On a sunny summer day, under a Nordic blue sky, the vast web of Helsinki's forests, fields, beaches, and other green spaces conjure an urban wonder: a city thoroughly interwoven with nature. After four months of living in the capital of Finland, I'm of a mind to say that life here is very good. 

The good life that Helsinki offers may not be immediately apparent to the short-term visitor. This Baltic city is not a cosmopolitan center brimming with dazzling shopping, a vibrant food scene, or a pulsating nightlife. Instead it's a rather homogeneous, predictable place where the everyday is given priority over the spectacle. In fact, tourists here have often told me that they find the city boring, and boring it may be if you are looking for big-city life of the sort on offer in Paris, London or New York. 

The beauty of Helsinki is found in the ordinary, in its steady attention to the banal underpinnings of a secure, pleasant and healthy urban environment.  My time here convinced me that it delivers an exceptional quality of life, across many measures, for the majority of its inhabitants. It's not surprising that Helsinki typically ranks among the top ten cities in the world for quality of life. This quality of life is based upon factors such as safety, state of its infrastructure, access to nature, and quality of education and health care. It results from a high level of what I call urban organizational competence (the level and sophistication of a city's ability, through a variety of agencies, entities and experts, to organize and run itself) - a concept I will be writing more about in the future.

Finland has one of the most melodious national songs I've ever heard, Finlandia, by the Finnish composer, Jean Sibelius. 

An American composer used the melody in a hymn called This Is My Song (click and take a moment to listen), which I like because it makes clear, in such a beautiful way, the relativity of love of one's country: a recognition that although I may think my country is the most beautiful place in the world, people in other countries believe the same about their own countries. 

The following segment of the lyrics brought me to another place:

My country's skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine;
but other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine.

Although the sentiments of the song appeal to me, a worrisome realization comes to me that maybe, in fact, skies are bluer in some places than others, at least figuratively.

Before coming to Helsinki, I spent over three months in the United States, with long stays in Portland, Oregon and San Francisco, and shorter stays in Chicago, Columbus, Ohio, and New York. Arrival in Helsinki (like arrival in most northern European cities after time in the United States) presents a sharp, uncomplimentary contrast. Americans are often immersed in stunningly shabby physical surroundings, with urban planning and design (not to mention maintenance) decades or more behind other countries at a similar level of economic development.  Not only is their physical environment bluntly inferior, but they must contend with systemically ignored, but intense and simmering, social problems which impact security and much else. Because of inadequate investment, public institutions such as schools and government offices are also often poorly run and shabby. This is not an exaggeration. If you have experience between the two worlds, you know what I'm talking about. 

If Helsinki and Columbus (cities of very similar size and income level) were two types of cars, Helsinki would be a newish BMW 3-series (the European sort, nothing particularly fancy) and Columbus a 15 or 20 year-old Chevrolet Cavalier. The contrast is truly that profound. The aged condition of the old Cavalier represents the physical infrastructure of American cities. The technology in the car represents the sophistication of its public institutions, and the safety features, the city's crime situation. You might plug some new expensive equipment into the Cavalier - maybe a fancy new stereo or navigation system (which might correspond to a great university or fancy office building in a city) - but you still have the hugely outdated, run-down automobile (and city). The same goes for most other American cities in comparison with cities in the northern areas of Europe, Australia, and the wealthier countries of East Asia. Portland, Oregon may be one of the notable exceptions, but is itself still far behind. It's a national embarrassment for the USA, readily apparent to visitors from other wealthy countries who often are polite enough to say nothing about their surprise to rather patriotic and proud Americans.  

This posting on Helsinki will shed some light on what makes for really blue urban skies, and maybe help Americans understand their perennial overcast condition. Please note that I don't revel in my role as an annoying gadfly raising uncomfortable questions about urban life in the USA.  How happy I would be if America, instead, were an inspiration to the rest of the world that was leading the way in quality of urban life. 

Where's the cement?
An American arriving in Helsinki might experience a certain unease, a sense that something essential is missing. It's that comforting frosting of absolutely featureless, cheap cement covering all surfaces. Its absence will be noted because cement by the square yard is one of those things that makes American cities, well...American. 

In Helsinki, a needy cement junkie will have trouble tracking down any reassuringly vast expanses of the substance. It is used commonly in things like highway overpasses (and even here with much more finesse than is the norm in North America), but not in pedestrian areas or generally on streets. 

Why is there such a striking difference? A simplified answer that pops into my head is that the appearance of US cities is simply a reflection of American society and its values. Fundamentally, Americans don't care much about how their cities look. Design has given way to expediency. Low cost is the driving force in urban design and maintenance decisions. Americans are happy to accept  an unattractive physical environment, with a kind of rough functionality, if that saves them money and allows them to consume more of other things (including fighter jets and missiles). Besides, as they drive rather than walk or bicycle, why worry about the details? In a car-centered society, it's easy for streets to simply become high-speed corridors for driving, with little or no reason to stop and take a stroll.

Another more disturbing possibility is that most Americans simply don't know the difference between good urban design and bad. As they've rarely seen examples of beautifully constructed and managed cityscapes they believe that their streets and pedestrian areas are actually quite nice and as good as (or better than) streetscapes anywhere else. This seems to be confirmed by the boosterism and pride I encounter in American cities. What's most surprising is that many Americans have visited cities abroad with world-class design and infrastructure yet still don't expect or demand such standards at home. This could confirm the notion that they simply aren't able to see the differences and are aesthetically neutered. 

A disturbing consequence of America allowing its cities to sink to such a low level is that the skills and craftmanship required to orchestrate and build beautiful streets may have become a lost art in the United States. Even if we wanted to catch up, we would need to import talent to do it right. 

Below are some pictures of the beautiful, high quality, and carefully maintained street and sidewalk surfaces in central Helsinki. 

Wherever you go in Helsinki, you are faced with first-rate infrastructure. It seems that the Finns don't bother building it if they aren't going to do it well, and subsequently maintain it rather impeccably. I've found the same to be true in other Nordic countries, the Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland and Austria (not to mention Australia and wealthier East Asian countries). These are the countries that do public infrastructure best. These are also the countries with incomes most similar to those of the US. They are therefore ideal to use for comparison purposes. 

I mentioned above that the car-centered nature of American society might account for the lack of detailed design and attractiveness in its urban streets. But this would hardly explain the parlous state of much of the USA's highway infrastructure. In Finland, highways are smoothly paved and streets do not have potholes. I really don't think I ever saw a pothole on a Helsinki street, and this in a climate that can be brutally cold in the winter. What explanation, I wonder, do American cities give? It certainly isn't that their residents, on average, are poorer than those in their northern European counterparts. Average incomes are rather similar. It may however, be related to the massive inequalities in income which don't show up in typical averages. I will come back to this question later.

The quality Finnish infrastructure extends to bridges, public buildings, sports facilities and even the water pipes that I've seen replaced during construction projects. Below are some scenes of cutting edge infrastructure and architecture that surrounds you in Helsinki. 

The most outstanding physical feature of Helsinki is it's wealth of green and natural spaces. Helsinki is a wooded, rocky peninsula jutting out into the sea that at times seems to just incidentally have human settlements interspersed throughout.. 

From where I lived in the north of Helsinki, in the Paloheinä neighborhood, I could ride my bicycle almost all the way to the center of the city (a 45-minute ride) without ever crossing an intersection and without seeing any cars. This is because Helsinki is designed in such a way that wooded and natural corridors (as well as protected seaside areas) extend like a circulation system throughout and around the city. They give residents quick access not only to peaceful, natural areas but also to safe routes for bicycle commuting . Even Oslo, another city with a wealth of green, doesn't have this same connected system of green spaces and corridors penetrating so deeply into all sections of the city.  

