Changes

So here I am, returned from a glorious honeymoon in Portugal. Aside from getting robbed of our remaining cash on our last day while we were away from our hotel room, Lisbon and Madeira offered a perfect spot to start a marriage. But of course, even on vacation, I found myself thinking about our exotic surroundings and trying to dissect how a settlement with hundreds of years on anywhere in America has evolved and adjusted to the realities of modern land use needs. Our first stop, Lisbon, had all of what an unindoctrinated American would expect from an "Old World" city. Tight cobblestone roads of the Alfama and Bairro Alto districts captured the bygone times of medieval Europe. We walked the ruins of the St. George's Castle, which overlooked the city, and explored the Belem Tower, a few miles outside of the city center, which was the demarcation point for countless voyages during the Age of Discovery. But it was a discovery that I made in our hotel which was most intriguing to me.

Rummaging through the hotel library, I came across a flier for the Lisbon International Triennale of Architecture, which will be held until the end of July. Unfortunately, I only read the pamphlet after we had left the city. Using "Urban Voids" as its main theme, the symposium's primary mission is to discuss and propose solutions to rectify what the literature calls "spots of 'non-city,' absent places, ignored or not in use anymore, aliens or survivors to any structuring urban plan." Like the "Drosscape" previously discussed in my post dated December 5, 2006, the collection of thinkers drawn to this event will examine ways to reuse and adapt those parcels and locales within cities that have fallen into disuse. When I think about the "Urban Voids" of Lisbon, I can recall those locations we traversed that needed additional consideration and attention. My wife and I left Lisbon with a sense that the city was one definitely worth exploring, but one that did not necessarily require a return trip. Sure, this is a different measure than one to determine the actual vitality of a city, but it does provide some indication as the work that the capital of Portugal can still do to improve on the centuries that have come before.

Moving over to Madeira, and the wonderful vistas that exude from its jagged coast and rugged topography, and the beautiful blue ocean that hugs its shores, this locale brought a sense of new discovery to us. At the same time, I saw many of the same questions to answer regarding "Urban Voids." Sure, Funchal, the major city on the volcanic island, is a beautiful, picture perfect postcard of a resort town, down to the overhead cable car system that take tourists over its wonderful streets below. Gorgeous, if not small vacation homes shove their way up the hills that lead out of town up into the heart of the island. But beneath the luster of the commercial center, where the day we walked its streets a line of classic automobiles were primed for a road rally, was there more that could be done?

I suppose the thoughts that crossed my mind most were about the potential of these places. Notwithstanding their existing beauty, as a land use professional, I couldn't resist what more they could be. In both locations, we were afforded only a very small sample of what it meant to be in "Lisbon" and "Funchal." But of what we saw, we were still left with, "is there more?" Maybe it's that ingrained American outlook on things that pushed us to ask for more. But if the great European minds thinking about issues involving the built environment are also asking this same question, maybe it is a more fundamental pursuit, one that crosses national borders and language and cultural differences. It is that inherent drive of optimism that continues to change and reshape the world around us. Almost on the order of the desire to repaint the walls in your house, just because you want something different, the need to update the place you live in is a prerequisite to remaining a vital part of the outside world. Changes need to be marked with great fanfare, just as my wife and I did in glorious fashion as we walked the streets of Portugal. Perhaps this underlying, fundamental movement towards change will entice us back to the country, to rediscover it all over again.

Location and Localism

In the real estate biz, that old mantra of "location, location, location" remains tried and true, going strong in determining price and scarcity. A recent study from two Northwestern University economists highlights this point. In it, the authors conclude that owners who sell their homes on their own, as opposed to employing the services of a real estate agent, come out ahead in the race for the best price. Where does location factor into the equation, you ask? The study focused on the Madison, Wisconsin area, which has a highly developed online service, FSBOMadison,com, that has emerged in the region as the place to go to buy and sell real estate. Therefore, the applicability of the findings elsewhere all depend on the existence of such an online presence in an area. For me, this was the most interesting implication from the study. Contrary to many futurist commentators out there, no matter how technically dependent our society becomes, it is still all very much contingent on where you live as to what your day-to-day life means, formed by you and the neighbors around you.

