Enter a Starbucks or Caffè Nero in the heart of Boston, and you’ll see clusters of people at booths and tables, earbuds plugged in and eyes fixated on a screen of some sort. Ceramic mugs and paper cups holding lattes, mochas, and espressos remain momentarily abandoned, inches away from fingers tapping on keyboards. Customers pour in and out of the shop, leaving equipped with a lidded cup of a caffeinated beverage.

Entering a coffee shop in Barcelona on my second day in the city, I half-expected to see the familiar sight of customers plugged into devices, sitting in separate solitary but virtually-connected universes. I expected to see laptops and iPads scattered on tables. I expected to hear the clicking of keyboards against the soft backdrop of pop songs playing from overhead speakers. I expected to see a steady stream of customers exiting the front door, paper cups in hand.

What I saw instead were tables scattered with ceramic saucers, small metal milk jugs, and round mugs brimming with café con leche, espresso, and chocolate caliente. I heard the clink of spoons against mugs, the gentle rustle of a newspaper, and the soft murmur of conversation. To my surprise, I saw a coffee shop meant for drinking coffee. And there was not a pair of headphones in sight.

My friend spotted an empty table, and we sat down. Moments later, a waiter dressed in a black apron came over to take our order.

“Dos cafés con leche, por favor,” my friend said.

Giving a friendly nod, the waiter left to prepare our drinks. My friend took out her phone to check Snapchat. I too debated pulling out my phone. It’s a gesture that feels natural to me any time I’m made to wait. I reached into my pocket, yet decided against it in a split second. Few other customers were using their devices, and I preferred not to stick out.

Instead, I turned my attention to the window. Watching streams of people pass the coffee shop, I found myself noticing details that I would normally overlook. The purple plumage of a pigeon. A lady grinding a cigarette into the ground with her tall, high-heeled boot. A group of school children in dark blue uniforms being shepherded by two brisk teachers.

A waiter interrupted the world of my thoughts, sliding two full mugs onto the bar. “Dos cafés con leche,” he called.

My friend and I stood up to get our drinks. A delicate curl of steam wafted up from my mug, which was filled to the brim with coffee. On the surface, the baristas had crafted a dainty lattice of frothing milk, almost too perfect to drink.

When I sat down again, I noticed how small the cup was, compared to what I expected. It was a drink meant to be savored, not downed. I had the urge to take a photo of the picture-perfect mug and preserve it on my SD card forever. Yet, I once again resisted the natural inclination to use my phone, choosing instead to capture the memory in my head.

I took my time opening a black paper packet of sugar and poured it into the cup. The brown crystals formed a small pool on top of the lattice pattern before sinking downwards. With the small metal spoon, I gently mixed the liquid and watched the milk and coffee swirl together, producing a warm, toasted color. I set the spoon down and lifted the cup to my lips. The sweet, roasted taste of coffee blossomed on my tongue. Frothy, earthy, and aromatic.

I savored each sip, pausing in between to absorb the taste, the color, and the scent of my café con leche.

When only a few drops remained in the cup, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. For the first time in a long while, perhaps even before I’d set foot on the plane, I felt calm and present. The coffee shop was a place that made me feel refreshed and invigorated. It was a place where one could sit down to have a drink, rather than hurry out the door with a disposable paper cup in hand. It was a place where newspapers and conversations replaced devices and electronics. Where people came to savor presence, rather than caffeine.

Where coffee was not just a drink, but an experience.