Cafe cultures in great cities

Many great cities share having a cafe culture. Beirut, Buenos Aires and Montevideo, all of them are enjoying a culture of coffee. They are very different cities, but all of them have an architectural heritage which create a special atmosphere.

In 2002, I’m sitting in a cosy Italian café in Beirut, drinking my American Coffee, 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, to the market, to the bank. I’m contemplating moving over to that big comfy couch over there and snuggling up with my laptop to finish my work. It took the barrista only a few minutes to make my American Coffee, which is normal since it’s not “rush hour”. It’s before noon, and there aren’t many people in the café. Yesterday it took 10 minutes. People order their drinks and then settle down talking, some with their computers. Beirut  has recovered from a 17 years civil war and the city center is refurbished keeping its old architecture and style. They call it Paris of the middle east and it is a buzzling place where people "show off", specially the girls with their flashy handbags and mobile phones (always the latest model). The waitress takes her time and we have time. Sometimes people go up to the counter and chat with the barrista. It’s always fun to eavesdrop.

In 2008, in Buenos Aires, 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 coffee 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'm thinking about the spectacular Tango Show I enjoyed in city center the other night. The impressions from the show is still clouding my mind, I was very taken by the experience and the sensual atmosphere.  I could spend hours here looking at the buzzling life. I eventually decide it’s time to go, and try to 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, then leaving for a another adventure.

In 2010, in Montevideo, I am walking through the historic center on my way to the bank, and to meet someone important. I realise 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 15 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 American Coffèe”, and pay. I bring my receipt to the barista, who presents me with a little cup with my dear Coffee in less time than it takes me to say “coffeè”. The turn of the century architecture create a special atmosphere, taking you back in time, which I enjoy. I down my coffee standing up before I continue to my destination. I haven’t even spent 10 minutes in the bar.

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