Amsterdam. Amsterdam!

Amsterdam. Amsterdam! This is a city that knows it’s great. And owns it. Let’s not talk about the traditional cuisine. Or the weather. Or the fact that the “Golden Age” ended in 1685. This is a city of the future. And not that Jetson’sy city-in-the-sky future, either. The good, human-oriented future composed of tolerance, opportunity, mobility, carbon-neutrality, creativity, and aesthetic beauty.

Amsterdam. Amsterdam! Where the bicycle reigns supreme. I just love bicycles. It’s such a joyous way to move. The fresh air, the freedom of movement, the spontaneity, the more humane speed, the ability to interact with everyone in your environment, the instantaneous parking. It makes you want to sing. You almost have to ask what’s not to like? How about the inability to efficiently cover large distances, the danger posed by cars, the difficulty carrying stuff, and exposure to the elements. But what if everything is closer together (thanks, ancestors), cars are not welcome (thanks, strict parking policies and tariffs and whatnot), there are ingenious ways to carry goods and kids (the toddler bike seats have a little head rest for the nodding-off child), and amazing advancements in poncho technology (or just holding an umbrella while you ride). It’s flat, twisty, narrow, dense, and egalitarian – perfect for bikes. Perfect for us. We biked everywhere. All week. Kris-krossing town like the miggedymacs we are, getting all kinds of lost, seeing the whole magical city. It makes such a profound impression – worth a trip here just by itself.

Amsterdam. Amsterdam! Where people talk Dutch, which is my favorite language. It has the same music as English (as opposed to the staccato of Italian and the smoothly sanded French). Many of the words are pronounced the same. Sometimes you’ll be seven words into a sentence before you realize that someone’s speaking Dutch. But then they’ll launch a spray of achs and chuchs that knock you into the ever-present canals (consider that the sound above is not “ch” as in latch or cheese, but “ch” as in “oh my god I’m clearing the world’s biggest loogie from way deep in the back of my throat”. And it happens five times every sentence. Which, in little kids, is totally amazing, because they’ll be speaking in sweet trebly tones, and then rip off the chuchiest chuch to sound like the oldest gerspatzenwiesel in town (gerspatzenwiesel itself being a made up word (by me) whose meaning you get even if you’ve never heard of the word, which pretty much sums up how Dutch sounds, and maybe even how the Dutch speak to each other)). So you’re on the street, and you keep thinking you hear English, but then you see it written, and it’s completely alien and unpronounceable, because it is full of gratuitous ijks and euws and, like German, theystringwordstogetherwithrecklessabandon. And then add a “gracht” or a “straat” to the end of that, and you get the street names, which you can never remember because you are exhausted by the time you get to the third syllable (out of 12). Plus, the city curves in upon itself at all points like a fractal. No really, if you’ve never been here, it’s impossible to navigate until a route has been memorized. So you can see why every trip requires an extra 10 minutes if it requires more than one change of direction. Sober.

Amsterdam. Amsterdam! Where the whole center city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, but there’s demand for growth, and desire to keep housing affordable. So they take old industrial areas and make beautiful new residential areas – converting old buildings, adding new buildings around and on top of the old. Or they build new land. (Seriously. They just make islands in their bay, and build housing on it. It’s at first ridiculous, and then genius, and then you realize that that’s how the whole country was made. The iconic windmill was all about pumping water up and away to create dry land). As a rule, the housing is well-designed, dense, served by transit and separated bike lanes. Really impressive architecture – it helps that you can’t build without the approval of a team of architects who review your design. And the housing is affordable, not just because the demand approximates the supply, but because the City owns the land, and can decide the kind of development they’d like. Can I restate that last sentence, because I’ve never seen anything else like this in the world – the City owns the land. They lease it out for 50 or 100-year leases, so people will invest. But it’s the City’s call on what gets done. If you don’t trust government, this is a nightmare. But if you trust the government to support other values in a society because greed – well, this can be a really powerful thing. They’ve been doing it for 100 years here, and it’s working. Quite well.

