A Memory from Austin

"To see takes time, like to have a friend takes time." - Georgia O'Keeffe

New York takes on a different character in the sunshine. After three days of continuous rain, and the stories I’ve already expanded on in my previous essay, Quick Field Notes From New York, I wake up to one of the most beautiful, sunny autumn mornings. But it’s time to leave—for now—and head to the airport to catch my flight to Austin.

“Why Austin?” I’ve been asked a few times by baffled New Yorkers with whom I’ve had brief, spontaneous chats—on the streets or while standing in line at the supermarket. I share that I’m visiting a good friend and that I’m curious to experience a part of Texas.

I know I’m in very good hands. Catherine, my friend, has lived in Austin for quite a few years now, and I know she loves—and most importantly, understands—this city.

A friend recently compared Austin to a farm-to-table restaurant where all the best ingredients are scattered across a huge field and you have to slowly collect them yourself. Everything is here to make for an amazing neighborhood experience … it’s just that none of the really great stuff is together in the same place!

snippet from an interview I conducted with Catherine for The Flâneurs Project

A morning walk through East Austin.

Morning walk

I arrive in Austin on a delayed flight at midnight on October 1st, but my soul is still somewhere in New York. I recall a beautiful article, Traveling at the Speed of the Soul, which explores about how when we travel long distances, we don’t always arrive “complete.” It takes a while for our “souls” to catch up.

“The soul travels at the speed of walking.” - an old Arabic saying

Half asleep, I stumble my way through Austin airport, which feels like a freezer (a friend had warned me about the air conditioning in Texas). I try to catch an Uber, relying on the kindness of strangers. My gratitude is immense for the Uber driver, who is patient and helpful when I am slow and confused. After sobbing in a JFK airport bathroom earlier due to a rude waiter (jet lag, delayed flights, and bone-deep exhaustion can make some of us cry in the most unexpected situations), I feel so much love for people who are kind to travelers and strangers.

On my first morning in Austin, I head out early with my friend, who shows me around her East Austin neighborhood—the nearby park where she walks every morning, and the cute, dog-friendly cafés. My body finally feels good, and after four days, my jet lag seems to dissipate.

Austin has a completely different pace compared to New York. Coming from the busy streets, I now find myself in a city where I don’t see a single soul for minutes at a time. The scorching sun likely keeps people from walking, but the vast distances between points A and B also seem to contribute—I’ve never taken so many cabs in just a few days. I feel less connected with people on the streets, in cafés, and apart from my friend, the only people I’ve spoken to are cashiers or waiters at the places we visit.

While New York felt like I was always on the verge of meeting someone new and stumbling upon a story—crumbs of connection here and there—Austin feels less intimate, with fewer opportunities for human connections. “Are you sometimes lonely here?” I ask her, knowing she has good friends nearby but sensing the deeper direction of my question. “Yes,” she replies, “especially intellectually lonely.” I understand her.

Night walk

The sky is so big in Texas.

Around nightfall, my friend and I head out for a walk to a place she’s certain I’ll love: Patrizi’s. The darkness makes me a bit uneasy—I’m not used to walking in pitch-black streets, surrounded by cars, with no one else in sight. But I find myself enjoying the landscape, my eyes hungry to explore. We order drinks and carbonara, along with a delicious starter of Marfa tomatoes, and find a spot to sit under sprinklers and a chandelier. A big gray cat is sleeping peacefully on the table next to us. “You’re right, I adore this place,” I tell my friend, feeling at home. We start talking about moments when we feel powerless, and moments when we feel powerful, and I’m completely enveloped in her stories.

Austin becomes this memory: good food, good conversation with a good friend under the big, open Texan night sky.

Patrizi’s, Austin

What are the places that we cannot stop thinking about?

Today, I’ll be hosting a salon in Austin about The Places That We Long For.

“What now?” a friend asks, knowing that this trip has been one of the most exciting things I’ve planned in years. “You’ve seen New York, you’ve accomplished something you’ve been dreaming about for years—what now?”

Now, the adventure can really begin. I want to find another place tied to a deeply personal sense of adventure. Planted, fabricated desire—especially in terms of places—can be tricky to let go of. But once fulfilled, once experienced, it opens up pathways to seek places simply for the sake of mapping new feelings.

I want to know myself better and discover a new place to long for—something that will surprise me. At the same time, I’ll soon be returning, on Saturday, to New York for more walking and talking. I know it will take a lifetime of returns to see this city.

Thank you for reading. As always, I welcome your notes, questions, and stories. If you’re in New York on Sunday, October the 6th, I’m hosting this walk.

Onwards,

Patricia Hurducaș