By ANAR SALAYEV
In Jaime Lerner’s book “Urban Acupuncture,” he talks about how cities can stir senses, produce memories, and provide a feeling of belonging. He writes of the experience of a city signaling the time of day and the seasons as well as the spices and colors that make a city.
I have never before lived somewhere that was so inspiring to the senses quite like Kensington, a neighborhood rich with sights, sounds, smells, and flavors.
A day starts with the church bell’s chimes, a backing track to the sound of children arriving at preschool. As my dog, Coco, and I walk towards Adams, I hear the conversations of men at the corner courtyard and the giggling of kids at the playground. The eateries are busy opening for the day, busboys greet passersby while setting up patio furniture. The American flags lining the sidewalk remind me that today’s a holiday. I return to my porch to read a bit before work, occasionally waving at people on their way to grab fresh coffee and pastries.
The morning hustle quiets down for a few hours where the neighborhood is still, only to wake back up with the church bells at noon. Outdoor patios fill up with workers and residents enjoying the lunch specials. After lunch, we take another walk around the neighborhood, helping myself to fresh kumquat and mandarins. I run into a neighbor, an older man, who stepped out to grab an onion from the corner market. The conversations are rarely long but they add flavor to an otherwise quiet day.
The smells of grilled meat and onions fill the air as the sun starts to set. Couples walking their dogs fill the streets. As we turn onto Adams, the Kensington sign lights up. In the winter, the large pine tree near the playground would also light up. Six o’clock is announced by the church bell’s final chime for the day, which includes an additional melody. The local French restaurant opens its doors for dinner, filling with guests dressed to impress. 
Soon Kensington will be asleep, with only the sound of the occasional car on the 15. On weekends, muted music can be heard from the Kensington Club, where a small group is huddled outside, enjoying one another’s company over a smoke. Across the street, a truck is parked, unloading goods for the coming day. The smell of wood draws me to an open window, where a couple sits in front of a cozy fire. Around the corner, I come across the church that serves as the neighborhood clock. I stop to look at its stained glass before I head back home. What a beautiful place is a neighborhood full of flavor, with spice and color that are the essence of its soul.
