Sunday, 2 September 2007

Nine Bar

Some people's definition of paradise is to live on a small tropical island, with waving palm trees, white sand beaches, a lapping sea that is is as clear, blue, warm, and inviting as an elephant's eye, with friendly native people....and so on....and on.

Well, I tend to agree with them.

Especially if a couple of friends open a very cosy, friendly little bar just 100 metres down the road from my house.

I've known plenty of hopefuls who've tried to do the same (I did myself, and will tell the horror story sometime), but these fellows (Peter, Pontus & Frida, from Sweden) got it right.

They hadn't a clue about bars, and were very new to the locals. By chance, they hit on exactly the right group to operate their new enterprise.
Otherwise they would have been robbed blind, and the bar would have closed within a month or so.
Diding, Adie, and Maddie were the perfect crew. Diding and Adie used to make beads for me. Diding kept the books, and was paymaster. She's wholly and utterly trustworthy, and that's a rare commodity anywhere.

It's only a coco cabin, 2 storey, with an apartment and balcony above, and a 15ft x 15ft room, open on three sides, below, perfectly placed at the beginning of what is becoming a smart suburb (Acacia Avenue) of a new ribbon development of foreigners' houses leading out to Cloud 9, the surfing spot.

But it's worked, which is the only reason I'm telling this story.

Mind you, the prices are very high: a small beer is P40 (40p or 80c), a junior lapad bottle of rum is P50, and a generous shot of Chivas Regal or some of those strange Swedish Akvavits that Peter and Frida acquire from somewhere cost almost $2 a shot.

And you can see who's there from the outside:

In short, it's the perfect neighbourhood bar.

I do hope it lasts.

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