Stirring a Virtual Melting Pot

Just off Times Square on a bitterly cold evening, Reynaldo Mendoza sits amid a sea of computer screens, staring at a video image direct from the Philippines of his wife and four children, whom he has not seen in six years.

Chatting online, they type messages back and forth--in a mixture of English and Tagalog--about the kids’ schoolwork, the weather, Mendoza’s job at a lingerie firm, his wife’s health problems. Webcams on both ends send jerky images, reminiscent of astronauts in space.

Although the topics are personal, this is hardly a private space. On nearby screens, a Turkish student plays backgammon with his girlfriend in Istanbul, a Mexican restaurant worker checks on news of a volcano that erupted near his home and an Argentine actress--currently working in the subway as a “living statue”--e-mails a director in hopes of getting a movie role.

More than 600 people are crammed into this two-tiered space, all sitting at computer screens embedded in long rows of blond wood that look like an IKEA version of NASA mission control. Displayed on at least half the screens are languages other than English.

This is the new melting pot, virtually stirred. It’s the rebirth of the Internet cafe in the United States on the Wal-Mart model. And it’s aimed mostly at foreign nationals and tourists.

Internet cafes enjoyed a brief fling in this country in the mid-1990s as comfy coffeehouses where the digital avant-garde and the curious met to commune with kindred spirits on the Internet.

But this time, the cafe has been resurrected as a kind of Ellis Island of global communications. In a land that has been permeated by the Internet over the last five years, the cafe has found a new niche as a pay-by-the-hour lifeline for the mobile, the poor and the digitally dispossessed.

“Sure I wish I had a computer to myself at home,” says Turgrul Ozturk, the 23-year-old college student from Turkey. “But I don’t have a credit card yet.”

The easyEverything cafe in Times Square, which opened in November, is the largest of its kind in the world with 800 computers screens spread over 18,000 square feet of fluorescent glare. It’s so big that users e-mail the in-house snack bar to have coffee and pastry delivered to their terminals.

Several companies are planning to open mega-cafes this year in other cities, including Los Angeles, home of one of the largest immigrant populations in the country.

The companies face a crushing economic reality--computers and Internet access already are relatively cheap in this country and getting cheaper. It was the same price spiral that killed Internet cafes in the U.S. in the first place.

But the companies have been buoyed by another phenomenon that gives some hope for the volume approach. While intensive uses such as work, school and game playing have pushed computers into more than half of American homes, the revolution also has given birth to a thousand small and fleeting uses that are compelling to the masses, often simply because they are possible.

A few terminals away from Mendoza chatting with his family, Ozturk has a backgammon board on his screen that his girlfriend also can see. He messages his next move in Turkish and the computer automatically moves his pieces on the board.

The informality of the game makes it all the more intimate, as though his girlfriend were nearby. It eases the pain of their years-long separation while he pursues his studies.

Ozturk leans back in his chair and smiles. “She is winning,” he says.

The price of Internet access fluctuates depending on how crowded the cafe is. One dollar buys between 15 minutes and three hours. Just inside the door is a large TV screen that announces the going rate, adjusted automatically by a computer that keeps tabs on how many people are signed on. It’s a gamble--the price can change at any time. But once you get your ticket, you can’t be stuck with a higher rate, no matter how many people come in.

Customers also can rent software, Webcams, scanners and CD burners, as well as make Internet phone calls around the world. Advertisements appear at the bottom of the screen in an almost steady stream, including an occasional one that, if clicked on at the right time, adds 10 free minutes to the user’s total.

With its mixture of locals and foreigners, the cafe may be the new model of the American mosaic, but with everyone individually staring into his or her own computer screen, it’s hardly the new front porch.

Alone in a row at midnight sits Sylvia Ganci, 44, whose day job is delivering singing telegrams. She likes this time of night to work on translating her poetry into French, “because I want to see how it works in that language.” She has pulled the hood of her red sweatshirt over her head. Underneath are earphones through which she listens to Celtic music.

