Urban Spaces: Transit Station Edition

 In addition to pedestrianized spaces (or I guess technically as a subset of them, since you usually can't drive cars into these either) another kind of urban space I enjoy is the transit station. Let me tell you why!

1. Vaulting Architecture

While I suppose one could go to a big box store or a warehouse to experience wide open spaces that are also indoors, transit stations (specifically, usually, train stations) manage this with a completely different, far superior vibe.

Let's start with Chicago Union Station: these skylights make the room feel more open, more expansive, and more impressive all at once. The typical vaulted/arched ceiling gives the place a feel of lightness and airiness despite being absolutely clear that we are indoors thank you very much.

Amsterdam Centraal gives us an arched feeling too, though here we are out by the tracks, so the space is deliberately ambiguous about being indoors or out--it connects to both the clearly-inside market halls and the clearly-outside train line north. Here the sense of enclosure matters as much as the sense of openness; it straddles the line in a way that makes my heart happy to see it.

Haarlem Centraal does something similar, but note that which part of the station is actually open has changed: the archway is not open, but the side gratings are. It's appropriate to a station that is more open than Amsterdam Centraal was but still wants to give that overarching sense of space.

2. Public Monuments

A really good station (as opposed to just a stop) gives an opportunity for more public art and public interest than just a pretty roof. 

Public art outside a train station (here in Paris, I believe at Gare du Nord) gives a sense of significance and willing occupation of space. This station is not apologizing for its street presence, like some metro stations do, but boldly claiming that it is a meaningful spot in the city, and that you ought to look at it.

Even smaller stations, like Aquarium T station in Boston, can have a sense of street presence. The tilted glass box here isn't as flashy or noticeable as the big flying bear in Paris, but it still says that this is an interesting, different spot from all the plain office buildings around--or the Aquarium itself.

And it's not station-specific, but it would be an utter failure not to mention Chicago's Loop, the champion of not apologizing for its impact on the streetscene (and since the Loop has so many stations on it, you could almost call it a single giant station with internal transit).

A good station is a public monument, a space that draws attention not only for use reasons but because the city wants you to know it is there, and it matters.

3. Somewhere To Sit

A good station isn't just pretty; it's also functional. And that means that a good transit station has seating, as well as food, bathrooms, and other amenities.

Sadly. this is less photogenic, so I tend to photograph it less, but you can see that in addition to large areas for people to pass seated customers (which is also important!) Haarlem Centraal has seats.

I didn't take pictures of seating in Amsterdam Centraal, but you can see the whole concourse here of amenities: things to do while you wait for a train or after you arrive on one.

And while it's not the focus of this shot of the TGV in Gare du Nord, you can see the seating on the empty platform as well.

My struggle to find pictures of this is really a function of the fact that I use it--so unless I take more selfies, I don't tend to have pictures of the seating, even though it's really important!

So to sum up: a good transit station has a sense of openness and wonder; a clear artistic sensibility that is willing to take up public space; and practical elements that make it pleasant to exist in it.

I think this WMATA station in DC does a great job of all three, so that's probably a good point to end on. Look at that architecture! I'm glad the Metro comes frequently, but I could still appreciate spending time in such a space.

Urban Spaces: Pedestrianized Edition

 Today I want to touch on one of the elements of good urban design that I most enjoy and most miss when I'm not near one: pedestrian spaces. Specifically, I'm going to focus on pedestrianized spaces, spaces where only pedestrians can go and cars cannot. But I'm also going to talk a bit about the more general pedestrian experience to which these spaces are often linked.

1. Transit Integration Matters (So Does Density)

The first thing to notice about these places is that they're best when you don't have to drive to them and park. 

I love Greenlake Park in Seattle, and I have many times biked, walked, or bused there.

Seattle Public Theater at the Bathhouse is a great civic amenity, and that walking path right outside is the primary access route--even though there's a parking lot for it, the lot capacity is much smaller than the theater capacity, and that speaks to the larger Greenlake design as a pedestrian location (as well as a bike location).

