The Importance of a Place to Linger
By: Katie Critelli
Tags: Design, Self, Design Thinking, San Francisco, Urban Planning

Exploring places we naturally gather and why they’re essential for wellbeing

“…At night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference… He disliked bars and bodegas. A clean, well-lighted cafe was a very different thing. — “A clean, well-lighted place” by Ernest Hemingway

Edward Hopper, Nighthawks, 1942. Photo via Wikimedia Commons.

The Riddle of the Ideal Place

This past weekend, two guests joined our family for dinner and one of them kicked off the conversation by sharing her professional ambition: “I’m a strategic designer and I want to make places that are wonderful for people to live in.” Her comment launched us into a discussion of design principles, places that were designed well, and those that were spectacular failures. One story in particular caught my attention for the profound point it made about both design and human nature:

It was the story of a man who went to Latin America with the aim of doing charity. While there, he watched poor local women walk miles each day to fetch fresh water. Feeling inspired to help, he financed the construction of a well near where the women lived and returned home feeling good about his contribution. A year later, he returned and asked the women how their lives were. “Terrible,” one said. “Now our husbands force us to stay at home and we don’t have a chance to go out together.” Taken aback, the man listened to the women further and learned what they considered their needs to be: a place to be together, a source of financial freedom, and protection of that freedom. In the end, he bought them sewing machines, a shop where they could work making clothing, and a bank to hold their collective earnings. And that made the women happy.

What I love about the story is how well it shows the complexity of human behavior. We go places for multiple reasons: explicit, functional ones and implicit, sometimes unconscious ones. On the surface, what appeared to be the problem of women walking long distances for water was actually an improvised solution. A solution allowing them to be with their friends, to get away from controlling husbands, and maybe just to enjoy a walk in open space. Implicit reasons like these are almost always overlooked in urban planning and are the reason “modern utopias” like Brazilia, Brazil so often fail.

Reflecting on this story, I realized that most of the places I spend my time are chosen for similarly implicit (you could say irrational) reasons. And sadly many have been decimated by Covid-19. The ones I miss most are what Ernest Hemingway described beautifully as “clean, well-lighted places.” They are places that- through the magic of social architecture- facilitate comfort and connection. They are places where you go to meet others, to escape from home or work, or simply because you have nowhere else to be. I think of them as places I like to linger. And I believe they serve an incredibly valuable social purpose.

Case Study: Caffe Trieste

One of the best natural gathering spots I can think of is Caffè Trieste in San Francisco’s North Beach. The day my brother brought me there marked the first time I felt at home in my new city. Walking towards the entrance, I noticed a group of elderly men laughing and holding court outside, like a traditional Italian piazza. As we stepped inside, I saw all types of people and slices of life side-by-side: scruffy writers, friends leaning across tables and laughing, and a trumpet player sitting in a corner booth practicing over the din of conversation. “I thought you’d like this place” my brother smiled.

I did like it. I liked it so much that I came in both the mornings and evenings to write cover letters and browse job postings. I stayed until there was dim orange lighting and old Italian songs playing on the juke box. Though I went there to work, I was pulled there more by the sense of possibility and community. In a one week period, I met: a poet who looked like Marlon Brando and told me his life story; a Hungarian photographer who was equally fascinating and sketchy; an Italian family who asked for the WiFi password and then told me all about their trip. When I finally did find a job and a new apartment, I was disappointed that I could no longer be a Caffè Trieste regular.

Months after I first walked in, I tried to understand what made Caffè Trieste such a unique, community hub and picked out three elements: Acceptable ambiguity, social architecture, and tradition.

By acceptable ambiguity, I mean that I could go to Caffè Trieste every day to work with the unspoken understanding that many other things could happen. I might be surprised by live music, a thoughtful conversation with a neighbor, or local gossip. The open atmosphere there was supported by the design of the place. There were a handful of outlets, but not enough to make it a tech hotspot; the tables were far enough apart to allow breathing room but close enough for eavesdropping; The open door and soft orange lighting made it inviting in both the early morning and late evening.

And finally, as powerful as the design itself is the feeling of history and tradition that fills the spot. Caffè Trieste was founded by an Italian immigrant and his family over 50 years ago and became mythologized as a hotspot for Beat poets and Francis Ford Coppola, who wrote “The Godfather” there. Yet it still has an intimate feeling to it, like walking into a welcoming and chaotic home. On one of my first visits, a barista sat down to chat with me and offered me housing recommendations. When I thanked him, he answered, “Someone in this café did the same for me. I’m just paying it forward. Glad to help.” It was just one example of many small kindnesses I found there.

Street view of Caffè Trieste, North Beach, San Francisco

The Importance of a Clean, Well-lighted Place

In the wake of Covid-19, I’ve come to appreciate more than ever places like Caffè Trieste and the role they’ve played in my life.

I remember living in New York City right after college and bouncing between crowded cafés after work, not wanting to go home to my tiny, barren room. I remember my last relationship before I moved West, when my boyfriend and I met in Manhattan as a midway point between our homes in Brooklyn and Connecticut. We sought out cafes, restaurants, and hookah bars where we could have some semblance of peace and privacy. At the end of the night once we paid the bill, we were on our feet again. In each place we stopped, we paid not only for coffee or service but for space to connect and breathe freely.

Even in the last month, I’ve found myself going out for coffee multiple times per day. Not because I can’t get enough espresso but because I want to roll the social dice. I hope to chat with someone about a good book, laugh with a barista, find an unexpected friend. And I believe most people look for the same, even if they tell themselves they are just going for coffee.

Though I understand the weight of public health and safety concerns, I feel we often don’t do justice to the places that will be lost and the cost to collective mental health. As the story of the women carrying water illustrated so well, humans rarely just go places to buy objects or perform a task. They go to fill unconscious, unspoken needs at the same time. Whether it’s a safe place to meet friends, to avoid a controlling spouse, or to hope that something better comes along, that’s what we are losing. The type of place you find yourself unexpectedly at home with others, the type of place where you can linger until something good happens.