“This is good for people who don’t have computers,” says Ganci, who switched from the computers at the public library because of the crowds. “Here it’s quiet and I can get my work done.”

The sterility of easyEverything is a long way from the quaint beginnings of Internet cafes, which tended to be funky little shops with a dozen or so computers, mismatched furniture, muffins and a laid-back atmosphere.

Internet cafes sprang up in the United States at a time few individuals had home computers and private Internet connections were rare. Rom Agustin of Los Angeles was one of the pioneers in the field, opening CyberJava in Venice in 1995 with four computers.

“People came from as far away as Santa Barbara and San Diego just to see the Internet,” he says. “It was a novelty.”

CyberJava is now a novelty in the U.S. in that it’s still open, although it has moved to Hollywood and has 12 screens (the charge for users is $9 per hour).

Internet cafes fared better in Europe, where telephone users are often charged by the minute, even for local calls. Megacafes are located in many major cities there, and have become a standard way for travelers as well as locals to stay connected.

Model Elizabeth Steidel, 20, uses the cafes whenever she is on the road and was surprised to stumble on one in New York.

“I’m German and living in London now, but modeling is everywhere,” she says, digging into her bag to show a picture of her in the latest issue of Mademoiselle.

Tourists come in all day. Luis Sosa, 63, visiting from Venezuela, found the cafe after asking several people. He is sending out an e-mail with the subject line: “News from New York.” A bit later, Australian Daniel Kulk, 25, sends e-mail to his friends that begins, “G’Day, fellows. This is an amazing city.”

Groups of immigrants duck in after work for a quick check of their e-mail and news sites or a few minutes of chatting.

In the earliest hours of the morning, only a few people are left. They are largely the poor, who have come in at this hour to take advantage of the cheapest rates.

At 4 a.m., most of the neon on 42nd Street is dimmed. Except for the occasional delivery truck and car on the slushy street, it is quiet.

A few customers seem only to be going through the motions. They paid their $1 largely for a warm place to sit for an hour--a reflection of how cheap information has become.

“The rule is no sleeping,” says security guard Elroy Reid, 29. “Otherwise if they are not bothering anybody, it’s not much of a problem. . . . You’d be surprised at how much some of these people know about using a computer.”

Frank Anthony, dressed in several layers of clothing, scours the Web for evidence. He keeps his mittens on while typing.

“I do this every night,” says the soft-spoken Anthony, who describes his age as “over 60.” He is searching through a government patent site and taking notes about equipment that produces microwaves. Anthony is on a mission to prove his theory concerning the explosion and crash of TWA Flight 800 in July 1996 off the coast of Long Island.

“It was an accidental victim of the total number of microwaves, both military and civilian, in the atmosphere at the time,” he says, turning back to his screen. Time is money.

The factory of information churns on. By 8 a.m., there is a line almost out the door of people waiting to purchase computer time. Some browse their stock portfolios while others try to connect with people thousands of miles and a dozen time zones away.

Mendoza usually comes in the evenings, after his work is finished, but just as his family’s day is starting in Manila.

His dream of finding a good-paying job in New York so he can send for them has not worked out. His job at the lingerie company is not much better than the one he had in the Philippines. He says he sends much of his paycheck home and is determined to stick it out here at least a bit longer. “It’s a lot of sacrifice.”

When he first discovered the cafe in Times Square, he was overjoyed that he could see his children. He began coming at least twice a week.

But now there is a bittersweet tinge to every meeting. Almost like a prisoner talking across a glass barrier, he can see and talk to his children, but not touch them.

After chatting for a while, he loses the video link and tries in vain to get it back. Finally, his wife sends a message that “It’s getting late” for him in New York and she is worried about a “snow storm” that he told her was predicted.

Mendoza keeps the conversation going for several more minutes, then zips up his parka. He types, “I love you guys,” signs off and quietly leaves.