Last Friday, I woke up and got an iced mocha and jalapeño kolache from my favorite local bakery. It was my grandfather’s 81st birthday, so I picked up some barbecue, then popped into HEB for a birthday cake and went to celebrate with him. I went out with my friends for a drink and dinner, and thought excitedly about what restaurant or store I might want to explore for this week’s blog. It was a lovely Friday.
Today is Thursday.
It hasn’t even been a week.
All bars, restaurants and nonessential stores have closed their doors. There’s a city ordinance prohibiting more than 10 people from gathering together. Classes have moved to online for the rest of the semester and dorms are being cleared. A trip to the grocery store won’t result in restocking your household with toilet paper, but it could result in life-threatening illness.
There’s a global pandemic, Texas is in a state of disaster, and here I am writing a blog about local exploration.
Quite frankly, writing a blog post is fucking hard for me right now.
My mind is elsewhere.
My mind is busy dealing with the fact that it won’t be safe for me to visit my grandparents for the rest of the season, maybe longer. It’s busy figuring out how to deal with anxiety and depression while being cooped up in the house. It’s busy worrying about the people who served us drinks last Friday, and everyone else, who may not have a job today. It’s busy thinking about the HEB employees who are working hard, risking their lives to make sure people can purchase things they need to live.
My mind is busy with overwhelming concern about this big, new threat to public health. It’s busy thinking about the overcrowded hospitals, the lack of ventilators and the absence of testing. It’s busy feeling heartbreak for the doctors who signed up to be heroes, but instead, are having to choose who lives and who dies.
My mind is busy wondering when the COVID-19 pandemic will end and when peace of mind will begin.
But even though my mind is busy, and the world is drowning in collective panic, life goes on. So here I am, forcing myself to write. Writing not only to get a grade for my class, but to document my story and provide some form of entertainment for others.
There will have to be indefinite changes made to this blog.
We’ll have to get creative as far as finding places to go. Many places aren’t safe and lifestyle changes are being made. I’m no longer a local tourist. I’m a local trying to stay sane in a pandemic.
For my first touristy Austin outing, I wanted to include my three favorite things: shopping, sightseeing and gluttony. To accomplish this, I spent my Saturday visiting a famed antique shop, a hidden corporate food park, and a rooftop bar fit for the bourgeoisie.
A foreword: since this is my first blog post with actual content relevant to my topic, I’m going to lay down the law in regards to my format. Each post will be done like this one. There will be a “main attraction”, a renowned tourist hot spot or popular destination that I will break down in detail and rate on several criteria relevant to the experience. There may also be some “honorable mentions”, or less well-known places I stumbled upon, to compliment the main attraction. I will give them a shout out and describe my experience, but will not rate them in great detail.
Uncommon Objects is a well-known antique shop in Austin. It used to be located in the beloved shopping district on South Congress, but has recently relocated a little further south to Fortview Road. Even though it’s more tucked away now, it is still acclaimed as one of the best antique collectives in Texas.
I had not been here since I was a wee little lass with a wee little memory, so this was essentially like going to an entirely new place for me. I was instantly saluted by the same, familiar smell that haunts every antique shop: a comforting bouquet of scents emitted by a melting pot of objects that have outlasted their heyday.
This store was absolutely packed with an array of strange, old things. You know, uncommonobjects. I felt as though I was snooping through an abandoned estate, full of expensive, cursed items. It felt intrusive, but in a fun way.
Here’s a gallery of some of my favorite finds:
I fell in love with the giant papier-maché cat, but she was $550.
As you can see, there’s a little bit of everything, from taxidermy, to art, to glasswares, to toys, and even to ominous leather bags that have the word, “blood” painted on them. I happily spent over an hour rummaging through all of these things. If you’ve ever dreamed of going to a museum where you can break the “no-touching” rule, you would adore this place.
The Beans: Uncommon Objects
Someone call Bush’s because we are spilling beans, not tea, on this blog.
Accessibility: Parking was a breeze – much easier than at the old South Congress location. This is much appreciated as someone who is terrible at parking. 5/5 stars.
Pricing: This is hard to objectively rate. I couldn’t really afford anything in here, and things do seem overpriced… however, it is important to consider the hard work that goes into curating and maintaining these objects. I’m going to give them 3.5/5 stars on this, but it is important to note that consumerism isn’t a focus at this store. If you’re looking for value, go to Goodwill.
Service: Perfect! The store associates are friendly and available if you need help, but leave you alone as you browse. 5/5 stars.
Crowd: I visited on a Saturday afternoon, and was pleasantly surprised by how not-packed this store was. There were a few moms with children, a group of high school kids, and a few other young adults browsing. Nobody was obnoxious, and I wasn’t claustrophobic, so 4/5 stars.
Overall experience: As someone who loves creepy, odd things, as well as the idea of going through other peoples’ things in a non-problematic way, 5/5 stars. Uncommon Objects gave me everything I want in an antique shop.
When it came time to eat, my friend and I stumbled upon a hidden gem inside of an office food court: TLV Israeli Street Food.
We really didn’t expect much, this being located inside of an office food court, but we were actually served some of the best Israeli food we’ve ever had. Everything was perfectly seasoned, beautifully cooked, and quickly made – I’m also awarding bonus points for the friendly cashier who told us how to make their tasty pomegranate soda!
We ordered two of the main dishes: I got the Falafel Be-Pita, and my friend went for the Chicken Hawaiej Hummus Manot. The pita was fresh and fluffy, with delightfully spicy green falafel, hummus, and crunchy, pickled veggies inside. The manot was comprised of a bed of hummus, with piquant, tender chicken, veggies, and seasonings laying comfortably on top.
We set up shop on the hilly astroturf lawn outside, inhaled our dishes, and enjoyed the afternoon view.
I feel that we are not alone in this, but my friend and I have an affinity for rooftop bars. The rooftop bar to beat all rooftop bars in Austin happens to sit 20 stories high, upon the swanky Westin Hotel on 5th Street. It is a place where rich folk sip $14 cocktails whilst literally looking down upon the poor, so we had to sneak our beggarly asses in.
I’m kidding, we did not have to sneak in. Azul Rooftop Bar is open to the public. But it felt like we needed to sneak in, as I was wearing my beat-up high top Vans, ill-fitting $15 mom jeans and dingy white t-shirt. I plastered my best, “I belong here,” expression across my poor, bare face and booked it up the stairs as soon as we entered the hotel.
We eventually found the elevator and arrived at the twentieth floor, where the bar is located. Even though we didn’t fit in with the rest of the crowd, we felt an odd comfort. Typically we’re very obviously looked down upon when we infiltrate rich hives like this, but everyone was minding their business, enjoying the incredible sunset view.
Ambient indie music played in the background as we enjoyed our overpriced, yet delicious, cucumber gin cocktails and discussed how the entire day felt like a vacation.
In this moment, I realized that this blog is actually worth something. I felt accomplished. The idea of exploring your hometown like a tourist isn’t just an excuse to do something fun on the weekends, it’s a way to see your city from an immersive, new perspective. We actually felt like we had traveled to a new place, and in a way, I guess we did.
the local tourist 