Kiev has been on my radar for, it would be fair to say, something like 45 years. The first stirring of interest in Ukraine came with a good friend in elementary school on the northwest side of Chicago (in a rather heavily Slavic immigrant neighborhood). Myron was the son of Ukrainian immigrants, and every time I went to his house, it was like a border crossing. The style of pretty much everything in that house (including Myron's clothing) was somehow eastern in nature. But most memorable was the exotic and delicious food made by Myron's mother, who from my impressions at the time was a lively and powerful character. The savory, homemade food, often with a lot of garlic, was totally different from the rather bland fare I was used to at home. I loved it!   

Although I made it to the USSR way back in 1984, Kiev and the Ukraine had to wait until this summer. There was a particularly high level of anticipation, as the idea of "Kiev" had always captivated me. I just somehow knew it would be fascinating. I'd read books dealing with Ukraine's rather difficult history, as well as contemporary accounts that weren't particularly complimentary (one describing Ukraine as "the Africa of Europe"). What's more, this is a country in the midst of a civil war. But I'd also read lots of positive travel accounts and few things attract me more than underrated and under-visited cities and countries. 

Arrival brought me into a not totally unfamiliar world. Maybe the closest parallel in my recent experience would be Belgrade, Serbia. Ukraine may be undergoing very hard times but Kiev, at least, is a pleasant place. One simple way of describing my first impression upon arrival here would be: "it's better than I expected." Average income levels might suggest that Kiev would look as poor as cities in Central America or even Africa. On the surface at least, Kiev was nothing like cities in those regions. And although Kiev is familiarly European in character, it is European in the eastern sense. Structurally and atmospherically it's very much as I remember parts of St. Petersburg back in 1984 (when it was still called Leningrad) and Moscow in 1991. The bulk of this city is obviously a product of Soviet urban planning - which in theory is itself not radically different from planning decades ago in northern European cities (especially Helsinki). But from my hotel window on the edge of the city where I stayed the first night, there were also tantalizing glimpses of something else: little houses with gardens on narrow lanes, with a general sense of dereliction, much as can be found in parts of American cities and towns. Maybe that's also part of the familiarity I experienced.  

I will start this glimpse into Kiev where most tourists begin, the showcase center in and adjacent to Maidan Square.  It's an important starting point, not just because of its recent significance as the focal point of the Orange Revolution, but because of its importance in terms of mid-20th century history. This area of monumental, Stalinist architecture (which spreads out along the impressive Khreshchatyk Street and into neighboring streets) was built after the phenomenal destruction of the Second World War. 

I could imagine the important political and ideological statement the redesigned and rebuilt center made. it's a vision of the triumphal Soviet Union, Stalin's vision of Soviet power. This whole area has wide avenues and large buildings built in the style sometimes called "Stalin baroque." The monumental scale is impressive, but it's not particularly inviting. The dozens of little kiosks and cafes that have popped up, however, add a nice human scale and detail to the streetscape, and give good reason to loiter and people watch. .But still, the more cozy streets lie elsewhere, in other, older parts of the city. A thought that struck me was the scarce resources that must have been put into this area at a time when the country was still reeling from the devastation of the war. Living standards at this time were terribly low. As important as it may have been to morale after the war, the diversion of resources to build this showcase center must have held back the building of desperately needed housing. 

The pictures I have give such a poor impression that I recommend going to Google Street View to get a sense of what this and other streets in Kiev are like. Click HERE to take a peek at Khreshchatyk Street. 

Large areas of the center radiating out from Khreshchatyk Street are filled with a lovely mix of buildings from  the early post-war and pre-war periods. This is the Kiev I find really enchanting. The streets are energetic and complex, and full of restaurants, cafes, shops and even monasteries and churches. There are plenty of diversions for leisurely strolls.

Besarabsky Square (Street View and picture above), at the end of Khreshchatyk Street, give a perfect example of how richly beautiful this city can be.  The old Besarabsky Market, built around 1910 (the building at the back left of the photo), is itself is a lively center for fresh foods, and also lots of little restaurants, including Vietnamese and Vegan. I don't know how much damage this area suffered during the war, but somehow it seems to be basically intact (or rebuilt). 

Below is a sampling of pre-war architecture that dominates much of the center. 

