Listicle

Gone are the days of capricious weekend getaways and excessively anticipated trips to far off lands – or so it seems, at least. No, under the weighty limitations of the corona virus, we content ourselves with side-stepping strangers on one of the few open trails nearby or visiting a Trader Joe’s in the next county over because its rumored to have shorter lines. But, with great oppression comes great creativity. When it comes to traveling in 2020, the front lines of innovation have been pushed, as we all struggle to adapt to this jarring, new way of life and work within its parameters. The static background green screening your life suddenly becomes alive when looked at through wearied eyes and by a disheartened soul; like The Garden of Earthly Delights, you only find more the longer you stare. We explore our neighborhoods and backyards, meandering familiar streets with newfound free time, pondering newfound challenges. Travel is born not only from physical setting but from the mental experience that encompasses it. What looks like a haunted house at night might seem a castle in the light of day. Our experience of place can change and grow with the flight of our minds. The 2020 mind takes the hardened fossil of our local neighborhood and melts it down, loosening its atoms’ grip on one another, making the solid malleable.

Therapy, psychiatry, and mental counseling in general are likely among the few industries that have actually profited under Donald Trump’s Covid America. Between the egregious consequences of a systemically and institutionally racist country, a global pandemic that’s secondary consequences encompass newfound depths of social isolation, the abhorrently capricious demagogue running the country, and the cancellation of Keeping Up with The Kardashians, the need for professional mental health guidance has never been more dire. No strangers to this pervasive melancholia are the student of the University of Denver, who are ruing each class they naively skipped before the luxury of walking to Sturm on a crisp fall day was rescinded. But next in the endless obstacle course of unprecedented impediments is this: the walls of your 1,000 square foot house are paper thin, and your four roommates haven’t seen the light of day since yesterday’s Birdcall run, plus two of their boyfriends seemed to have moved in (although no one has acknowledged this yet), and privacy is a luxury. Like all domains of life post-corona, you must get creative. Here are some little-known spots that are perfect for a 50-minute TeleHealth appointment with your trusty confidant:

 

  • Robert H. McWilliams Park

Unbeknownst to the general consciousness of the student body is Robert H. McWilliams Park, a 1.8 mile bike ride that Google Maps presumptuously reports as taking 13 minutes although this route takes me at least 20 minutes on my most manic days (don’t believe everything you read on the internet, people). Other than a few club athletes sporting DU garb who coach the 4thgraders in lacrosse and soccer on the other side of the creek, I’ve never encountered a fellow Pio while lamenting the death of spontaneous human interaction with Dr. Farquhar under the shade of the oak trees.

  • This Random Tree Outside of the Registrar’s Office

While so many visceral, interactive aspects of campus have changed, like a decapitated cockroach crawling frantically in a blind frenzy, so many of its inherent stressors have stayed the same. The familiar academically induced breakdown hasn’t lost its stubborn charm, only donned a mask. As a humanitarian, I’m most familiar with the terrain of North-West campus, and my favorite virtual Shrinking Couch is under this old reliable. Bonus: It’s near the library, so if anyone sees you in the throes of emotion, they’ll assume that all of your midterms fall on week 4.

  • Blackjack Pizza Parking Lot

There is no more fertile ground for honest transparency than the illusion of anonymity. We are lulled into this false sense of namelessness as soon as we venture a few blocks from the University’s buildings – a small, stressed out fish in a large pond of Conocos and Cherry Hills commuters. I find that I can really open up to my therapist about my increasing pessimism and disillusionment with a world morphing into a caricature when I stoop it on the curb outside of Blackjack’s. Besides, it’s the worst pizza in the Denver Metro Area, so you’re guaranteed solitude.

  • The Alley Between S High and S Williams St

One of the DU area’s most attractive qualities is its abundance of outstanding alleys. Littered with trash, populated by a cohort of upperclassmen spiraling into reckless despondency, and overrun by a particularly aggressive tribe of squirrels, the alleyways from High to Downing really increase the property value of the college cottages in the area. If you can find a sunny spot free from freshman stoners sneaking out of the dorm and the mysterious wet patches punctuating the uneven concrete, you can really overanalyze with your mental health professional.

Review

I visited Stowaway Kitchen in the RiNo art district of downtown Denver for a friend’s birthday celebration last Saturday. The indoor-outdoor locale was pet friendly and covid cautious, which we greatly appreciated. We had to wait for out entire party to be present before we were seated, but the staff patiently waited for us as a few stragglers came in late, holding our reservation for over 20 minutes. Stowaway Kitchen has a limited but eclectic menu of creative, plant-based dishes. The breakfast selections were available all day and the sandwiches and salads hovered around the $20 range. While we greatly enjoyed our selections from the unconventional, farm-to-table menu (fresh fruit at muesli, a classic breakfast sandwich with a saucy twist, a Japanese salmon salad, and an eggplant and halloumi sandwich) and the carefully curated cocktails, the most distinctive aspect of our experience at Stowaway was the atmosphere and proximity provided by it’s ideal location. Our party of four was delighted to find that the restaurant was located only a few blocks south of the heart of RiNo, and that the area’s characteristic murals and public art installations permeated the quiet street where Stowaway was tucked away only a stone’s throw from RiNo’s main promenade. Nestled in between an art gallery and an apparently popular brewery, my friends and I enjoyed the vibrant art painted on the surrounding walls and the eclectic meanderers of the district as we were seated on the patio of Stowaway’s indoor-outdoor layout. The outdoor seating provided to us gave us a strong sense of engagement with the environment around us, and our delicious food was only elevated in overall experience by the liveliness that we were included in due to the strong sense of place that Stowaway Kitchen capitalizes upon. As I enjoyed a halloumi and eggplant sandwich, I was able to watch as a mural was being finished across the street from me. The only thing better than the artisanal Bloody Mary was having this libation paired with real-time art creation that took shape over the duration of our meal just across the street. If you are looking for a meal immersed within the genuine RiNo experience, I highly recommend Stowaway Kitchen.