My typical ride took me through what is called Helsinki's Central Park, and along the way, I was ceaselessly amazed at the range of uses I found for the open spaces that dominate the city. The pictures below show some of the natural spaces, all without the artificial feeling that over-engineered green spaces often have in cities.  They include clean rivers, farmland, vast areas of garden allotments, seashore, and most commonly, forests that go on and on. This despite the fact that the population density in Helsinki is higher than in comparable American cities such as Columbus or Portland. 

A highlight of life for me in Helsinki was the ease of movement around most of the city by bicycle. In all but the center of the city, Helsinki has an uncommonly good system of paths for bicycles..

Bicycle infrastructure in Helsinki seems to be divided into three main types: 
1) shared sidewalks (pavements) along streets; 
2) shared paths through green areas, and less commonly; 
3) dedicated bicycle lanes.

As is common in Norway, Sweden and Finland, most sidewalks along bigger streets are wide enough to accomodate both pedestrians and biyclists. Often there is a line demarcating walking and cycling areas. Just like people walking, bicyclists on shared pavements yield to cars at intersections, although they are generally protected by raised crosswalks that dramatically slow traffic down, making bicycling safe along streets even for children. 

The most pleasant, and fastest, way to get around by bike in Helsinki is on the shared paths through green areas, or along the coast. These paths are not specifically for bicycles, and are used by pedestrians, joggers, skateboarders and others (see picture above), and can be covered with asphalt or finely crushed stone. Although they are multi-use, they are almost never crowded and it's very easy to quickly cover large distances, totally isolated from automobile traffic. All streets and roads encountered are either crossed by dedicated bicycle/pedestrian bridges or avoided via underpasses. It's a lovely way to get around as it's safe, you have beautiful scenery all around, and the air is fresh and clean. I used paths like this every day to get into the center of Helsinki. 

Helsinki has a few examples of dedicated bicycle lanes, the most interesting bit being the Baana Bicycle Corridor, built along an old rail line. This is a very cool stretch of urban bicycling. Take a look at the link. 

The three types of bicycle infrastructure, sadly, disappear in many of the older core neighborhoods of Helsinki. In these areas it's necessary to ride on the cobblestone streets with traffic. If this part of Helsinki were all you saw, you would not think Helsinki is an excellent city for bicyclists - which in fact, it really is. 

I wrote a bit above about the ample green space in Helsinki, but I want to focus a bit more on the impressive array of outdoor recreational facilities on offer to the public here. 

Not only are forest areas and green belts within a short walking distance of all inhabitants, but there is a very generous allocation of well-maintained playgrounds, sports fields, swimming pools, beach areas. marinas, and more - among the best I've seen anywhere in the world. 

Although these facilities are well used, because of their abundance they rarely appeared crowded. There seems to be space for all.  I was highly impressed with the quality of materials used and general upkeep.

Below are some pictures of the kinds of generally free, meticulously maintained public facilities that most city-dwelling Americans could only dream of. 

When not riding my bicycle, I used public transport in Helsinki. In comparison to most European cities I've lived in, Helsinki is underserved by metro lines. There is one main line, which runs from west to east, but most of the city is not covered. There are commuter train lines that go to the suburbs, and these serve some parts of the city. The city also has many tram lines in the central area, as well as ferry routes linking the city to its islands. On the whole, however, I imagine most people using public transport in this city rely on buses. 

As I was living in a neighborhood far from train, tram, or metro lines, I used bus to get around. Buses were frequent, very clean and pleasant to ride.  A nice thing about Helsinki's well-organized bus system is that generally you know rather precisely when the next bus will come. Nearly every bus stop has a digital display that tells you how many minutes before a particular bus arrives. See the middle picture below, showing that bus 63, a line I used frequently, would arrive in 2 minutes. This sort of system is not common in the United States, but it's the norm in much of Europe and East Asia. 

Like any city, Helsinki has its relatively low income areas. These tend to be on the eastern side of the city, but there is no clear division between wealthy and poor areas here: the eastern parts of Helsinki have wealthier districts, and the western parts have poorer districts, too. 

Finns are uncomfortable with any suggestion that a class divide exists in this city, but it certainly does. In fact, many of the conurbations outside of center are rather forlorn looking and unattractive. There are signs of social problems such as alcholism and poorly integrated groups of foreigners. What does not exist in Helsinki is a green divide. Even the relatively poor here are blessed with an embarrassment of well-maintained green spaces close at hand. 

What struck me most about the lower-class parts of the city is that people are often living in large, high-rise apartment blocks (such as the buildings in the pictures above and below), rather isolated from other buildings, and often quite a walk from any stores. In the summer, it's somehow bearable because of the profusion of green in all directions. But I imagine that in the winter it would be rather bleak, as there is little activity in the environs. Most of these high-rise developments are like islands in the middle of forest. The developments are often centered on a metro stop, where there is always an adjacent shopping center. These commercial centers themselves can be fairly unattractive. I think urban design of this type is a legacy of bad planning ideas from the 1960s and 70s. Most Finns wouldn't want to live in places like this today. However, from disussions I've had with local people involved in urban planning issues, the shopping center-centric style of development continues in Helsinki, continuing to breed car dependancy and continuing to isolate people and deprive them of lively, interesting streets. Timo Hämäläinen writes an interesting blog, called from Rurban to Urban, discussing the challenges Helsinki faces in creating lively, engaging streets and communities. 

Below are more examples of high-rise apartment blocks in the east of Helsinki.

Even in the expensive center of the city, (especially here, I think) there is a lot that can be done to improve the experience of being a pedestrian or bicyclist - and improve the quality of life for local residents, as well. 

Several things strike me about streets in the center. They are:
* narrow sidewalks
* excessive space allocated to car parking
* a lack of trees and other green elements
* a lack of bicycle lanes, and 
* a general low level of activity (and hence, perhaps, the perception of tourists that this is a boring city).

In terms of street design in its old urban core (a rather small part of the city), Helsinki is behind the times. The streets, although often lined with beautiful buildings (and also many bland ones erected in a misguided period of urban renewal in the 1960s), lack beauty because so much space is devoted to automobiles. The streets are rather lifeless and drab as there is no leftover space for trees, cafe-lined sidewalks, and bicycle lanes. Wandering these streets in the winter could be quite depressing. 

I wonder why so little interesting retail and so few restaurants and cafes line most of these streets. Perhaps there are zoning regulations that keep many business out or maybe high taxes act as a discouragement. It's certainly not that Finland lacks an interesting retail sector. In fact, its shopping centers are full of innovative Nordic chain stores (from Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Finland itself) that would be a hit in the US or other parts of Europe. The outside world only knows about IKEA and H&M, but there is much more.  If only Helsinki could manage to get these stores (and restaurants) out of the shopping centers and back onto its streets - this would no longer be a boring city for foreign visitors. 


Below, some streets that could use a bit more life (the first from Itäkeskus, a major hub in eastern Helsinki). 

I can't end this posting without sharing a bit about my favorite neighborhoods in Helsinki. 

Although I love the elegant central districts, with their Jugenstil architecture, the places I find most charming and most uniquely Finnish are the areas of wooden houses and wooden apartment buildings in neighborhoods such as Käpylä and Vallila. It would be a dream for me to have a house in one of these areas. 

There's something about these neighborhoods that make you want to settle in. The scale is very human, there's a lot of common green space, and fundamentally, it's just beautiful. Below are some views from Käpylä.

