Nine months and I haven't replaced or replicated any of my favorite
Madison haunts. I haven't found a coffee place where I can curl up with a
book or steno pad, or play board games with a friend, that rivals
Johnson Public House. There's no pub that stands up to the Weary
Traveler, where I spent so many winter nights, hands cupping a hot mug
of grog. There's no thrift store like St. Vincent's. There's no park
like Orton and Tenney and Yahara Place and James Madison, no terrace
like Union Terrace, no hamburger like a Great Dane burger.
Saddest of all, there's nowhere like the Willy Street Co-op. I went to the Co-op every day for two-and-a-half years, and every trip improved my mood. When I lived across the Isthmus, biking to the Co-op on summer evenings was a joy. When I lived two blocks away, I stopped in before going home each day. The friendliness of the staff and customers, the brightness and color of the space, everything about it recharged me after a long day at work. While I'm keeping my European shopping habits, buying only what I need each day, deciding what to make for supper as I head home and not at home consulting the kitchen cabinet and freezer. It's amazing to me that there's no co-op here in Berkeley, of all places.
Mostly I just dislike Berkeley. It's barely bike-friendly. The marina is fine, but far. There's a decent, serviceable park on Hillegass, where I go to read sometimes, but someone always sits near me and smokes. The Berkeley Bowl is hectic and industrial, with underpaid staff and harried customers. There's no Capitol to rotate around, no massive central farmers market. There are cougars up in the hills, and if you think I haven't strategically placed myself on the fire trail at sundown to spot one, you don't know me very well, but I haven't seen a cougar and so that doesn't count yet.
Saddest of all, there's nowhere like the Willy Street Co-op. I went to the Co-op every day for two-and-a-half years, and every trip improved my mood. When I lived across the Isthmus, biking to the Co-op on summer evenings was a joy. When I lived two blocks away, I stopped in before going home each day. The friendliness of the staff and customers, the brightness and color of the space, everything about it recharged me after a long day at work. While I'm keeping my European shopping habits, buying only what I need each day, deciding what to make for supper as I head home and not at home consulting the kitchen cabinet and freezer. It's amazing to me that there's no co-op here in Berkeley, of all places.
Mostly I just dislike Berkeley. It's barely bike-friendly. The marina is fine, but far. There's a decent, serviceable park on Hillegass, where I go to read sometimes, but someone always sits near me and smokes. The Berkeley Bowl is hectic and industrial, with underpaid staff and harried customers. There's no Capitol to rotate around, no massive central farmers market. There are cougars up in the hills, and if you think I haven't strategically placed myself on the fire trail at sundown to spot one, you don't know me very well, but I haven't seen a cougar and so that doesn't count yet.
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