One good thing about the last country: Sbux at 1990s prices. $2.50, and then sitting and reading for a couple of hours in a bright, air-filled room with interesting things outside the window. Unlike the country to the east, where an Americano would have set me back over $6.
It's not loyalty to the brand, or the material substance of the brew (except for the fact that I'm more confident about the hygiene of preparation and the source of the beans), it's genuinely having the place in the city where you can get a coffee in a fresh paper cup from the counter, watch them pour it, and then sit in a bright, airy room for an hour or two and read. (While everyone around is insta-telegramming their milkshakes.)
The local custom in this country, the southern coastal country of the old republic, and the mostly Muslim nation just to the north is small, dim airless rooms, or close patios with a lot of shade and greenery and cigarette smoke, where coffee is served in mugs. It's a legitimate form of comfort. Hygge, perhaps.
But it is not my way. And I am not for all waters.