The Authenticity of the City
I teach piano at a studio in West Wickham, a suburb that's an hour outside of central London. Every Saturday I take the overland train that is a pleasant ride through little towns and countryside. The studio is situated in an old, established neighbourhood with towering trees and charming Tudor style houses that confirm you are indeed in England. Along the high street are some small shops catered to the convenience of the neighbourhood inhabitants.
The minute I step off the train, it becomes unmistakably clear that I am no longer in the city.
It is everything from the modesty of cars to the friendly cooperation between traffic and pedestrians, the women who sport trendy bracelets to emulate city sophistication, the rubbish collector who nods his head and says, "G'day, love", and the quiet acceptance of life and the world as it is.
I stepped into a café called Bienvenuto, and after a quick survey of my surroundings, had a hunch that the café latte I ordered would not taste...'right'. Its pretense reminded me of Mövenpick, a restaurant in Square One, Mississauga, that resembles a European food market in concept, but serves food that, well, does not taste like what it claims to be. Sipping my latte at Bievenuto, I couldn't help but think of Ponti's in London, a café owned and operated by round, balding men who make a mean cappucino whilst complaining about their customers in Italian.
It's difficult to describe the difference in taste between the coffees, seeing that I am in no way a coffee connoisseur. I can only say that one doesn't taste 'right' to me, that it seems to lack a certain sincerity, that it lacks, perhaps, soul.
And this is what I appreciate most about living in the city: the absolute authenticity of everything. The snobbery of the privileged, the raucous youth, the poverty of the beggar, the loud-speaker evangelist on the street corner, the investment banker on his mobile, the lost tourist -- it is all real and cannot be hidden, but is somehow hidden in the mass. You are at once both transparent and anonymous.
Having said that, I do not prefer big city living. But that is another post.
I teach piano at a studio in West Wickham, a suburb that's an hour outside of central London. Every Saturday I take the overland train that is a pleasant ride through little towns and countryside. The studio is situated in an old, established neighbourhood with towering trees and charming Tudor style houses that confirm you are indeed in England. Along the high street are some small shops catered to the convenience of the neighbourhood inhabitants.
The minute I step off the train, it becomes unmistakably clear that I am no longer in the city.
It is everything from the modesty of cars to the friendly cooperation between traffic and pedestrians, the women who sport trendy bracelets to emulate city sophistication, the rubbish collector who nods his head and says, "G'day, love", and the quiet acceptance of life and the world as it is.
I stepped into a café called Bienvenuto, and after a quick survey of my surroundings, had a hunch that the café latte I ordered would not taste...'right'. Its pretense reminded me of Mövenpick, a restaurant in Square One, Mississauga, that resembles a European food market in concept, but serves food that, well, does not taste like what it claims to be. Sipping my latte at Bievenuto, I couldn't help but think of Ponti's in London, a café owned and operated by round, balding men who make a mean cappucino whilst complaining about their customers in Italian.
It's difficult to describe the difference in taste between the coffees, seeing that I am in no way a coffee connoisseur. I can only say that one doesn't taste 'right' to me, that it seems to lack a certain sincerity, that it lacks, perhaps, soul.
And this is what I appreciate most about living in the city: the absolute authenticity of everything. The snobbery of the privileged, the raucous youth, the poverty of the beggar, the loud-speaker evangelist on the street corner, the investment banker on his mobile, the lost tourist -- it is all real and cannot be hidden, but is somehow hidden in the mass. You are at once both transparent and anonymous.
Having said that, I do not prefer big city living. But that is another post.
posted by Rebecca at
1:03 PM
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