The ritual of coffee: time to slow and savor

Before going to Spain, I was a once-a-week-when-the-mood-strikes latte drinker. Ordering a coffee was usually the necessary purchase I made to sit and work in a cute coffee shop or meet up with a friend. Don't get me wrong, I liked coffee, but coffee and I had a pretty relaxed relationship.

When I went to Spain to hike the Camino de Santiago with my mom, I was prepared to be busy, always on the go. However, one of the greatest gifts during my month of hiking was unwinding, undressing the film of stress I'd been wearing. The slow nature of the coffee culture in Spain was an incredible tool for embracing a relaxed rhythm of life.

Most mornings began with a pastry and coffee. Un cafe con leche. Un cortado. Un cappuccino (these have chocolate in Spain!) We piled into cafes often filled with other pilgrims; we'd sit and chat with friends made on the trail; other days, we ate on our own, setting intentions for the day or winding dreams from the night before. Slowly sipping our coffees lessened the rush to start walking, a reminder to stay grounded in the present.

Many of our rest stops revolved around coffee. Drinking coffee allowed me to honor the rest my body needed, overriding the thought that faster is better. The Camino, for me, wasn't a race; however, after years of adhering to the rules of being a great student, it takes active work to undo the idea of constantly needing forward motion to feel worthy. When these thoughts arose, it was time for another coffee or rest.

It may sound strange, but coffee was a teacher on my Camino. Drinking coffee became a near-daily ritual in connecting with my senses, practicing gratitude for something small, and connecting with my inner and outer world.

Though I didn't follow suit with the common culture of drinking coffee with every meal, I witnessed how post-meal coffees gave room for stories to run long and for new passersby to pull up a chair to the table.

Since finishing the Camino a few weeks ago, I am again just drinking the occasional latte. However, I am sticking with rituals that are encouraging me to slow down and ground in the present. Journaling. Reading "All about love" by bell hooks. Stretching. Eating more slowly.

Today, instead of coffee or tea, I made pancakes, went for a run, and listened to my folksy playlist. I also wrote a poem about coffee on the Camino.

slow sips

The perfect complement to

awakening,

conversation,

a chocolate croissant,

mid-day meal,

post-dinner cravings:

coffee.

Here, is it more than a drink,

more than an act of consumption,

akin to ceremony,

a daily tradition,

a culture onto itself.

Coffee is a means

of gathering,

reflecting,

energizing.

Hot, frothy, simple.

No syrups,

or hearts in foam.

Espresso is strong,

days prolonged

as time to sit and sip is sweet.

No to-go mugs,

no rushing away

for here you are

peace in the present.

Feel the dark heat fill you

(no there are no iced coffees here)

let it swim through your veins,

tingle in your fingers

as you laugh among new friends,

or watch the rain drip through the trees.