Helsinki is a great foil to the American cities I've most recently visited and blogged about. It provides a contrast, and ultimately an excellent model for how pleasurable city life in the USA could be. 

There are many reasons for Helsinki's superiority. One is its outstanding urban organizational competence: Helsinki is a metropolis under professional management and benefits from a highly evolved ecosystem of actors who cooperatively create a great city. 

Another underlying reason for its high rank in urban quality of life is the relatively low social inequality, and very high social mobility, in Finland. Residents of Helsinki have a shared destiny and work together to make their city a wonderful place to live. People here are not condemned to an inferior life if they are born in poorer areas. Social mobility is very high. 

I miss Helsinki. Beyond all the wonderful things about life there, and the lessons it holds for American cities, what I miss the most are the friends I love dearly. I was unfortunate enough to have an accident the day before I was scheduled to leave Helsinki. This led to knee surgery. My friends Pia and Jan took care of me for several weeks while I began my recovery. The silver lining to this situation was that it gave me more time to spend with them, especially with their precious kids, Lilya, Linnea and Linus. Below are pictures of my constant companions, Linnea and Linus. I can't wait to get back to Helsinki for a visit next summer. 

While living in Berlin last summer I conceived of a research project that would take me across Asia, a continent that I spent a good part of my life in, but about which I have never written.  This was a large gap in my research about the 'green divide' and I decided to revisit some representative cities in the Middle East, South Asia and East Asia. 

Istanbul struck me as an ideal starting point from Berlin.  It's a city that straddles both Europe and Asia, combines both European and non-European characteristics, and is a global megacity where I was sure I could learn a lot.  It turned out to be an unexpectedly good choice that changed my thinking about developing world cities on many fronts. 

As with most every other city I've been to, Istanbul is a place that tourist attractions do not define or explain.  My previous short visit to the city followed the typical tourist itinerary of a few days in the old city, visiting the Egyptian Bazaar and nearby mosques, drinking tea and smoking the hookah.  This time around I rented an apartment for a month in the centrally located Beyoglu neighborhood, the historically European (ethnically and culturally) enclave of Istanbul.  It made an ideal base for exploring the far reaches of the city as this area, including Taksim Square, is the major hub of much of the city's transit.   My goal for the month was to meet as many people involved in urban studies and planning (academics, activists, government officials), and visit as many neighborhoods and parts of the city, as I could in a month.  Very quickly a new identity emerged from the mists of the tourist fog and I realized that I'd been hostage to an image of the country and city quite at odds with reality

Istanbul is a a huge, modern Mediterranean city that has more in common with Rome than with Cairo or other Middle Eastern cities.  It is an elegant, hilly city surrounded by the Sea of Marmara, the Bosporus and the Black Sea.  Water is rarely far away.  Maybe most surprisingly, it is enveloped in expansive green forests like you might expect to see around some cities in Central Europe.  Few cities in the world have as much forest within their borders as Istanbul (although this forest is shrinking).  I would never have imagined it. 

Below on the left is a map of the Balkans, including the region around Istanbul.  Istanbul really is a European city.  On the right: a closer view of the Istanbul region.  The city is perched along the Bosporus, which connects the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara.  It's easy to see its strategic historical position with control of movement between the Mediterranean and the Black Sea, and between Europe and Asia.

In addition to it's surprisingly green environs, Istanbul also surprised me with a higher level of organization and quality of infrastructure, including parks, than most other cities at this income level.  Mexico City or Sao Paolo (cities with a similar GDP per head), are far behind, both in terms of the quality of their streets and other public infrastructure.  Istanbul just looks far more developed and livable than cities in many of Turkey's economic peers.  As I talked with people about this, an explanation emerged:  the city has an ancient urban culture and has been a part of European history for thousands of years.  Istanbulites take pride in the central city and the city invests to keep it livable and attractive.  I believe another part of the explanation for the feeling of organization and well-being lies in the relatively low income inequality in Turkey.  Istanbul is certainly a city of contrasts.  Impressively wealthy areas line the waterfront contrasting with areas of poverty further inland.  But with a GINI coefficient quite a bit lower than Mexico's or Brazil's, the contrasts are not as extreme and there seem to be relatively few parts of the population totally left behind by Turkey's strong economic growth. 

As delighted as I was with Istanbul, any city of this size has problems, and Istanbul has most problems typical of large urban areas.  Two things in particular, however, conspire to diminish the quality of life here:  the city's high population density and its growing dependence on the automobile. 

Istanbul's population density is readily apparent, as much of its large population is squeezed into neighborhoods along the coastline.  City neighborhoods tend to have multistory apartment blocks lining narrow streets.  And with a rapidly growing number of cars, these streets are overtaxed and bogged down with traffic for much of the day. 

The city is complicit in this expansion of automobile transport.  Its investments in bigger roads encourages more car usage, and comes at the expense of open spaces and forests. The automobile-traffic clogged streets hinder movement in buses, by far the most common form of public transport in Istanbul.  While there is one bus rapid transit line in the city (with dedicated lanes not shared with cars), it is not well integrated with the rest of the city's transport infrastructure and is itself overcrowded. 

The rapid growth of the city over the last decades, encouraged by expanded automobile infrastructure, has led to a massive loss in green cover over the last 35 years.  The pictures below, courtesy of an academic researcher in Istanbul, show how the city's (and region's) forest cover has dramatically shrunk since 1977.

The reliance on the automobile in this densely populated city has not only led to a dramatic decline in forest cover, but has distorted the structure of neighborhoods.  In a city where streets and sidewalks make up a large percentage of available public space (there are not many parks in central areas), city sidewalks are often almost comically marginalized to make space for cars and car parking.  The images below show some typically vestigial sidewalks in Istanbul providing practically no room for pedestrians to walk.  This situation is often aggravated with the most confounding design and placement of bus stop shelters which totally block the sidewalk and force pedestrians to enter the busy street to pass. 

But as I write above, Istanbul strikes me as a highly organized, efficiently managed city.  Everywhere I looked I noted impressive infrastructure improvements, ranging from new subways and bridges to expansive new parklands along the waterfront.  The streetscapes themselves are being renewed with better sidewalks and newly laid brick streets.  .  There is a certain amount of dissatisfaction among many groups with the ruling party's conservative policies in Turkey, but it's hard to deny this government's success in making massive improvements to the physical structure of Istanbul.  In a city growing and evolving as rapidly as Istanbul, mistakes are naturally being made.  I will go into some of these further below.  But first, I share some pictures below of newly redesigned streets with protected sidewalks and carefully laid pavement bricks and stones.  These new streets are not the exception in Istanbul, but are becoming the rule. 

The city is also managing to plant trees in the sorts of narrow streets that typically remain treeless elsewhere.  In cities around the world urban planners tell me that there is no place to plant trees in narrow streets like those found in many poor districts (particularly informal neighborhoods).  But Istanbul provides a great model for what can be done. The pictures below come from several different neighborhoods in the city.  . 

Trees on streets provide many benefits, but they don't transform streets into areas where children can play safely and where people can spend leisurely afternoons away from the crowds and noise of the city.  Accessible parks are an essential part of the good life in any city, and this is an area where Istanbul has traditionally lagged.  The current administration recognized this shortcoming of the city and has embarked on an ambitious park-building program the scale of which I've seen nowhere other than China.  Vast areas of the city's shoreline, areas along highways, and significant portions of any new development are now being devoted to parkland and green spaces.  Even crowded, poor neighborhoods are getting new small parks.  I'm not exaggerating to say the developments are remarkable and impressive.  Detractors may say that these parks are cosmetic cover ups or used to direct attention away from land grabs elsewhere. But from what I could see, no matter the government's intentions, these are real parks used by large numbers of people.  Below are some images of Istanbul's well-tended parks and green spaces.

