A Perfect Blend of Solitude and Community at the Local Coffee Shop

What is it about the local coffee shop that's so appealing? Is it the aroma wafting out the front door? The buzz of activity going in and out? I don't think it's the coffee itself. I'm not even a coffee drinker, yet I still seek out the local shops, most especially when I've traveled to a new town.

Of course visiting the historic sights is amazing and breathtaking, but the early morning trips to the local shop—before I've prepped for the day, before anyone I'm traveling with has risen—grant me an especially deep affection for a new area. They are where I feel like I've experienced the true essence of a place.

Not long ago I traveled to the town of Guildford in England. It was a whirlwind trip. Long hours in flight and only four solid days between. Not enough time to feel rested and rejuvenated. I could have used the mornings to sleep, but I wanted to be in the early air and discover the novel in a country unique to me.

The freshness that set in overnight added so much to my adventure. Long before anyone was out, I meandered down the sidewalks and across the cobbled streets. Set my eyes on the new and not-yet-experienced. Settled in to the calm before the busy.

The town seemed like it belonged to me.

Afterward I proceeded into Esquires Coffee on High Street . . . a place where the natives were beginning their day. I ordered my ceramic teapot of earl grey tea and a bowl of warm, scratch-made porridge. Both were heavenly and comforting. I sat at the front window counter and watched as the day's energy came alive.

The commuters were out and about. They gathered in line, greeted their neighbors. Smiled and waved across the room. They were on the move. In to get their fix, and out to begin something purpose-filled.

On trips like this, I look forward to observing the distinctive behaviors. Listening to the accents and the dialects. Watching who's familiar with whom. Observing the interactions and the greetings. By the time I left to meet my people, I felt like I could conquer the day, having had a chance to contemplate and gain a better understanding of the community.

Below is a photo I took during a recent trip with my daughter to New York City. I'd awakened early and walked across from the Warwick hotel to get my warm beverage at Blue Bottle on 6th Avenue. I took my cup outside and sat on a nearby bench to watch and reflect.

I absolutely love NYC first thing in the morning. All possibilities are new and available. Few other people are around. The ones who are are less harried and frenzied than they'll be later when everyone becomes seemingly tiny and insignificant, lost in the swarms of sightseers covering the sidewalks and intersections.

It's the only time of day when a city that large feels more like a town—comfortable, like being someplace familiar. Someplace welcoming. My second morning in the shop, they offered an enthusiastic greeting and had already learned my name and preferred beverage.

Again, I felt like the town belonged to me.

I remember my first encounter with a local coffee shop, before which I don't think I'd even heard of them. It was the early 90s, and I was a student at the University of Pittsburgh. The shop was called the Beehive, in the Oakland section of Pittsburgh, inside the Kings Court Theatre building on Forbes Avenue. Actually the Beehive was a coffeehouse . . . a slightly different vibe with its bizarre-colored velveteen couches, live entertainment, and poetry readings.

It was an eclectic place, said to be Pittsburgh's first coffeehouse. It had what was to me an extreme social setting with a constant flurry of activity. The primary crowd was a type I hadn't encountered much growing up in a small town. Earthy and eclectic. A little grunge. Some punk.

I went a few times to hang out and once for a poetry reading. I probably tried to pretend like I was one with the crowd, but really I didn't fit in. Any time I stepped in or just walked by and glanced in, I felt perplexed and bewildered.

Nonetheless, even the Beehive offered a space where I could notice the local flavor. It helped me recognize where I feel calm and settled, where feels comfortable and welcoming. Where I can experience that perfect blend of solitude and community.

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