Yesterday's jaunt through New York writer haunts in Greenwich Village began at Washington Square North -- the world of Edith Wharton, Henry James and others. Was wishing I'd brought fingerless gloves by the time I finished this sketch, it was so cold.
Then we went in search of Louisa May Alcott's ghost, on MacDougal Street. When we spied a cozy-looking cafe across the street, we decided to pause our wandering and warm up over steaming mugs of tea. The minute we stepped in, we knew we'd want to spend a few hours -- it was exactly the sort of old-timey place you dream of stumbling upon as you stroll in the Village.
The host graciously let us take over a table in the front and guided us through the extensive selection of teas. For subjects, we had the shop's ever-changing clientele, some of whom ordered drinks to go and some of whom lingered to read or gossip or tap away at a keyboard.
I kept a few of the tea-stained placemats to paste into my sketchbook (they were a bit too buckled to draw on).
Then we went in search of Louisa May Alcott's ghost, on MacDougal Street. When we spied a cozy-looking cafe across the street, we decided to pause our wandering and warm up over steaming mugs of tea. The minute we stepped in, we knew we'd want to spend a few hours -- it was exactly the sort of old-timey place you dream of stumbling upon as you stroll in the Village.
The host graciously let us take over a table in the front and guided us through the extensive selection of teas. For subjects, we had the shop's ever-changing clientele, some of whom ordered drinks to go and some of whom lingered to read or gossip or tap away at a keyboard.
I kept a few of the tea-stained placemats to paste into my sketchbook (they were a bit too buckled to draw on).