So transit integration, which puts people into these spaces without driving, is one factor. But density is another: the more people there are already living close (as I used to in Seattle, for a given value of close) the less you need cars or even transit at all.

This zone near Canary Wharf is not a theater or a destination itself, but it's made much, much nicer by the fact that primary access to it is via the DLR. Transit integration matters. But then again, there are also those huge towers visible in the picture, and not all of those are offices...

2. Parks Aren't the Be-all or the End-all

Parks are probably, pound for pound, the most common pedestrianized spaces in our cities, especially but not only in North America.

This space in St. Louis is nicely foot- and transit-accessible, and was a joy to wander through. It also has a road through the park, of course, because naturally it does, but it's a very pleasant space to exist in on foot.

This little park with public art in Toronto is likewise lovely. 

But if the spots of green have to do double duty as our only pedestrian spaces, they make it seem like life cannot operate except by car, and foot is only for nature and breaks from routine, and can't be a part of normal life. While I appreciate walking as a form of both exercise and entertainment, it should really be part of everyday life--not an add-on. And while yes, green space should also be a normal part of life, I mean something slightly different here. I mean that you should be able to do everyday ordinary things like going to work, shopping, etc. on foot--and making only parks available for foot prioritization makes that impossible.

3. Paths Are Also Good But Also Not Enough

The flip side of this is the sorts of places where the "pedestrianized" areas are just paths--routes to and from places or along things. 

The Burke-Gilman Trail in Seattle.

The Riverfront Trail in Davenport. 

These are lovely, and I appreciate them so much! They do allow you to do things like run errands or go to work via bike or walking, without having to dodge cars for most of the route. That's huge!

But they're also in many cases the only such routes in their areas. I can ride or walk the Riverfront or Duck Creek trails--or I can be with cars. And cars (or rather their drivers) get quite mad when I'm not on my one designated path for non-car movement, if I get in their way.

As New York's Times Square knows, the true joy of a pedestrianized space is that you are just in it, with all these other people, without reference to cars at all. 

This foodtruck rodeo in Rochester, NY, speaks to the same ideal: a place where people just walk around and do stuff (in this case, mostly eat) without even thinking about cars except the foodtrucks themselves.

Pedestrian areas are a joy in addition to parks and paths. They are spaces where you can just be--whether that's busy and bustling like Oxford Circus above or empty like the bit of Toronto waterfront below:

I love a space where the fastest vehicle will be a bike or a tram, and even then the people will take priority.

We should have more of them. And if parks and paths are a start, I'll take them--but we should think bigger and bolder than that when building our cities.

Entering A City: Chicago and Comparisons

I wanted to think about how cities ask you to enter them when you arrive as a tourist (or anyone, I suppose, since tourists don't have a monopoly on entering cities, but I'm going to focus for the moment on the tourist experience). I want to suggest that what the entering space emphasizes deeply affects the sense the tourist may get of how to navigate the city and what it's like, and compare a few examples. 

Note thatI'm going to try to avoid comparing total apples to oranges here. The temptation to compare say Amsterdam Centraal to Chicago O'Hare would be unfair; a rail station and an airport come with different affordances, to use a technical term: different possibilities and options for what they could communicate. So train station to train station or airport to airport is a fairer approach, and the one we'll use here.

1. Amsterdam Centraal vs Chicago Union Station: what place does the car have?

So if not O'Hare, let's consider Union Station. I spent a whole school year commuting for my PhD between Chicago and Rochester, NY monthly (approximately) and mostly by train, so I have a lot of experience entering the city via train. The Megabus to Louisville also used to drop off across the street from Union Station, adding to my knowledge of this spot. I even took the train to Seattle from here, which was the only picture of from it I could actually find:

So even though we might think of the airports as the distinctive way of entering Chicago, there are plenty of us first experiencing the city via Union Station too (Amsterdam Centraal is an obvious entry point, given the greater prevalence of passenger rail there and the high speed lines to the UK and France).

At Union Station you'd be forgiven for not noticing that Chicago has mass transit besides buses and commuter rail. It has no L stop for some reason -- you can walk to the Blue Line or with a bit more effort the other lines in the Loop but it's neither obvious nor signed for visitors. There are bus stops and the Metra is present, but for travel within the city you're really not clearly given anything to do or anywhere to go except on foot or by car.

