iced cappuccino is an american idea.

It has been quite a while.  That's because nothing interesting has happened. Ohhh wait that's a total lie......

     I love sitting in the corner in cafés.  Call it asocial, an attempt to enter the indie culture, or call it nothing at all, but I’ve always chosen this location.  Any time I venture out on my own, which tends to be a path to a haven of music and caffeinated beverages, I settle in a spot where I have a 270 degree view of my surroundings.  Why?  Simply put, I live a life driven by observation; I’m a full time people watcher.

            Europe is a holy land for people watchers, so as I sit outside at Café Onan in Leuven I feel as though I’ve reached my Mecca.  There are people all around me, sipping espresso or tea, playing with their babies, walking home from the market, riding bikes to who knows where.  As I sit here, my ears filled with my handpicked soundtrack for the afternoon, I imagine their conversations.  It’s just as well that I’m listening to Passion Pit and not their own flowing chatter, as I wouldn’t be able to understand the Dutch anyway.  But I watch friends laugh, and think that they’re probably recounting old jokes and playing off of each other just as I do with my friends.  I look at the elderly couple next to me, quietly holding hands, and wonder what they’re remembering.

            Something I notice quite blatantly is that no one looks like me.  What I mean by that is, no one has a laptop out, and no one has headphones in.  Back at home, my favorite café is evenly populated with humans and MacBooks, everyone plugged in via headphone to their own virtual hub, and stranger to stranger interaction is prevalent only when one tunes into someone else’s music collection through the free wireless internet.  But here, imagine this: people talk and pay attention.  I notice the same thing when I run at the track.  Everyone else seems content to run or play soccer without a personal world of sound.

            Now believe me.  No matter how many scarves I wear to try and fit in here (though as one Belgian friend told me, “many have tried, all have failed,” in terms of Americans trying to look European), I won’t give up my headphones nor iPod.  Music at all times matching my mood is like my heartbeat.  But it leads me to wonder.

            I have a Belgian cell phone, but I rarely use it.  I find out the location of friends so we can meet up.  That’s it.  I’m also on the computer less.  I’m less “connected” than I’ve ever been.  Yet when I sit and have a cup of coffee or a beer with someone, I’m not breaking up their speech with the sound of the keys on my cell phone as I respond to a message.  My phone isn’t ringing to interrupt an important discussion.  Within my disconnection, I’ve become more connected with the moment than I ever have before.

            I’m happier here.  And while, in the words of a friend, we’re still in the “honeymoon phase” of the trip, I can confidently say that I’m enjoying each moment because I’m actually living it.  I’m not planning or worrying, just trying to do what I feel, and it makes a difference.

            I’m perfectly content in the corner of this café.  I’ll probably spend a few hours here.  But my laptop does indeed pick up a non-password protected wireless internet source, and I did just change my Facebook default photo.