You know you are in the east of Europe when you see the golden domes of churches, and Kiev has a lot of these. To the right you see St. Sophia's cathedral, completed around 1050AD, and still containing some original mosaics and frescos. This is one of Kiev's "World Heritage Sites". The square in front of the church is surrounded by a real hodgepodge of architecture from several eras, including some recently built ghastly faux baroque buildings (made primarily of glass and steel - and not visible in this photo), which are an insult to such a historic place. I imagine they arose due to some combination of chaos and bribes.

There are many historic areas with monasteries and churches, mostly along the high west bank of the Dnieper. This river, by the way, is a defining feature of Kiev. It divides the city in two, and from the hills on the west bank, there are scenic views over the river as it winds through the city. Along the edges are promenades with cafes, the historic Podil district, and in the middle of the river, Hydropark, an island with beaches. It fascinated me to learn that the Dnieper has a system of locks that allow rather large ships to come to Kiev from the Black Sea and beyond.  It is a real port city, despite being more than 800km from the sea. 

What struck me repeatedly is that Kiev looks better on the surface and has a higher level of civility than cities in other countries at this same, very low economic level. I found people to be generally polite, decently dressed, and clean. Although run down in many areas, I didn't find the city generally dirty. Shops and restaurants are basically clean, as were the apartments I rented. ​

According to the IMF, Ukraine's average income (adjusted for purchasing power) is between that of El Salvador and Belize, and near that of Honduras. Once again, as I've noticed so often, countries with low GINI coefficients (and low inequality) look much better than those with high GINI coefficients, even those with far higher incomes. I always look at this imperfect measure as I visit new countries because it often helps explain what I'm seeing on the ground. Ukraine has one of the lowest GINI coefficients on the planet, and this can go a long way to explaining how orderly and decent Kiev is compared to other cities in countries at a similar GDP level. But there is something else at work here in Kiev, as well. Maybe it's the legacy of being part of an industrialized world power with intellectual capital and the resources to build things like a metro system, a well-planned urban structure, and the institutions we associate with a developed country. But then again, that may be a kind of "Kiev mirage": the superficial appearance of a high level of development, even if things are very rough around the edges. Maybe if you scratch below the surface, things are really as bad as the numbers indicate. I found signs of this when I visited crumbling hospitals and the dilapidated Kiev Zoo.

But on the whole, Kiev is somehow not really the developing world, in the sense that many African or Latin American cities are. To me, it's just a rather rundown version of Europe. Poverty certainly exists here on a wide scale, but it takes a different form in it's spatial and structural expression. A fine example of this would be the generous allocation of green space throughout the city. This is not something you find in most poor cities. 

A reliable feature of the streets in Kiev, and a delight for me, are coffee kiosks, which are  really everywhere. This is, it seems, a coffee culture. I was surprised at the variety of these places, and the quality of the coffee many of them offered at a reasonable price. There are also fancier sit down cafes with mouth watering desserts. 

The kiosk phenomenon is widespread, and there are kiosks selling all sorts of foods, and pretty much anything....from hardware to clothing. Along with the coffee kiosks, most streets have food kiosks as well, selling savory and sweet pastries. The most vibrant and busy areas are around metro stops. Here there is always a buzz of activity, with all sorts of kiosks and vendors. The underground passageways of the metro entrances are also lined with all sorts of stores. I seemed to notice a lot of flower shops and clothing vendors. Urban planners complain about all these kiosks, many of which have risen illegally or with bribes, but I found them a lively addition to what might otherwise be rather lifeless streets. 

Below, a sampling of coffee kiosks, including one named after Obama. 

Public transportation is certainly the best in the world at this income level. 

* 

I went to Leningrad (as St. Petersburg was called for decades) in 1984 while a student at the University of Oslo. Because of reasonably friendly ties with the Nordic world, the Soviet Union allowed students from Norway to travel through the communist student organization, Sputnik. This meant an extremely low cost. My friends and I paid around US$100 for an all-inclusive week there, traveling by a Soviet passenger train (which I recall having coal fired heaters)  from Helsinki.  
Arriving in the Soviet Union as an American was an unusual thing, and the experience was profoundly different from any I'd had before. The most mundane aspects of daily life were strange to me. I remember the beverage vending machines (example above) where glasses were used and reused without washing (I think you could rinse the glasses); the ice cream vendors selling delicious vanilla ice cream and raspberry sherbet; the very shabby and practically empty food markets. 