This Greyhound depot isn't quite next to there--but that's also kind of the point, isn't it? Union Station isn't well-integrated even with the long-distance buses, let alone the city transit.

Amsterdam Centraal has the Metro, the boats across the IJ, and multiple tram routes (as well as also pedestrians and buses, and well-indicated bike routes). It's a completely different experience of the city, one that emphasizes the ability to go about your day without a car and your interconnection with the rest of the city. It also physically presents those options to you more clearly.

I know I probably overuse the shots of this angle, but it's so notable: the tramlines are between this metro entrance and the main station, and the main station itself is clearly in a mostly pedestrian zone.

Here we can see the trams better, as well as yes, a motor vehicle as well--but that's not what the spot is emphasizing.

2. Chicago Midway vs. Toronto Billy Bishop 

Now let's look at airports, specifically smaller, secondary Great Lakes-region airports. The irony here is that Midway has much better connections to the city than Billy Bishop: more bus lines to the point of being a major bus hub, and an actual L stop! Billy Bishop has a tram line not tooooo far away, a bus line or two, and a shuttle to downtown. 

But Billy Bishop presents the connection to the city much more positively: you can just walk out of the airport into Toronto. Midway hides its bus and L depot as far from the active part of the airport as possible and does not want you exiting on foot if you can help it. It is all car-oriented, and the other options (which, again, are superior) are hidden like a separate secret level in a videogame.

How close to the airport do you think this is? Whatever you guessed, I'll bet it's too far.

And that's not even considering the ferry, which again just makes a visibly pleasant integration into the city.

Midway is so much more transit-integrated, but not showing it.

This is after ten minutes of walking within the terminal to get to the bus depot.

And actually getting to the train (here) takes another few minutes of walking. It's like they are ashamed to be connecting their airport to the city so well!

At least there's nice public art.

3. Boston Logan vs. Chicago O'Hare 

Lest this just look like dumping on Chicago, let's think about the big airport. O'Hare has a much easier and more clearly communicated link to the city than Logan, and a better system of transit within the airport too.

Cute lil' people mover.

O'Hare gives the vibe of being very connected to Chicago by transit even though it is much farther out than Logan is. And it wears its urban nature proudly.

Enjoy the trains to the City! They go straight from the airport!

For Logan, the line is still Blue, but there's an issue:

This train doesn't actually go to the airport.

This bus does. But since it's a bus, you have less tracking, less visible clarity on where it will be or where it goes, and (unlike O'Hare) no walking path.

Actually, there is a walking path.

But I don't recommend it.

Basically, while Logan is actually much closer in to Boston and much easier to get to from major parts of that city than O'Hare is from Chicago in terms of travel time or crow-flies distance, it's not actually presenting that part of itself except from the plane window.

What it's really showing you is just that it's a bunch of tarmac and buses--and eventually those will get you towards the city. O'Hare wins hands down.

What do you think? What other cities do a good job of clarifying how the city and its transit interact? Where else does Chicago do a good job? Let me know what you think!

Public Art

 When thinking about how to build cities, one thing that strikes me as particularly important to making a place feel distinct and memorable is public art. 

Obviously, this doesn't mean that all the other urbanist things that I tend to talk about in this blog are unimportant, or even less important. But when I was going through my pictures to think about what sticks with me about places, it's often the art. And so I wanted to talk a bit about what elements tend to make art feel memorable, rather than pointless or uninspiring.

1. Visible But Not Invasive

To me, a key element of placemaking with art is that it should be visible (that is, you should notice it) but not invasive (the space should still operate for other purposes than just being an art piece, and it shouldn't interrupt the use of the space).

These birds in Milwaukee strike me as a good example of this, near the Public Market:

I notice them literally every time I'm there, though admittedly that hasn't been too too many times, and they make it feel like this is a particular place, one that isn't like others. But at the same time they don't take over the space; they're there, but not forcing me to avoid them to go use the public spaces they're occupying.