Like Torino and Lyon, I’m sad to leave Amsterdam. But I know I’ll be back. We’ve got great friends here (special thanks to Josh and his beautiful family for helping curate such an amazing week). This was my fifth trip over a 20-year span, and it keeps growing in esteem and wonder. It’s got the filthiest, raunchiest neighborhood you’ve ever seen. But you never need to go in there – and if you don’t, the rest of the city unfolds her secrets for free.

Paris Fashion Report

Paris is the undeniable fashion capital of the world. What is seen here today will be a hit in your town tomorrow. But, fashion fan, conveniently, you are reading this today. Thereby, heed the six hot tips of this intrepid reporter, so that from the mall to main street, you, too, can be tre chic le freak (that’s French for “extremely classy and fashionable”).

1. Move over, Reebok. Get yourself a pair of Converse high tops. It’s the only shoe to be seen in. Entire hipster shoe stores are dedicated to the myriad colors and, well, only one shape. Whether you are sitting for hours at a café or standing for hours in line at the Musee d’Orsay, this is the shoe for any occasion.

2. And while you’re braving those elements, make sure to wrap your wee neck up in a scarf. Winter, spring, summer, and fall, it’s always cold enough to wear a scarf. At least for your neck. Accessorizes great with blazers, sweaters, polos, tshirts, and speedos. Always tie with the tail facing forward, showing as much fringe as possible.

3. This year, women’s hairstyles haven’t shifted much from last year’s “long and pouty with a chopstick” look. But men – let those fauxhawks grow on out. Yes, tousled hair is all the rage. Available in both messy, and mussy, men are unkempt as never before. Sell your shares in Supercuts – all you need is a good night’s sleep and 10 fingers to run randomly through your hair. And by the way, when this looks comes to San Francisco, I am going to rock your world.

4. Also in this year is smoking. Cigarettes, that is (please hold one week for the Amsterdam fashion report). It’s not unusual to see three generations of families enjoying a nice Marlboro Red after each course at their favorite outdoor Brasserie. It’s the kind of beautiful family bonding moment that helps pass the rich French heritage down through the generations.

5. And what a great year it is to be old. Old people are out everywhere, shopping, eating, swinging their canes at the young people, and genuinely enjoying life. Whereas in San Francisco, old people know they are unfashionable, and thus have the grace to stay inside, or move to Palm Springs, here they have the run of the land. And no elevators, escalators, or any kind of accessible amenity is needed for this hale lot. No, just another glass of wine, and no 100-stair descent into the Metro is inaccessible.

6. Finally, you must know, French is all the rage this year. From the top of the Eiffel Tower to the back of the smokiest café, Parisians insist on speaking the old lingua franca as if Napolean was still out kicking ass. Don’t worry if you don’t speak the language, it’s easy – just a few zheh zheh frah wee wees, and you can be fast friends with all Parisians you can stand.

La Vie Lyonnaise

We are on the train, leaving Lyon for Paris. I am less melancholy than when I left Torino. Not because I don’t love Lyon. I do. It’s just that we’re going to Paris. On my first high speed train. Sitting backwards, I feel like I’m being pulled into the future at 200 mph.

My assessment of Lyon is that, like Torino, it is a city in a very good space. The main difference is that Torino is in a rapid economic ascent that, if unchecked, may strip away some of its quality-of-life (like in SF, where the rent is too damn high). Lyon seems like it’s been in a good place for hundreds of years – happy to let Paris be the capital of panache.

Speaking of panache, after a week, the only French I can speak are words that are also in English, and “Excuse me, I don’t speak no Fron-say. Can we come to your country and bombard you with English”. French is not only harder than Italian, it’s completely undecipherable when spoken. Everything is either pronounced in the back of the throat or in the nose. Pronounced, it’s like someone sanded down all the words so that only the finest textures remain. It makes for high art. High, indecipherable, unpronounceable art.

