
Self portrait at the Front Page coffee house
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The café culture is perhaps one of
the most idealized aspects of European life from the perspective of a
traveling American - a vision of perfect coffee, served promptly by a
charming and beautiful or handsome wait staff, a fresh clean alfresco
atmosphere, a relaxing and stimulating people watching experience. All the
while everyone around you discusses deconstructionism, the politics of the
EC, and the latest recycling programs, deftly articulated in a rich
palette of romance language.
My observed reality to date is somewhat different - and granted we have
only come as far as Holland, for this topic there is much more to see. So
far we have sampled adequate coffee at best - unless Illy is served, which
is never disappointing - and on the whole, exasperatingly poor service,
where being ignored for a full 20 minutes is common, often by attractive
young wait staff in an alfresco venue flavored by continuous exhaust of
cigarette-smoking continental peoples, not to mention the monoxide spewing
Vespas and diesel powered Golfs. Public conversation, often conducted solo
via the ubiquitous mobile phone, is as seemingly mundane as at home. Not
that we should be surprised by that, Europeans are people after all.
I went through the five stages of café service grief. At first I was
in complete denial - "The service isn't that bad, maybe they're just
short staffed today?" Then came anger - "How dare she ignore us!
Did you see that? She just looked away when I caught her eye! I will
eviscerate her with my scathingly small tip, if we ever get served!"
Then came depression - "We'll never get served, this caffeine-withdrawal
headache will be the death of me. Bury my lifeless corpse at
Starbucks." At last there was acceptance - "It is just the way
things are here. Can't rush what you can't control. It is a natural cycle;
wait, watch, drink." And finally came resolution - "It is a
better quality of life really. Those Americans, always in a hurry, rush,
rush, rush; and por qua? They rush to their own graves without enjoying
life. Fools."
In the end, as any Wall Street analyst can tell you, it is all about
expectations. I no longer expect to pop into a café for a quick espresso
before heading out for the day (it turns out I can do that successfully at
most bars here). If I sit down at a café table I expect to sit, and for
no one to rush me to order, or to move, or to leave, or to think. I expect
to relax and read and watch. I hope that the coffee will be good, but if
it is not, no matter. There will be another café later. Fools.
- rob
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