From Behind the Coffee Shop Counter

From behind the coffee shop counter, I watched you, London, as you went about your daily life. Commuters complained about train delays as they picked up their morning coffee, from a black filter to an extra hot strong skinny latte, but they forgave me for mixing up drinks sometimes. Construction workers came for Cokes and Toasties; I want to call toasted sandwiches "Toasties" for the rest of my life! Office staff stopped by for a drink and a porridge; I've never lived in a country that ate this much porridge.

From behind the coffee shop counter, I got to know your residents. The busy professionals who come in so often that we have their drinks memorized and notice when they miss a few days. The older man who offers me a shy smile as he buys his daily apple and banana. The girl who always gets an almond croissant, except the one day she bought a yogurt. (Don't worry; she went back to a croissant the next day.) The guy who brings his dog and the other guy who brings his bike. The skinny cappuccino lady with the sweet smile, the black americano man who always calls me "luv," the cappuccino-and-a-pain-auix-raisin gentleman, and the oat filter guy with the lilting Irish accent whose yawns make me yawn too - I don't know their names, but I enjoyed our daily two minute conversations.

From behind the coffee shop counter, I learned the quirks of your city. It took me ages, but I finally got better at counting out change in British pounds; nothing like a new currency to make you feel like you're in second grade math again! I learned that aubergines are eggplants, a serviette is a napkin, and carrot juice is a thing. I answered someone's question about my accent and origins at least once an hour, and inevitably, they asked if my hometown is near Las Vegas. My favorite comment by far came from a co-worker: "Your accent reminds me of Mickey Mouse," she said, and all of us behind the counter laughed so hard we couldn't breathe.

From behind the coffee shop counter, I've watched your bustle slow one day at a time as the coronavirus crept through the city. Business got a little slower last week as commuters and residents switched to working remotely, and by the middle of this week, the shop felt eerily empty. Our seating area closed (to avoid gatherings of more than ten people), and everyone who came in had a virus-related worry to discuss with hushed voices. I watched as your citizens' daily concerns were overwhelmed by the anxiety that is palpable everywhere I go now: what will tomorrow bring? We wish we knew.

From behind the coffee shop counter, I see NHS (healthcare) staff come in for a hot drink, tired looking but quick to smile back at me. I hear customer after customer express concern for the shop employees once restaurants are told to close; they remind us that we aren't forgotten. I watch as people physically distance themselves while waiting for coffee, but if anything, their hearts seem a little closer. They offer others a place in line, are quick to pick up dropped items, seem just a bit more patient than before. If fear and anxiety are a palpable constant on your streets right now, London, at least they get pushed aside for small moments of camaraderie, connection, and hope.

Indexing Big Macs

A few years ago, a friend introduced me to the Big Mac Index. This index measures the cost of a Big Mac hamburger in countries around the world as compared to the value of their currency. It's meant to be a fun way to look at currency parity - whether currencies equalize over time so that the cost of items (like a burger) is comparable across countries. Basically, it's meant to make economics a little more accessible for those of us who aren't economists, and if you've never checked it out, I recommend doing so here. It's pretty interesting to mess around with. 

The first time I heard about the Big Mac Index, it made perfect sense to me. Thinking back, I realized that I've been to a a McDonald's in a lot of the countries I've visited. Not because I particularly like their food (about the only menu item I'll eat is the ice cream!) but for a variety of other reasons. In Ecuador, a group of us would go to study / hang out after our weekly Bible study because McDonald's was the only place open that late. On various trips around Europe, we've stopped at McDonald's because we needed free WiFi or a safe and recognizable place to sit and wait for a train or give our tired feet a break. In Morocco, I went to McDonald's only a few times and mostly when I was homesick and wanted a McFlurry.

These accidental visits have added onto one another, though, and when I stopped to count them, I realized I've been to a McDonald's in nine countries across four continents, and I've noticed some interesting things.

In most of the places I've been, McDonald's offered similar menu items but with a few local twists. We tried the McRaclette and the quinoa burger in Switzerland, the green tea ice cream in China and the much sweeter green tea ice cream in Japan, and the Flake McFlurry in the UK. My husband bought a McChoconut in France and talked me into trying a bite...and a bite was enough! In a country of delicious pastries, I decided I'd rather eat fresh croissants than what was basically nuts and Nutella in a brioche!

In addition to the variety of flavors, I noticed the variety of prices, which got me thinking about the parallels to local societies. The prices mostly match what the Big Mac Index suggests - a value menu burger in Switzerland was the cost of a meal deal at home, but a McFlurry in the UK is about 3/4 the price of one in the US. (If you look at the Big Mac Index, these numbers come pretty close to the valuations for the Swiss franc and the British pound.)

In contrast, I hardly ate at McDonalds in Morocco because it was too expensive for the average person to afford; my fellow Peace Corps volunteers and I jokingly refered to it as 'rich people food.' The actual, physical price for a McDonald's ice cream in Rabat (Morocco) wasn't significantly different than in the US, but any time I went there, it felt decadent and extravagant. I also felt a bit like I was betraying my local friends and co-workers by eating there, many of whom had never traveled that far from home and certainly wouldn't spend their money at expensive McDonald's. When a McFlurry cost about 1/20 my monthly rent for a one-bedroom little house, it was hard to justify.

Dealing with money when traveling brings plenty of stress and frustration, but I appreciate the discomfort and self-reflection of moments like these. It can be so easy to take for granted the financial ability to simply buy an ice cream, and I forget that plenty of people don't have that freedom. It reminds me to be grateful for what I have, to appreciate my "rich people" ice creams when I splurge on them, and to keep finding ways to make the world better. I don't think Big Macs are quite my calling, but I'll keep looking!