AN EYE ON THE CROWD

There have been times in my travels when I have felt that I simply could not take one more step. Whether it was after climbing the Seven Hills of Rome or hiking up Victoria Peak in Hong Kong, all I have wanted to do was to collapse into a chair or onto a bench.

But not merely any chair in any cafe, or any bench in any park or plaza. Finding the right place to catch your breath--or just wanting to sit down after a stroll--can offer a marvelous opportunity to absorb distinct flavors in any city. Indeed, it can even make you feel a part of the city rather than a transient observer.

It has had that effect on me.

Some of my most pleasant memories are of sitting in a particular cafe or plaza, enjoying a coffee or aperitif, immersing myself into the local scene and generally feeling very cosmopolitan watching the fascinating parade of people against a historical backdrop.

A list has emerged of favorite spots to which I keep returning each time I visit a particular city. There is something to be said of continuity and tradition, if only to help one judge time and change.

The list is select and arbitrary, leaning toward my prejudices--as an urban design critic--for vistas and historical landmarks, my love of cities, the animated scenes that lend them character and, not the least, my continuing affection for food and drink.

Leading this list is St. Mark’s Square in Venice, the Piazza San Marco. Cliche as it may be, overrun by travelers as it has been for 500 years, the San Marco still has to be one of the greatest places in the world in which to sit while soaking up a sense of history and watching all shapes, sizes, colors, breeds and styles of mankind meander by.

Sitting in the piazza, sipping a cappuccino while indulging in a casual conversation with a companion, glancing at the Campanile--the 324-foot bell tower built in the 10th Century and wondering whether it will collapse again as it did in 1902--gives meaning to the inscription on select Venetian sundials: Horas non numero nisi serenas --”I count only the happy hours.”

The piazza is particularly seductive at night from May through September, when sea breezes drift in off the Adriatic to cool the gathering crowd, lights play against the arcaded facades casting haunting shadows, and the sky above twinkles, as do the eyes of the strollers.

With no cars or motor scooters to mar the setting, it is easy to think of oneself as being transmitted back in time to when Venice was the greatest, most powerful city on earth and its citizens and visitors were privileged to be able to sit in the piazza and pass judgment on the world.

If only the competing small orchestras would confine their repertoire to the works of such period composers as Vivaldi, instead of pandering to tips by playing such tunes as “Peg o’ My Heart.” Perhaps they play such tunes merely to remind us that nothing is perfect in this imperfect world.

Of the various cafes in San Marco that extend into the piazza, my favorite is the Cafe Florian. My allegiance stems from the fact that the cafe was patronized by such notables as Rousseau, Byron, Goethe and George Sand and has an orchestra that leans toward Vivaldi. And, if it happens to drizzle or gets too cold, you can retreat into an interior that is pure 19th-Century glitz.

But when all the good tables at the Florian are taken, or if you merely want to get another perspective of the piazza and an overpriced dessert or drink elsewhere, the Cafe Quadri and the Grand Cafe are two fine alternatives. Find a seat, rest your feet, sigh, survey the grandeur of the piazza and let your hours there be happy ones.

In Rome, the Piazza Navonna with its three magnificent fountains may be grander, the Piazza del Popolo at the convergence of four of the city’s busiest streets more vital, the Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere friendlier and the Piazza dei Campidoglio (designed by Michelangelo) better detailed, but I prefer the Piazza della Rotunda.

It is not because I have a favorite cafe or bar there. None of the piazza’s three or four is particularly distinctive. Their espressos and ice creams are about the same, which is to say that you can get much better quality for less money elsewhere. My preference is due to the Pantheon, which dominates the piazza. First constructed by order of Agrippa in 27 BC and rebuilt by Hadrian about 150 years later, the Pantheon is Rome’s best-preserved classical building, having served a variety of gods for about 2,000 years. Its monumental entrance, framed by 16 towering granite columns, is one of architecture’s most powerful statements. The building is, in a word, awesome, especially considering when it was built, what it has endured and what scenes must have transpired in and around it.

In addition to its view of the Pantheon, I like the piazza’s more intimate scale. It makes for a good place to meet someone. You will not get lost looking for each other, as can happen in the much larger Navonna.

If you prefer--as I do--to sit and study a building, the Cafe de la Paix at 12 Boulevard des Capucines in Paris offers a stunning view of the Paris Opera House, a marvelous Beaux Arts landmark that is a reminder that the word ostentation is rooted in French.

With its marble pillars, antique furniture and ornate facade, the Cafe de la Paix is also an official French landmark. And, since it graces one of the city’s more popular shopping streets, it is a convenient place to sit while one’s wife tours the stores to bolster the troubled French economy.

If you want to choose one place in Paris in the evening, it has to be Aux Deux Magots at 170 Boulevard St. Germain-des-Pres on the Left Bank. For generations, that cafe was a popular watering hole for artists, writers and philosophers who made Paris their home--among them Picasso, Verlaine, Rimbaud and Sartre.

Its popularity perseveres, thanks in part to waiters who let you nurse a coffee for hours and to the characters that the cafe attracts. Almost every evening, if the weather is tolerable, mimes, jugglers, fire eaters and magicians of varying talent perform on the sidewalk and street before the cafe, offering a marvelous diversion.

But the best show of all is the parade of people on the boulevard. It is a Parisian fashion show that never bores. My waiter confessed that he was writing a history of the cafe and was only posing as a waiter, even though he served me and graciously accepted a tip. Everyone at the Deux Magots has a story to tell, if you are willing to listen.

The concept of the literary cafe--a meeting place for philosophers to sharpen their wits-- grew out of the coffeehouses made popular in Vienna in the 19th Century and before that in London. The tradition struggles on in Vienna.