In addition to having a beautiful-sounding language, the Lyonnaise have an outstanding quality-of-life. The public transit is impeccable. There are thousands of public bikes to rent for free or really cheap, depending on how long you have them (but which require a credit card with that little chip that American cards don’t have, so we never got to ride – c’est la vie). The architecture is lovely – inhabited for over 2,000 years, the old town is a UNESCO World Heritage District. Most of the buildings are a comfortable 6-8 stories. The newer section is less lovely, and from the 30s-80s, but is lovely as well – what it lacks in windiness, it makes up for in tree-linedness. Rent is very reasonable compared to salaries. And, on a national level, there are perks that, in place in America, would reduce the national stress levels in half – free health care, free school through university, excellent unemployment benefits, great social security. People work, and are challenged, and create, but money is not the organizing principle of life, and the office is not the hub of activity. It really is a pleasure to witness such a society and wonder what it is we sacrifice for our way of life – and are the benefits worth it?

And I haven’t even mentioned the food. We’ve eaten a whole zoo – both in diversity, and quantity. The French are not scared to kill, cook, and sauce anything. And if one’s attitude is to dive in, one must be willing to touch the bottom of the deep end. Frogs legs are like chicken wings, except still connected at the pelvis. Ducks have many edible limbs. Beef need not be cooked. Calves need not grow up. Intestines are our friend. Lambs beg to be chopped. And fish practically swim into your stomach, into a sea of delicious sea of local, light, low-sulfite wine. (Really. I mean, I often go months without getting drunk. Yesterday, it was twice, including once at lunch with a senior planner for the City of Lyon (who seemed unphased when we continued the meeting at his office)). And salads and cheeses and sauces and mousses and tartes and tartlettes and digestives and champagne.

So you may wonder how we saw any of the city with all this eating. Especially because dinners are easily two hour affairs, and often three. Well, the key is eating until 11PM, at which time it’s only been dark for an hour, and for the first time the skies aren’t filled with millions of cheeping, flitting, swooping swallows. Outdoors, preferably. After translating every word on the menu with our gastronomic dictionary (that’s right, a dictionary only of food terms – helpful in Italy, absolutely essential in France). Hold on, am I talking about food again. Sorry.

So I did manage to see a good bit of the city, and meet with many of the kind, sweet, shrewd people who are helping keep Lyon on course. In many ways, these planners have more influence and authority than we do in SF. In general, government has much more authority, and trust (which we could have too, if we didn’t have large companies continuously and cynically spreading the message that government is bad). Because of that, they are trusted to develop community plans with minimal community input (I have mixed feelings about that, because that means a lot of expertise is overlooked, but it does increase their power). The environment is treated with much respect (their green neighborhoods are really green, like carbon neutral green, like leafy green), but yet they don’t get involved in incredibly expensive, project-by-project environmental review. And, incredibly, in the big French metro areas are all run by metro-level governments to which the local authorities have ceded power. For example, Lyon has 58 cities in the “Grand Lyon” government, which controls land use, economic development, environmental considerations, and transportation in the metro area. It makes so much sense, given that jobs and housing and transportation and the environment are all regional issues. But it is still a rarity in the world, and that gives the French a real competitive advantage in making strong cities. With a regional economic strategy tied to land use and transportation, they can most efficiently build on existing trends and patterns, address needs, and leverage strengths.

And, of course, they have a LOT more money to work with. Which is possible in a society that is interested in investing in itself. For example, the government does the cleanup of polluted ex-industrial areas, to support their redevelopment, so as to keep prices down so that housing can be more affordable. For example, the first aspect of a project is always the transit, and only then does development happen. For example, at every level of government there are think tanks and researchers that gather best practices from around the world to share with their colleagues. And they go en masse to study other cities as well. Yes, I am green with envy, and also from the frogs legs.

Mangia!

While we have arrived happily in Lyon, France, the great food of Torino, Italy is only a picture away. And now we share some with you. Enjoy!

p.s. The food in Lyon is impeccable as well, so expect a food posting on French food next week.

