When I lived and worked in Washington, D.C. in the ‘80s and ‘90s, my friend, T.H., used Metro to travel back and forth to work each day. Her apartment was in the far-flung land of “Takoma Park,” and, at her urging, I took the Red Line to visit her.
She was a friend on the hippy end of the spectrum—she smelled earthily of patchouli and always wore cool crystal earrings which she believed altered her force field. Her clothes were flowy and sometimes she’d bring to work chocolate bread with raspberries that she’d bought from a bakery near her house.
I was curious, as an uptight downtown apartment dweller in the corporate mold, to see the groovy commune that I imagined was her home.
She lived on top of a funky shop that now houses a bed and breakfast. Back then, you’d find crafts and collectibles from around the world in her downstairs: African masks, brass finger cymbals, scented oils. Her apartment was painted vibrant colors—a different hue in every room. It was an incense, wine and candles kind of place; her mattress, covered in purple sheets, was purposefully on the floor—very alt!
She had Newman’s Organic Lemonade in the refrigerator and a silk robe on her bathroom hook. Her hand soap was called Kiss My Face, emblazoned with a peace sign. I was in another country.
My apartment in Glover Park was decorated like Crate and Barrel: white walls with white trim, matching fabrics, and boxes of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese in the kitchen pantry.
But my Takoma Park outings began to have an effect; after trying so hard to look adult and traditional, I began to experiment with scarves and dangly earrings. I draped vintage linens over my curtain rods. And though I never actually bought patchouli oil, I’d dab on a drop at my wrist whenever I was in one of the “alternative” shops that dotted TP’s main street. I found the bakery with the raspberry chocolate muffins and bought a bagful.
More and more frequently, I would head over to this other world, where you could buy a ukulele next door to a ceramics shop and sip a carrot-beet-celery juice while leafing through the town’s smart and off-beat local paper.
When I got married and my husband and I decided that moving out of Marion Barry’s D.C. might be a wise thing, I knew that Takoma Park was where I’d like to live.
So, okay, it’s true that I am writing this from my living room in … Silver Spring. But we are really, really close (blocks!) to Takoma Park. Silver Spring is, after all, the perfect place to align my secret inner hippy with my square Miss Priss tendencies.
Here are my favorite Takoma Park spots that have been around since I ventured “all the way out here” with my old work friend:
Now and Then for gifts ranging from quirky to elegant. So fun to browse around and you can always find the perfect gift. I treated myself to a great square-faced watch with a pink leather band for my birthday. Knitters have their own dedicated corner of scrumptious yarns. Sign up for their knitting classes!
Mark’s Kitchen still serves health in a glass, combining fresh fruits and veggies into delicious juices. Their menu emphasizes vegetarian and really good healthful selections. There is a friendly diner-appeal to this place: lively conversations and forks tinging on plates. I used to schedule morning appointments at the midwives’ office across the street just so I could linger over a strawberry-kiwi-ginger juice or a cup of hot chai at Mark’s afterward.
The House of Musical Traditions has moved around the corner from their old address. Stop in for a handful of guitar picks, the latest information on folk concerts, or an African drum. A few steps away, you can take Hula-hooping classes at Contradiction Dance.
Video Americain rents movies on DVD and even VHS. Titles are organized by category but also by director and by country of origin. You will have a great time on the hunt for something new to watch. The handwritten signs and house-faves section give me a major nostalgia buzz when I walk in. Blockbuster, be gone!
The Sunday Farmers’ Market on the main street teems with organic produce, fresh breads, local honey, humanely-raised meats, and eggs still warm from the hen. Walk around with your recyclable bags and fill up with herbs and wildflowers. Always a lively scene, sometimes accompanied by banjo!
Summer Delights has a migraine-inducing flashing light in its window, but if you can get past that, you’ll find creamy soft-serve and the world’s nicest community-minded shop owner around, Greg Moorin.
Roscoe’s is new and wasn’t around when T.H. lived here, but she would love the wood fire oven-cooked pizzas made with flour and olive oil imported from Italy. Nice ambiance in the old HMT building. Upstairs, Eric Bond still cranks out the amazing and fundamental Takoma Voice.
And I haven’t even mentioned the antique shop, the vintage clothing stores, the Middle Eastern restaurant and the awesome leather furniture and housewares in Magic Carpet. Take the Red Line away from your demanding job and connect with your inner groovster in Takoma Park.
