What you’re describing isn’t just novelty—it’s epistemic asymmetry. Everyone around you knows what’s going on, and you don’t. You’re the only person in the café who doesn’t know why that group is celebrating, why there’s a line outside the theater, or why that particular neighborhood seems to come alive at dusk. The city is full of meanings that are visible but inaccessible. That asymmetry creates a kind of gentle tension, and I think our minds naturally find it compelling.
It also reminds me of a distinction made by John Dewey in Art as Experience. Dewey argues that we don’t merely perceive objects; we perceive situations—ongoing patterns of activity. In a new city, you perceive countless situations whose beginnings and endings you don’t know. You catch life in medias res. It’s a little like walking into the second act of a play: you understand enough to know something meaningful is happening, but not enough to explain it. That incompleteness invites attention rather than closing it down.