Where the city may be failing in its modernization and upgrading efforts is in the poorest parts of the city, informal settlements known as gecekondu ('geh-jay-kondoo'). This terms means something like 'built overnight' in Turkish.


Gecekondu are found throughout and all around Istanbul.  I visited several, but in this section will write about the gecekondu I encountered in the Tuzla district. 

A position I had rigidly maintained for years was that the 'Green Divide' (the unequal distribution of urban trees and green space in favor of the wealthy) uniformly exists across cities around the world.  Before coming to Istanbul, as I discussed my upcoming research with academics here, I was typically confronted with disagreement on this thesis.  I assumed that there was some communication problem, as many Turkish academics are not accustomed to using English.  How could it be that the poor would have street trees and green spaces while those of higher economic classes didn't?  This went against everything I had witnessed in urban Latin America, Africa and even the United States.  But in Istanbul the poorest really DO have more green, as you can see in the pictures below. 

Sadly, the somehow charming, green gecekondu settlements are under threat and are being dismantled, often replaced with soulless high-rise apartment blocks totally set apart from nature and dislocated from the pre-existing social fabric.  It's as if the Turks had learned nothing from decades of misguided urban redevelopment in Europe and North America. 

In Tuzla I saw widespread destruction of homes, especially along major streets.  I wondered what had become of the families who had built their Istanbul lives here.  There was no indication of what would follow this demolition, but with the rapid growth of this city, I imagine that cleared areas along wide thoroughfares would be converted to a mix of high-rise commercial and residential use. 

As a gecekondu neighborhood develops, population density increases and the settlements gradually take on the dense character of much of the rest of the city.  Trees and small garden plots disappear, and the buildings become taller and taller.  In some cases, gecekondu are destroyed to make way for highrise developments like those pictured below.  They seem like human warehouses to me.    You can see a couple of examples in Tuzla below. 

A feature of Istanbul that sets it apart from many other cities is its countless beautiful staircases, which connect neighborhoods and bring people up into the hills of the city, or down to the sea. 

The most wonderful thing about the staircases is that there are, of course, no cars.  They are in fact a model for what the streets of Istanbul could be like if they were pedestrianized. 

Staircases provide much needed, car-free public space in the city, and I would always see people sitting on these city staircases, especially in the evenings.  Often large groups gather here, enjoying a beer and sometimes even a barbecue while taking in the view..  

Below are a few shots of some staircases I climbed. 

People make all the difference.  My productive time in Istanbul was made possible by the dozens of extremely kind and generous Turks I met.  I don't believe I've ever met such a universally giving and hospitable group of people in all my travels.  `

A small sampling of the wonderful people who helped me in my research and who often became friends. 

And as usually, I include some pictures of the wonderful Turkish food I enjoyed. 

Berlin is a city with an embarrassment of green riches.  44 percent of its territory is made up of green, open spaces including parks, forests, lakes, community gardens and even some farmland.  However, Berliners are not satisfied.  A coordinated combination of government agencies, experts, NGOs and private citizens are working to expand and improve upon the city's green spaces, with a common belief that access to urban nature is the foundation for a high quality, sustainable city life.   

Berlin's green identity is no accident.  There has been a long history of green urban planning, going back to the the late 19th century when Berlin became the new and rapidly growing capital of the German Empire.  There was early recognition in Germany that trees and natural spaces could act as a sort of remedy for the ills of 'modern' city life and so they were included in city planning.  These natural spaces took the form not only of parks and street trees, but also large segments of the natural landscape on the city's edge and in the suburbs.  Berlin is still surrounded by natural woodlands, lakes and fields, all readily accessible by public transport or bicycle.

The green spaces and the benefits they provide (such as fresh air, beauty and a place for recreation), were not, however, uniformly distributed throughout the city when it was built.  Upper-class districts of the city, for example wealthy Steglitz in the picture above, has far more green space than densely populated working-class areas, such as Neukölln, in the picture to the right.  Central areas of the city tended to contain tightly packed worker tenements and, due to regulatory weakness, only the layout of the streets was determined by the city. Property developers could maximize the areas used for housing, providing workers with small apartments in tall, densely packed buildings with very little public space.  The legacy of this early division continues to weigh heavily on the city as efforts are made to provide more equitable access to green spaces. According to the State of Berlin (Berlin is a state as well as a city), there should be six square meters of green space per inhabitant, and it should be within 500 meters of where they live.  Several inner-city areas are far from reaching this standard.

An aspect of the green divide in Berlin which has come to my attention lately, during a period of unusually hot weather, is limited cost-free access to Berlin's lakes (there are 24).  Most of the lakes I've come to know in Berlin are either surrounded by private - or at least fenced off - property, or the waterfront is simply not designed for bathers.  Beach-like areas are not widespread, not well marked or publicized, and often getting into the lake to swim requires some improvisation.  It's not always a completely pleasant experience. 

An example is the Plötzensee, one of Berlin's most central lakes, in the lower income district of Wedding.  This lake is entirely fenced in on all sides, with private beaches and clubs surrounding it.  The only 'free' public access is unauthorized access from a very short promenade along one side of the lake.  People climb over the railings and enter the lake here.  This is not only potentially dangerous, as people are jumping and diving from the railings into the lake (splashing all those around), but the space is so limited that it is almost always extremely crowded, detracting from the positive experience of having a relaxing time at the lake.  There is little space to stretch out and sunbathe along the side of the lake, only a small, very worn grassy area in front of the promenade. I found a similar situation at other Berlin lakes I've visited.  The picture above shows my entry point into Tegel Lake yesterday, also in the north of Berlin.  I was with my friend Yasuko, and we watched two wincing Spanish women wading through the muddy bottom to get to deeper water to swim.  We winced a bit, too, but enjoyed our swim in the seemingly very clean water filled with many fish. Let me add here that I've been told about ongoing efforts to expand public access to the Berlin waterfront, and slow progress is being made. 

It is important to note that the green divide in Berlin is nothing like that found in most cities.  Even in the working class districts of Berlin, residential streets are almost uniformly lined with a canopy of trees (The condition of these trees may not always be optimal, but they are there, as are the open spaces for planting them).  And there really is a huge amount of green space, even if it might be further than the ideal 500 meters and might sometimes require getting on a bicycle or the metro to enjoy.  From virtually anywhere in the city, you can be in deep forest in under 30 minutes by train.  While other cities, such as Bogota, Colombia have huge forested areas within the city limits, these areas are not open to the public or are not safe.  Even if they were open and safe, using public transport to get to these spots for most city dwellers is hardly as effortless as it is in Berlin.  Excellent public transport is a critical element to Berliners quality of life and access to nature. 

What specifically has Berlin done to bridge its green divide?  Efforts at improving green access for the relatively poor were started as early as the late 19th century in the form of increased park construction and gardening allotments for the working class. These expanded steadily, especially during the 1920s.  Park and green space development continued through the 1930s, but after the war, so much had changed.  Due to the incredible destruction (nearly 30 square kilometers of Berlin had been destroyed) new trajectories were set. 

Initially, a green movement emerged that saw this destruction as a blessing in disguise.  The worst of the damage to the city had occurred in the central districts, the very districts where high density housing for the working class often existed.  It became fashionable for planners to envision a 'loosened' city, where open green spaces would be reintroduced to the dense center resulting in a more 'organic' structure of the central city. 

