Coffee in airports and other travesties
Europe’s cafes usually serve great espresso, although they call it different names. The French just call an espresso a “café”, and then when they add milk either call it “café au lait” or “crème” (slightly different in flavor). The Spanish seem to call an espresso a “café solo”, and add milk by asking for a “café con leche” (which tastes nothing like a French café au lait). Regardless, the coffee is of high quality. The average corner café of Paris for exceeds the quality of Starbucks, and sees no need to dilute its product with flavored liquors or spices.
How odd then that the coffee at the airports we’ve visited during this trip has generally sucked. In Charles de Gaulle, Beauvais, and Amsterdam Schiphol all the shops have this horrible machine that gives (crappy tasting) lattes at the push of a button. The exception was Girona airport, where there was a real live person who pulled a very good espresso.
As a carnival, you can’t beat Schiphol. A casino lies next to the meditation room. A wonderful children’s playground lies next to a store selling adult DVDs, their pornographic cover photos not even hidden. Down the hall somebody is selling tulip bulbs, and upstairs there is a museum that shows paintings from the 16th and 17th century. One could also rent a hotel room, or just take a shower. The only downside of Schiphol is their odd policy of interrogating each passenger individually, which makes boarding a plane incredibly slow.
