London, England
Dear Reader,
Today, I write to you from The Griffin, a pub in Shoreditch, not far from the heart of the city, where the world’s bankers shuffle papers and move decimal points. But here, at these sturdy oak tables, the real business of life takes place.
Last night, I went to see Bob Dylan. If you’ve been to one of his concerts, you know it’s an experience like no other. No phones are allowed — just all eyes on the stage, with Dylan mumbling his way through rearranged classics. Don’t expect a sing-along either; his shows are deconstructed, familiar tunes turned inside out, almost as if he’s daring us to listen a little more closely, to find something new in the old.
It got me thinking that places like this pub, with its timeless oak tables and unpolished charm, have something in common with Dylan’s music. They don’t try to impress; they simply are. There’s wisdom in that, I think.
Outside, the towers of London’s financial district rise ever higher. But here in the pub, we stay firmly at ground level. Around me, I hear snippets of laughter and conversation. Bosses and employees, old friends and strangers, all just fellow mortals sharing a drink. The usual English formality softens in these walls, and everyone’s here for the same thing — a good time and a moment to connect.
And this isn’t unique to London. Every country has its own way of gathering over a drink. In Paris, it’s the sidewalk cafés, where people sit side by side, wrapped in blankets even when there’s a chill in the air. They sip wine, nibble on olives or cheese, and watch the world together. Sharing that view brings a quiet intimacy, as if they’re in on the same story.
Then there’s America. I’m not from the U.S., but I’ve always admired the openness of its bars — the long counters where strangers can sit side by side, share a drink, and maybe leave as friends. I once took a road trip from Houston to New Orleans and stopped at a few small-town bars along the way. The friendliness I encountered was genuine, the stories were plentiful, and the connections made over a drink felt as warm as family.
As Thanksgiving approaches, I’m reminded of the pilgrims — the original travelers looking for connection, a place to belong. And here we are, centuries later, with our own gathering spots that remind us of what’s real. These pubs, cafés, and bars might not have the gloss of the modern world, but they have the charm of old things done well. In an era of AI and remote work, they’re reminders of the irreplaceable value of meeting face-to-face.
So this Thanksgiving, let’s take a little inspiration from these traditions. Grab your turkey and wine early, then sit back and let the conversations flow.
And who knows? Maybe it’s time I take another road trip across America to experience more of these connections firsthand. Who’s up for meeting me for a drink?
So raise a glass, fellow explorers. To good company. To honest conversations. To the wisdom found in unexpected places. And to the stories still to come.
Warm regards,
Diego
