I was born in a town with about 500 people in the Southwest of Sweden called Karl-Gustav. When I was young there used to be a school, a small supermarket and a post office there. Now there is only the school and the church left and some houses on both sides of the main street. Whenever I go back to visit my parents I love to take a walk on the country roads that I remember so clearly from my childhood. Every house and step on them is connected to a memory and tells a story that exists only inside my head.
My dad used to be the only foreigner in this little town and therefore more people would refer to me as the Greek’s daughter rather than my real name. I think they still do. When I go out for my walks there today I see a curious face in every window peeking out from behind a curtain. In the same way friends and boyfriends would be screened from head to toe, but from a distance. You never really meet many people when you go there nowadays, but still they know you were there.
My mother told me this story once about an old neighbor or ours that I keep remembering when thinking about my hometown. I can´t remember the man´s name, nor his face, but I know he used to live by the lake close to my parents. In the winter when the water would freeze he would go out for long walks across the lake.
But this one time the ice was too weak and he fell into the water somewhere not too far from land. He was shouting out for help for a long time and finally another neighbor heard him and pulled him out of the water. He was lucky and despite his high age he recovered quickly. However, after everything had calmed down after the accident, he asked his wife how come she hadn’t heard him shouting for help since their house was very close to the lake. Her response was: Well, yes, I did hear that someone was shouting for help but I didn’t know it was you…
Despite all this, my hometown has been a sanctuary for strength and inspiration for me. If I don’t go there every once in a while I become crazy. I start missing the loneliness. How my thoughts get free and creative. It is a hideout where every time I go there I start a new project. When I get back to the city again I feel I have a big bag of inspiration with me that makes me feel richer than before.
“…Oh, Albuquerque, Albuquerque”
About a year ago I went to stay with my boyfriend who was living in Albuquerque, New Mexico at the time. I hadn’t seen much of the US before, just some short visits to New York City and crossing the border to San Antonio, Texas while staying in Monterrey, Mexico a few years ago. I had no idea what to expect from Albuquerque, but I have always loved to travel and was quite excited to visit a place of which I had heard nothing more of except Neil Young’s song with the same title.
When I googled the city prior to my departure I saw pictures of a famous balloon festival and a tramway leading to a snowy peak of the Sandia Mountains. None of those things really caught my attention. I was more interested in what someone in Albuquerque would do on a Tuesday morning. What were the cafés like and what would a stroll on the streets of the city feel like?
When I got off the plane in Albuquerque I was welcomed by one of the nicest airports I had ever visited, and my boyfriend of course. It reminded me of Mexico, the colors, the food, but at the same time very different. We got in a car and drove off in the night to his place just off Central Avenue and University. My first peeks of Albuquerque were through a car window at night.
I can’t say I was very impressed. As a matter of fact, I was terribly disappointed. I can’t remember seeing one single person on the streets. There were huge highways, lots of traffic and some modern adobe style houses. Those three months I was supposed to stay in Albuquerque suddenly felt very long.
On my second day in Albuquerque it snowed. It would rarely snow in my hometown nowadays, and after reading that Albuquerque was supposed to be surrounded by desert, I was quite surprised. As a Swede a holiday destination is often valued depending on the temperature and the amount of sunshine. Albuquerque was not doing very well under these criteria.
A few days later the weather cleared up and I went for my first walks. Some days after that I borrowed the car over the day and I was able to reach even further. But I did not have a clue where to go. One day I was driving down Central Avenue (which makes out a part of the old Route 66) and cuts across the city, just like my old country road in Karl-Gustav. I remember how I did not know where to stop and so I just kept driving and driving, hoping something interesting would come up along the way. It didn’t. I finally ended up in the other end of the city and there was nothing else to do than to turn around and go all the way back again.
I also remember parking the car outside a Seven Eleven store a couple of times, mainly because that was the only parking I could find after driving up and down Central. Then I would just sit there looking at the people filling up gas or going in and out the shop. I was seriously starting to wonder what the other people in Albuquerque were doing…
I had heard that there were supposed to be a few good cafés in Albuquerque but finding them was difficult. They were not exactly located around a main city square like they mostly are here in Europe. But leaving them three months later was even harder. Already after a couple of café visits my perception of Albuquerque changed and my stay in the city started to evolve around them. Albuquerque turned out to serve as my new little hideout far away from any curious neighbor and my stay there would turn out to be one of my most inspiring periods in a long time.
