As one of China’s top-tier metropolitan cities, Shanghai, to me, is defined not only by its remarkable openness and cultural diversity, but also by one underlying force that fuels it all: speed.
It’s a city where even red lights make you want to hurry across the street. Time here is measured with precision—subways arrive every few minutes, food deliveries show up within minutes, emails are expected to be answered within minutes. Beneath the city’s glamour often lies a quiet sense of anxiety. Sometimes, when we step into a café, it’s not entirely for the coffee—it’s to catch our breath.
Maybe it’s the younger generation that understands this quiet helplessness the most. That’s why the phrase “Take your time in life” feels especially gentle. And it was exactly this kind of gentleness that moved me during my recent visit.
Tucked away at 222 Danshui Road in Shanghai’s Huangpu District is a café with a simple, memorable name: Buji Café Shop. Buji—which literally means “no rush”—echoes the message displayed right at the entrance: “Take your time in life.” In a city where “faster” has become a form of productivity, and coffee itself is often reduced to a functional caffeine fix, this place feels like a quiet act of resistance—an invitation to slow down and simply sit for a while.
I especially love the storefront of Buji. Paired with a bicycle overflowing with fresh flowers, it feels like a scene from an early spring outing—effortless and serene. I’m quite familiar with Danshui Road; over the years, I’ve visited many cafés here. The narrow, old streets carry a sense of local culture, along with the warmth of everyday life. If you truly take the time to experience Shanghai, you’ll find that beneath the fast-paced surface, there’s a softness capable of healing you. “Taking it slow” here isn’t about laziness or giving up—it’s more like being told: here, you’re allowed not to rush.
Right by the entrance sits a fish tank filled with tropical fish, catching the attention of nearly everyone who passes by. Some children gently tap on the glass to interact, others pause to watch, and some are drawn inside, ordering a coffee and quietly observing the fish glide freely through the water. In a way, this too feels like the perfect expression of “taking it slow.”
The café itself is compact, but the high ceiling makes it feel open and airy. There’s also a small loft upstairs—a cozy little nook you can claim as your own. If you’re looking for a quiet moment alone, the downstairs area feels like a sanctuary for the soul.
In a place like this, I prefer sitting at the bar. It gives me a reason to spend two minutes watching a shot of espresso slowly drip into the cup. I can zone out while staring at the fish tank—and I even noticed one particularly assertive fish claiming the best spot where the water temperature and oxygen levels are just right. A row of unfamiliar potted plants sits nearby, each quietly radiating resilience. In that moment, I realized this kind of “slowness” isn’t about procrastination—it’s about carving out a space for yourself within the city’s dense rhythm, a space that isn’t dictated by efficiency.
The café offers four house espresso beans, each with its own catchy name. After taking a closer look, I put together my own combination. The barista even complimented my order, saying it’s a favorite among many regulars—so I must’ve done something right, haha.
One of their single-origin espresso options, called “Orange Sea,” is a dark-roasted natural Ethiopian. Its dry aroma, enhanced by the deeper roast, carries hints of chocolate, but more prominently, notes of dried fruit. It holds onto the classic foundation of traditional espresso while adding layers of flavor complexity, making it a highly versatile bean.
I naturally chose it for a flat white. The result was smooth and well-balanced, with a rich sweetness. It turned out cleaner than I expected, filled with dried fruit notes—like red fruits transformed into fruit leather—along with a soft, rounded texture reminiscent of a creamy cake.
At that moment, the phrase “Take your time in life”—displayed above the bar—felt like more than just decoration. It seemed like a declaration of the owner’s philosophy toward extraction. Not every Ethiopian coffee needs to be lightly roasted to preserve floral notes. A darker roast, when done right, can bring out the richness of dried fruits and a creamy softness—an unexpected delight worth savoring slowly. And by allowing enough time for the coffee grounds and water to interact, you extract the bean’s most authentic flavors. This kind of “slowness” is a form of respect for the integrity of the coffee.
For contrast, I also chose a lighter, medium roast option—a Colombian washed coffee called “La Vie en Rose.” Its dry aroma carries a hint of tropical fruit. It works especially well as a black coffee, since an Americano allows the flavors to fully open up. You’ll taste a bright balance of fruity acidity and sweetness, followed by notes of caramel and a touch of chocolate toward the finish. Its layered profile evolves with each sip, offering a vivid, almost tangible sense of progression.
Talking about “taking it slow” in Shanghai is, in many ways, both a luxury and a form of romance. It’s not about giving up the hustle—it’s about knowing that when you’re tired, there’s a chair waiting for you; when it rains, there’s a warm cup of coffee ready. Life is long—it won’t be defined by the time it takes to enjoy one cup of coffee.
To me, the phrase on the storefront is also an invitation. To those who walk in, it says: there’s no rush here—you can sit all afternoon and leave whenever you’re ready. And to those just passing by: even if you don’t step inside, if that one sentence makes you pause for a second, brings a faint smile to your lips, or makes you quietly think, “Yeah… no need to rush,” then you’ve already formed a warm, subtle connection—with this café, and with the city itself.
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