I live in a town of 5,000 residents, surrounded by other comparably sized boroughs. We have a grocery store and a McDonald’s four minutes from our house. Our favorite pizza place is 10 minutes away as is a Wawa, Home Depot, CVS – always a CVS – Staples, several dollar stores, a pet store, car washes, banks – always a bank – a Chipotle and a Big Lots. There are no chain restaurants, those require a 25 minute drive.
We are, like our neighbor New Jersey, a diner community and I have one within walking distance from my home. It’s very freeing to be able to step out my front door and take myself to spend time with friends. For a blind girl who relies on car rides from others, it’s such a treat to be able to say, “I’ll meet you there!” It makes me feel very Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha heading to brunch.
My husband and I recently stayed in a hotel on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. In the morning we made our way the few blocks to Starbucks, where we grabbed seats and people watched. It was a Tuesday and everyone was either in a rush or setting up their workstation at a table near an outlet. Floor to ceiling windows displayed all the components of a weekday metropolitan a.m.; cabs, buses and cars steadily drove by as if on a hamster wheel, each block of vehicles interchangeable with the next set to arrive when the traffic light turned green.
Despite the indisputable locale, what was happening on the street was overshadowed by the activity inside the coffeehouse. This was not touristy Times Square or the Theater District, this was a neighborhood. Mothers pushed strollers (or perhaps a nanny, as portrayed in the book and film, “The Nanny Diaries”), a young twenty-something finished up a run, an older woman carried a tiny dog. Many customers were greeted by name followed by a familial exchange with a barista. A man came in, a messenger bag crossbodied over his jacket. He shared genuine hellos with the duo behind the registers while sliding his credit card into the payment terminal without specifying his order. He quickly found a stool at a counter along the wall, his tall Americano extra hot ready before he could take out his laptop.
Travel exposes us to new cultures, foods, climates, environments and vistas. But it also shows us that we are not so different. We all want a sense of belonging, a friendly smile in the morning with our necessary start-our-day beverage. When I’m on a trip I make it a point to recognize that although I am on vacation, others live and work there. When I run into a grocery store to get a case of water for our rental house for the week, a weary parent is shopping for their family for the next seven days. I consider my server at The Downyflake in Nantucket, my Pink Jeep Tour driver and guide in Sedona, my ferry captain in Seattle: the island, the red rocks, the Pacific Northwest so much a part of them, as only the place we reside can be.
A city is just a town with more people and taller buildings. Not that my hometown is a holiday destination, but should a New Yorker find themselves in my area enjoying scrambled eggs, home fries and scrapple (I do live in southeastern Pennsylvania, after all) they may be surprised to find a more cosmopolitan habitat than expected. Ok, I’m pushing it here. But they would discover a camaraderie that screams: this is a community.
I like to think about that morning as I wait for my Tim Horton’s K-Cup to brew in my kitchen. I’m sure the Upper East Side is bustling, the intoxicating aroma of the nectar of the gods much stronger there than my one cup Keurig can muster. But at the start of the day, we’re all just folks having a cup of coffee at home.
#SisterRain #alittlesightalotofheart #legallyblindtraveler #travel #starbucks #coffee