Developers eyeing target properties must also take into account the inherent local flavor of the surrounding area when making determinations as to where to invest and build. Missteps are around every rolling hill of developable regions. A perfect case of this was the recent story out of Pennsylvania, where State officials have formed the Wall Street consortium, a project conceived to entice financial outfits located in the epicenter of lower Manhattan to establish back-up facilities in the bucolic setting of northeast Pennsylvania. The draw is that the region is outside of the "blast zone" of potential attacks and natural disasters that could befall Wall Street. As part of this initiative, the Governor has announced plans to construct a $24 million fiber optic cable network that would connect Pennsylvania to the current home of the world's movers and shakers. Up until now, Wall Street's interest in their neighbors to the west has been lukewarm at best. Boosters hope that the installation of high-speed connectivity to the fast-paced world of financial markets will open up the floodgates. Most remain skeptical.

On another front, backers in Blackman, Tennessee, a burgeoning exurb about 35 miles southwest of Nashville, are hoping to win approvals for Bible Park USA, a theme park sprawling over 100 acres of Tennessee farmland. The $150 to $200 million project would divide its focus so that one half of the park would be devoted to Old Testament teachings, and the other half to the New Testament. An authentic Galilean village would be at the center of it all. Even though the local residents are firmly rooted in the Bible Belt, when religion and land use mix, these denizens have decided to turn their back on the Lord. Despite a campaign described as completely "above-board," the local residents have let the preservation of the character of the community reign supreme. Even the local Methodist pastor is against the project. "Would I rather look at the theme park or would I rather look at the farmland and the forest here? I would pick the latter." Although the developers continue to push on in their fight through the zoning process, it appears that the almighty force of localism may win this round.

No matter where you decide to settle down, the enormous influence of a location's character engulfs the people who take ownership in a particular place. Whether you're in Madison, Wisconsin, northeast Pennsylvania or central Tennessee, people who call these places home have their own conception of how their world ought to be ordered. But that's the beauty of the process that governs land use -- it is in the hands of those that truly care to make a difference, whether one considers their vision right or wrong. But whatever the value system, it is one that at times not even a higher power can influence.

Speaking of ranging locations, my lovely fiance and I will be getting married this Saturday in bucolic upstate New York. After that, we'll be off to Portugal and Madeira. What that means is I'll be taking a vacation from my musings, returning in two weeks with a new edition, and hopefully a story or two to tell.

The Beginning, or the Beginning of the End

Not too long ago I sat in my office, and picked up a new file. As with any new site, the first order of business of the land use attorney is to pinpoint the property, and learn as much as possible about it. The first place I went was Google Earth, the wonderful service provided by the internet giant that allows anyone to spy down on any property you can imagine, as if you're peeking down on Cuba circa 1962 and looking for ICBMs. Within a few moments, I could discern what was on the target property, and what the neighbors had done with their places. I also knew that the neighbors would not be happy with what we intended to propose. Outside my door I heard two colleagues talking about Google Earth, amazed how easy it had all become. As if on cue, they went on to tout how it has made our lives as land use professionals that much easier.

To make things clear, no, I’m not a spokesperson for Google. In fact, I'm more than happy to report on the darker side of things at "the happiest place on Earth," if the Disney folks had not already trademarked the phrase. Recently, the down side of being able to look down on everything from your childhood home to Wrigley Field has bubbled to the surface. In particular, the Street View function of Google Maps has raised concerns from the subjects of these revealing images. One California woman complained to Google once she discovered that the picture of her home included a clear view of her cat Monty. Apparently a popular pic floating around the internet is one from the Stanford University campus revealing two young ladies sunbathing in their bikinis. Google's reply has been that they do have a mechanism whereby people may request that certain images be removed from the system. Few complaints have been submitted. Yet, the question becomes where should the line be drawn between the public and private sphere?

Sure, I don't exactly want pictures of me singing in the shower spreading across cyberspace. But aside from a few unavoidable, and unfortunate images that may creep into the fabric of Google's vast gallery, the overwhelming aid that it provides cannot be ignored. Yes, this means more images of Monty the cat and bikini-clad beauties. But breaking down the world lot by lot puts the world literally at your fingertips. As the technology improves (see Microsoft's Virtual Earth, for example), the quality of the imagery will only become more invaluable. At least we have a legitimate excuse as land use professionals as to why we're spending our working hours spying on our neighbors. Not so much for the surfers seeking out the Stanford co-eds, and the man in San Francisco offering lap dances and other such entertainment to passersby.

