Hovan My Haven

Perhaps it was Hovan Mediterranean Gourmet's name that first attracted me to it. Being from Europe, I could more readily identify with Mediterranean than say Mexican or Southwest cuisine. I took to the place instantly; my wife took a couple of visits.

The establishment resembles a European pavement cafe, although North African would probably be more precise for the purists. It serves good food based on Armenian and Mediterranean cuisine, wine, beer, coffee and the South's favourite beverage, iced tea. The patio, under the shade of a live oak, overlooks Five Points, enabling me to sit and watch the world go by over a cup of coffee and a few cigarettes.

But a cafe is more than just its food, decor and location; it's about people. And here the Hovan scores a big plus. Matt and Chris are our usual servers. Clad in black T-shirts, black jeans and black aprons, they are prompt and courteous. I doubt anyone could meet a couple of more laid-back guys. Matt is in his early twenties; Chris, I would guess, is in his thirties. Both of them are aspiring artists and musicians, with a philosophy on life that only artists and musicians have.

Chris writes, several books have been self-published, and plays music ranging from psychedelic rock to folk music. He has a Kris Kristofferson kind of voice and uses "man" to punctuate his conversations. Listening to him talk, it could easily be 1968 instead of 2008.

Matt has a hip sense of humour, very dry and with a hint of irony not commonly found in Americans. He attends the university of life and is obviously well-read. He has engaged me in some interesting conversations regarding Terence McKenna and the forthcoming cataclysm in 2012. Apparently, the Mayan calendar ends at 2012 but Matt assures me it does not signify the end of the world, rather the emergence of a new form of consciousness. That is heady stuff to contemplate as I tuck into my Shish Tawook.

A blonde girl is also part of the waiting staff. She has only served my wife and I maybe twice in the course of six months. We have never learned her name or engaged in any kind of conversation, but she is an attentive waitress with a sweet smile.

And then there is Ronnie, my favourite and the perfect foil to cosmic theories and philosophical discussion. Ronnie does not wait tables but works in the kitchen. He always wears a black wool hat akin to a skullcap, I guess it is to comply with hygiene regulations and certainly looks better than those white net hats. He emerges from time to time to take a break and readily engages in conversation about this and that. With his strong southern black accent, I don't always catch every word but I usually manage to get the gist of what he is saying.

Ronnie is black, between 35 and 45 at a guess, and was born and raised in Jacksonville. He probably hasn't been dealt the best hand in life but he makes the best of what he has and is a firm believer in the work ethic. The panhandlers who hang out at Five Points are targets for his scorn. He can't see why they don't go and get a job instead of begging for money.

He has a happy disposition and generous spirit. The other week, my mother-in-law was on a visit and she accompanied my wife and I to the Hovan. She was introduced to Ronnie and 10 minutes later, he brought us each a portion of banana pudding free of charge.

Ronnie smiles a lot and likes to laugh. It is one of those infectious laughs that instantly provokes smiles all round. I just cannot conceive of Ronnie ever being down or having a bad day. He is irrepressible and a lesson to us all to be thankful for what we have.

Given all these elements and a genial host, in the form of proprietor Johnny, it is easy to see why my visits to Hovan Mediterranean Gourmet, every Friday evening, are the perfect start to a weekend.

Linked By Empire

The British Empire may no longer exist but it can still link disparate people as I found out on my last visit to the Hovan Mediterranean Gourmet at Five Points.

The proprietor, I only know him as Johnny, hails from Nazareth and is of Armenian descent. Like any good host, he does his rounds of the tables and expresses his thanks to his customers for their patronage.

For some months now, the Hovan has been the regular Friday night dining venue for me and my wife. Its patio offers me the chance to smoke cigarettes and the both of us an excellent vantage point from which to view the people who pass by Riverside's hub.

In the last couple of weeks, Johnny's conversation has extended beyond the usual niceties and the the few seconds they take. We now chat for five minutes, maybe more. Last Friday he told us about his family, revealing that he had an aunt and uncle living in Britain; Chepstow in Wales to be precise.

Nazareth, Armenia and Chepstow? How could they possibly be linked? I was intrigued. The answer turned out to be the days of empire.

The uncle was a soldier in the British Army, serving in what was then the British Mandate of Palestine. He met, fell in love and married a sister of Johnny's parents. The newlyweds eventually made their home in Chepstow and raised a family.

Johnny expressed the wish that he hoped his teenage daughter would, one day, visit Britain and Europe to broaden her horizons and learn about different cultures. I echoed his sentiments.

All in all, it seemed somewhat strange that Johnny and I should share a link, courtesy of the British Empire. But then again, we did meet in Florida, which for 20 years was subject to British rule.

Fun at the roundabout.

The focal point of the Riverside district of Jacksonville is Five Points. Given the normal rigid street planning of American cities, it is a somewhat bizarre convergence of Margaret Street, Lomax Street and Park Street, which dog legs at the point it meets the other two streets. In many ways it resembles a British mini-roundabout, a traffic measure not often found in the United States.

Riverside residents and intelligent drivers approach this intersection in the correct manner. Park Street has the right of way and so these drivers act accordingly. Strangers to the district, and drivers of a timid disposition, approach gingerly along Park Street and often stop at the junction with Margaret Street, even though there is no stop sign present.

Of course, an added complication to what can be, for some, a confusing arrangement is the lazy attitude of a lot of Florida drivers. Is it really too much effort to use a car's indicators and give other road users a heads up as to your next maneuver? Close observation from many hours spent at the Hovan restaurant, on the corner of Margaret and Park, coupled with those from behind the wheel of my car suggest the effort is indeed too great.

Many is the time that I wince as cars turn left from Park Street or cross Park Street from Margaret Street. I turn my head and wait for the sound of crunching metal but amazingly, like a sequence from a Keystone Cops film, the cars manage to miss one another.

The other night, from my vantage point on the Hovan restaurant’s patio, a black guy on a bicycle approached Park Street from Margaret Street, ignored the stop sign and simply held his left arm aloft as if that would protect him from oncoming traffic. Miraculously it did. I just sat there shaking my head in disbelief. Thirty minutes later, and in the fast fading light, he did exactly the same on his return.

But that kind of behavior sums up Five Points and the Riverside district. It is a place where convention is flouted and it is all the richer for being thus. I wouldn’t want to live in any other part of Jacksonville.