I have written, in a rough estimate, several hundred letters in my life. Between elderly relatives predisposed to using pen and paper, and far-flung pen-pal paramours, the decade of my twenties was largely taken up with a firm dedication to hard-copy correspondence.
The romanticism and endurance of those letters are palpable; no email, text message, or even phone call has the emotional legs of a handwritten note, however short or trivial it may seem at the time of sending.
There is a spirit inherent in the work itself, arriving in its sealed package, able to be studied again and again, each reading offering the possibility of new interpretation and deeper meaning. John Donne, writing to diplomat Sir Henry Wotton, declared that “more than kisses, letters mingle souls.”
And like a kiss, a letter carries an element of risk. Will it arrive safely? Will my old-fashioned intentions be taken on faith? Will my words find purchase in a week, a month, a year?
There is a fatalism in dropping that paper into the mail slot, to be passed through dozens of hands before reaching its destination. In a moment of historically speedy communication, letter-writing bears the watermark of thoughtfulness, permanence, and trust that the gears of civic society will place value on our sealed words.
The world’s second letter café, and the first in Europe
This is the idea behind Café Pli, a ‘letter café’, located at 38 rue du Faubourg du Temple, in Paris’s 11th arrondissement.
Founded by Geneviève Landsmann in July 2024, it is the first of its kind in Europe, inspired by Nuldam Space, a similar concept café in Seoul, South Korea. Guests are invited to choose from an assortment of stationery — envelopes, postcards, stickers, pens and pencils, sealing wax — and write a letter to themselves or another, to be posted on some future date.
Sealed envelopes are then slotted into a wall with a niche for every day of the year; simply select the day you wish your letter to be sent, and the attendants of Café Pli will do the rest.
To hold the letter for up to a year, the charge is €15, which includes a drink and all the aforementioned writing paraphernalia. If you wish the letter to be held for five years, the price rises to €25. For €45, the letter will be delayed by twenty years. In the event the café goes out of business, they promise all letters will be kept and duly sent by a responsible person. Changes of address can also be requested online, for an extra €10. A €4 surcharge is added for international postage, which covers all countries outside of France, regardless of the continent.
Even with all that is included, €15 is a little dear for sending a letter within France. ). A normal first-class French domestic stamp can be had for €2.99 at La Poste. Sending a postcard overseas can be done for as little as €2.
Naturally, the trick is in the delay: Café Pli doesn’t trade in mail, but in delayed gratification.
Write today, mail tomorrow
On a recent cool spring afternoon, I visited the 11th arrondissement, also known as Popincourt. The pétanque terrains of the Jules Ferry Square sounded with cheers and the knock of boules colliding, and music and chatter drifted out from the brasseries along the Canal Saint-Martin.
Under a cobalt awning, Café Pli was doing fair business. The round bistro tables inside the small, twee and twill interior were taken up by customers, bent over an array of paper, scribbling away on postcards and notepaper, sipping at cups of tea or coffee.
The post boxes along one wall were stuffed with hundreds of brown paper envelopes bedecked with stickers and scrawled with addresses: France, Canada, Brazil, South Africa, Germany, Turkey.
The café is also an art hub, regularly hosting workshops on creative writing and calligraphy, linocutting, and watercolour painting.
I purchased an international package, selected the least ignominious from the variety of inspiration-type cards (“I Love You,” “Be Proud of Your Progress,” “You Are Amazing,” “You’re Doing Great”), and sat down to write.
But what does one write to one’s future self? Hopes of what is to come? The current reality? As Lewis Carroll remarks in his 1890 pamphlet, Eight or Nine Wise Words About Letter-Writing, “Your friend is much more likely to enjoy your wit, after his own anxiety for information has been satisfied.”
As the friend in this case was me, the assurance of wit was dubious; I dashed off my feelings and wished myself well. Paris today, Istanbul in a week, and who knew where in the year to go before I would see this card again.
I sealed the envelope with a daub of blue wax and stuck it amongst a dozen others waiting to be mailed in May 2026. All of us trusting our words of hope and wit to the process of Café Pli.
Another letter in the hundreds of my life, but this time, and for the first time, it would find me again.
Read the full article here
