To the American abroad, Starbucks is a sort of haven, an oasis of familiar civilization amidst the wilderness of foreign cultures. You can order the very same drink you order back home, and it will be served exactly the same. You can use the wireless to check your Facebook, while enjoying the classic American tunes softly emanating from the speakers.
To the native, Starbucks can be perceived in two different ways. Sometimes, it is seen as a promising sign of globalization and development. For example, the Starbucks that stands at the entrance to Hong Kong’s Stanley Market, a chaotic bazaar replete with chickens and barefoot peasants, counteracts the primitiveness with a comforting twist of sophistication and worldliness.
On the other hand, if a Greek were to hear of this “comforting twist,” he would most likely point up his nose in that often misleading way of saying “no,” instead characterizing such an outlook as one of arrogance and egotism. In Athens, Starbucks is generally seen as an invasion, a reﬂection of hubris. It is one culture’s presumptuous attempt to stiﬂe another.
To the American in Athens, a Starbucks awning is a reminder of home, but not quite as interchangeable with an American ﬂag as the Greek might think. While you will still ﬁnd signature drinks like the Caramel Macchiato and the White Mocha, you will be confused by other options, like the Greek frappés and freddo espressos. You will ﬁnd solace with the carrot cake in the glass display case, but there is no need to feel guilty with narrow-mindedness: you can still sample the local cuisine via the spanakopites and tiropites exhibited behind the glass.
But to the Athenian, a Starbucks spanakopita is not a spanakopita. The thick, crude crust is not the light phyllo leaves to which you are accustomed, while the unidentiﬁable cheese has no resemblance to the specialty’s usual feta. Similarly, you are likely to be horriﬁed at the prospect of ordering an “iced, grandé frappé,” rather than the customary “metrio, xwris gala,” variation.
Moreover, the Athenian knows that the wiﬁ at Starbucks will be frustratingly slow, as the network is under complete and utter overload at any given point in time. Not only would a quiet kafenion be an exponentially more authentic experience, but you would be much more productive and much less exasperated with your technological devices by the time you leave.
The American will not mind if the wireless is a little sluggish, for it is much simpler, and much less embarrassing, to read the username and password off your receipt, rather than ask for the codes via myriad forms of sign language and pig Latin.
Despite this difference in opinion, the Athenian is well-aware that the international coffee place is a tourist trap. While the American feels that he is in a “safe zone,” a reassuring home base within unfamiliar lands, the Athenian knows that he must cling to his wallet. To the scam artists that roam the metros and crowded side streets of European cities, Starbucks is the jack pot, the treasure trove.