There are a couple of interesting books that describe the special products and designs of Soviet life: Made in Russia: Unsung Icons of Soviet Life and Designed in the USSR: 1950-1989

As we were on a Sputnik tour, all aspects of the trip were controlled, and the overarching theme of every day was 'war memorials'. It wasn't hard to imagine why this was so important to people in the Soviet Union (I had a remote inkling of what they'd gone through), but after a few days of getting on tour buses and seeing yet another beautiful but for me boring park commemorating some aspect of the war, I was ready for escape. My buddy and I decided to bail out, and we claimed to be sick one morning, and then headed out on our own. That's when the real adventure began and glimpses of real Soviet life began. I'll save those stories for another time and place.

Kiev, like St. Petersburg, is filled to this day with many memorials of the "Great War". I'm not much of a fan of these things, but some of them in Kiev are really impressive, such as the Motherland Monument (see picture below), and the war museum itself was very engaging and really almost an emotional experience.  

The elegant, if monumental, look of much of the center of Kiev, gradually fades away to a rather dull uniformity. Most residents of the city live in standardized apartment blocks of various eras, most in need of renovation..

Housing in Kiev is dominated by
Panelny Dom buildings, panel-construction buildings, which were the Soviet Union's answer to an acute housing shortage. This was a huge experiment in industrialized housing construction, and on some measures it was a success. These buildings, also called Khrushyovka buildings (as mass construction began during the Kruschev era), appear in large numbers in every ex-Soviet city I've visited. For many people it was their first experience of having a private home, with their own kitchen and bathroom. 

While the exteriors and even public hallways look derelict and dilapidated, the inside of apartments can be quite cozy and well maintained. Investment in maintaining public spaces, it seems, is a low priority. The same applies to the yards of buildings. As I wrote above, poverty in Kiev is not evident as it would be in Latin America, where poor neighborhoods take on a radically different structural form. It's evident, instead, perhaps in the level of maintenance. And even here, I'm not sure this is a clear measure, as I've pointed out that apartments in these run down buildings can be quite nice. I really wonder about the condition of things like water pipes, electricity supplies, and heating. The three apartments I stayed in in Kiev varied in quality, but all had good water pressure and no electrical problems.  Maybe more revealing, however, is what often lurks behind these apartment blocks. I noticed sadly derelict green spaces,  rotting garbage piled high in dumpsters. old cars, and crumbling asphalt. 

I was fascinated by vestiges of the Soviet period, such as the elevators in one of the buildings I stayed in (pictured below), still running decades after being installed. I wondered how safe it was, but it sure did work fine. The green paint of the stairwells also was somehow reminiscent of the Soviet past. Why would anyone choose such a color?There is a whole genre of Soviet films that focuses on these sorts of buildings. 

What's striking to me is that the physical structure of the streets and green spaces is much like it would be in northern Europe...not so different from developments built in Helsinki in the 1960s and 70s, in fact. The difference is maintenance and upkeep (and no doubt original construction quality). In Kiev, there is only the occasional tended flower bed (emphasis on occasional). The fact that stores (things like little supermarkets and pharmacies) are integrated into the street fronts, and that the streets in these areas are often lined with informal vegetable and fruit stands, brings life to these areas. This is totally different from what you find in lifeless Nordic developments of a similar type, as spotlessly clean as they might be. 

A unexpected feature of Kiev's cityscape was the massive murals, I think generally of mosaic, on the sides of buildings and mosaics of varying sizes inside metros and public buildings. 

Mosaics from the Soviet period, I've read, often depict an idealized, futuristic vision of Soviet life. My extraordinarily poor camera skills really don't capture how beautiful these things are (I took many pictures but they just don't come through clearly here), so I share examples from two photographers, who have given me permission. The picture above is of row of apartment blocks with large mosaics along Peremohy Prospekt, I passed this place every day while I stayed in an apartment near the derelict Kiev Zoo.  

