Cafe Culture

I’m sitting in a cozy café in Seattle, drinking my caffè latte, working and enjoying the whir of the espresso machine in the background.  On my left is a big window looking out to the sidewalk.  I see people walking to work, the bus, the market.  I’m contemplating moving over to that big comfy couch over there and snuggling up with my laptop to finish this translation.  It took the barista 7 minutes to make my caffè latte, which is normal since it’s not “rush hour”.  It’s 10:30 am, and there aren’t many people in the café.  Yesterday it took 10 minutes.  People order their drinks and then settle down with their computers.  It’s a relaxed atmosphere. The barista takes her time and we have time.  Sometimes people go up to the counter and chat with the barista.  It’s always fun to eavesdrop.

In Italy, I am walking through the historic center on my way to work or a class, or perhaps to meet someone.  I realize that the coffee I made at home just didn’t do the trick, and it would be nice to have just a teeny bit more caffeine.  I have 5 minutes before I have to be where I’m going.  I duck into a bar (where you get coffee), go to the cash register, tell the cashier I want “un caffè” (which is what you say when you want a shot of espresso), and pay.  I bring my receipt to the barista, who presents me with a little cup with my dear espresso in less time than it takes me to say “caffè”.  I down my caffè standing up (to sit down, I’d have to pay extra) and continue to my destination.  I haven’t even spent 5 minutes in the bar.

In Argentina, I enter the cafe on the corner and pick a table near the window.  Eventually the mozo, waiter, approaches me and I ask for “un cortado” – a cortado is kind of like a caffè macchiato.  He soon returns with a full tray, and one at a time, he sets my cortado, a small glass of sparkling water, a little plate of cookies and the sugar on the table.  I say “Gracias” like I always do, the waiter says “No, a vos” and I take my first sip, slouch onto the table like everyone else in the café, and look out the window.  I could spend 3 or 4 hours in here and never feel pressured to leave or spend more money than I have.  I eventually decide it’s time to go, and catch the waiter’s eye.  Once we lock eyes, we nod at each other and he comes to the table (just like in a milonga).  I ask for la cuenta, the check, and pay him, batting my eyelashes in the hope that he’ll give me some coins with my change so I can take the bus.

What’s the café culture like where you live?

*This post was written for AffordableCallingCards.net, the expat community site. You can click here to read more posts about expat life written by myself and other bloggers.