La Vita di Torino

We are on the train, leaving Torino for France. I am melancholy. I love Torino. It’s one of those “a great place to visit, and I’d want to live there. Who can I leave my CV with?” As small consolation, at least I am dressed like an Italian – pink shirt, orange pants, purple socks, and white shoes. And I still have some gelato on my lips.

Torino is a great place to visit for any number of reasons. Foremost being the food (we’ll be posting some photos that will make you far more jealous than anything I say). Almostmost being it’s beauty – a baroque city where beautiful architecture is the norm, and the kind of density that supports active street life throughout without being claustrophobic (I just love a good five story buildings – I don’t know if this is the standard because of building materials back in the day, or what people were willing to walk pre-elevator, or if people just liked the aesthetic compatibility with the street, or if they made sense for a walkable city. Or all of the above. Whatever the reason, it works).

Alsomost is that the Torinese don’t know yet how great their city is – and nor does the world. Thus, tourism is limited, and non-Italian tourism is almost non-existant – especially compared to other beautiful European cities. That means the center of town, the historic beautiful piazza-filled, narrow-streeted, little-shopped, transit-served, outdoor-oriented are for the locals – with local-oriented stores and services and prices. I doubt it’s going to stay like this, given how great this city is. So come, be part of the problem, and visit Torino ASAP.

Torino is a great place to live, for all the reasons above. It’s in a very sweet spot in its history, if one were to use a quality of life/city of love lens – which, of course, we are. Founded 2,000 years ago by the Romans, the seat of the Savoy empire during the Renaissance (along with their prized Shroud), the first capital of Italy (150 years ago), the industrial capital of Italy for 100 years (the T in FIAT is for Torino) – this was not the first glory time in Savory’s history. But as recently as 20 years ago, the City was in crisis, staring over an abyss without a bottom in site. Like most Western industrial cities, the bottom had dropped out of the industrial market. Like our Midwestern cities, the population decreased – in this case, 30% in 20 years. At the same time, there was political chaos – four mayors in seven years, and finally an appointed administration from the national government. In 1993, when Italy finally allowed cities to directly elect their mayors, the leading candidate supported an intelligent shrinking of the city, tightening its belt and gracefully accepting being a lesser city. The opposing candidate said, essentially, bullocks – let’s innovate our way out of the mess. The people chose the hopeful candidate, and from then it was on.

During the rest of the 90s, the City developed big visions and big plans (it’s funny what crisis can do – although we know not every person/family/society rises to the occasion). Torino set its economic sites on becoming an international destination and city of culture and knowledge. Sounds like San Francisco, I know. In fact, sounds like most cities. Fortunately for Torino, they already had the historic and cultural foundation, as well as a strong educational and innovative platform from its engineering school and industry-serving firms. Torino also created a land use vision, transforming derelict industrial areas into new housing, parks, offices, and retail. The industrial rail in the middle of town was submerged, knitting together neighborhoods separated for 100 years. A new metro was constructed, and tram service extended. In underserved neighborhoods, economic and physical investments were made to improve the place, and the people in place.

Today many of these visions have come to fruition – and elsewhere, the cranes of construction are visible. Twenty-two new museums have opened in the last 10 years. The Olympics stamped its seal of approval on the city’s transformation. New industries were incubated. Immigrants were integrated.

The sum of all these efforts is a city, in 2011, a revitalized city. It’s clean and safe. Housing is affordable. There are families everywhere (I don’t know how the Italian urban school systems compare to the suburban, but I’d imagine there isn’t the same embarrassing disparity that we have in the US – likely because the wealthy never fled the cities en masse). You can get around no problem. There are jobs again.

Of course, there’s no guarantee that these conditions will remain. All cities are at the whim of global capital and the global economy. Shitty politicians get elected. Wars happen. Natural disasters happen. And great cities become a victim of their own success – where prices go up, and scarcity occurs, to the detriment of the many.

As such, Torino should not take this sweet spot for granted. Instead, she should enjoy every day. Because, after a week in Torino, I’d have to say – it’s a very sweet spot indeed.

