Take me home!
Back to the Peanut Gallery

Saturday, August 13th, 2005
Kensington

I went down to Kensington Market yesterday and every time I'm there, I'm struck by the raw humanity to be found at every turn. There's a smell of weed, sweat and grime that fills the air, and never ever ever will I eat anything from there that wasn't firmly sealed before it arrived at that store. I'm careful not to drink too many fluids so that I won't have to use a bathroom there. I watch my purse a little more closely, I sometimes have to zigzag on the sidewalk to avoid stepping in fluids that smell like the dumpsters outside of Commons on a warm day. And yet, being there makes me feel more alive than any other part of the city. It would not be possible for me to notice all of the activity around me because every inch of the sidewalks, the brick walls, the fences and windows seems to vibrate with energy, with character, with history. It's not the old-world charm of entering the 450-year-old home of Laure's uncle in a small village in Southern France; it's the sense that for decades, this has been common ground for such diverse traditions, foods, music...so many faces blending to create just one human...vibe (for lack of a better word). You can never feel out of place there. It's not welcoming in the strictest sense of the word, but more like...accepting. Even celebratory, for after all of its defects and imperfections, there is the underlying feeling that everything little thing will, ultimately, be alright.