can hear lots of animated discussion. Lets start with the two young actors, just walking out, verbosely discussing the ins and outs of method acting; effortlessly cool in their bedraggled vinnies couture and bare feet. Then across the street an interesting juxtaposition of generations as a pair of pink haired, tattoo girls pass an Italian senor in pressed chinos, starched shirt and cap. Its possible to ignore the peculiarities that continually parade by; bury your face in a book, stare at your phone gaze admiringly at your navel...but why would you? This is Newtown, and baby wants to ride!
A few minutes later, my glass is barely half full when a gaggle of young hospo workers disgorge from the cafe into the bright morning. Squinting, they gather on the footpath in front of me, discussing the best options for cheap drinks tonight, weighing the pros and cons of somewhere local verses something in the city. My dog doesn't care where they go, just as long as she gets a scratch behind the ear from a few of them. After a bit, they wander off in separate directions and I am left in peace with the last third of my latte, warm legs and the sounds of dishes clinking from the kitchen and deep, dark, electro trance echoing surreally.
I want to stay longer-the music is calling like a Greek siren for me "Come inside, eat a yummy cake, stay...." But my brain cells are starting to pop like candy fizz from the two shots of high grade caffeine I've imbibed. My foot is starting an involuntary tap staccato and...Ok, the music just went up a notch and I'm peaking! Got to move, gotta go! What the hell was in that coffee? read more