Austin

 

September 19, 2022

 

Greetings from where it’s weird,

 “The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see.”  G.K. Chesterton

 The first thing I need to say about being here is that I don’t know where to look.  There are so many interesting things to see it feels selfish to simply rest your eyes in one place. 

 I’m twice as old as the average person.  I am among a tiny minority who do not have tattoos.  I do not have a ponytail, or cowboy boots, I do not wear an ironic hat.  If you wanted to stand out in a group of people who are so diverse and so eclectic, you might choose to be an ordinary-looking white guy. 

 The skyline of downtown Austin is an impressive array of glass towers and steel angles, sprinkled with scaffolding and cranes piecing together more of the same.  There is traffic and homeless people and busses and coffee shops and brewpubs and people on bikes, like many cities of its size.

 What is striking is the change the city makes as we cross into the East Side, where I’m writing this morning.  There is a distinct line that contains the hectic, shiny angular world, and protects the edge of this peaceful, softer place.  Cozy bungalows are tucked among the side streets, on lots so small it would be easy to sit in your kitchen and ask your neighbor to pass the salsa. 

 This section of the city is a neighborhood and it is a vibe, a cultural presence.  It is diverse and colorful and slightly tattered, a little bit overgrown.  It is charming and vibrant, artistic and creative, it is old and new, it is so many things at once I feel like I should slow down even more and absorb it. 

We are staying in a one-room sort of studio shed, nested in the corner of the lot behind a tin topped cottage, which we share with an outdoor ceramics studio.  The yard is filled with plants and ceramic things and old wrought iron chairs.  There are two miniature goats and an enormous tortoise, who I am told is only a teenager but seems much more mature.  There are crystal chandeliers hanging over the gardens.

 The streets are shaded from the merciless Texas sun by a canopy of mature trees.  There is sticky syrup on the pavement, a product of overactive aphids, which I wrote just because I like saying ‘overactive aphids’.  I mention this because as I ran through the east side it added a texture and a sound that was new company.

 I haven’t had much reason to have an opinion about gentrification.   While I haven’t spoken to anyone on the subject here, I suspect it’s a common conversation in the community.  The zero lot lines are slowly filling with updated homes, or replaced entirely with wild contemporary works that look like Elon Musk had a hand in the architecture.   The busier border streets are lined with restaurants and coffee shops and studios, and while they seem to fit with the East Side groove, the change, the creeping pace, is obvious.

 Yesterday I sat to write some notes at a small café, Cenotes, itself a crossroads between the old and new.  The house where the café serves is from 1889.  The family that started the place, a couple decades ago, is part of the East Side.  But it exists to serve everyone in this transition.  The original Texans, the locals who only arrived thirty years ago, and now ordinary white guy travelers like me.  The tourists who showed up on the ubiquitous Bird scooters.

 I was surrounded by variety, like nearly everywhere I visited.  Hipsters and hippies, trendy sorts with their trendy dogs,  upscale and downtrodden, all gathered on that corner to enjoy a good cup of coffee and a place to talk, or sit quietly.  It is quintessential East Side, funky and hip and also hurrying to get in step with what the city demands of it.

 Austin has such a rich and varied culture, it’s foolish to try to capture in one breath, and I know I have only seen a fraction.  Enough that I know I want to come back and explore more.

 There are the food trucks, which are a religion of sorts.  Everyone has a favorite, each has its nuance, each attracts a crowd for different things at different times. 

 Dogs seem to be everywhere, a kind of currency between strangers.  In parks and restaurants and shops and in line and on the sidewalks, they are a warm and friendly accessory in all the places we traveled. 

 We went two-step dancing at the Broken Spoke and kayaking on Lady Bird Lake and stood in awe of the surging and swirling bats as they set out into the night under the Congress Ave bridge.  We ate tacos.  If that sounds like all we ate was tacos, then I got that right.

 There’s more but there will always be more.  I wrote this sample not as a travelogue but as a reminder.  Where I come from, and probably where you are, there is a variety that is unique and interesting to visitors.  It may not have the reputation of weird Austin or Portland, but it has its own character, its own charm, and the same desire to be seen.  As much as I love the excitement of exploring a new place, it is also a wonderful reminder to explore the place I go home to.

  

Hope this finds you seeing with fresh eyes,

 

David