Barriers to reaching this goal quickly arose.  Despite the severe destruction of huge areas of buildings in the central parts of Berlin, the underlying infrastructure of sewer, water, electrical and gas lines was intact.  In the resource-short period after the war, it made much more sense to simply rebuild upon this existing infrastructure than to start from scratch somewhere else. Hence, the rubble strewn areas that could have supported new green spaces were often rebuilt with housing along the dense lines of what had existed previously. 

The political and later physical division of the city also limited the amount of land available for development in the West, leading to a pragmatic shift in planning away from nature towards economic and social development on the spaces left open after the war.  In the East there were far fewer resources available for development of any kind, and it lagged far behind the West in both green and social investment. 

Instead of a fundamental reworking of the central city (a sizable portion of which was in the East), work in the West focused on linking existing parks with other open spaces, such as sports fields and playgrounds.  Green paths along rivers and other bodies of water were built that often served as connectors between larger green spaces.  This work continues today and has resulted in the 20 Green Main Routes, a system of green 'linkways' which crisscross the city and tie together key elements of Berlin's open and green spaces. 

One route runs very near my apartment and continues on through Tempelhof Feld (photo above), the former airport made famous in the Berlin Airlift.  I ride on it nearly every day.  Tempelhof Feld, a huge open space of grassy meadows and wide car-less surfaces of cement and asphalt, resulted from the decommissioning of the airport.  It's just another example of the growing collection of vasts open and green areas of which Berlin can be proud.  It directly abuts areas of lower socioeconomic level, and is filled every summer day with young people relaxing and drinking beer, picnickers, Turkish families enjoying a barbecue, and even wind surfers.

Critical to an understanding of the well functioning system of green space management in Berlin is the organizational complexity and competence of urban planning in Germany.  At work are a multidisciplinary network of academics, planning professionals, government offices, private groups and so many more that today bring a holistic, collective approach to creating a high quality of urban life.  This 'ecosystem" of urban planning entities has been growing and evolving for well over a century.  It has culminated in a very sophisticated understanding of the physical, ecological and social environment of Berlin, and is evidenced in the vast store of well-organized data the city has.  Without deep data, a typical problem faced in many developing world cities, effective policy formulation and planning is not effective.  An example of Berlin's excellent database tools is the Environmental Atlas, which provides data on a block-by-block basis on the socio-environmental conditions of the city and is available to the public. 

Urban environmental justice, and the green divide, is best addressed when approached as a multidimensional issue with the support of multiple disciplines.  Very few large cities in the world are as well-equipped as Berlin to meet the challenges environmental inequities raise.  The steady progress of environmental improvements in this city can serve as a model to other cities around the world.  

    In this posting I share findings from a paper I wrote on inequalities in the distribution of street trees across neighborhoods of differing socioeconomic level in Bogotá,  Colombia.  Yes, it's quite a mouthful. 
    My research generated the first set of published data on street-tree inequality in any developing-world city, conclusively demonstrating the green divide in Bogotá and providing a basic model for street-tree equity studies in other cities around the world. 

     In all my writing, the importance of trees in creating a quality urban life has been a constant theme.  The benefits of trees, especially street trees, range from environmental improvements (urban cooling and cleaner air) to social benefits (stress reduction and neighborhood cohesion).  Countless studies have documented the transformative power of urban trees.  And what's more, most people would agree that trees are beautiful.   But despite their importance, trees are not a resource shared equally in most cities of the world. 

    Even a brief stay in Bogotá will make one aware of the dramatic change in
the look of streets as one moves across socioeconomic lines.  The change is not striking simply in respect to the style and quality of home and street construction, but equally dramatic in the almost complete lack of street trees and vegetation in
neighborhoods at the lower socioeconomic levels. 

    Bogota is a city officially divided into socioeconomic units called estrato (strata) numbered from 1 to 6.  Estratos 5 and 6 represent the wealthiest neighborhoods, and 1 and 2 the poorest.  
    To document the tree disparities across estrato, I conducted a tree survey with a random sampling of 30 streets in the wealthiest part of the city (estratos 5 and 6) and 30 in the poorest parts of the city (estratos 1 and 2).  At left is a chart showing the data.  The survey results makes it clear that the tree gap across socioeconomic lines in Bogotá is uniform and stark.  Generally speaking, the streets in the lowest estrato of Bogotá are barren, while the streets in the wealthy neighborhoods have a healthy canopy of trees. 

    But why does this green divide exist?  The observant visitor to Bogotá will notice that a formidable barrier to street-tree planting exists in much of the city:  the changing structure of the streets as one moves from the higher estratos to the lower.  This change can be very abrupt. Simply crossing a single street can bring you into a markedly different environment.  One key to the difference is the structure of sidewalks and the allocation (or not) of a planting median between the sidewalk and street.  The lack of a planting median is one of the hallmarks of the lower estratos in Bogotá.  Not only are the structure of the houses different, but the streets in the lower strata are almost always without a green median between the sidewalk and the street, and hence are without room for trees.  They are urban deserts by design. 

    The inferior design of low-estrato streets in Bogotá has resulted from mass migration into the city under the neglectful watch of dysfunctional city and national governments. In the period from 1960 to 2012, Bogotá's population increased from slightly over 1 million inhabitants to nearly 10 million today.  During much of this same period, Bogotá's government was ill equipped in terms of resources, organization, and capabilities (and interest, many would say) to manage the mass influx.  Large swathes of this city were, therefore, developed without any government regulation.  With no goverment involvement, private 'pirate' developers created most lower-class neighborhoods in this city.  To maximize their profits and keep costs low, land was divided into as many lots as possible, leaving only a bare minimum of space for public amenities.  Streets in these neighborhoods are very narrow, and sidewalks, where they exist, are extremely narrow.  
    The problem of the structure of low-strata neighborhoods hangs heavily over efforts to improve the urban environment for the poor, and in particular efforts to increase street-tree cover in Bogotá. As nearly half of Bogotá's
neighborhoods arose from pirate developments, it seems to many that these areas will be permanently treeless.  A rebalancing of the tree population in Bogotá’s streets will require strong and effective government and a commitment to focus on the streets that dominate the lives of more than half the population of this city.  
    To get things moving, highly visible pilot projects should be launched, in conjunction with community organization and green education campaigns, to demonstrate the great improvements in quality of life that green streets can bring.  As the streets of most neighborhoods don’t provide much space for trees, innovative and low-cost solutions that provide some of the benefits of trees may be adopted, such as green roofs and vine-covered walls and canopies.  However, in many cases as streets are paved for the first time, or repaved, redesigns can be implemented that include planting spaces for trees.  In many areas, streets can be pedestrianized, which would allow ample space for canopy-forming trees to be planted.   Successful projects showing how city life can be transformed will lead to further interest and belief by the public in the benefits of tree-lined streets.  This dynamic city, with its mild and favorable climate, has what it takes to become one of the greenest and most beautiful in South America.

In this posting I will discuss inequality (a very hot topic in the news today) and its relationship to urban greening.  Inequality in a society is popularly measured by the Gini Index.  If you look at the chart below, representing data from the Gini Index, the darker blue a country is, the more evenly distributed its wealth is.  Countries such as Norway, Sweden, Germany, South Korea and Australia are among the most equal in the world.  Next in line among the lighter blue countries come places such as Canada, France, Japan and the 'rest' of the developed world.  In fainter blue we find countries such as China and Russia  Moving down the scale into the tans and oranges, we arrive in Latin America, the most unequal region in the world.  What's striking is the inclusion of the U.S. in this region of inequality, with a GINI coefficient on par with that of Mexico and Argentina.  Colombia, Brazil and Chile have even more severe inequality.  South Africa, still dealing with the legacy of apartheid, has the most unequal society of any major country in the world.

