Joe strolled out of the mayor's house. What a nice bloke, he'd half expected one of those elitist land baron types, wringing every tax dollar out of his subjects. His shoes weren't too bad either.

Top bloke.

Joe checked the squiggled map the mayor had penned in haste. The town was divided roughly into four quarters, though it was a loose distribution rather than hard lines. It was still a town not a city after all.

The eastern side looked like mostly well to do brick houses, abutting the docks. They had sea views and were only offset by the ever present smell of fish. Now Joe loved fishing as much as the next bloke but even he couldn't deny there was a certain smell once that could surround the fishing industry.

None the less, the eastern side appeared to be more upper crust, and even had a boutique cafe. It was circled on the map and labelled as 'Chicory's'.

The north side he'd come from appeared less well off, though still had solidly made houses. They were just worn in, the sort of look like a good pair of sandals you were comfy in but close to tearing through the sole. Places that had been used to the last inch of their lives. Bee's bakery was there, along with some of the town's industry, a small smithy, a tanner, and a tailor.

The western quarter abutted farmland and was mostly temporary housing for labourers. Given the level of society he'd seen so far he imagined there would be a degree of wandering laborers moving from town to town with the seasons, carrying nothing but the swag on their back. Nothing else weighing them down.

Maybe he'd give that a go if his first plan didn't work out. He tapped his pocket, reassuring himself.

He wandered through the south quarter, which was centred around a number of churches, temples and monasteries. He counted at least eight, and frowned. They were diverse in their symbology, architecture and parishioner's garb. Which was odd really. Joe couldn't see the town being more than a couple hundred people.

Odd.

Joe paused outside one church with a fairly traditional white robed priest handing out bread. The priest had the shoulders and calloused hands of a labourer, and a fierce black beard. He was in his late thirties, with the crinkles of smile lines setting in on his face. The priest's robe had a symbol of a man throwing seeds into a fire. Joe took some bread with thanks.

'Cheers Padre, most kind of you.' Joe said with a cheeky wink.

The priest nodded. 'The good lord provides for his flock mister...'

'Joe.' Joe said. Damn that was good bread, a little more rustic than he was used to but filling and still warm. 'New to town. Damn did you bake this ripper loaf?'

The priest blinked. 'Erm...no, that would be my wife.'

'Well tell the missus she nailed this one. Better treat her right ay?' Joe handed him a coin. 'And I'll see you round town.'

The priest blinked again, looking gobsmacked. He watched Joe wander off, then went back to handing out his bread. After distributing his wife's baking he retired inside and handed her the donations. The church didn't get much these days and there were always things to fix. A small leak in the roof. A door that didn't close all the way and let feral goats in. He rolled his sleeves up and readied to do battle with the recalcitrant door once more.

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'Jeremy!' His wife shouted. 'By the Great Lemur, look!'

Jeremy turned from his greatest foe to see his wife holding a gold dubloon.

His eyes went wide and he swept her up in a massive hug. They cried tears of joy, and he gave one final look at the door. He'd been struggling against it for months.

Looks like it was time to call in some reinforcements.

Joe wandered southwest out of town, aiming for the mountain. He hadn't grabbed any food or equipment, wanting to see what he was working with first. He lazily wandered past the fields of wheat, sugar cane and chicory, nodding at the farmers.

The road became a dirt path, that rapidly arrived at a mountain. While the elevation wasn't too steep, certainly you could grow some crops on the mountain, the path itself wound upwards at an aggressive pace.

Feeling like a twenty year old again, without the random aches and pains of early forties, Joe started climbing.

In a series of switch backs, the mountain road climbed swiftly. He worked up a sweat, listening to bird calls, and watching lemurs dart about in the trees.

Joe finally came to the marked spot on his map as the dirt track petered out to more of a deer trail. A small stake out front had a drawing of a goat on it. Joe touched the pendant he'd placed under his shirt, and pushed into his new property.

The front yard was overgrown, with small shrubs and weeds having overtaken it. In a rebellion, they climbed the rundown fence line, sprouting odd yellow and purple blooms. Not ugly, but outrageous certainly.

A small wooden shack sat about twenty metres from the fence line. It had a tiny chimney, solid windows that were a bit in a need of a clean and most importantly a porch for sitting and drinking coffee. There was even a worn out rocking chair.

The chair was currently occupied by a goat.

The male goat was all white apart from a patch of black around its left eye, that made it look like it had been in a scrap. It sat comfortably, rocking the chair back and forth. Despite decent looking horns, Joe got a very chill vibe from the creature. It mechanically chewed a stalk of grass, staring out across the field.

Joe wandered up, thumbs in his pockets. 'You mind if I crash for a few nights?'

The goat looked up, bleated and went back to chewing.

'Fair enough, I'll keep the noise down.' Joe nodded.

He pushed through the door with a rusty squeak. There was an old cot, a basic kitchenette and tools. A shelf coated in dust and someone's memorabilia. Joe tested the kitchen sink, no tap. Noting an old pump in the backyard however, he grabbed a bucket. He gave the tap outside a few cranks and flushed out the stale water in the pipes. Finally he got some clean water in an old billy can.

He cleared a patch of weeds in the front yard, feeling the loam under his hands. Good quality soil, acidity seemed right for what he needed. He started a fire and sat the billy can atop it. Joe touched the roasted beans in his pocket, then the unroasted beans in the other. Good elevation, rainfall theoretically sound, though with two suns he could only estimate so far.

He took the roasted beans from one pocket, and started grinding them in a mortar and pestle. It was a fine balance, too fine and the grains would have a bitter flavour. You needed it just thick enought to have a complex palate. He was working with imperfect tools but he hadn't felt this excited in ages.

He'd participated in an Ethiopian jebena buna coffee ritual once. Sensually rich but not for the impatient, the ritual involved several pours and brought community members together. The whole ritual could take over an hour. A strange contrast to rapid turnaround takeaway coffee. It was also not for those without some level of caffeine tolerance. He placed the roasted beans directly in the pot, added to the boiling water.

He sat and watched the setting suns as the smell of percolating coffee hit his nostrils. It had been less than a day, and he didn't even know if he'd been reincarnated in his own body but he felt the craving for a good cuppa.

He poured himself a small cup, black and piping hot. He raised it to his nostrils, and savoured the smell.

A head butted his shoulder.

The goat stood next to him holding out...a tin can? Where had it gotten that? A medieval society shouldn't have tin cans right? He'd have to look into that.

The goat set the can down and nodded at it. Joe paused, and smiled. A cuppa was better shared after all.

He gave the goat a generous pour and it took the cup, retreating to the rocking chair. With a cunning flick of its jaw it downed the beverage. Its eyes went wide.

'Ah...yeah...probably should have told you to let it cool.'