One of the great things about an ex-French colony is the availability of pastry. You can pick up some form of croissant, pain au chocolat or madeleine from a street stall almost anywhere. Some are good, some very average. But then there is L’Expres Bleu. A coffee shop in a converted train station, conveniently situated near the Tsarasaotra bird sanctuary (good place for pretending you’re not in the city on a Saturday morning), where, according to trusted sources, “the croissants will make you want to write poetry”.
They were not wrong. Here’s mine.
Ode to the perfect croissant
When the world seems full of hate
Bring me a croissant on a plate
Crisp and golden, rich and light
I know of no more lovely sight
With or without jam and butter,
This pastry sends me into utter
Joy, delight and jubilation
Right here in this ex-train station
With cappuccino close beside,
All one’s doubts and angst subside
Who needs pills and who needs therapy,
Once they’ve found the right patisserie?
Bring on the fight – we’re not afraid!
Cyclones, tyrants, foreign aid –
Nothing seems beyond a cure
As long as we have L’Expres Bleu.