The Globalization of Culture
Daily Blog #2 — A slice of home wherever you go
I’ve been going to get a cappuccino and hammer out a little work on my laptop at the same cafe every week for the past 3 months despite being in 11 different countries.
The cafe has big windows, enough to let the light in while also allowing passerbys to see the chic coffee worshipers inside with their well groomed facial hair and perfectly messy buns.
The door is worn wood and the metal handle easily lets me. It squeaks just enough to notify everyone that while this space is old, it’s well loved and maintained.
The barista speaks perfect English and knows how to sling a perfect cappuccino or americano just the way you like it. They’re well informed of the origins of their coffee and are happy to answer queries on the glass-encased delicacies fresh baked from their locally-partnered bakery with only the finest ingredients. Have no fear, there is a gluten-free and vegan option available and clearly marked with a happy little chalkboard sign.
The free table located amidst the reverent crowd of java-sipping congregants is artistically worn, matching the atmosphere of calm and smooth silence broken by the tapping of keyboards and the milk frother screaming it’s joy. The chairs vary, but are all perfect laptop height with space underneath to cross legs or scrunch down into a difficult coding problem. The warm tile under my feet is a variation of white, a subtle testament to how clean the cafe is.
The barista arrives with the artfully foamed brew, perfectly arranged on its saucer with a small spoon, sugar packet and eager expression. Hearts or leafs adorn the top and white crystals always escape across the table as if to flee their fate.
The barista won’t be back for a while, recognizing instantly that the laptop and moleskin notepad appearing out of a bag means you’re one of us and will be lingering. Taking up space without actually contributing any more than the odd click of china and the $4.50 for a hit of caffeine.
The walls are white and decorated with succulents and modern art pieces. A pushpin board with lettering declares, “Travel is the only thing you can buy that makes you richer” while an abstract metal art world map gives the impression the staff and owner may have opened this coffee shop as a temporary amusement while on a break between globe hopping.
The barista greets the next customers to come through the door: a manbun and capsule closet adorned couple with large sunglasses and chill attitudes, followed by a middle aged man with just the right amount of buttons undone on his rolled up sleeve business shirt to assure you he’s only on break from his super casual, but brilliant startup.
I can sip my drink and trust that everything is safe here — there’s agreed upon rules in this cafe. Like never let your voice get above the sound of the ceiling fan and espresso machine. If you need power and locate the plug under the chair of your neighbor, indicate in soft gestures the need to invade their space and they’ll respond in equally soft gestures, “No problem, man.” There’s no need for words when we have free wifi and the illusion of shared productivity.
This cafe exists everywhere I go and I’m the reason it manifests. Me with my digital nomad hashtag and desire for the millennial equivalent of McDonalds. I’ll avoid a foreign Starbucks, but eagerly mark off coffee shops to visit that have replicated the model ad infinitum, spurred on by Ikea, Amazon, Pinterest, and the ever present Instagram hordes who will tag the cafe in exchange for a free cookie (I’ve totally done this by the way).
In one hand, it’s a beautiful expression of the globalization of aesthetic and culture. We love these spaces and they love us. We are a globally connected generation who across language barriers express a love of the sleek, contained quirky, and filtered with a ceaseless feed of visual worship.
But where is the coffee shop of our grandparents? Where is the local watering hole from the 80’s and before? What did it look like and what language did it’s barista speak? Was there a coffee shop here or was it a seedy hole in the wall where men in overalls trudged to pay pennies for their small comfort at the end of the day before rising to delve deep into the earth once again.
What do we lose when tourists like me can cater our experiences to our personal preference before we even land using Google Maps, Yelp, Instagram, Youtube, and Top 10 Lists? Do we lose something authentic about the country we’re in or is this coffee shop just as real and true to the desires of the local population as everything else labeled “the local experience”?
We travel to see different perspectives and experience life elsewhere. But as a member of an increasingly globally-minded generation with money and means, am I going somewhere else only to find I really didn’t leave at all?
I wrote this a few weeks ago in the dead of night and I’m still not sure if it’s a good or bad thing. I do know that obsessive way we chase the local experience is getting old for me. You can’t have the local experience — it’s impossible because the very nature of your presence is that you are a guest and not a local. Why do we feel the need to sidestep this role and all it comes with?
If you don’t like the job description, re-frame and rehash the job duties. But don’t pretend the job is something it isn’t.
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