This article was first published in the Canberra Times in May 2010
Europe has given us a lot to be thankful for: stylish small cars, air kissing and Eurovision. One thing that I don't think we should add to the list, however, is al fresco dining.
Once upon a time, footpaths were intended as places for safe thoroughfare – getting from one place to another without the inconvenience of getting hit by a car. But utilitarian design has given over to commercial impetus. Walk down the average city footpath now you are more likely to feel the same kind of slight embarrassment as if you had unintentionally walked in on a dinner party to which you weren't invited.
This once-public space has become an unnavigable maze of chairs, tables and market umbrellas. A trip to the post office now involves a sort of stop-start dance reminiscent of the 80s arcade game, Frogger, as you yield to the oncoming pram before making a dash in front of the waiter ferrying a scalding cup of coffee across no man's land with little more than a cursory glance around him. And before you go complaining that you can't fit your wheelchair down the footpath any more, just remind yourself that this is all terribly European. And everybody knows that 'European' is shorthand for stylish and sophisticated, so stop your bloody whingeing.
AustRoads' Guide to Traffic Engineering Practice: Pedestrians sets an absolute minimum width of 1.5 metres for pedestrian passage so that wheelchairs can pass. The Pedestrian Council of Australia website states that ideally we should allow a continuous accessible path of 1.8 metres so that people with disabilities can perform basic functions such as shopping, attending public facilities, going home or visiting friends. Given this, I'd suggest that our Councils need to take a ruler to all those people who insist on pushing their chairs way out into the pedestrian zone in flagrant disregard of the needs, comfort and safety of those around them.
Maybe I wouldn't be so annoyed by al fresco dining if I actually enjoyed it in the first place but the fact of the matter is that I don't love the smell of exhaust in the morning. And, with further apologies to Apocalypse Now fans, that gasoline smell isn't victory; it's ruining my meal.
Add in the noise of passing motorcycles, honking horns and the inconvenience of wind and other weather, and it's hard to tease out the relaxing or enjoyable aspects of the experience, much less the exotic and cosmopolitan side to it.
I also have a theory that the world of outdoor eating is populated by a particularly selfish subset of society. What do these people have in common? Unappetising behaviours and habits.
The old adage is that a bit of fresh air aids digestion, but while the smokers monopolise all of the best outdoor spaces, the only fresh air you're going to get is the 'menthol fresh' variety. Sitting outside amongst the 'elements' is more likely to mean those from the carcinogenic end of the periodic table – arsenic, lead, cadmium and the like.
Then there's the Lycra brigade – cyclists who are so concerned with the aerodynamics of their sport that they insist on wear body-hugging clothing that gives us all a bit too much information anatomically speaking. Oddly, they don't seem quite so concerned about fitness or efficiency that they can't fit in a croissant before peddling off home.
And to top it all off, there's the dogs. Some people seem incapable of grabbing a short black without their canine in tow. Dogs, let it be known, love nothing more than a chance to stretch out and watch the passing parade on a Saturday morning. Unfortunately this usually means stretching out across your feet as well because the tables are always so claustrophobically close. Just try and keep your mind off the fact that those very hindquarters almost certainly passed a bowel movement in the last hour.
Now, tell me again, how's your appetite?
Perhaps the most telling thing about outdoor dining, though, is the extraordinary lengths with which we try to make it as indoor-like as possible. What does it mean when we sit behind coffee-brand emblazoned partitions, surrounded by clear plastic blinds or huddled under gas-guzzling heaters? As you try and secure the one table that is actually in the shade despite the spectacularly large umbrellas and eat off linen table cloths so that you can pretend this is a silver service experience, you've got to ask yourself what the point to all this al fresco business is anyway. Perhaps you need to examine the evidence, and consider the possibility that you'd actually just rather go inside.
Maybe then, the rest of us can get back to the business of using footpaths for their intended purpose.
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