The first picture below is from the Central Bus Station in Kiev, which has a lot of other mosaics. The following site curates pictures of Soviet mosaics in Ukraine: https://sovietmosaicsinukraine.org/en/mosaic/63

The second picture is from the Shevchenko Cinema in Kiev. Read about it here: https://www.wired.com/story/soviet-murals-ukraine/ and check out Yevgen Nikiforov's book "Decommunized: Ukrainian Soviet Mosaics". 

One of the biggest pleasures for me upon arrival in a new country or city is to visit supermarkets to see what's on offer and what the locals are buying. Kiev's supermarkets, as much else in this country, are much better than this country's economic ranking indicate. The stores are tidy and clean, and filled with locally-made products. There are all sorts of bottled vegetables, pickles, and beans. I DID feel the selection of fresh vegetables and fruits could have been better, but the outdoor markets, at least during the time I was there in July and August, provided pretty good stuff. 

The one in the picture here, the ATB-Market next to one of the buildings I stayed in, is the largest chain in Kiev

In a city where English is rarely spoken, and the Cyrillic alphabet dominates, eating out can seem a challenge outside the main tourist areas (and who wants to eat in the tourist areas?). But with a little research, I discovered a few places where eating was easy and very economical. 

There's a chain of cafeteria-style restaurants called Puzata Hata where you have a tray and then just point or grab (if you don't speak Ukrainian or Russian) at whatever it is that looks good as you pass the various counters. The first picture below is of a meal from Puzata Hata, including breaded chicken and a salad, that probably cost about $4, including the drink. 

The second picture is from Varenychna Katyusha, another chain which specializes in traditional Ukrainina cuisine. It's also rather inexpensive and good for at least one try. It also has menus with pictures. In the second picture below I have kasha, peas, and some kind of cold soup...I think it was cucumber. 

In a big city like Kiev, this is just the tip of the iceberg of inexpensive but generally tasty food. There are countless stands selling all sorts of things from pizza to savory pastries. There are also many mid-range and expensive restaurants, generally with foreign cuisine. I even went to a Turkish restaurants one night.

But as I was staying in rented apartments, I often went shopping and cooked at home to get a feel for that experience, as well. 

On my first night in Kiev I stayed in the outskirts, in a hotel, figuring it would be too complicated to find my airbnb apartment in the evening on my first trip to Kiev. I chose a place  on Kharkivs'ke Highway (really just a big street) not too far from the airport, but very near a metro stop, Borispilska, so I could easily hop on the train and get to my apartment  in the morning. 

The picture you see to the left is the view from my hotel window. It was a really nice introduction to Kiev, and I must say this neighborhood (which I later discovered was quite typical of the outskirts of the city) was very attractive its own way. The often ramshackle small houses and poorly paved lanes have a real charm and coziness, as they are all rather unique and generally surrounded by flower and vegetable gardens. Pictures of some of these lanes below. 

This was a taste of what will come on my next trips to Ukraine...to get to the small towns and countryside that show a totally different side of this country. 

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. 

I've spent two weeks on a friend's little farm high in the mountains of central Norway.  Here are a few pics that I hope capture some of the atmosphere of this beautiful place.  

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. 

As I've written earlier, Berlin is a uniquely green city - without a doubt one of the greenest large cities in the world.  This green reality has arisen through a long history of enlightened city planning, high level urban ecological understanding and, rather perversely, the incredible destruction of the Second World War and the city's subsequent political division.  In this posting I will write about a particularly German notion of urban green space, one that is occupying a more and more central role in the green identity of Berlin and that has arisen from Berlin's unique attributes and history.  I will start with a bit of a history. 

At the end of World War II Berlin found itself in an odd situation.  It was a divided city, ultimately between an East German controlled East and a West German controlled West.  This division separated the city not only politically, but also in terms of ecological study and practice.  The universities and practitioners in the western part of the city gradually became more and more detached from those in the eastern part, especially after the wall went up.  What's more, with the erection of the wall and strict travel restrictions, ecologists in the West were deprived of access to Berlin's green hinterland, the countryside surrounding Berlin, their traditional area of research.  This left ecologists and natural scientists with a greatly restricted area for research and ultimately redirected a group of them to the variety of open spaces within the city itself that supported nature.  Berlin had a large number of new habitats for these researchers to examine:  large tracts of empty land left over from destroyed buildings (rubble fields, really) and abandoned industrial infrastructure which were gradually being recolonized by vegetation and wildlife.

