On Friday, November 9th, Merida joined the ranks of Mexico City and Cancun, and opened its first Starbucks. Such an event is sure to prompt vibrant discussion about brand globalization, cultural imperialism and impact in a place like Mexico, and surely, some trendy conversations regarding the supposed “evil” of US corporations. If we could ask our readers to just table those discussions for a moment, I need a few minutes to squeal with delight.

I have what can only be described as a “Tall Skim Vanilla Latte/Carrot-Walnut Muffin” problem, and since we have lived in Mexico, the monkey on my back has gone alarmingly unfed. I adjusted well to a life without elaborate, overpriced coffee, without Peppermint Mochas on a chill December day, without Grande Iced Cafe Americanos on a blistering August afternoon. And I think, on the whole, I have been better for it. But I also can’t pretend I wasn’t the teeniest bit excited when the first signs advertising the impending Starbucks went up outside Gran Plaza. The arrival of Starbucks brings with it just one more thing from home, one tiny thing that makes everything else more comfortable. I am embarrassed to admit publicly that this is important to me, and am worried at the impact this will have on my expat street-cred, but whatever. It’s just coffee. Moving on.

OPENING NIGHT, and we planned a quick stop at ‘bucks before pressing on to the fair at Xmatkuil. But an opening night of an American coffee chain in a city with a lot of rich hipster Mexican teenagers is bound to be anything but quick. At 6:00PM on Friday night, the place had a decidedly nightclub vibe. The line of people, all incredibly anxious to get their lips around a paper cup of $40 peso coffee, wound through the store and out onto the sidewalk. The drive-through window line wrapped around the store. There was a party going on Friday night, and Starbucks was the guest of honor.

By this time, I had whipped myself up into a frenzy, and dove into line for the half-hour wait. I was amazed by how Starbucks-y this Starbucks was, even transplanted here. I had never given much thought into what makes a Starbucks a Starbucks, but it is all here. The weird, brown-on-mocha-on-brown decor, the clever little glass tables, the elaborate chalk drawings of the daily specials. The insulated cups, the cutesy Christmas stuff, the French press-pots. The easy-listening modern folk music! The chocolate croissants! The cooler-than-you kids! The smell of espresso! But there were other things, unique to Starbucks in Mexico. A giant, spinning sign, explaining what all of the drinks are (because, really, “Blueberries & Crème Frappuccino® Light Blended Crème” doesn’t exactly translate smoothly). A separate conference room for plugging in and getting online. It was perfect, but there was no way it was going to live up to my outrageously high expectations. Impossible.

I’m not sure if it was just the time that Starbucks and I had spent apart, but I feel like I have never had a better coffee drink in my life. I spent the first five minutes just smelling my latte, thinking about the impending winter my friends are experiencing up north. Oh, and you know how sometimes Starbucks isn’t good? It’s all burnt tasting, or it has too many flavor shots? Not in this case. This cup of coffee, after the long wait in line, was perfect.

It’s unclear what the arrival of Starbucks “means” for Merida, and I wouldn’t presume to lead a discussion on the matter. We did hear some kids come in, exclaim about the prices (they have not been reduced for the foreign market, and coffees here will run you $30-$50 pesos, the price of a complete meal out in some places), turn on their heels, and walk right back out the door. But the majority stayed, and happily handed over their money in exchange for a taste of the new, the unusual, the foriegn. And I, in turn, was happy to pay handsomely for that little taste of home. Starbucks, it seems, is here to stay.

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