Joe and Tanite enjoy the view of the Old West Side from their balcony. | Tanite Chahwan
Joe and I met here, in Ann Arbor.
A Cape Cod native of Italian descent, Joe’s journey had taken him from Boston, Massachusetts, to Plymouth, Michigan, to work as a strength coach for USA Hockey. I, a filmmaker hailing from Beirut, had come to Ann Arbor to pursue my PhD in the film department at U-M.
After matching on a dating app—the modern equivalent of a chance encounter—he drove to Ann Arbor and asked me to show him my favorite places in the city. I still remember where we hugged goodbye for the first time (both of us hoping, we admitted later, we’d see each other again). And then, almost two years later, we ended up living nearly a block away from that very spot, right near Palio.
Right on the Old West Side, beside Argus Farm Stop, stands a century-old industrial-style building overlooking the train tracks. Once a manufacturing facility, it was given a new life when it was converted into residential lofts in 2005. Its brick facade stands in quiet contrast to the colorful historic homes with porches, peaked roofs, and tree-lined yards that surround it. There was something about that unlikely pairing that felt oddly familiar. The moment we stepped inside and saw the high ceilings, exposed concrete, and oversized factory windows, we knew it wasn’t going to get any better than this.
I immediately celebrated the end of my thirty-minute commutes to campus, suddenly reduced to a brisk ten-minute walk. This change already felt life-altering, especially during the midwinter cold (remember that I grew up with more temperate Mediterranean seasons)! But while I was preoccupied with my pedestrian lifestyle, Joe was already thinking about dinner parties. He planned unforgettable pasta nights, rolling fresh dough and making his equally life-altering signature gnocchi and ravioli, filling the apartment with good food, wine, and the laughter of friends gathered around our kitchen island.
Beyond communal gatherings, the Old West Side has become the backdrop to our daily lives: magical pink-and-purple sunsets spilling through those beautifully oversized loft windows, refreshing cold beers on the balcony after a long day, and the familiar sound of train horns late at night while I revised dissertation chapters. Living here reminds us that life exists beyond deadlines and schedules, and our routines have slowly attached themselves to the neighborhood.
On weekends, we walk to get coffee, with an almost unreasonable number of options between the nearby Argus, Jefferson Market, RoosRoast, and Hyperion. We wander downtown into bookstores and clothing shops and reward ourselves with ice cream. We keep a shared list of cafés, restaurants, and bars to try, always spotting a new place to add on the walk home. In the summer, music drifts down Main and pulls the whole city outdoors. The neighborhood seems to move with us through every season.
Even in the quieter, more mundane moments, we find joy watching young parents teach their kids how to ride a bike, dog owners stopping to let strangers pet their pups, students rushing through the cold, friends gathering downtown on noisy weekends. Somewhere in between witnessing those ordinary moments, we stopped feeling like transient visitors and became part of the neighborhood itself, making a home within its rhythms and slowly becoming two of its familiar faces—the kind you might exchange a passing nod with, if you’re ever on a stroll along the Old West Side.