To learn about this 'new' object of ecological study, I paid a visit to Dr. Ingo Kowarik, a warm and welcoming ecology professor at Berlin's venerable Technical University, TU. I visited him at his office in the Ecological Institute of the university in the upper-class Berlin district of Steglitz.  The physical appearance of the Institute, I must say, embodies much of the charm that characterizes Berlin itself today.  It is not a shiny, meticulously maintained facility, but instead a lovely old, somewhat timeworn former villa.  The gardens around the villa also reflect the condition of much of Berlin's green space.  There are no manicured gardens, but simply an un-fussily managed yard with lawns, bushes, trees and a few flowers.  It seems to benefit from a kind of benign neglect that gives it a cozy and welcoming feeling,  Berliners today seem to have a view of urban nature not as something pristine and manicured but instead a bit more messy and accessible, I think.

Dr. Kowarik acquainted me with the details of the early history of the novel urban ecosystems that have arisen on rubble fields and old industrial sites, calling them collectively 'Nature of the Fourth Kind.'  This term positions these ecosystems in a conceptual framework devised by Dr. Kowarik.  The framework contains four types of urban ecosystems and ranges from "Nature of the First Type' to 'Nature of the Fourth Type' as outlined in the chart above.  The lower the classification number, the more 'wild' and similar an ecosystem is to the region's original, pre-human ecosystem.

An excellent example of 'Nature of the Fourth Type' and its integration into Berlin's green infrastructure is the Natur-Park Südegelände.  This park has been developed on the site of a huge abandoned railyard, previously the largest in the city.  After the war and the division of the Berlin, the yard fell into disuse.  Over time vegetation grew on what had once been a very inhospitable surface of gravel, cement, and rail ties.  A whole ecosystem, including grasslands and groves of trees, evolved and was discovered by local environmentalist who lobbied for the site to be protected.  They won their battle, and today this popular park, full of biodiversity, is one of a handful of 4th Nature protected areas in the city.  More parks of this type are now planned, including one on the area of what used to be the Nordbahnhof, the North Train Station. Some may see a similarity between 4th Nature parks and the High Line Park in Manhattan.  The difference is that the vegetation in 4th Nature parks sprung up naturally, without direct human involvement.  It evolved on its own, creating an ecosystem over decades.   

Below are some pictures from the Natur-Park Südegelände.

A key lesson from my ongoing research project in many cities around the world is the incredible difference helpful local contacts make in understanding complex phenomenon, such as the urban environment.  A fine example is the ecologist Dr. Gottfried Wiedenmann who works at the Natur-Park Südegelände (see picture at left).  Dr. Wiedenmann generously gave me time and shared his deep knowledge of the history of Berlin's ecology and its 4th Nature sites.  It transformed my thinking about this topic.  It also reinforced my belief in the underlying strength and depth of Berlin's network of urban greening specialists.  

The lessons of 4th Nature parks for rust-belt cities in the US, and other declining industrial cities, are great.  Berlin makes me think a lot about Detroit (which in some ways resembles Berlin after the war), and I imagine there must be a huge potential for 4th Nature parks in that city. 

More sharing of best practices like this are required throughout the world, but especially in the developing world where cities have limited space and resources.  4th Nature parks use abandoned land that is often unsuited for other types of development and are relatively inexpensive to develop and maintain.  This is just one great innovation that I've learned about in Germany. 

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.  

Berlin, the always surprising capital of Germany, has been my home now for a little over a month, As the title of this posting states, I'm discovering it to be a city of many personalities with a diversity of urban scenery unrivaled by any city I know.

Berlin encompasses quaint villages, rebuilt central zones with cutting-edge modern architecture, 19th century bourgeois districts, vast areas of  worker and middle-class apartments from the same period, hundreds of kilometers of waterfront along rivers, canals and lakes, deep forests, countless mysteriously abandoned buildings, forlorn (but inspiring) pre-war industrial zones, and of course in the old east, the socialist architecture of the GDR.  This is a city impossible to characterize with a few simple phrases. 