2. Usefulness Is A Plus

Those birds are cute, but not adding a lot other than (admittedly valuable!) atmosphere. These columns in Amsterdam, on the other hand, also served to meaningfully light up the space they were occupying, which speaks to my second point: public art that serves a public function besides being art is a definite bonus.

Now, I was in a hurry and this picture may not do them justice. You might think this is just a lighted column, which could just be infrastructure and not art. But the lights are rainbow, and definitely intended to be beautiful and not just functional. I don't think they would be there if they weren't art (the other columns aren't lit up, for instance, and this was the only underpass with the lit columns at all on this walk). This is art! It is just art that happens to be extremely functional as well, and that's a plus in my book.

3. Use Wasted Space Well

Now, some public art, like the examples above, is in places people would normally go anyway. 

Some public art, however, is a use of a space that would otherwise really not draw crowds. But it can be a great use of those kind of spaces that would otherwise maybe be "wasted space," forgotten spots like the underside of a bridge, for instance, that could just be cement.

Well, the example I'm going to use is cement, but it's shaped, and used, and iconic. Yes, from my birth hometown, welcome the Fremont Troll:

See him looming up there? You weren't going to use that space anyway. It's too small for a building. It's underneath a huge bridge. 

But there he is, large as life and twice as scary. He could easily not be there. The above angle shows that there is a perfectly reasonable design choice right next to him that's just...arched bridge support. And that is just fine. But it's not art, and it's not a draw, and it's not beautiful.

He is. And people notice.

The Troll is his own attraction, and that's wonderful. It's a great use of a space otherwise no one would make any use of, and people who have to walk there would simply scurry by not realizing the lost opportunity.

So, make use of your spaces, provide things that are beautiful, useful, and non-invasive, and spend some time designing your city to have public art!

Compelling Scenes

I've been thinking a lot about what makes me want to take a picture of something urbanist--whether while I'm traveling or just here in the QCA--and I have some principles in mind about what makes a streetscape or a scene compelling to the viewing eye. At least mine. I suppose others might be differently compelled.

1. Profusions and Absences

One of the most striking elements of a streetscene is whether there is anything present in excess of expectation or anything that might be expected that isn't there. Think about the empty streets or the appearance of dolphins during the heights of the lockdowns over Covid-19. It doesn't have to be a pandemic to bring this about. Ordinary everyday things in one place can seem like a profusion or an absence to a different eye.

The bikes in this Amsterdam street scene are normal for Amsterdam. But they're striking to an American visitor.

So striking, indeed, that I took several such shots.

This is just an ordinary commuting day in Amsterdam, but not for me. 

Absences can operate similarly. 

This isn't really "urbanist" per se, except insofar as the concentration of museums in London is a function of urbanist principles themselves, but the lack of an exhibition in this hall of the Tate Modern was notable to me--so I took a picture.

2. Uniqueness and Typicality

Of course, the Amsterdam bikes above are also proof of another principle: it makes a good scene when you see something that seems typical of or unique to a particular place or environment. Amsterdam (and the Netherlands in general) is known for bikes, and biking culture, so the bike parking reinforces or typifies that.

This is part of why iconic monuments (as Notre-Dame de Paris, above) make for good photos. But also it helps if this uniqueness applies not just to the place (there is only the one Notre-Dame, as memorialized in one of my favorite video game series) but to the angle or other elements of the picture: this picture of the still-rebuilding Notre-Dame feels more significant to me than this one of the stereotypical view of the Eiffel Tower.

I was the only one photographing Notre-Dame from that angle; thousands of others were photographing the Eiffel Tower at the same moment.

This goes for urbanist scenes as well as for distinctive architecture.

This double-decker red bus is a transport of delight, and very distinctive.

So too is the above older-style Tube train. But because the bus has more distinctive elements in the photo to my trip (the specific 172 to Aldwych, the background, etc.) it feels more meaningful; the Tube train photo was fun to get but could be almost anywhere by almost anyone at almost any time.