My favorite place for checking out the scene when I was there seven years ago was the Cafe Sperl, at 11 Gumpendorferstrasse, a turn-of-the-century gem replete with a billiard and gaming room. Though I do not remember that the views out its windows were anything special, I loved the globular chandeliers, the high ceilings and the small, marble-topped tables, where I would sit and--in the spirit of old Vienna--write descriptive passages in a diary that I subsequently lost.

No doubt Sigmund Freud, who is said to have frequented the Sperl, would have made some telling comment about the loss. As it is, I have had to rely on my memory of marvelous coffee, dim lights and a waiter, who, upon seeing me scribbling so earnestly, remarked that the Sperl was for artists, and that if I was a writer, I should go to the writers’ cafe, which was Cafe Hawelka, at 6 Dorotheergasse.

I later went to the Hawelka-- which featured upholstered booths and an ample supply of newspapers and magazines, including a few from the United States--to nurse a coffee and read a paper.

A fine cup of coffee also is served in Almonds, in the Roppongi district of Tokyo. What makes Almonds special is that the wide windows of its five-story facade offer a view of one of the busiest corners in one of the more popular areas of Tokyo.

It became that way in part because of a clock there, which has become famous as a meeting place. Even Tokyo taxicab drivers, who are famous for losing their way, will know what you mean and how to get there when they hear “under the clock at Almonds.” The corner also is but a few steps from the Roppongi subway station.

Whether “under the clock” or above in Almonds, at that corner one can view the compelling chaos of pedestrian life that makes Tokyo the exciting city it is. And what appeals to me is that the view is in a vibrant local area, away from the more tourist-filled Ginza.

In London, the coffeehouse tradition of long ago has given way to tearooms and pubs. The latter remain marvelous places to retreat to after a hard day of sightseeing and shopping. The best time to go to a tearoom is at high tea, at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, and for me, the most appealing spot is upstairs at venerable Fortnum & Mason. Harrods may be trendier, and the Ritz ritzier, but good old Fortnum & Mason has always appeared more real, which is to say it’s the department store where great-aunts come to instruct their nieces and nephews on the niceties of teatime. I also like its tea blends and scones.

Pubs are another, more personal matter. Everyone who has ever visited England has a favorite. I like the Duke of Wellington at 63 Eaton Terrace in Belgravia because it is cozy, convenient and where my wife’s misplaced handbag (with her passport, money and airline ticket) was found and hung over the bar among the horse brasses and military prints until we noticed and claimed it.

How could I not recommend the pub after that incident?

But the Duke of Wellington also serves a reasonable hot pot and cottage pie along with a range of beverages, including cider. It is a scene that I feel is more English than the changing of the guards.

When winding down on the Cote d’Azur, I always choose the front terrace of the Carlton Hotel on the Promenade de la Croisette in Cannes.

There at sunset a few years ago, while watching a gaggle of sunbathers returning from the beach, that an elderly gentleman sharing my table asked with concern: “Tell me, please, have I died? For the view here is what I always have expected it would be like in heaven.”

If what you want to see are sunsets, and from a restful perch, few are more dramatic than those seen in Hong Kong harbor while you ride on the fabled Star Ferry. The ferry is fascinating anytime, but at dusk--with the sun setting over Victoria Peak and the lights and signs of the scintillating city beginning to twinkle as the sampans float by--the view can be memorable. Should the ferry get crowded, as it does at rush hour, walk to the Regent Hotel. Its mezzanine lounge offers yet another spectacular view of the harbor, with the added attraction of comfortable seating and a wide choice of drinks and snacks.

Though New York City invites walking,it has surprisingly few public spaces in the Mid-town area to sit and catch one’s breath while keeping an eye on the sauntering crowds. As with most things in New York, you have to elbow your way to what is available.

My favorite place, when it is not raining or excessively cold, is the Grand Army Plaza at the southwest corner of 59th Street and Fifth Avenue. The plaza offers diverting views of not only a steady stream of crowds, and horse carriages that take on tourists nearby, but also of a diverse collection of New York architecture.

To the west is the landmark Plaza Hotel-- an ornate masterpiece, to the south the fabled facade of Fifth Avenue, to the east the monolithic General Motors building, and to the north Central Park. Of course, there’s the plaza itself, dominated by the Pulitzer Fountain that’s topped by the figure of Abundance, an appropriate symbol for an affluent neighborhood.

A less fashionable but equally fascinating place from which to watch the world drift by is Jackson Square in New Orleans. Dominated by St. Louis Cathedral, the square certainly is a most graceful, genuine landmark to escape to. A particular attraction is a few steps away at Decatur Street at St. Ann’s, the Cafe du Monde, which serves only coffee and beignets , sugared or plain.

Another park I always have enjoyed is Washington Square in San Francisco. With its mix of Chinese, Italians, aged beatniks and other assorted locals wandering through, and with something always seemingly going on at the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul on the north or the Italian Men’s Athletic Club on the east, the square seems to me to offer an engaging view of a distinctive city. Some excellent restaurants are nearby.

Take Washington Square Park, combine it with Jackson Square and St. Mark’s, add a touch of the Croisette, throw in a few cafes and a dozen restaurants, let the mixture expand, decorate it with pieces of Disneyland and you get Copenhagen’s Tivoli Garden. Open May through September, Tivoli has to be one of the most pleasant, happiest places in the world. My favorite spot is the terrace of Divan 1--if not, then Divan 2--or almost anywhere that I can enjoy a beer or a coffee and watch the crowds and marching bands.

If you can, go to Tivoli on Midsummer Night (June 23), when the crowds are the biggest, noisiest and friendliest, the bonfires the brightest, and all of Denmark seems to be passing in review.