Most people are familiar with famous Berlin landmarks such as the Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag and the Berlin Wall.  I want to highlight some discoveries I've made that show the unique character of this city, and will start in this first posting with two elements that I find particularly fascinating:  the water that binds this city together and the abandoned buildings that are interspersed throughout the cityscape. 

Berlin is a city where it's hard to get away from the water.  In any direction you go (and often without moving in this rainy city) before long you will see water.  The hundreds of bridges crossing its many canals or rivers are never far away.  I think this may be one of the lesser known facts about this city of water.  In total, there are 3 rivers, 11 canals and 24 lakes in Berlin.  The Spree River runs through the center of the city and along most of its length lie green parks that are somehow designed to provide small zones of intimacy and seclusion.  The string of parkland along the river is connected with well-maintained bicycle paths and I've ridden along most of its length. 

Last Sunday I discovered the wonder of Berlin's lakes.  My friend Yasuko (an artist I know from my time in New York) was having a birthday picnic in Goethe Park in the Wedding neighborhood north of the center. My friend Suh and I rode our bicycles to the park all the way from Neukölln (where I live), which took us an hour and a half. As we neared Goethe Park, we spotted a beautiful lake with a beach and later decided with a few others to go back and have a swim.  The water was a perfect temperature and seemed very clear and clean.  The beach charges an entrance fee of 4 euros, but we discovered that many people got into the generally fenced-in lake from a terrace along the edge on the other side of the lake.  When we went there, we encountered a boisterous, but friendly, group of middle-aged Russian men with a lot of beer on hand.  They had all been swimming, too.  

Only upon returning home and reading about the lake (Plötzensee) did I learn that it was adjacent to a rather notorious Nazi prison.  The next time I go I will look for the Memorial Center, which somehow we missed.  It's just one of the constant reminders of how heavily history weighs on this city.

The waterfront in Berlin offers views which seem to be from totally different worlds.  On the bottom left is a canal in a quiet spot in Köpenick (in the southeastern corner of Berlin), in the middle the Köpenick Castle along the Dahme River, and on the right a sculpture in the Spree called the Molecule Man by the American artist Jonathan Borofsky, If you look closely across the river behind the sculpture, you can see a remaining segment of the Berlin Wall (click on the pictures to enlarge).  

Almost as hard to avoid as water in Berlin are the thousands of abandoned buildings (or ruins of buildings) that pop up in rather surprising places.  All have a history and all seem to be fairly well documented on German websites that specialize in this sort of thing.  While riding my bicycle south along the Spree yesterday, I came across this rather attractive structure, which turns out to be the old riverside restaurant Eierhäuschen (Eggs Cottage) which was a favorite getaway for Berliners before the war and for east Berliners until the fall of the Wall. Apparently the building was also used as a backdrop by East German television for some programs.  Due to legal issues, the site cannot yet be rehabilitated and used.

Below is a sampling of abandoned buildings I saw on the same bike ride yesterday - all on what was previously the east side of Berlin. The first is what seems to be an abandoned home.  My friend Simon and I saw a fox there.  When it spotted us it just froze and stared at us for a few minutes, at quite close range, before running back into the house, where it must live.  The second is a complex of buildings that I think were part of a factory.  Finally, on the right is an old building hidden in trees behind barbed wire.  There is more than one website devoted to buildings like this in Berlin.  You can check them out here:  http://www.modernruins.de/ or http://vergessene-orte.blogspot.de/

In closing my first blog entry on Berlin, I want to highlight a striking aspect of the urban infrastructure here.  This is the carefully planned and built surface of the city - infrastructure designed and generally maintained with a level of care unusual in most of the world. 

I should mention, before I get started, that although I'm very impressed with what's on display in Berlin, Germans seem to typically view Berlin as a bit of a mess with relatively poorly maintained infrastructure.  The city is living, to some degree, on the good design and construction from the past.  However, for an American used to cities covered with artlessly poured cement or hastily spread asphalt, there is a lot to impress. 

The pavements that make up the streets, sidewalks and bicycle paths in Berlin are almost never constructed of seamless concrete or asphalt,  The use of those materials is spared for high-speed roads.  Due to the use of a variety of paving stones, Berlin not only has beautiful sidewalks, but sidewalks that integrate very well with the green world around them.  And Berlin is an incredibly green city. 

