The Italian coffee rule that changed my mornings

Austin Kleon talks about how good artists copy, great artists steal. Well, I just spent 12 days stealing habits from Europeans—and some of them are worth bringing home. Here's what I learned about stealing like an artist while bouncing between Italy and Switzerland on a $150/night budget: the best ideas aren't hanging in museums. They're hiding in grocery store checkout lines, espresso bars, and the way people approach a simple glass of water.

Quick ask: What travel habit have you "stolen" from another culture? Reply and tell me - I'm collecting the best ones and might feature yours. And if you know someone who dreams of European travel but thinks it's too expensive, forward this to them.

There's a rhythm to travel, one you can't rush. No shortcuts, no express lanes. In Europe, especially in the heartbeats of Italy and Switzerland, you slow down and listen carefully. There's an unwritten rule here: life moves at the speed it intends to. This isn't some romantic notion—it's practical wisdom disguised as inconvenience, and once you notice it, you can't unsee it.

Mornings in Italy begin standing shoulder-to-shoulder at bustling espresso bars, espresso and brioche in hand. None of the oversized paper cups Americans grip desperately during their commute. Here, coffee is quick, purposeful—a punctuation rather than a paragraph. You finish fast but never hurried.

Try this tomorrow: stand at your kitchen counter, drink your coffee without scrolling your phone, and actually taste it. See how different morning feels when you give it proper punctuation instead of letting it blur into the rest of your day.

Cash is still king in Italy, and this forces you to be more intentional about spending. When you have to count out actual euros, those impulse purchases suddenly seem less urgent. Credit cards don't universally reign supreme here, and honestly, that's not entirely bad. Cash makes you conscious of every transaction in ways that tap-to-pay never will. The friction is the feature, not the bug.

But here's where European efficiency really surprised me: Swiss grocery cashiers sit comfortably—no forced smiling or aching feet. After watching this for days, I realized how bizarre our standing-service culture looks from the outside. Why do we make people stand for 8-hour shifts when they could do the same job sitting? The Swiss figured out that efficiency doesn't require suffering. Sometimes the best systems are the ones that prioritize human comfort over performance theater.

Service itself works differently too. European waiters rarely share their names. Service is professional but impersonal. Even name tags show formalities like "J. Rehmar"—First inital + last name. You're served efficiently, not befriended. This felt cold at first, then I realized they're not performing friendliness for tips. They're just doing their job well. There's something refreshing about genuine professionalism without the emotional labor. Tipping culture is weird anyway, but experiencing service without the performance made me question why we expect emotional labor with every transaction.

The food transparency in Switzerland amazed me. Every restaurant menu includes precise declarations of food origin. They're meticulous, the Swiss. Restaurants diligently note where your chicken wandered or where your lettuce grew. It's not about bragging—it's about transparency. A kind of quiet respect for what you're eating. Italy offers no such detail; trust your gut, the waiter's shrug seems to suggest. Both approaches work, but the Swiss system made me think about how rarely Americans know where our food actually comes from.

Meals themselves stretch languidly across both countries. Lunch becomes afternoon, dinner becomes twilight. Waiters subtly encourage patience, and the patience pays off in ways beyond just better digestion. The waiter will never push to leave or give you the bill without being asked. Longer meals mean you naturally eat less, drink slower, spend more mindfully. Science backs this up—your brain needs 20 minutes to register fullness. Europeans built this into their culture while Americans turned eating into a race.

The small details accumulate into larger truths. Bottle caps remain tethered to bottles across Europe due to new EU regulations aimed at reducing litter. It's annoying at first, but I found myself appreciating never losing another cap. Meanwhile, I saw more single-use plastic than expected—bags, utensils, packaging all abundant in places where I thought sustainability would be second nature. I think the US does it better when it comes to reusable water bottles.

