My Portrait Was Hung in That Café

By Victoria Ponomaryova [Ukraine]

December in Beijing is always cold,dry and windy.The dust flies through the city,settling down on stunted trees,benches,dancing through streets and parks.We put on some warm clothes and strolled out in search of a coffee shop near the Workers' Stadium.We were searching for new and interesting items to add to our collection of sugar packets,which are often served with coffee.

Around the corner at the beginning of Dongsishitiao Street,we saw a strange sign that read“Coffee and Photo.” The windows of the shop were not welcoming with ads and silence filled the room.There was a counter,a coffee machine,and several bottles and cups,in another hall were a couple of tables and chairs,on the walls were photographs of landscapes.

“This wasn't here before,” we remarked.

“I don't want to go inside,it seems uncomfortable,there are no people,it does not look like a place with good coffee!” I tried to rebel against my husband's need to always seek new impressions,especially where they seem to be impossible.But,as it often happens,I retreated and agreed to his proposal.

Victoria Ponomaryova (right) now lives in China with her husband (left),a diplomat who works in the Embassy of Ukraine.China has inspired Victoria to write two books,one of which is a travelogue called Little Travels in Great China.The second,Lanterns of Hope,is the story of a young of Chinese language teacher for foreign students,her life and love.

Victoria Ponomaryova (right) in front of the café

We entered uncertainly,looked around,saw the waitress and ordered two cups of espresso,but also asked if they had some kind of cakes,just for the sake of asking.She immediately seemed upset and said no.

We sat in the room,looking around awkwardly,waiting for the order.There was no warmth or satisfying feeling whatsoever in this shop.Suddenly the waitress appeared,without coffee,but serving on a plate on our low coffee table two pieces of bread so white,they looked like cotton,the kind usually used to make croutons or toast.We looked at the bread,surprised.The girl said that it was for us,instead of pastries,from the coffee shop for free.The awkwardness intensified.

“Apparently,she took us for some hungry tourists who came to Beijing for the first time and do not know where to shop,or what to eat,” we decided.

We were sitting there,gloomy and unhappy with ourselves,in this strange coffee shop and regretted in our souls that we came here.We could have crossed the street and gone to a huge coffee shop called “MAAN,” which impressed us with its design and delicious Belgian-style waffles.

A few minutes later,the girl appeared with a tray,she put the cups of espresso and glasses of water,kaishui,for us on the table.My husband asked:

“Please,can you bring us some sugar packets? Tangbao?”

He tried to pronounce it with the right tones,helping himself with a hand,like the conductor of an orchestra.The girl thought for a while,and then returned to the table with the cashier,stood there for a second and appeared again in front of us with sugar packets.

My husband jumped with happiness when he saw them.We did not have these packets in the collection! He began to thank the girl and ask for more sugar,so she brought back three or four of them.

We drank the coffee—it was also made at a level of a good espresso.But what to do with the bread—we did not know.If we left it,we might offend the owners,but to eat it as it is… not tasty,and it wouldn't pair well with the espresso.

The coffee and photo shop

“We will take it with us and feed the fish in the park,” we decided.So we did.

We came out of the coffee shop with mixed feelings—new packets,delicious coffee,a friendly girl.However,the bread and empty halls spoiled the impression and did not complete our coffeeworship ritual.

We did feed the bread to the fish in the park across the street from our home.They didn't eat it with much enthusiasm,but it was still eaten.

It was a couple weeks later that we went to this coffee shop a second time,we came to show to the owners what the sugar packets look like in Ukraine.Bright and themed,they evoke the desire to collect.We were surprised—there were more things in the shop now: old cameras,devices,and portraits of old and young local people looked at us from the walls.

This time,we were greeted by the owner.He was a photographer as well as a coffee maker.Well,maybe not a coffee maker,but an experimenter,because he combined his work with the strange hobby of foreigners.The conversation braked and creaked,but remained on somewhat familiar topics—the weather,the countries where we are from,China—were still discussed.After a while the Chinese owner got up and disappeared behind the scenes.

“Can we go?”Isighed reluctantly and began to put on my scarf.My husband got up and took his hat.But we did not have time to get to the jackets before the owner appeared with a cumbersome Polaroid instant camera.The pictures gradually acquire life,reproducing the frozen moments filled with smiles and easy gestures and poses.

He called his assistant,explained something,came to us,and sat on the sofa.We were frozen in anticipation.The first time,nothing happened,apparently the device was surprised by the laowai.The photographer and his assistant started to work some magic into it,and on the third attempt our faces appeared on a small,thick piece of paper.

“It is probably for ads.He will show his visitors,and they will see that foreigners also drink his coffee and were photographed here!” I told my husband.

But no,he gave us the small brilliant snapshot and shook our hands goodbye.