Inequality by itself is something that any normal society has and requires.   Without inequality of capabilities, efforts and rewards, the modern economy wouldn't function.  But severe inequality, as we see in the U.S. and Latin America, has negative side effects  that weigh heavily on societies at large.  These effects include high crime and homicide rates (and the concomitant high incarceration rates), high teenage pregnancy rates, poor educational performance (and a resulting oversupply of unskilled and shortage of skilled labor), a distrust in institutions (both government and private), decreased effective demand (a lowering of overall consumption in the market), mental and physical health problems, and a poor natural environment. 
When people on the bottom feel disenfranchised, that their extra effort won't pay off because upward mobility seems impossible or extremely unlikely, social cohesion and stability suffer. As an American living in Colombia, I am particularly fascinated by the inequality debate taking place in the United States now.  It all seems so familiar, and so relevant for Colombia, as well.  On the whole, gross inequality is not only bad for the poor.  It's bad for everyone. 

The United States is a country of great wealth.  But there's nothing unique about the phenomenon of wealth and its associated beautiful neighborhoods, excellent schools and high quality of life.  Nearly every country and major city in the world exhibit these phenomena to some extent.  Even generally unpleasant places I've come to know, such as Lagos, Nigeria, have islands of extreme wealth and privilege.  What is, on the contrary, relatively unusual are places where the gap between the wealthy and the poor is not so strikingly evident, where the urban environment doesn't shift dramatically when moving from one economic reality to another, where the poor aren't confined to a dramatically inferior quality of life and to circumstances that are hugely deterministic of how their life will proceed.     

Bogotá provides an excellent example of the typical pattern in middle income countries.   Unlike a very poor city such as Lagos, Bogotá has vast areas of impressive wealth, with hundreds of thousands, if not over a million, of its eight million residents enjoying a living standard which most New Yorkers or Tokyoites might envy.  If we could isolate the wealthy neighborhoods of Bogotá and consolidate them into a separate city, I'm rather sure it would rank among the wealthiest and best educated in the world.  

And not only is the abundance impressive.  So too are the opportunities for those at the top.  If you are from a wealthy family in Bogotá, odds are that you have an excellent education, high-quality medical and dental care, a network of influential connections - and an excellent job paying a rich world salary with a social and cultural life to match.  You will be missing little that your wealthy peers in Europe or the US enjoy.  There is a pride among the well-to.do in Bogotá.  They have created a beautiful world in which to live.  

And the gross inequality of Bogotá, not often visible from the confines of the wealthier districts, adds to the luxurious life that the upper classes here live.  Abundant cheap labor makes life convenient, relaxing and safe.  There are maids who cook, clean and care for children, doormen who guard the countless luxury apartment buildings, and a whole array of other people providing services at very low cost to make life almost care-free by the standards of the average person in the so-called rich world.  The upper classes here have very little interest of moving to Europe or the US, except possibly in pursuit of an education - after which they tend to come home.   

But the peace of mind of this upper class must be contingent upon an ability to ignore the terrible poverty and hardships that so much of the population here faces - and to forget the risks historically associated with it.  Maybe they tell themselves that in a rapidly growing economy such as that of Colombia (Colombia is growing faster than the US ever did in it's developmental period) there are so many opportunities that's it just a matter of hard work and responsibility to create a comfortable life and become comfortably middle or upper class.  It's a comforting thought that shows very little understanding of the reality of being poor, hungry, poorly educated and with no connections and none of the advantages that come with birth into privilege.  In my time here in Colombia I've come to know people on both sides of the divide, and I see how insurmountable the barriers are to those unfortunate enough to be born on the wrong side of the tracks.  

I feel that the U.S. has something to learn from the example of countries such as Colombia.  We seem to have forgotten the course of our own development, from a country with extreme poverty and inequality to one with a large middle class and, until the last decades, diminishing inequality and poverty.  When Americans nostalgically look back to a better era, often it is the 1950s and 60s.  The economy was strong, unemployment was low, foreign competition was weak, and there was a perception of boundless opportunities and certainly a feeling that you could have a better life than your parents and grandparents.  This was the time of the 'Great Compression', a period when income inequality was at an all-time low in US history.   This period extended through the early 1980s.  See the chart below.    

The last three decades have put the US on a reverse course to return us to the inequality of 100 years ago.  This brings me back to what I see as the converging nature of US and Latin American societies.  Americans have typically looked down on Latin America as a backward region with terrible inequality and poverty, high crime rates, low levels of educational attainment, and dysfunctional government.  But when these same issues are affecting us at home, why do so many turn a blind eye? 

It might be interesting to make a comparison of the US of 100 years ago with the Colombia of today.  This was the U.S. of small, laissez-faire government and few social protections.  It was a country of new industries, rising to economic preeminence in the world.  However, a comparison with the Colombia of today is not flattering.  The US economic growth rate was 50% lower, literacy rates substantially lower, health care coverage and life expectancy far behind, and educational attainment and incomes (in constant dollar terms) much lower.  This may have been a glorious era in the eyes of some historians, but it was no golden age for the average American.  

A return to high-level inequality explains some of the parallels between the United States and Latin American societies today.  As I've written above, both the U.S. and Latin America have strikingly high homicide rates, high levels of incarceration (the U.S. leads the world), low social cohesion among differing groups (socioeconomic, religious, racial, political, etc), a lack of trust in public institutions, low high school graduation rates, inaccessibility for many to higher education, and a perception among some groups that respect can't be earned without recourse to violence. 

I, for one, am not comfortable with America slipping into the same league as Latin American countries.  After my sojourn in Colombia, I plan to return to the United States because I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a country with deep social problems and the instability this entails.  Americans in the past have taken pride in the stark divide between the U.S. and our neighbors to the south.  There was (and still is) an air of moral superiority, a belief that our society is fundamentally better.  Will it continue to be? On our present trajectory, it's doubtful.      

Inequality in both Colombia and the U.S. has a green footprint.  In fact, the green divide might serve as a great marker of social inequality.  It's easy to see it in the tree-lined streets and well-groomed parks of wealthy districts and the barren streets and abandoned lots of poor areas - as evident in New York or Los Angeles as it is in Bogotá.      
There is a lot of research establishing the negative consequences resulting from a lack of trees and green space in a neighborhood, ranging from the physical (more polluted air and a stronger heat island effect) to the psychological (lower general sense of well being and more stress).  Green in the public space is one example of a common human need that is often not being met in grossly unequal societies - just like good public schools and security.  Efforts to address gross inequality can start with initiatives to re-balance public goods, to make the experience of walking down a street in Soacha feel not so utterly different from the experience of walking down the street in Chico (a wealthy neighborhood of Bogotá), or being in a public school in the south Bronx not so different from attending a public school in Westchester County (a wealthy suburban area of New York). 

Jumping into a cab outside Ezeiza International Airport, the mythical Buenos Aires of my imagination - a city of European sophistication somehow juxtaposed on the Pampas - started coming into focus as an excitingly different reality.  As we neared town, I was struck by the immensity of this place, watched endless rows of tall, weathered apartment blocks passing by, and felt an odd nostalgia for eastern Europe.  This could have been a road into Warsaw or Moscow, or some other large city in the east.  I had left Latin America!   