Above It All

Each day, as I drive home from work, I have the pleasure of looking off in the distance, and eyeing the odd beauty that is the New York City skyline. Anchoring it in the middle of it all is the venerable Empire State Building, rising to the clouds, holding down the fort as the tallest structure in the city -- at least until the Freedom Tower is completed within the next decade. Ever since the Woolworth and Flatiron Buildings ushered in the age of the skyscraper, other cities have followed suit to use height as a way to define their image and power on the world stage. The Sears Tower wrestled the reins of the world's tallest from New York in the '70's. Although a coup, it was really the current wave of skyscraper construction, started in the '90's with the Petronas Towers of Kuala Lampur, Malaysia, that shifted the epicenter out of America, and towards other places that are seeking to define themselves in the global marketplace with attention-grabbing megastructures.

For instance, in South Korea, cities are battling each other for supremacy in the race to build ever higher. Incheon, better known as an important landing spot during the Korean War, is now seeking to put itself on the map in a bigger way with the Songdo Incheon Towers, a double-towered complex planned to rise over 2,000 feet into the air. Seoul, the capital, is seeking to answer its less illustrious neighbor with a ridiculous 3,200-foot behemoth. The Empire State Building would stand in their shadows, rising a mere 1,250 feet. Currently, the tallest building in the world lies in Taiwan, the Taipei 101, at 1,667 feet. Sure, the tallest man-made structure is an American radio tower, but it's in North Dakota. Generally, tall structures are meant to be located in the context of a growing, optimistic place. The recent rash of building is no different, as most of the new buildings have, or will rise in cities in Asia and the Middle East. As one observer has noted, "Chinese cities that I've never heard of are building skylines that rival New York's."

Despite the massive scale of these projects, which tend to dwarf the pedestrian-scale communities so often sought after by modern land use planners, places still see the value in building high. Even New York and Chicago have planned tall buildings for their near future. The answer not only lies in the original motivation to build up -- rising urban land prices -- and the modern technological advances that have enabled engineers and developers to propel ever higher. The deeper reason lies in the psychology of place, and the need for inhabitants of a certain town to feel as if they belong in the "big time." If they can build these technological marvels, the argument goes, then they are capable of anything. The same motivation that drove the likes of Chicago to escape its image as the world's slaughterhouse on the heartland's prairie drives Dubai to rise above the desert floor and foster its place as the financial center of the Middle East.

Take a moment to scan SkyscraperPage.com, and it's hard to not be taken in by the flashiness that tall buildings bring. Lined up one against the other, it becomes even clearer the power that they produce for a place. You can even look at the inventory of each major city, to see how each stacks up against one other. It is the simple awe that these structures produce that keeps city leaders and engineers seeking to build the next greatest building. Interestingly, this weekend, TCM will begin running a series of films under the banner of "Celuloid Skyline," that capture the majesty of New York City. Not surprisingly, skyscrapers will play an important role. It is the fascination in our imaginations that make skyscrapers so powerful, and why they are so important for a place -- especially when they are no longer there. Every evening I peer out over the New York skyline, it is hard to ignore the thoughts of the missing Twin Towers, standing with the Empire State Building, anchoring lower Manhattan. Tall buildings are erected with the belief they will stand forever. Even if no longer there, they will not be forgotten.

A River Runs Through It

Who can resist a waterfront view? The closest I've come thus far is an obstructed glimpse of the top of the towers that support the George Washington Bridge when I lived in New Jersey. Right now, I stare out over a lovely community garden (if you ignore the fruit flies that converge on the site, and infiltrate our apartment). But it's not the same. I still have fond memories of the places my fiance and I stayed in Hawaii when we visited a few years ago. At one locale we stared out over the beaches of Kapalua, on Maui, with the volcanic humps that make up modern-day Molokai off in the distance. On the Big Island, we were literally on the water, looking out over the western horizon, allowing us the chance to watch the sunset from the comfort of our lanai. As we head to Portugal for our honeymoon next month, we wait in anticipation for the resort we have lined up in Madeira, the island off the coast, where we will have unobstructed views of the Atlantic Ocean below. When available, waterfront property still reigns as one of the most sought after places to locate. But who wants to risk being under water in a few years once the polar ice caps cross over the tipping point? In the interest of global warming-minded folks out there, it seems that in lieu of those treacherous, and potentially costly ocean views, vantage points overlooking a river seem like a welcome alternative.