The spaces between the paving stones or bricks allow for water to pass through to the soil below, not only helping to provide water for the trees and plants in the surroundings, but also decreasing the amount of storm runoff that occurs with rain.  The city more naturally absorbs water with built surfaces like these.

In longer established sidewalks, it's quite normal to see a variety of plants living in the cracks between stones and bricks.  Again, the streets and sidewalks do not exclude and dismiss nature...they are somehow a part of it.  It's interesting to note that most of these environmentally 'advanced' designs date from centuries ago,  The granite paving stones used in Berlin's streets almost certainly all date from before the war (they would be simply too expensive to produce today, I imagine).  . 

Below is a sampling of sidewalk and street surfaces.

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”
― Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad/Roughing It

I came to Belgrade, Serbia (and spent nearly 3 weeks in this country) rather by accident, but found the experience reinforced my conviction that explorations off the beaten path are often the most rewarding.
I discovered in this Balkan country a people curious and eager to engage with outsiders. 

What's more, Serbia's isolation has preserved unusual ways of living and thinking.  In Belgrade I developed a unique sense of place that went beyond its green environment.  I also observed at close hand how political and economic dislocation can impact the quality of the urban environment. 

My route to Belgrade, as the visit was unplanned, was not direct.  I'd taken a flight from Amsterdam to Budapest on a whim, really, just wanting to get away for a bit.  Upon learning that there was a train connection to Belgrade from Keleti station, near my hotel, I bought the 20 euro ticket and the next morning was on an old Serbian train crossing south through the great plain named after the Roman province of Pannonia, which covered this same territory 2000 years ago.

The passenger compartment was dated, adding to a growing sense of going back in time as we passed through dozens of tidy, small Hungarian towns and villages with red-tile roofed houses and well-tended gardens.  The number of passengers gradually decreased to just a handful as we approached the last Hungarian town on the line, Kelebia.  I met only one other tourist, a young Finnish film director, during the long stop at the Serbian border town of Subotica. 
 
I felt both the centrality and remoteness of Serbia.  Although only slightly over 3 hours from Budapest, the border brought me into a world that was markedly different.  The look of country towns in Serbia, run down but still quaint, with old Zastavas and East-German Trabants and Wartburgs still on the roads, reminded me of the eastern Europe I knew 20 years ago.  But there was something pleasant about this countryside, too.  The fields were well tended and efforts were made to keep even train stations tidy.  From Subotica, we continued for another 3 hours, through unending fields of sunflowers and maize, until we arrived at the limit of what had once been the Austro-Hungarian empire:  the Danube crossing to Belgrade.

Soon I was disembarking from the train in Belgrade's weathered old station (with weeds growing between the tracks), and headed off on foot to my hotel - with my senses sharpened in search of the first signs of Belgrade's green identity.  Belgrade is probably a rather odd place to look for green design or innovation.  The capital of a country only recently emerging from its status as a pariah state, this is not a place that normally provides positive models of any sort to the outside world. 

But this city fascinated me.  Once the proud capital of the much larger Yugoslavia, Belgrade is now a diminished city abuzz with conspiracy theories in the grip of what I must call a siege mentality.  The economic and political catastrophe that fuels this sort of thinking is easy to see across the country, but in Belgrade particularly it struck me daily how tenuous a country's fortunes can be - especially when under the influence of unbridled nationalism. 

The implications of Serbia's fall are evident in the urban environment.  Infrastructure and housing are often in poor shape.  There is a feeling, outside of the rather elegant urban center, of neglect and decay.  This city has certainly seen some hard times in the last 20 years as the capital of a country at war, the subject of Nato bombing, and the epicenter of a severe economic depression.  

However, Belgrade, like so often in its troubled history, is emerging from disaster and remaking itself.  And this period of pain is not exceptional.  A long history of shifting control and influence, from Roman times to the present, has left Belgrade overrun, burned to the ground and repopulated dozens of times in its history.  In fact, there are no buildings that predate the 18th century here despite a history that extends thousands of years into the past.  

