The Edge of the City

In the search for a place I had never been, I traveled to the Capitol. I caught the first bus to arrive that I had never been on before, and this was number thirty. I soon discovered by the several turns that this was the beginning of the route. I watched out the window as first downtown went by and then the river. Now out of downtown, I watched the patterns of the city move by. Endless series of stores led to houses, which eventually led to the constant alternation between the two. I arrived at the end of the route at somewhere essentially unremarkable, Barton Creek Square. I had never been there, and still have never been inside, for the mall itself is just a mall. Other than the names of the stores it looks like the standard mall found everywhere. I instead focused on the parking lot, which was eerily quiet. I could see people hurrying to park, to walk in, to return to their cars, or to exit, but they were few and far between. I walked through the parking lot and eventually found the section labeled B-5. This is an entirely useless parking lot, so it was understandably deserted. It is isolated, and if enough people are at the mall to need to use it, it would be almost impossible to make the two immediate left turns required to enter with so much traffic.

This lot is interesting not for its uselessness in performing its primary function but for the strange serenity found in being isolated in the city. Car alarms can be heard from the other side of the mall, but the peaceful view from the edge of the parking lot is quite picturesque. The parking lot is on top of a hill which overlooks the mostly undisturbed hills of the surrounding landscape. Reading Calvino while overlooking some much less developed part of Texas is strange for me. I begin to realize that the city of Austin is as much about these distant reaches as it is about downtown. When in downtown, it is assumed that there will be large structures obscuring anything but city. People do not tend to want to live downtown because of the strong desire to see what was here before the city. I find that just as in Thekla, Austin is almost always under construction. While this mall is fairly isolated, in five or ten years the ability to see nature will be gone, and one will have to travel that much further to get there. And just as in Esmeralda, it will probably be a zigzagging obscure path to get there, much like the path of the bus I took to get here.

My Lake Austin 'Adventure'

As I boarded the bus, I felt a little uncomfortable, and anxious as to what to expect. I haven’t really been the Christopher Columbus types, and I wasn't quite ready to start today. Let's face it, sitting in a bus with no idea as to where I’m headed is not really my ideal way of spending a winter afternoon.

Reading is a part of each of our lives, and a critical one at that. Each one of us enjoys a different atmosphere while scanning through a book, which can vary from a loud public place to a rather quiet and tranquil setting. I ventured to search for a space that would be more on the quiet side, but would still keep me aware of the fact that there are other people around, much like the Quiet Study Lounge in Jester – it’s quiet inside, but you can sometimes hear students talking or laughing right outside the glass doors. My search took me down to Lake Austin, a place that I hadn’t visited until today, and after two trips down here, I think I have finally found my open air ‘Quiet Study Lounge’.

Lake Austin is a hot spot for joggers and bike riders, and it took me a while to find the kind of ‘secluded’ place I was looking for. The bike trail has a lot of people moving about it for most part of the day. It pretty much ends near the UT Rowing Center, where it curves upward towards the main street. Right at the curve, there’s an area, the size of the Goldsmith Courtyard, covered with short grass and dominated by two large trees. There’s a small picnic table installed about forty to fifty feet from the trail, and this seemed like a place where a person like me would like to read. As I approached the table, I realized that I was encroaching upon someone else’s territory; a family of swans inhabited this area, and they made sounds at me as if asking me leave. I tried not to come in their way. Once I reached the table, something very interesting caught my eye. Right next to it there were stone stairs leading down to a small wooden dock. My eyes lit up and I thought to myself “This place is perfect!”

Now that I’ve seated myself comfortably on the dock, it feels great! The water looks so inviting with the sun reflecting on its surface, in spite of the fact that it’s rather cold. I can see lots of trees across the lake, with houses poking out through the dense vegetation. The view is ideal for the cover of an Austin travel brochure. Even this small dock has trees growing on either side. No wonder I didn’t see it from the trail! These trees, the stairs behind me, and the lake, give this space a sense of seclusion, precisely what I was looking for. It feels private, and yet public. Closed, and yet open. As I flip through the pages of the book, I can hear the whooshing of cars on the traffic bridge not too far from here. The high speed sound, in a strange way, makes this place feel even more calm and serene than it already is. The slight crunching sound of stone being crushed by the people moving at the trail is giving me a sense of security, that I’m not alone, though I really can’t see anyone from down here. It’s as if I’m part of their activity, part of the city’s vibrancy, and yet in a world of my own, shielded from the chaos and noise.

There are ducks playing in the water not too far from me, and the swans have now become quiet, or maybe they’ve moved. The only sign of human activity is a canoe on the lake, but it’s pretty far from here. I really don’t know what these folks were thinking when they decided to canoe in this cold. Then again, they’re probably thinking the same about me.

The Lobby of the Driskill

In the lobby of the Driskill Hotel heals are tapping on the marble floor, groups of three and five are talking business and leisure, and servicemen are every so often moving quickly about. In a hotel so filled with history and class, the people here are casual. This hotel is a public place, although I didn’t at first think it that way. Classical music in the background, antique furniture, and restored details set the stage for guests in jeans and sneakers.

Reclining in my chosen wingback, I hear a group of friends or maybe relatives that have gathered to depart behind me. As they are possibly waiting for one or two more to join them, they are laughing at some memories and making plans for this evening. Adjacent to them is a group of three middle aged men with mustaches just adjourning a business meeting. From the look of their documents their work looks like something architectural or construction related.

And next to where these men just met, directly to my right, is a curious man in a dark green jacket. Balding and overweight, he sits alone, talking silently to himself. Occasionally making some hand motions, I suppose that he must be working something out in his head. Not particularly sad or angry, I can’t place an emotion to describe his condition. Frustrated and perplexed are too strong; he is just sitting, thinking, processing. He might be waiting, but not for anything soon. Passing the time seems right. Yes, he is sitting, passing the time and meanwhile thinking through something that has been bothering him for some time.

We both watch women walk by with dry cleaning, listen to the laughter deeper in the lobby and to the gentle music. We are aware of each other’s activity, yet each is just alone in the lobby of the Driskill Hotel.