The sophistication, I discovered, was not missing.  Some areas in the center really do resemble Madrid, Barcelona or Paris.  These central areas were built on a European-inspired design during Argentina's era of relative wealth (even in 1965 Argentina had a higher per capita income than Japan or Spain) and the pretensions are impossible to miss in the city's grandiose monuments, soaring civic architecture, broad boulevards, and lovely parks. I was struck by the excellent underlying design that, despite rough edges, makes Buenos Aires an extremely livable and likable city.  


As an urban greening (and livability) advocate, certain things stood out:  the canopy of trees over almost every street; the wide, green balconies; the excellent urban transport system; and a street design that fosters a lively street culture. 

Coming from Bogotá, in many ways a very green city, I quickly noticed the difference decades of street tree planting and care can make.  Buenos Aires has a mature canopy of street trees, mostly European species such as plane trees and lindens, and they add great beauty to the whole city.  On a hot mid-summer day, with a strong sun beating down, the difference this tree canopy makes for pedestrians is incredible.  Not only is UV radiation greatly reduced, but temperatures can be as much as 5°C degrees cooler than in areas with no tree cover.  Trees also filter the air (intercepting dangerous airborne particles and removing polluting gases such as carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and nitrogen dioxide), absorb carbon dioxide, help manage rainwater runoff, and provide shelter for birds and other animals.  
Despite all the financial nightmares that this country and city have been through, the trees are maintained, and I noted a lot of new tree planting, as well.

Buenos Aires is a city of apartments, often in tall buildings, and the vast majority of these have wide balconies.  In some of the older areas of the city, balconies have striking details, such as ornate ironwork and carved stone.   People seem to use these spaces much more than they do in Bogotá or New York (where balconies are a relative rarity), evidenced by the number of plants, furniture and activity I witnessed on them.  In combination with the trees on the street, the vegetation adds a calm and softness to the environment.
I've noticed a trend in many cities (Bogotá, for one) to exclude balconies from new buildings, presumably to maximize indoor floor space.  This trend doesn't seem to have caught on in Buenos Aires.  Even the newest apartment towers I saw include broad balconies.

A car is definitely not needed to reach any part of this city.  There are six underground metro lines, various commuter rail lines, and one of the best bus systems I've seen anywhere. I've tried all the various options. Of all the metro systems on which I've ridden, the Buenos Aires 'Subte' reminds me most of the subway in New York, both in general design and general state of disrepair.  But like the New York subway, it functions.  The commuter rail lines take you to neighborhoods in the city not covered by the Subte and to the suburbs.  I took one of these lines far out into the hinterland, for more than an hour, past industrial zones, beautiful suburbs (and small shantytowns) and even pastures with cows - all for under 50 US cents.  But my favorite form of transport in Buenos Aires is the buses.  I remember years ago, Paris had beautiful buses of an older design with many nice details (like chrome trim) on them (nothing like the standardized, modern buses of today).  Buenos Aires has buses somewhat like this, made in Argentina, of a design that I think hasn't changed much in a while.  There are literally hundreds of bus lines crisscrossing the city, with extremely frequent schedules, and a very low cost.  Once you figure the system out (there is a very useful guide available, the 'Guia T'), they becomes a natural part of city life.

Finally, I have to mention the excellent street layout, zoning, and block design, which together make for very lively, livable city spaces, generating an invigorating city life.  Streets in Buenos Aires generally have short blocks, meaning access between streets and neighborhoods is easy.  People are not hemmed in.  Most streets have businesses of some sort on them, whether it's fruit and vegetable stores, cafés or travel agencies.  There are not many empty facades.  The streets are busy with life.  Jane Jacobs must have loved Buenos Aires, if she'd ever visited.  A great innovation, which is lacking in most cities in the New World, is the virtual elimination of protruding, 90-degree corners of buildings.  Generally, the corners of buildings in Buenos Aires are squared off, as you see in the pictures below, providing an inviting space at most corners for cafés and restaurants, and just more space for pedestrians.  

In closing, an odd thing about this river city is that the river itself is hardly noticed.  There are few clues that you are directly next to one of the widest rivers and biggest estuaries in the world, unless you go stubbornly in pursuit of it. The vast Rio de la Plata runs all along the northern and eastern parts of the city, but the bulk of shoreline is private, so finding a place to see it is tough.   The newly developed harbor area, called Puerto Madero, doesn't seem to offer much of a river view.  The river is so wide that it looks like the sea, with the exception of its muddy brown color,  We walked for hours and through all sorts of marginal and industrial areas to find, rather accidentally, a beautiful park on the banks of the river commemorating victims of state terrorism, a must-see in Buenos Aires, although it seems to be in none of the guidebooks.

A holistic city vision and plan for streets, green spaces and green transport is a foundation for high-quality city life.  But what exactly is it that makes for an urban landscape that supports the good life?  In this posting I focus on mobility, a critical key to urban health.  Mobility in a sophisticated urban life is the ability for anyone to get around a city safely, quickly, and with little or no stress.       
In most cities today, a minority has a stranglehold on the space allocated to transport.  This minority (and it is a minority in most cities of the world) is city dwellers who use cars.  Big-city space is scarce, and with one person in a car taking up an area that could accommodate dozens in a bus or streetcar, or maybe 6 on bicycles, cars tend to overwhelm urban infrastructure and rob everyone of quality mobility.
Large cities around the world are looking for solutions to the mobility problem, and those that have succeeded have almost invariably placed limits on the automobile.  These successful cities have built accessible and efficient public transport systems.  Some have gone a step further, making bicycling a safe and viable option for all urban residents, revolutionizing urban life in unexpectedly nice ways.  Innovative street design, incorporating bicycle paths, is central to the plans of any city aiming for the highest quality of urban life.

Bicycle paths take many forms, but can simply be defined as designated lanes for bicycle use.  Ideally, these paths are segregated from automobile and other traffic, although the reality in dense urban areas is that bicycle lanes are often shared and/or just added as an afterthought to existing streets with no separation from vehicular traffic.  
The development of bicycle infrastructure (but not bicycle usage) tends to closely follow socioeconomic indicators such as high income and high education.  The countries best known for providing excellent paths for bicyclists include the Netherlands, Denmark, and Germany.  Cities with a similar reputation include Montreal, Portland, Perth, Barcelona, and even New York as of late.  But one city ranked near the top for its biking infrastructure is a bit out of place in this elite group of wealthy countries and cities:  Bogotá, the capital of Colombia.  Bogotá consistently ranks among the top ten cities globally for biking, and it provides a model for many other cities in the developing world.  There's a fascinating history behind Bogotá's unlikely rise, and I recommend you take a look at Martin Herrndorf's blog on this topic here.

Bogotá, although nestled in the high Andes and with an impressive mountain backdrop, is generally a flat city that is ideal for bicycle transport.  The planners of the cicloruta (Spanish for bike path) system in Bogotá have used this flatness, and the city's grid pattern, to make for an extensive system (over 300km) of separated bike paths that efficiently take you just about anywhere in the city. I have ridden across nearly half the system in my five months in Bogotá, and generally the experience has been excellent.  The system is well-maintained, and despite the rainy climate and sometimes bad air pollution along major roads, it's a wonderful way to get around the city.  
The paths here are used for leisure and exercise, general transport, and have a surprising number of people delivering goods of great variety - from hot meals to metal piping.  I could just as easily exchange the word 'people' with 'men', however, when describing users of the ciclorutas.  My impression is that male bikers greatly outnumber female bikers, especially on weekdays.  I can only speculate as to why (maybe security concerns or an idea that it's not a feminine way to get around).  A recent article in Transportation Alternatives gives some answers to a similar question in New York City. 
Finally let me clarify that despite its extensiveness the cicloruta system in Bogotá is not, in my observations, used like systems in Amsterdam and Copenhagen as a primary mode of transport for office workers.  But this is a topic for another posting.    