The Symphonic City

What kind of city would love build? I’ve left a big question hanging for a week, as I buried my nose in Torino. But now, in the middle of a massive thunderstorm, as I sit outside on a fifth-floor balcony, I’m ready to take my first shot. Tell me how I do.

Love would simply build a city where people could be in love. That sounds somewhat ridiculous, and yet we already have a more prosaic term for this – “high quality-of-life”.

How is this term used? To describe a place where the people’s needs are met. Of course, the
physical needs – food, clothing, shelter. Less well considered, but equally important, are our emotional needs. I’m a hack psychologist, so if someone has a better list of these needs, please share, but let’s start with those that arise at first blush: personal security, respect, freedom, human contact, and love. Modern Western society has been quite successful at fulfilling physical needs – at least when one compares the present to the rest of human history. It is less successful with fulfilling our emotional needs. This, though abstract, is the thrust of my own work. Because when emotional fulfillment occurs, there is love.

From a prosaic standpoint, what happens in a city of love? Many things – a million tuned instruments creating a rich, complex city. Affordable, comfortable home for families. Fulfilling, rewarding employment. Spaces to be social, creative, spiritual. Respect and awe for natural cycles. The right to speak one’s mind. The ability to thrive. And to love as one sees fit. For everyone.

I know there exists no such place right now. Although some cities are far closer than others. Torino (which I’ll write about separately) certainly is well on its way. So is San Francisco. It’s what I’ll keep my eye on as the travels continue.

Milan Fashion Report, Part II

Your intrepid reporter back again, to recant my last fashion report. It seems there was an anomaly, a glitch in the matrix as it were, in that last Wednesday afternoon (the period previously reported on) was in fact the start of a four day holiday weekend, and thus the people on the train with us were not commuters, but just regular shlubs (i.e., shlubinos).

Having returned Saturday to Milan - and this time actually entering the town - I will say that people here are indeed quite fashionable. Not in the fancy way, and not in the what's-in-style way (although there was some of both), but in the I'm-having-fun-with-clothes-and-looking-good way. Which is the most fun of all. If I come home with some kind of pastel-colored capri pants, it'll be because I was having fun with clothes too.

Now, Abbie has made the point that I have no business blogging about what is fashionable (because, as we know, bloggers all have advanced degrees and 10+ years experience in the topic at hand). And to that I say - bullocks. I have an advanced degree in looking at people and have myself worn clothes for 10+ years. So I can say when someone is doing something fun with clothes - even if I don't know any brands or history or context or whatever. That's someone else's blog, yo.

Oh, and Milan bears more than 24 hours visiting. But if that's all you got, you can still eat a weeks worth of food. It's useful to have as your tour guide a food blogger who lives in Milano. Sara took us to try a different treat every 50 meters or so - fresh pastries, little pizza thingies, gelatos, seafood melanges, more pizza thingies, more gelatos, and to top it off a huge lunch spread with homemade salads, shaved meats, an olive party, and fresh buffalo mozzarella that if worth the price of the flight. We are truly grateful to Sara and her husband Sante for the fantastic hospitality and the extra 2 kilograms, and we are looking forward to returning the favor in SF later this summer.

And now off to bed here in our B&B in Torino, as tomorrow starts my first day of the Fellowship.

Ciao.

Our Italian Honeymoon

A few windows into our beautiful views from Lake Como in Italy. We stayed in Varenna, hiked to San Martino Church for the stunning views, and indulged in delicious Italian food. See Steve below about to partake in the homemade sausage at Cavatappi, a small local restaurant with only five tables lead by a great chef known locally to be a little "crazy", hence the delicious food they say.

I love Italy

Varenna, Italy (on Lake Como) at night.

On Our Way

From the streets of San Francisco, we're fully portable and ready to take on Europe.

Views from London

We're larger than life in Elstree, outside of London, where we spent our first afternoon on the other side of the Atlantic in nature of all places.


Enjoying a delicious bite of Steve's favorite meal at Wagamama, Yasai Yaki Soba. Can you taste it?

Marination

So we’ve already defined cities, and we’ve already defined love (as imperfect as those definitions may be). Now we ask – what does one have to do with the other? How can cities facilitate love? What kind of cities would love build?