Sundays reveal the deepest cultural difference. Shops shutter early or never open at all. Families gather, parks fill slowly, and life pulses gently—stark contrast to America's relentless weekend commerce. In Bern Switzerland, we stumbled upon a quiet hilltop rose garden on a Sunday. Locals lounged with books and wine, kids played barefoot, friends played sports. No urgency. Just presence. The Germans have a word for this kind of protected rest, but you don't need German to understand the revolutionary idea that some things should be closed. That rest isn't laziness—it's strategy.

Even fashion communicates differently. Gone are America's graphic tees loudly proclaiming high school allegiance or sports fandom. Hats, a stateside staple, are notably absent. Europeans dress quietly, stylishly, without advertising their origins or loyalties. There's elegance in understatement—something I'm still learning. In Venice, I noticed people dress for the setting. They take care, even for an evening walk. It's not about expense; it's about respect for context.

Swiss cows wear bells—practical audible signals for herding in lush valleys. In Lauterbrunnen, I watched them wander through fields as their bells echoed against cliffs. Like a Wes Anderson film, but unscripted and real. Sometimes the best systems are the simplest ones. Sometimes a bell is just a bell, but it works because everyone understands its purpose.

The accumulation of small differences creates something larger than cultural observation—it becomes personal philosophy. Italian grocery runs are compact affairs in small corner stores filled with essentials but lacking expansive American supermarket aisles. There's no wandering for 45 minutes debating between 30 brands of cereal. You get what you came for. Takeaway containers at restaurants are rare; minimal foil wrapping is as good as it gets. European meals are meant to be finished, savored, and never boxed up for later. Pay toilets in Italy test your coin-counting skills, though Switzerland generally offers relief free of charge. Smoking and vaping remain stubbornly popular—from Roman fashionistas to Swiss hikers, cigarettes and vapor clouds punctuate conversations. Americans who've relegated smokers to hidden corners will find Europe a throwback to a smokier age.

Traffic lights in Switzerland offer curious previews: red turns briefly yellow before green, signaling drivers to ease off brakes—preparation, not impatience. Roundabouts dominate Swiss roads, reducing America's familiar stop-and-go. Swiss cars proudly bear "CH" bumper stickers—small nods to national identity. Hertz rental returns are automated—no idle chat, no small talk. Just scan and walk away. Even mundane interactions follow different scripts.

I don't think any country has it perfect. Italy is chaotic but charming, full of spontaneous connection. Switzerland is efficient but expensive, almost obsessively structured. America gets things right too, for all its noise and mess. The trick isn't ranking cultures—it's stealing what works. Austin Kleon says you are a mashup of what you choose to let into your life. After two weeks in Europe, I'm bringing home morning coffee as ritual not fuel, the art of sitting when possible, cash consciousness for mindful spending, Sunday rest as strategy, and dressing for the setting rather than for attention.

Travel teaches through details, not grand monuments or postcard moments. It's in windows that hinge both ways, cashiers who sit down, foil-wrapped leftovers you didn't ask for but quietly appreciate. It's how a cappuccino only belongs in the morning, and it's the silence that fills a restaurant at 2pm when no one's in a rush. You come back from Europe with fewer photos than expected but more memories of how life felt. You remember the quiet train ride along Lake Zurich, the unexpected kindness of strangers offering directions, the chocolate that didn't taste mass-produced. You remember how much lighter life can feel when you're not always performing it.

Here's my challenge: what's one European habit from this letter you'll steal this week? Try standing coffee tomorrow morning. Ask for tap water at dinner. Sit down while working when possible. Take Sunday seriously. The best theft is always personal—take what fits, leave what doesn't, but pay attention to the differences. Sometimes the gap between cultures shows you possibilities you didn't know existed.

🎯 CHALLENGE: Share Your Best Travel Hack

What's the smartest thing you've "stolen" from another culture?

How to win:

• Reply with your hack (1-2 sentences max)

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Prize: Free trip planning session + we'll feature your hack in next week's newsletter

Deadline: Sunday 11:59pm

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Until next Thursday,
Jeff

P.S. Next week: We discuss the country with the world’s best train system—Japan!