“Grande” Coffee in Barcelona

After a solid day at the beach, we occupied the remainder of our day walking up and down Passeig de Gracia, the main strip of shopping for the non-backpacking visitors of Spain. From Gucci to Hermes, this street is the Disney Land of designer names. Don’t worry Versace, I’ll be back one day, and I promise to leave you with more than a storefront window smudged with fingerprints.

By the time we returned to the apartment, the time was nearing 8 p.m. Exhausted, I opted out of dinner and drinks with Nick, Sagar and one of Sagar’s old friends from the school he attended in Barcelona. In the nonstop excitement of the past week, I hadn’t even had a spare second to put a single thought down on paper. It was only Day 5, but I felt like I had a month’s worth of experiences to recount.

With the apartment to myself for a few hours and my computer booted up, all that was missing was a large iced coffee to ignite the brain cells and shake the fatigue setting in from the antics of the preceding days.

At a café cross the street from the apartment, I did my best to order what I was looking for.

“Una café grande con leche y hielo por favor … Quiero frio … no calor … comprende, si?”

What I think I asked: “One large coffee with milk and ice please … I want it cold … Not hot … Do you understand?"

Not knowing the appropriate way to say I wanted it to-go, I said, “Umm, to-go!” and made some kind of embarrassing gesture to help translate the English request.

After gauging that the guy behind the counter could understand my English, I ordered again in English and also asked twice if he understood that I wanted it iced, not hot.

He nodded confidently and I felt pretty good about the whole transaction.

Yeah, that lasted about, oh, 45 seconds.

It turns out that a “grande” coffee at Starbucks and a “grande” coffee in Spain are about as similar as me standing next to Yao Ming.

My barista compadre returned with a smile and a styrofoam cup the size of a shot glass. I couldn’t tell if he was smiling because he was proud for getting my order right, or if it was because he was trying to keep himself from outwardly laughing at this stupid American asking for ice in her coffee.

Indeed, he got the order right, save for the other half liter of drink that I thought I was ordering. The cup had everything I asked for: one part coffee, one part milk and one sole ice cube, already half-melted from the heat of the piping hot coffee.
Disappointed, but moreso amused at the hilarity of my mini-coffee to-go, I paid the 3 Euro tab, nodded in thanks and thoroughly enjoyed the hell out of all two sips of my luke warm grande Spanish iced coffee.