There’s a place on the Vieux Port in Bastia that has no sign. Or rather, it has a sign, but the sign just says Café in faded paint that’s been there since before anyone working inside was born. I walked past it three times before realising people were actually going in.

Inside: six tables, a bar, an espresso machine that looked like it predated the EU, and a guy behind the counter who seemed mildly annoyed that I’d come in at all.

The coffee

Outstanding. I don’t know what they’re doing — darker roast than anything I’d normally drink, served in a glass that was too hot to hold for the first two minutes. The kind of coffee that makes you sit up slightly straighter.

I ordered a second one. The guy seemed slightly less annoyed.

Why I’m writing this

Because places like this don’t have Instagram accounts. They don’t need reviews. They’ve probably been there for forty years and they’ll be there for forty more regardless of whether anyone writes about them.

But if you’re in Bastia — and most people aren’t, which is part of what makes it good — walk along the port until you smell it. You’ll know.

I’ve been trying to remember the cross-street and I genuinely cannot. That might be part of the charm.