I don’t think I’ve ever asked those questions before. But they’re blowing my mind, because these are exactly the two questions that sit at the junction of my personal and professional lives. A junction that, I realize, I’ve just arrived at.

Who knows if this contemplation will yield something worthy, or how long I’ll need to marinate on these questions to yield something juicy. But they certainly warrant serious contemplation. Which I will begin post-haste, over a seven-course meal and possibly a bottle of vino rosso at an intimate ristorante listening to Lake Como lap the foot of the Italian Alps. Even if you can’t join us there, please join us in the contemplation, because I don’t think I’m getting out of this roundabout alone (cannot…get…left).

Milan Fashion Report

If you’ve ever spent an hour at the Milano Centrale train station during rush hour, you might ask yourself – what’s all the hype about the fashion here? I’m not saying people were frumpy. But many were in a state of near-frump. And at best, they reached the heights of fashion-lite. For the younger, casual set, it’s all v-neck t-shirts with swirly designs like the side of a recreational vehicle, possible supplemented by incoherent English phrases and made up American sports team (although I am a huge fan of San Diego Regulation Baseball Club). For the professional set, they looked like they were pouring out of the cubicles of some Class B office tower ready to ride BART back to wherever. Maybe that’s the kind of commuter that is served by Milano Centrale (as opposed to the St. Albans PM express out of St. Pancras, which we accidentally rode on Tuesday, which was full of very sharply dressed banker or banker-proximate types). And I thought I'd look out of place in jeans - bah.

This now concludes my first and possibly last ever fashion blog. We now return to the regular programming.

First Love

London is my first love, as cities go, and where I fell in love with cities. So any time I return it’s a bit of a nostalgia tour. Come with me, won’t you (as Abbie just had to), as I believe there is much here to explain who I am today.

When I arrived in 1992, I’d never lived in a city before, and had really no conception of what urban living was like. Well, you can imagine the introduction that London provided. I was enrolled for a semester at the august London School of Economics. I joined the school’s Tequila Society and the boxing team (punching each other to the uplifting sounds of Stereo MCs). I ate in inordinate amount of kebabs. I navigated the wonderful public transit system. I stood in awe of all the ways people were, how they expressed themselves, both in keeping with and opposing their heritage. I was inspired to be different. I could reinvent myself in the way an awkward college kid needs to reinvent himself.

I came back in 1994 to continue the process. While the rest of my friends moved to NYC to become bankers and lawyers, I worked as a dorm manager for a building full of student from Beaver College. I parlayed my philosophy degree into a series of waitering jobs, culminating in me serving a fruit juice to Bjork at the original Wagamama. I moshed to Mudhoney. I taught myself to play guitar. I was on my own, for the first time. I was still an immature arrogant little wiseass. But I was heading in the right direction. When I was emotionally deported (i.e., my work visa expired and I had no practical black market-able skills), I dreamt I was moving back to London every night for months, sad to wake up in DC (where I’d relocated to, trying to recapture the magic). Only when I moved to San Francisco in January 1996 did those dreams of London subside, replaced by the joy of my new home.

I’ve been back to London four times since, and I recognize that on each visit I spend more time being nostalgic as seeing the City anew. I return to the old dorm, eat noodles at Wagamama, pay my respects to the Arnolfinis at the National Gallery and Ophelia at the Tate. Only on our last day of this trip did I realize, in fact, that I had shrinkwrapped London in my mind, bemoaning any changes instead of celebrating the freshness I loved about her in the first place. Especially how the whole world lives here. How the density is supportive of hundreds of walkable, overlapping neighborhoods. How the incredible transportation network serves millions of people. And how those conditions have transformed a stodgy, hierarchical, declining society back into one of the world’s most vibrant and transformative cities.

We came to London first because it was a soft landing (many thanks again to our hosts DJ, Keely, and baby Isla). We leave rested and ready to see with those fresh eyes, even the city I’d put under wraps nearly 20 years ago.