About liminal spaces and solitude
Note: This was originally written and shared on cohost. If you wish to see the full context to understand why it was written, check the link.
I'm originally from one of the largest countries in the world. Large as in, larger than the USA if you take Alaska out of the equation (sorry Alaska). My home state has more people than a lot of European countries, but even there, where the capital is also the largest city in the Americas and the Western Hemisphere and the Southern Hemisphere, there are a lot of empty spaces.
To go from my home city, with around 200,000 people, to the neighboring city, with around the same population, it's a 40-minute drive on a literal straight highway, even if there's no traffic, at 110 km/h (sorry, no Imperial units here). I used to do this route a lot when visiting my girlfriend living there. There was this peaceful, constant, almost pink noise-ish sound of the tires rolling over the tarmac. It was around 30ºC almost year-round, almost always with no wind, and the car had no a/c, so the windows were always rolled down.
I loved it. I used to "tune out" to the sound of the road, and even when there was high traffic, there were never traffic jams. Things were always moving, but kinda still, just gliding along.
I lived on the outskirts of town. My parents' house was far away from the city noise, despite being officially in an urban area. The house always had the windows open, so the occasional wind could blow through it (again, no a/c there). The land area wasn't as big as the American houses, so there was a kind of a "porch" at the back of the house that filled... well, the entirety of the land area at the back of the house. There was a brick-made grill and a wooden table for 8 people (used when there were guests), all safe from the sun. My family was loud, but in the afternoon, when no one was there, it was very peaceful. There was the occasional sound of insects in a shrubbery nearby, sometimes the distant laughter of children and, more often than not, the sound of small plane engines going to the nearby airport. I could work from anywhere in the house (which was not very large) and enjoy this eternal state of stillness.
You know when, in an anime, they show a calm Summer afternoon in the Japanese countryside? It was like that, with an almost identical soundscape.
When I lived in the capital, it was the same: despite being among 12 million people (or 20+, if you count the metropolitan area), and despite being in an old building with large windows, the street noise just became background noise to tune out while working. The old walls were good at filtering sound. It wasn't always peaceful though, as some neighbors and a nearby bar were occasionally loud enough that I couldn't even watch TV, but that wasn't too common.
In both cases, I enjoyed the feeling of solitude. I like the anonymity of living in a place with a lot of people, and even in larger cities, it's not busy and noisy everywhere. If you get to know the city, and get the "vibe" it gives, you'll figure out how to find these places.
Then, six years ago, my girlfriend and I moved to Europe.
We didn't have any trouble fitting in with the culture. I guess weirdos are weirdos everywhere, so it didn't really matter, but it took some time to take the city in. In my country, narrow and barely lit streets are dangerous; in Europe, lots of streets are narrow and barely lit. In my country, every road, street, and avenue has a sidewalk large enough for at least two people to walk side-by-side comfortably; in Europe, there are places with roads and streets, but no sidewalks. The second largest city in the country has as many people as my home city, but everything is crammed as much as possible.
I mean, I love walkable cities, and I hope the concept of suburbs doesn't ever escape North America, but the city here isn't really walkable: there are too many people literally walking over each other all the time (I don't know if it's my luck or what, but people here are really bad at walking in crowded spaces, they always bump into each other or into me), or fighting for space against cars and other vehicles.
There's no solitude. No quietness.
Don't get me wrong: I love living here. But I don't get quite the same feeling as I got living in a larger city on the other side of the ocean. And worse: except for old buildings, people around these parts don't seem to like windows, as they are always small, or are just there in the wall kinda to be there, as if saying "hey, I'm a real livable space, I have doors and windows", or pointing straight at other people's windows, or in a position where the sun never hits. It's weird.
Also, in this part of the country, there's a cold wind that blows almost year-round, and if you open your windows, even at the high of the summer, the place will get chilly. So people don't open their windows almost never. It's not possible to hear the city buzz, except for the loudest and most annoying noises that can get through the double-pane glass. There's no background noise, except for the humming of your own electronics in a closed-off square made of bricks.
There are also no porches, and the balconies are very small and utilitarian, so you can't "sit outside and enjoy a time-out". If you want to do it, you have to go to a park, or to a café, or to somewhere else, where there's always music a bit too loud, a bit too many people, a bit too few places to sit. There's still anonymity, but no solitude. No background noise. Impossible to relax.
But then, in the last week of December, I had to go to the capital. A 300 km journey to go, and another 300 km to come back, all on the same day. I checked the maps, the route, and decided to go on the highway. The tolls are expensive, but a 5-hour trip each way would become a 3-hour trip each way. Great, I wanted the trip to be quick. I hate driving here, as the roads are always too small and, since there are places without sidewalks, you have to be careful with pedestrians and smaller vehicles. I sometimes get cramps in the legs from having to use the clutch and the breaks every few meters for extended periods of time. (Someday I'll either have an automatic car or not have to have a car at all. Someday.)
However, as soon as I got on the highway and left the city, things changed: less traffic, larger lanes, smoother curves. The car sped up to 120 km/h and I turned the cruise control for the first time ever, and only had to turn it off when I arrived at the capital and the traffic caught up. The scenery along the highway changed a few times, with the woodland turning into shrubbery, then back to woodland. The car went up the mountains, and there were valleys so foggy it looked like someone dropped cotton balls all over them. I left before sunrise, and I hate seeing the sun rising (I'm either a Creature of the Night, or seeing that thing rising gives me anxiety about the day... or both), but I didn't mind this time. It was quite beautiful, actually. I put some music to distract me, but turned it off after the first 15 minutes, as it was becoming annoying. All I heard was the sound of the tires rolling over the tarmac for 3 hours straight, and then back.
I've found my solitude. And now, places that used to give me mild anxiety about driving in, do nothing. (But I still hate driving.)
Of all the cultural barriers to overcome, the concepts of solitude and empty places in Europe were the hardest. I guess these things hit in a different way around these parts, for many reasons that I'll probably never understand. I see that people here either love being around people, or love hiking in the woods to be alone. To be in an urban environment without other people seems to be forbidden. A bad omen. At least, that's what it seems to me.
When I think about my country, I think about sparsely populated places that are not abandoned. Even in the larger cities, if you turn the right street, it feels like walking into a ghost town. I still didn't find that here. When I think of Europe, there are always people present. Lots of people.
As an extreme introvert who doesn't want to be a hermit, who likes the anonymity and solitude of the big cities, this will be a challenge to overcome, but it's not impossible (I think). Maybe I just have to find the right street. There's always a way.
Except for the lack of windows. I fucking hate the lack of windows. It's like living in a concrete box.