“I’ve been flying down the road…”
There were a couple of places that altogether shaped the experience I had in Albuquerque. They were mostly cafés, a few bookshops and a bar. I would spend my days alternating between these places and in the end those three months turned out to go by far too quickly.
Java Joe´s soon became one of my favorite cafés. It is located just off 9th Street and Central, just a few blocks away from the Route 66 Hostel. I would go to Java Joe´s almost every morning bringing my computer or a book to read. Sometimes Fiddle Bill would sit and play the violin in the corner of the room. The atmosphere would be laid back and unpretentious. This inspired me to do something I had secretely dreamt of for a long time. So when returning to Albuquerue a few months later (Yes you will be wanting to come back...) I brought my old Russian accordion with me...
And some days later it was me sitting in Fiddle Bill´s couch playing some tunes on my accordion. I can still recall all the feelings that went through my head that day. At first it took me a while to get myself to even unpack the accordion. I went back and forward to fill up more coffee quite a few times before. Then all of a sudden I just put on my accordion and started to play. I don´t know from where I got my strength really. But I guess what convinced me in the end was the fact that nobody knew me in Albuquerque. If my little performance would turn out terrible I could just step out that door and never come back...
That didn´t happen luckily. Nor was it a musical revolution in any way. However, I felt like I had gone through a revolution on a personal level when walking out from Java Joe´s that afternoon. I don’t know if it was the city itself or the features of the café or a combination of all my experiences there that made me cross this threshold, but something happened to me in Albuquerque. I felt I could do whatever I wanted to and I did not give a damn what anyone around me was thinking anymore. I have been lucky to have traveled to many places around the world, but I don’ think I ever experienced such freedom that I did in Albuquerque.
I never really made any friends in Albuquerque so the regulars in the cafés would be the only people I would speak to during the day. A nod or a hello when entering the café or someone asking me what I was writing on my laptop was enough to make me feel welcome. These encounters were short but with no obligations or force. They made me feel left alone but not lonely.
One of my other favorite places in Albuquerque is the Chama River Brewing Company. Since Java Joes closes at 3 p.m. this would be a perfect place for the late afternoon. The place is really small and often full, but my boyfriend and I would often squeeze in there for a beer after he got off work in the afternoon. Chama River is like a small living room, where if you are one among the regulars you will end up having you personal mug waiting for you on a shelf every time you go there. Unfortunately I never stayed long enough.
Another one of my favorite cafés in Albuquerque is the Winnings Coffee Company on Harvard Street, just across the University of New Mexico.
I used to love to go there early in the mornings and have a seat outside and feel the first warming rays of sunshine on my back. You get a big cup of coffee or peppermint tea for a dollar and then you can just sit there in the sun and slowly wake up together with a group of strangers probably feeling the same way as you do. There is a strange connection created between people that wake up together like this and I can still recall their faces.
After half an hour or so in the strong New Mexican sun someone would usually tell me to watch out not to get sunburned and so I would go inside the café and unpack my computer. I would have another round of that coffee or tea and then my working hour could start. I think the longest time I stayed at the Winnings Coffee Company was from 8.30 in the morning until 5 p.m. It became like my little office and at five I was ready to leave for the day.
“…And I’ve been starving to be Alone”
I was lucky not to have a job during my time in Albuquerque. I made a few attempts in the restaurant business but with not much luck and so I was doomed to spend my days alone in these cafés. It took me a few weeks to realize how lucky I was. I had worked constantly until just a few days before my departure and my first days in liberty I was terrified. I did not have a single idea what to do and I was restless and seeking. I was unemployed and displaced.
But when the people in the cafés started to recognize me and I got my own favorite table at each place I felt I played a part in something, I don’t know exactly what. If I did not go to Java Joes for a few days they would start wondering where I had been. At the Winnings Café, Bradley´s Books would have a few titles waiting for me when I would return.
It was in this setting that my mind eventually started to work more freely. It felt like I had lost a chain of expectations on me. Every day in the café I started to get a new idea for a story or a project. The enormous mountains of old cars piled on top of the other in the junkyards around the city started to look romantic. The people around me became like characters in a story and I wanted to capture it all.
Back at home I can’t get Albuquerque out of my head. Whenever I feel a need to escape I think of the city. When I miss loneliness and creativity I wish I was sitting at Java Joe´s with a cup of coffee. It is in those simple moments that the big thoughts in life come to you.
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