People, who are close to me, or even in this case distant, know that I have been having a very international life. Flying in and out European and global cities, being the sophisticated modern globetrotter, considering a plane to be the today’s bus or train.
But nevertheless I have always been very fond of returning home to Belgium. Is there something special about this country? Of course not, we are only 11 million people, but we speak 3 different languages, fight about who is superior above the other and are incapable of forming a government. At first sight it would be even horrible to live here. But for me it is just home, or let me re-phrase. It is more than just a country or a place: it's my home.
Especially Mechelen is my lovely city which feels more like a mix between a Tuscany village with a Provence mentality and the London weather :-).
And that atmosphere is always filling me with joy the moment that I get out of a plane in Brussels airport. Back to normality, back to things I love, back to the real flavor, the taste of the best beers in the world, the origin of French cuisine, ..... A moment that always brought the best out in me.
But today during my glorious homecoming my dreams have been shattered, my illusion of perfection and sweet harmony with my environment is blown to pieces.
I felt like that last Saturday morning when I was waking up after the Friday night celebrating my birthday with a night full of dark rum on the rocks. It felt as if the hammer that was with a constant rhythm of a swatch watch was again beating in my head, but a hammer that had gained force by training one week to show the world that Belgium is still a nation worthy of a gold medal..
I felt like that time that I took a girl I fancied to dinner in an expensive restaurant and we were eating a brilliant piece of Pre-salted rack of lamb on a bed of gratinated courgets , surrounded by tempura courgette flowers when she suddenly asked the waiter: can I have some ketchup.
I felt like ... well I felt so devastated and disillusioned; obscure forces have invaded my paradise and are sweeping the floor with genuine and authentic atmospheres. STARBUCKS has entered Belgium.
It already starts when you go in, the so inviting sofa’s that my American colleague describes as the only place he can get away from it all, look to me like the home smudges and stains having a party on the pants that are squeezing in. At the counter awaits my barista with a professional smile, trying to convince you that she is just coming from the coffee burning place where she handpicked the nice roasted beans, evoking the image that when she was 6 her grandfather Salvatore learnt her the secrets of the man handled espresso machine. Reality is, she is a Chinese student trying to make a living to pay for her studies at the University of Brussels who far more enjoys a jasmine tea and in a sense cannot stand the smell of coffee. Even that bad that at night when she comes home her boyfriend forces her to undress in the basement and put her clothes in the washer right away.
And than the choice, the paradox of choice. Do not ask for a coffee, but you should ask for a dry single shot soya latte with cinnamon topping and a sprinkle of vanilla or in other words: how to ruin a decent cup of coffee in 1 sec. The choice my god , I wished there would come and end to the endless combinations they are making and with every ingredient they add the take you further away from the essence of what coffee was meant to be. They take you with one slap in the face from the corner coffee shop in Pienza where Salvatore behind the counter was grinding the beans for the double espresso that would make my eyes light up by the first smell of the sent of heavenly black gold. With in the background the quarrelling butcher and baker shouting at each other : que volo. Let’s get the rules here right: there are only two ingredients in a decent coffee bar: coffee and milk, use both in any proportions you want and that’s where the story ends: ristretto, espresso, machiatto, capuccino, latte. Basta.
My homecomings are spoilt by the sight of the mass customerization of individuality and fake sense of authenticity. I never liked Starbucks, I even hated them when i found out that they had like a thief in the night nested themselves in the courtyard of the forbidden city in Beijing. I dislike them because they are the icon to me of loss of identity and false pretence.
This is a call for everybody of you to restore a bit of authenticity into your life. Go shopping to those neighbourhood stores like i have in my street. There is a cheesemaker who is the 4th generation , he can talk for hours about the cheese that would best fit the meal that you are preparing. He smiles when you enter and comes to you to let you taste a new cheese of which he believes you will love it. And than the bakery, it has been going from son to son and still today the bread tastes so wonderfully uncomplicated natural. She remembers the names of my kids and wishes even me happy birthday. And the grocery shop owner who holds back the last bottle of that special beer I love so much because he know that i come to pick it up almost every two weeks.
Ask yourself the question: every time you go into that Starbucks near your office or on your way to work. How many times did they greet you by your name and knew what you needed. How many times did they put up that song for you in the bar when they saw you were down r cheerful ...... it all happens just around the corner in those little villages within the cities, you just have to look for them ....
With Starbucks putting a stain on my homecomings i feel like It’s the end of my world as i know it and contrary to what REM was singing and i don’t feel fine with it.
Happy travels to just around the corner
Toon
