Every day, one of my roommates and I visit a small café tucked into the local neighborhood surrounding Florence called Bread and Break. It’s a quaint, beautiful, and entirely local café, undisturbed by the city’s touristy nature. No line of students with their cameras out, no English translations on the chalkboard, no laminated menus plastered on the windows. Every morning, the café is filled with Florentines grabbing a cappuccino and a cornetto, exchanging friendly words with the baristas they’ve clearly built relationships with over the years, before heading off to work. Throughout my time here, I’ve joined that local routine and, after a while, began having meaningful interactions with the regulars and baristas, with one exchange in particular standing out above the rest.
I found Bread and Break early in my program, almost by accident. I was simply on one of my first morning walks to class when I stumbled upon the bright blue sign over the cafe. At first, it was hard to communicate as I stumbled around trying to order a cappuccino with a double shot of espresso, but I told myself that I’d be back.
The two baristas, whose names I eventually learned through conversations, began to recognize me. Learning their names for the first time through speaking broken Italian was a particularly impactful moment. Not only was using a foreign language, which I’d only been learning for a few weeks, a step outside my comfort zone, but fear of being judged for my imperfect Italian loomed over me. Learning the baristas’ names, Elena and Grazia, was the first step I took in cultivating a relationship with local Italians. As the weeks went on after that moment, I worked daily to practice my Italian language skills by conversing with them. Every day starts now with an enthusiastic “ciao!” and an actual conversation. At first, it involved where I was from, what I was studying, and recommendations on parts of the city to visit. Now it’s become a great, friendly, brief morning conversation about the day ahead.
What struck me most was how unhurried it all felt. Back home, I tend to be someone who’s always moving, constantly stuck on getting to the next task and next goal. But in this cafe, nobody is ever rushing. Everyone is enjoying the present moment and the conversation and company of their friends. This speaks to the general attitude and culture of Italy. Life here is not something meant to be optimized but actually something to enjoy.
