Russ McBee

This post by Leanne Shear makes some interesting observations on the cultural differences between the US and Europe, as typified by the café culture of Paris. Her solo sojourn in Paris has given her the opportunity to see life through a different lens, noticing and adjusting to the little things that make the traveler aware of differences that aren't quite alien but which nevertheless force an altered view of life and the world.

The slower pace, even in the big cities of Europe, comes as a mild shock to many Americans who travel abroad for the first time. The deliberate but nearly unconscious care toward the environment, resources, consumption, and the priorities of life come into sharp focus for those with eyes to see. For example, across the continent, Europeans socialize by spending hours nursing a single beer, or lingering over a single tiny cup of espresso. If diners in a restaurant spend less than three hours over a meal, the staff will think something is wrong.

I've seen this so many times, it's become an automatic reflex to switch over to the European way of life on arrival. It's become just as automatic as adjusting my watch to a new time zone, or thinking in metric instead of English units. For the first-time traveler, though, it can be quite an adjustment to make. Americans traveling in Europe may think the restaurant service is slow or arrogant because the next course doesn't come immediately after the fork hits the plate on the previous one, or because the waiter doesn't hover over the table waiting to drop the check. Every restaurant in Europe expects diners to spend hours lingering over a meal (even lunch), and they want you to spend as much time there as you please. In the US, we've become accustomed to restaurants trying to turn over tables as quickly as possible, so we aren't offended when the server plops the check on the table before we've requested it. In Europe, this would be considered unspeakably rude.

To most people in Europe, time is not at a premium; life is. That's the difference between us and them.

Dad and I spent a couple of days in Leuven, Belgium a while back. We sat at a café on the main square, nursing our coffees just like everyone else. A couple of teenage girls sat a few tables away from us; they looked to be about 18 or so. I watched them sit there, each nursing a single beer, for about two hours. They weren't trying to get drunk, and there was no guzzling; inebriation seemed to be the furthest thought from their minds. Instead, they spent that time socializing and sending text messages and watching people go by.

I've witnessed that same scene countless times across Europe.

Maybe that's one reason alcohol abuse is such a problem in the US; we aren't taught as teenagers how to enjoy a single beer or a single glass of wine over the span of hours. To us, alcohol is a taboo; to Europeans, alcohol is simply a beverage. Maybe it's no coincidence that rates of alcoholism and DUI are so much lower there.

Paris is famous as the origin of the café culture, but that culture is continent-wide. Even in the coldest parts of Europe, people sit at outdoor tables for hours at a stretch at all times of the year. When it's cold outside, most cafés use propane-fired space heaters to provide some warmth. It might seem a bit crazy to see people sitting outside at sub-freezing temperatures, but those propane heaters provide an oasis of warmth for those determined to enjoy life.

A couple of years ago, on a whim, I went to Paris by myself for the weekend. It was the middle of February, and it was bitterly cold. All weekend, the biting North Sea wind chilled everything to the bone, and it carried drizzles and light fits of snow off and on. I totally didn't care.

On the day of my departure, I had a few hours to kill before heading toward the airport. I strolled around Montmartre long enough to become frozen by the spitting sleet and snow. I sat down at an outdoor table at a café near my hotel. I ordered a cappuccino and spent at least an hour sipping it underneath one of those propane space heaters, warming my hands on the cup and watching people go by. The waitress, a Parisian girl of about 20, brought my check (but only after I asked for it); she looked at me, slightly puzzled, and said in English, "You aren't French, are you?"

I smiled and said, "No, I'm not. What gave me away?"

She said, "You have that blond hair and blue eyes. We don't have that look here. If I had to guess, I would say you were Scandinavian or maybe Russian."

I said, still grinning, "No, I'm American."

She arched her eyebrows, grinned crookedly, and said, "I wouldn't have guessed that."

I'm not sure why, but most Europeans think I'm either Swiss or Scandinavian. They usually don't believe me when I tell them I'm American.

After a few minutes, she returned with my change and said, "There you sit, with your red toboggan and your blue eyes, sipping cappuccino in the freezing cold, and slowly killing yourself with those cigarettes. How Scandinavian of you."

Although I did look like a reject from a Nordic fishing boat, the scene was just as Parisian or Greek as it was Scandinavian.

As another example, at the small harbor of Nyhavn in Copenhagen, the cafés are located along the side of the harbor that receives sunlight throughout the day, and all of them have those propane space heaters:

The shaded, colder side of the harbor has no cafés:

The sunny, casual side is where the people are, and it's where life can be found. The dark, business-only side seems devoid of both people and life. This is not merely a metaphor; it's a fact of life.

Here's the lesson to be learned from "Old Europe:" Slow down, and spend time soaking up the sun; tomorrow will come soon enough. There's no need to rush it.