After this,some thing needed to be given to him in memory,maybe a book with landscapes of our country? Some chocolate? Should we bring our friends for a cup of coffee? We did all of this—we brought books,and sweets,and friends.He personally prepared the coffee for us and our friends,and even tried to make it free of charge.He always received us very hospitably and sat us comfortably in the hall beside the counter if the seating area was occupied by others.

Our relationship would be difficult to call friendship,because it lacked the main part of true friendship—exchanging ideas,communication on any topic,trusting stories about anything and everything.This was not the case,because our knowledge of the Chinese language was limited to a few general phrases,explanatory gestures and smiles,and his English was frozen at zero.After sometime we met a girl who could speak a bit of English,as it later turned out,it was his young wife.

It's been a year,or maybe even more.We did have a difficult family situation,which caused me and my husband to live apart.I returned to Ukraine to take care of my sick mother-in-law while my husband continued to work in China.Sometimes he visited the “photographer-coffee maker”for fun.So once,the master took a moment and photographed my husband while he was gesturing like an overexcited Italian,trying to tell a story and smiling.

This photo felt very happy,for some reason I felt positive energy from it.A sincere smile,easy gestures,a familiar checkered shirt.I could quite clearly imagine how my dear husband paints Chinese tones in the air,trying to talk in Chinese,and when he does not understand,he immediately says duibuqi,buhaoyisi—“I'm sorry.I'm embarrassed.” I looked at the photo and imagined that we were there together.

Photos of the husband of Victoria Ponomaryova

The portrait of Victoria Ponomaryova is still hung on the wall of the café

Some six months later,I got to visit Beijing for a month,and we,once again,started to go out for lunch in coffee shops,visit parks,feed the fish in our beloved Chinese courtyard,and of course,visit our photographer friend.

Over one and a half years we watched his studio change while he searched for his own personal style and adapted to the taste of his clients.The room just to the right,where we for the first time awkwardly consumed that coffee,the tables were gone—instead someone had hung a white screen,installed multi-colored spotlights,and hung some heavy curtains.It was there that the sacred communication of the three—a client,a photographer,and a camera—was to be held.The room behind the coffee counter now served as a dressing room like in theaters—with a mirror framed with light bulbs,a bunch of various clothes,hats,wigs,and various gadgets for make-up.Furthermore there were two more rooms: one for rest and one for special clients.

Apparently that time we radiated happiness,because the photographer had invited us to do a photo shoot.We again,like the first time with coffee,agreed,but it was a bit embarrassing.It was as if we were using our official position for personal purposes.

At first,we were put in a chair,and turned on the yellow spotlights—click,click,red,click,click...“Look at each other,” click,click.“Come closer,” click.“Put your hand on his shoulder.Ok!”

It was interesting and very fast.After the photo shoot together,the photographer suggested taking some photos of me alone.I was surprised,but agreed.There were some quick shots of the camera,a look there,a look here,and everything was ready.

We went to the computer,looked through the pictures—they were just amazing! A whole collection of the two of us migrated to our flash drive,and we also ordered several shots to be printed.

The month of my holidays in Beijing fiew by very quickly,I did not want to go back to the role of a nurse,but it was necessary.Before my departure,we went to see the photographer and his wife and offered to drink something stronger than coffee,the girl was embarrassed—she was pregnant,so she couldn't.We were glad that this bizarre establishment was expanding not only by the number of photo customers,but also the new member of the photographercoffee maker's family.

My care for my ill mother-inlaw went on.Every day I spoke with my husband on WeChat,exchanging news,advice,and supporting each other.Once on a Sunday,sad and lonely,I walked through my small town,drinking coffee and observing the appearance of the first signs of spring—a faint veil of green around the tree branches.

Suddenly my mobile rang.Through the distance of nearly 10,000 kilometers,my husband's joyful,excited voice came to me:

“You cannot imagine what happened today!”

“No,I do not imagine,it seems to be something nice,since you are so happy...”

“I will tell you now.In the morning I woke up in a bad mood,measured my blood pressure,it was too low.I can have some coffee,I decided...But nothing made me happy,not even the wonderful white magnolia fiowers,which decorated the trees in the courtyard of the compound.Coffee should raise the pressure and mood I thought,although not necessarily.I went to the café of our photographer,because I wanted to bring him a present—a big soft toy for their future baby.When I opened the door,I immediately saw it...”

Above all these kilometers,silence reigned.

“What did you see? Can you hear me? Are you still on the line?”

“Yes,I'm still here,I'm just so full of enthusiasm and it's hard to speak now… I went in and my eyes met yours! I saw a huge portrait that hung on the wall above the coffee machine! You smiled at me,as if saying that everything will be fine,there will be spring,there will be a meeting,and there will be coffee! We will overcome everything together.Even my pressure normalized,my headache stopped,and I just felt physically your presence in my life!”

I smiled,and wiped away a few tears…

Now my portrait is up as a showcase of a Chinese photo-café.When I got to Beijing again,I took a selfie with myself,in memory of our little friendly adventure in Beijing.