Musings from the Womb

Saturday, October 3, 2009. Alright, I broke. I’m sitting at Starbucks Viña del Mar. And it is glorious! The one truly dependable thing in this world is that my Starbucks cappuccino will always be delicious, perfect and made the same old way – no matter where I am. I mean, aside from the Spanish chatter, I could be at any old Starbucks back home.

I explained my love of Starbucks one day to Ximena. After hearing my explanation of how it makes me happy because, not only are they a respectable and upstanding Global Enterprise, but - from the moment I step inside - the smells, the sounds, The Whole Starbucks Experience just gives me an overall feeling so warm and cozy that all seems right in the world. Xime now calls Starbucks 'The Womb'.

So here I am - in The Womb. I’m sitting in a cozy charcoal grayish blue armchair in a little L-shaped side room around the corner from the counter on the main floor. (It's 2 stories!!) A jazzy version of “But Not For Me” is playing. The walls are light gray and the windows trimmed in white. The big square ceramic floor tiles are a marbled blend of neutral blues, grey, pink, green and beige. The large tiles, set in a diamond pattern are framed by 6x10 inch beige tiles. Outside the frame the large tiles are set as squares for about two feet until they reach the walls. The effect is cozy and warm. Almost like the center tiles are a rug. Across from me, along the wall there are four small café tables, two dark wooden chairs at each. Two blonds have just entered speaking English.

I know. It was inevitable. I am at Starbucks. I asked for it.

One is wearing a two-toned periwinkle NorthFace jacket and her hair is French braided. (Seriously?!) The other wears her blonder hair straight and chatters about some blended apple dish she’s eaten. I’m not sure whether she’s reminiscing about home or if she’s speaking about a host family situation. She holds up a shirt. ”This is Chile. I mean what. It’s like? A bike shirt?” French Braid adds, “Yeah totally. You’d wear that if you were a biker. Totally.” Glancing up at the shirt I see it is white nylon-like fabric with short sleeves and has red accents on the shoulders. “Cyclist shirts are Chile?” I think. A boy appears from the bathroom and the blonds stand and all three go around the corner.

I take a bite of my muffin con chips de chocolate which has been waiting patiently for me on a perfect round white Starbucks plate atop the small round end table that’s in the middle of my cozy chair and its empty partner. The table is black with a brown wooden edge. I wash the sweet cakey muffin down with a sip of delicious liquid home. It’s so dark and creamy that I kind of want to order one for the road. But I immediately convince myself that would be gluttonous and excessive. Plus I know how to get back here…

A new upbeat jazz tune is playing now. There are no words and the man on the black leather loveseat in the corner to my right is tapping his foot while he reads. The green armchair facing him has been empty all this time. I’d assumed he was waiting for someone given all the empty seating around him. That, and the fact my Chilean students looked at me like I had three heads when I told them that people in the US go to Starbucks order a coffee, then read, do homework, etc. for however long they’d like. One coffee, hours of peace.

Either this guy is a foreigner or he’s caught on quickly to the beauty that is Starbucks. I haven’t seen him take a drink in a while, but there he sits… reading away. If only I could see around the green chair to the cover of the book he’s reading. Spanish? English? He’s older – bald/gray. Looks to be in his upper 50’s. He puts the book down, uncrosses his legs, puts on his sunglasses, looks around impatiently, re-crosses his legs, puts the glasses down beside him and resignedly picks up the book. I can now see that it’s a thick, black paperback. He hasn’t spoken to anyone.

It seems I’m seated at the main throughway to the baños and a line of ladies is forming nearby. There is a lot of fabulously cute sweater fashion going on here in Chile. Short sleeves, long enough to cover one’s behind, worn with a long sleeve T underneath and maybe a scarf to accent. Love it. I saw a very chic purple sweater on my way here. It didn’t close in the front and from the back, which hit just below the hips, it slanted down to form long points which reached the knees. The sleeves were ¾ length and sort of floaty without giving it that Crazy Art Teacher look. Muy bonito.

Señor Inconnu in the corner just asked me to watch his things while he went to the bathroom. In Spanish. Aha!

Those sweaters are a relief for my poor eyes which are repeatedly stung by hideous 80’s-on-crack items like the neon green skinny jeans worn by a boy on the metro. Or a Kelly Kapowski look I spotted at the deli counter in Jumbo (like Target with a full grocery store). It was a hot pink sweatshirt that had the neck cut out so it fell off the shoulders and the sleeves cut short hitting right at the elbows. This was worn over leggings tucked into hightops.

That’s right. You don’t have to re-read that last sentence. I wrote it. Hightops. And I’ve seen: White. Leather. Double Velcro Straps At The Ankles. I double blinked to make sure it was true. It was.

Another item that made my eyes burn was a pair of stonewashed skinny jeans with zippers diagonally down the legs. These were serious stonewash. Like the kind that’s almost white in some parts and dark navy in others. I think I actually owned some jeans that were one degree separation from this wash when I was eight.

A group of four twentysomething guys has just installed themselves at the tables across from me now. Señor Inconnu returned from the baño just in time to keep his claim on the loveseat corner. There’s no way I could’ve stopped that crew from staking claim, so thank goodness for that. A girl joins the four chicos and an older man and young girl now occupy the small table in the corner. It’s noisy in here and I’m feeling sad it’s not still just me and Señor Inconnu in my quiet, imaginary St. Louis Starbucks.

A busboy/worker comes over holding a white bus tub with plates stacked. He opens his mouth and polite rapid fire words rush out. I smile and say “Ah, sí.” Then hand him my empty plate. More Spanish from his eager-to-be-of-service face and I pick up my nearly empty paper cup and take a swig hoping he’ll get the gist. My chocolate chip smudged napkin remains and he quickly grabs it and says something which in my head seemed like, “And what about this dirty napkin? Do you want to keep it, or can I throw it away for you? I’m really happy to clear away anything I possibly can to make your time here at Starbucks Viña del Mar as tidy and enjoyable as possible.” I smile and shake my head to say, “No, I don’t want that dirty napkin and I’m so glad you’re taking it so I don’t have to spend any more time with it sitting next to me.” He reaches over and throws it into the trash can, which I see now is just to the left of my chair. He says something else and I smile and look away. He leaves. Thank God. Busboys?!

Señor Inconnu’s gone and a large group of enthusiastic young girls have replaced him. Rapid speed Spanish chatter and giggling fills the little room. I swallow the last semi-cold sip of my cappuccino. It’s mostly foam, but I can taste the cocoa powder and cinnamon I sprinkled on top. I close my eyes. A pause in the chatter, the music picks up. Mmmmm..... just like home.