Despite my optimism about biking in  Bogotá, it does present certain  challenges and frustrations.  In cities such as Amsterdam, with a long history of urban bicycling, a common culture of biking has developed wherein every Dutch person seems to  instinctively know the basic rules.  Pedestrians and vehicles usually stay out of bike lanes, bicyclists signal to each other to indicate turns, and a general level of biking civility is maintained.  In Bogotá its more of a free-for-all.  Pedestrians routinely walk in bike lanes, cars and other vehicles (and vendor carts) block the routes, and in any situation where a bicyclist needs to enter a proper street, it can be dangerous.  There is a general lack of respect for bicyclists (and pedestrians) by drivers in this city.  Cars do not tend to slow down and yield to bicycles - even if there is a stop sign demanding this.  What's needed here is more verkehrsberuhigung, a wonderful compound German word for traffic calming, a concept the embraces the view that streets are public spaces that should be shared equally by all users.  Typical traffic calming strategies include speed bumps, curb extensions, and signs indicating pedestrian/bicycle crossing areas.  

In addition to its ciclorutas, there are additional opportunities for bicyclists in this huge metropolis.  Every Sunday and national holiday Bogotá closes over 120km of city streets to traffic and from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. the streets are the domain of bicyclists, pedestrians, rollerbladers and others luxuriating in the usually off-limits expanses of space devoted to the automobile.  This practice is called ciclovia and the city estimates it provides exhaust-free exercise space for over 1 million people and it is hugely popular here.  There are few better ways to get in touch with the local scene in Bogotá than to ride or stroll down one of the closed streets on a Sunday morning.   It's a festive occasion and a whole industry has arisen to cater to the needs of those out on the streets.  There are well-organized vendors selling drinks, fruit and other snacks and bicycle repair stands lining the streets.  Ciclovia is a practice that should be adopted by cities all over the world, and it's not isolated to Bogotá.  I've seen a similar, if less well-organized, program in Guadalajara, Mexico.   

For my work with CitiNature, the ciclorutas of Bogotá provide a natural space for projects, as they are inconsistently greened.  Biking under a green canopy adds visual pleasure to a ride.  Trees give a fresh smell to the air, provide protection from the tropical sun and act as a buffer with traffic.  In some areas, the vegetation along the paths is lush, in others patchy or nonexistent.  There are many spaces that may have once been planted with trees and bushes that today are empty - easy targets for a greening project.  .  
There are also many un-pruned trees that  obstruct bicyclists.  It's not uncommon to have to duck as you ride to pass through some areas.  I envision a project wherein CitiNature will help train volunteer pruners to do this job, as is done in New York City.     

The opportunities open to bicyclists in Bogotá add to the quality of life in this city and with increased cycling - especially for commuting to work - the physical environment of Bogotá can further improve.  
To purchase a bike in Bogotá and start making a difference, check out Martin's excellent recommendations.  

Announcements of trips to Colombia, and Bogotá its capital, are generally followed by quizzical glances, questions about safety (and sanity), and repetitions of well-worn cliches about the drug trade.  People are skeptical about Colombia.  After more than three months of living here, I must say that Bogotá is one of the most misunderstood and underrated capitals in the world.  It has a dramatic setting high in the Andes, with a lush range of the mountains running right alongside.  It's a city of grand scale moving rapidly away from a past of violence and urban chaos into a period of greater safety and urban renewal.  And there's an infectious energy in the air that's hard not to succumb to.  

I came to Bogotá to consider it as a site for future projects with CitiNature and soon after arrival I was convinced that this was a place with which I wanted to engage and put down some roots.  In this blog posting I'll give a general overview of the city's allure to an urban greening activist.    

Three things sum up my excitement about Bogotá: 1) its positive trajectory; 2) an ideal climate; 
3) its expansive scale.    

Bogotá is not an ancient colonial city (although it does have a beautiful historic center), but instead a modern city with an orientation towards the future.  In many parts you could easily mistake yourself for being in newer districts of a European city.  And the similarities are not skin deep.  Bogotá has one of the most extensive systems of bicycle paths in the world (over 300km of paths and growing), a rapidly expanding express bus system (almost like a metro) called the Transmilenio, a government  intent on improving the infrastructure for pedestrians (there are carefully laid brick pedestrian pavements in many areas of the city now), and a cafe culture unlike I've seen anywhere else in the western hemisphere. It's not a city looking back.  

The climate in Bogotá is reminiscent of a Scandinavian summer - and this climate is year-round, shifting only through periods of more or less rain.  Nights are quite cool, but the strong sun warms the city quickly in the mornings.  With abundant rainfall and mild temperatures, Bogotá should be a mecca for gardeners.  This is a city of lush green lawns, blossoming flowers, and hundreds of parks.  Gardening in the nicer parts of town tends to be done by professional gardeners and they do beautiful work with an incredible range of plants that this permanently temperate climate allows.  

For people in search of a project, Bogotá is a city of enticing opportunities.  As might be expected in the 4th largest city in Latin America, Bogotá boasts vast areas of impressive wealth shadowed by neighborhoods less opulent, and large areas of real and relative poverty.  Some 30% of the population officially live below the poverty line.  The city epitomizes the global correlation between wealth and "green."  The wealthier neighborhoods of Bogotá are generously supplied with parks and the streets lined with trees and bushes.  They are wrapped in green, from gardens spilling over high-rise terraces to meticulously manicured landscapes.  The rich in Bogotá know what they've got: the perfect climate for exuberant vegetation.  And it is stunningly beautiful.  

Move a bit to the west from the wealth along the base of the mountains (or south from the newer districts in the north), however, and things start to change, sometimes abruptly.  Areas that previously were solidly middle class or wealthy have obviously been in decline for some time, I imagine due to the violence this city experienced in the not too distant past.  Single homes are much harder to protect than high-rises with doormen and the population with money may have largely migrated to new areas of high density.    Once charming neighborhoods are slowly crumbling through benign neglect, and previously elegant parks and streets are losing their trees and bushes.  Few seem to care about maintaining them.  Some streets have entirely lost their trees.  In the poorer neighborhoods there may never have been trees in the first place.  

But as security has increased, the possibilities for urban renewal are endless.  There are a surprising number of streets lined with architecture that might be right at home in the hearts of European cities.  Older neighborhoods surrounding parks seem only to need the right spark for rejuvenation efforts to begin.  I'm of the opinion that this is the time to be in Bogotá and be one of those sparks that brings this city closer to reaching its potential as the most lovely and livable in South America.  And as an urban greening advocate, the low-hanging fruit are in abundance.  Streets and parks that have lost their trees could rapidly be replanted.  As the climate is so benign here, with ample rainfall, the typical losses associated with urban tree planting would be minimized.  A green revolution is in the offing, and I want to be a part of it. 

Below are a few more pictures of the characteristic brick architecture in neglected areas of Bogotá, something I hadn't expected to find in South America.  

This initial snapshot of Bogotá wouldn't be complete without a few pictures of the beautiful historic center, which follow below.  

In the following weeks and months I will be reporting more on Bogotá and CitiNature's plans here.  I recommend to anyone who hasn't been to Colombia to consider putting it on your agenda.  It is a rare jewel of a country generally uncrowded by tourists.