Milan & Yeoyu
It was my first time in Milan, my first Milan Design Week. Although I can’t really say I saw much of either, since I was there for work and spent most of my days on-site for a client project. But the brief moments outside of work were enough for me to fall in love with the city. Obviously, those moments were too brief and fleeting. A lot of the people I talked to after returning from Milan (people who were familiar with the city) would look at me with endearing eyes, the way you would look at a child who had just had her first taste of cotton candy.
What I loved were the big, green trees. They were so big and so green you could smell their scent in the air. I also loved the people.
Once, I was having lunch with a colleague at a crowded restaurant. There were two guys who looked like they were in their late 50s to 60s sitting next to us. I have to say ‘next to us’ because while they were seated at a separate table, the tables were so close together we might as well have been sitting together.
They were having the best conversation ever.
I have no idea what they were talking about, mind you. My Italian is limited to buon giorno, grazie, prego, and tutto bene. But their expressions, their energy, and their gestures told it all. I told my colleague that I was going to get hit by the guy next to me very soon with his gesturing hand. She laughed and said she’d already been hit by the guy next to her. We loved it. The loudness, the expressiveness, the pure energy. I looked around the restaurant. The interior design was nothing special. In fact, there were quite a few Italian restaurants I’d been to back in Seoul, and in other cities around the world, that looked exactly the same. But they felt different, soulless almost.
Then I realized why. The other restaurants in other cities around the world, weren’t full of wildly gesturing Italian people, all talking at the same time, at the same pitch. Okay, I may be exaggerating just a little bit. But that was still my impression, and I’m going to stick to it. Because to me, it was this cheerful energy that made the place feel so Italian.
The next day, we lined up for coffee at a nearby coffee shop. Behind the counter was a big, tattooed guy doling out warm, fluffy pastry and barking out coffee orders to the barista manning the espresso machine. When it was my turn, I asked for two croissants, one iced americano (AKA espresso with ice) and one cappuccino. I took our breakfast out to where my colleague was already seated at one of the tables that were set up on the pavement.
We had a very long day ahead of us, so we decided we needed more coffee. Our bodies (and brains) had unfortunately been trained to stay asleep until shots of caffeine in no less than grande size were delivered. So I volunteered to get some more. I stood in line again. My turn came again. I told the big, tattooed guy I’d like two iced americanos and two cappuccinos. We really did have a long day ahead of us.
He suddenly stooped down towards me. His face now level with mine, just a few inches away. He nearly whispered, “But you already had pastry and coffee.”
This, to me, was Italia. People minding other people’s business. People not making efficiency their number one priority. I still had a long line behind me. Yes, it can get a bit annoying sometimes, especially if you’re in a hurry and need things to be done yesterday. But coming from a city (Seoul) that prides itself on efficiency and where everything is so fast that sometimes your food arrives before you do, being forced to slow down felt liberating.
During the week-long business trip, I savored those moments.
I also wondered why. Was it the high ceilings and huge windows? I imagined growing up in homes with such high ceilings. The sheer height of physical spaces making room for dreams and aspirations, giving you a sense of yeoyu (여유). That was it. Everyone was relaxed, laid back. Everyone had yeoyu. There’s no single word in English for the Korean term yeoyu, since it can have different meanings depending on the context. It can mean peace of mind as in a person’s mindset. It can also mean unhurriedness, a relaxed pace, as in a life that’s as easy as a summer day on a private beach. It can also mean plenty of time. You’d say you have yeoyu with time.
I told the coffee shop story to a friend. She said it was also because the customers in line had yeoyu. In Korea, you can physically feel the people waiting in line getting antsy. The barista would never dare waste time checking if a customer really wanted more coffee when they’d already had pastry and coffee.
In Milan that day, no one minded.
The first round of coffee