3. Beauty in Composition

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that all the other elements that ordinarily make any art compelling can apply here as well: color, light, shade, angle, etc. And they can come in surprising ways to an urbanist view, compounding the urbanist elements in a scene:

I don't usually consider the old brutalist dorms of the University of Washington compelling, but the trees, the lighting, and the interplay of cement and nature practically forced me to stop and take this picture. And the fact that they highlight the density around UW didn't hurt.

Likewise, the train to the airport was the focus of my attention when I snapped this photo in Toronto, but the composition of trees in front, train in the midground, and dense but colorful urban apartments/condos in the background contributed to why this photo, and not any other.

Was all of this an excuse to just share some photos that I liked that I took? Certainly! But I think these principles are also useful for considering what to photograph and why going forward--and maybe for you too to consider when you snap your own urbanist photographs wherever you may go.

True Costs of Living

 The last section in this article on Tacoma made me think more about how cost of living estimates often misstate the "real" cost of living in a place.

Specifically, it made me think about how the "fifteen minute city" (which is the ostensible topic of the article as a whole) is fundamentally about reducing cost of living in invisible or semi-visible ways.

1. Commutes

The most obvious (and semi-visible) way in which a 15-minute city reduces costs of living is by reducing how far the average person has to commute. This is a cost in time (of course) but also a cost in, well, cost: with rare exceptions, the further you have to commute, the more you have to pay, whether in train fare, gas, or wear and tear on vehicles. Obviously these scale differently and may vary on the particular fare structure of a system or the difference in available routings, but at the very least shorter trips are not usually more expensive than long ones, and often much cheaper--even before you factor in lost time.

And of course you should do that. That time is valuable.

The other way in which a 15-minute city reduces commute costs is the one we briefly talked about with congestion charges: even if you yourself still work more than 15 minutes away, the more of your neighbors who work less, the less traffic you face, and the easier your commute is even if it stays the same distance.

If you live in the Loop, you don't need to go as far--but if you don't, it's still better for you to have your neighbors not also commuting to the Loop with you.

This doesn't change a traditional cost of living calculation, because the cost of moving a given distance (held steady to compare) doesn't necessarily change. But if you can reduce the distance you're commuting or increase the speed, the act of commuting becomes less costly, even if the per mile cost of a standardized commute doesn't.

2. Maintenance and Readiness

Another big cost of living that is hard to calculate changes in is the cost of needing to be ready to use multiple forms of transit, most notably the number of cars your household might need. Again, a traditional cost of living calculator is likely to give you the cost of a car, or of gas, or of both, held steady to make the comparison apples to apples. But a good 15-minute city reduces the need for an apple at all: if you can not have the car, then it doesn't matter if the car is more or less expensive to own or operate. Or if you can one car instead of two, or a fuel-efficient car instead of a behemoth, or any other way of reducing that car cost.

Even in semi-suburban Indiana, the bus is the cheaper option if you can use it.

This even goes for transit costs as well: if I can walk places, I don't need to expect to pay as much for transit. If I can pay by the trip because I'm using transit less rather than buying a monthly pass, my costs go down. If I can buy a single monthly pass instead of cobbling together three rides on three separate transit agencies because they weren't designed to operate together....you get the picture.

Good, integrated urban design means you don't need to have a car every day, which might mean you don't even need to keep a car in readiness for most days, which can create a virtuous cycle of cheapness without changing the actual cost of a car at all.

And don't get me started on the cost of maintaining and storing those vehicles--which is a separate cost not usually calculated in CoL calculations but definitely exists.

3. Time Is Money

I don't mean this in the above sense that saving time means saving money because your time is valuable, though that's true.

I mean that saving time in the rest of your life allows you the time to save money in it as well. Less takeout because you have time to cook; fewer doctors' visits because you have time to exercise (or build it into active lifestyles); less stress because you have the time to do things you enjoy or to make sure you get done the things you were squeezing out of your life.

If you have the time to sit here, you have the time not to worry about sitting here, and you'll feel better about yourself and your life.

So the cost of living can't just be calculated by looking at a basket of goods and comparing their prices (though that is certainly a useful exercise). Rather, it has to include what the city around you actually allows you to do--and how much of that basket (at what price point) you're actually using.