For fear of leaving a forlorn impression I must point out that there are many very delightful sides to Belgrade.  The city has its special charms.  There are countless sidewalk cafes, dozens of floating restaurants on the graceful Danube, eye-catching architecture throughout the city, the quaint charm of a small village in the neighborhood of Zemun, and commanding views of the whole region from Belgrade Fortress.
A thought that struck me repeatedly was that if this city existed outside of Europe, maybe somewhere in Latin America, it would be celebrated as a gem of European architecture and culture.  Instead, it vies for attention with Budapest, Vienna and other cities of central and southeastern Europe.  It's tough competition. 

But what about the green face of Belgrade?  It's not the first thing that would come to mind upon a visit here, but Belgrade is in fact a very green city for a number of reasons.  First of all, it is a city of pedestrians and people using public transportation.  Serbian per capita consumption of petroleum is only one fifth that of the average US citizen.  Most people walk to do their shopping, and there is an excellent system of buses and trams, far superior to what you would find in cities at this economic level in other parts of the world.  In fact, although Serbia has a GDP per head on par with countries such as Colombia and Peru, in terms of public transport, Belgrade is more like cities in other parts of Europe.

This edge in urban transport  is a legacy of the communist era, when public transport was a government priority.  One of its nicest features is the electric tram and trolley bus network. Throughout the communist world expensive oil was often shunned in public transportation and replaced with cheap electricity.  Electricity produced from coal (the norm) pollutes, but often far from the city itself.  As a result, the air in Belgrade seems quite clean and there is less noise pollution, too, as electric buses are rather silent.  I used these buses on a daily basis to get to the center from the neighborhood I eventually settled into and found them very pleasant.  

The bipedal orientation of this city can also be seen in the pedestrianized zones of the center.  All these car-free streets are lined with, or divided by, sidewalk cafes.  The streets themselves, paved with a very fine quality black and grey stone, are kept spotlessly clean.  Walking through these areas, you could easily imagine yourself in the wealthier parts of Europe, both in terms of ambiance and the look of the people.  There are a few beggars in sight, but generally Serbs do not look poor. This is due, I believe, to the very low level of inequality in income distribution in Serbia.  It's another reason this country is so different from it's GDP-per-capita peers in South America. 

Although evidence of decline is easy to see, there are also signs of urban renewal.  I saw immense iron-box planters full of lush grasses and flowers which had been recently installed across from the train station (visible in the picture above), and throughout the city I noticed tree planting underway.  Some of this planting was sponsored by businesses such as local banks, others by the city itself.  I also visited the botanical garden near the city center.  Although I was allowed to enter, it was closed to most visitors because after years of neglect it is undergoing a restoration.  I saw positive signs like this throughout the city. 

I wrote earlier about the special sense of place here in Belgrade, and food made up an important part of this, ranging from the bounteous local green markets (especially memorable are the fresh raspberries, blackberries and melons) to local breads, cheeses, and meats.  I discovered mouthwatering local specialties, with pictures of some of my favorites below.   

I left Belgrade with new friendships, sadness to leave such an atmospheric place behind, and a sense of optimism for the future.  Serbia's present economic predicament is not permanent, and I think the country's low costs and educated population should make it a very attractive place to invest.  Despite the statistics, Serbia is not really comparable to Latin America.  Belgrade is a city built on a European pattern, with all the amenities, as worn as some of them may be, that any European city could expect.  As the economy grows and the government has more resources, the parks and street trees will improve.  Outdated attitudes, including the prevalent idea of Serb exceptionalism, will shift toward the European norm and Serbia will fit into modern Europe.  I would bet my money on this place.

With a spring-like climate year round, and a setting of rare natural beauty, Santa Cruz de Tenerife was a unexpectedly pleasant discovery for me.  I came to visit my friend Hiromi Hayashi, a Japanese food journalist who I co-wrote a book with in 1991.  She lives in Santa Cruz de Tenerife half the year - just off the pedestrian street you see above.  In no way did I expect to find the lavish attention on greenery in city planning.  Not only are most streets lined with trees, bushes and flowers, but even some buildings spill green off their sides, as you see below. 

In the crowded center, with its narrow streets, a transformation has come about...there are trees, quality paving stones, planters everywhere, and benches for people to enjoy their beautiful city.  My impression is that much of the beautification and greening has occurred in the last decade or so.  This is Spain at its best.