For instance, in the St. Louis region, 28,000 homes on over 6,000 acres have been built near the majestic Mississippi in the last fifteen years. One little tidbit that should be mentioned is that this same area was under water during the massive floods that hit the region that year. In light of the recent flooding in the region, where the nearby Missouri River jumped its banks, it seems that maybe even rivers aren't safe from the upheaval happening in the Earth's climate. Nonetheless, people cannot resist the innate urge to be by the water. As one resident in the threatened area noted, "'It's not going to flood here for another 100 years and I won't be around by then.'" Not exactly the best attitude, but one that appears to carry the day for the people that have decided to tempt fate and live near the river.

How about Knoxville, Tennessee, where optimistic developers are investing in projects along the Tennessee River. On the south banks, where the manufacturing base of the community once hummed, a new residential neighborhood is sprouting to offer people the chance to live near the central business district, have access to the burgeoning arts scene in the city, and, you guessed it, live near the water. Part of the vision by Mayor Bill Haslam to bring people back downtown, it has the strong draw of the river to entice people away from their McMansions in the suburbs. As one proud, recent buyer into the area noted, "'It's all about being on the water. It's a great investment.'" (See, "Reviving a No Man's Land Along the Tennessee River," by Keith Schneider, New York Times, May 13, 2007).

Another feel good story is Newark, New Jersey, a place I called my workplace for several years. Bordered by the Passaic River, people are returning to the city best known for the 1967 riots. Not just about the Ironbound now, other areas of the city are seeing growth in new residential projects. Attracted by the beach heads of the New Jersey Performing Arts Center, the aforementioned Ironbound district, so named for the railroad tracks that surround it, and today a hotbed of Portuguese restaurants and appreciating residential units, young professionals working in New York City see it as a welcome alternative to the high costs of Jersey City, Hoboken, and the City itself. Maybe the river is a stretch in this case, particularly since no one aside from the intermittent rowing teams seem to use it for recreational purposes (with good reason). Nonetheless, a view of the Passaic is still a view of the water.

But a river won't guarantee a place's success. Take the example of Cairo, Illinois, at the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. At first blush, it seems like an ideal location. But Cairo has fallen on hard times, combined with bad soil, the end of the riverboat era, the Great Depression and civil strife. Nonetheless, the new mayor, the city's first African American chief executive, Judson Childs, at 73, is looking to turn the corner. Although he has a long way to go, he certainly has one thing going for him: that highly sought after location next to two mighty rivers. Someday someone no doubt will see the gold mine hidden at the bottom of Illinois, once many of the other waterfront views are no more. Perhaps this is an unduly dire prediction, but it is one that should be in the calculation of regions looking to expand "along the water."

What's That Outside My Window?

A few days ago, the powers that be within our building posted an advertisement for a vacant lot. Upon closer inspection, it was not meant to attract interested buyers -- quite the contrary, in fact. The flyer was for the parcel behind our building, which right now appears to be a makeshift mini-storage facility. Behind the chain link fence is a long-outmoded streetcar or bus (at this point it's hard to tell), crammed with all sorts of miscellaneous items that are shoved so tight they block passersby from viewing inside the windows. Every now and then there's a car parked inside the gates -- perhaps the owner spending some quality time on his otherwise abandoned lot. Surrounding the site, along with our building, are other residences and a local spot for artists and music shows. Asking price: over seven million dollars. Whether it's a fair price or not, the reason our neighbors brought this tidbit of news to our attention is because the advertisement insinuates that the local zoning requirements would permit a 10-story building to rise next door to us. There goes the neighborhood. Or then again, maybe not.

Of course, being so often on the other side of these squabbles, I understand the sensational nature of our fellow building residents' assertions. The numbers of course came from the announcement itself, prepared by the real estate agent for the owner, which no doubt ignores the gap between the maximum permitted buildout and what realistically would get past the applicable land use board. I mean, really, if there's one lesson I've learned over the course of my time in the land use arena is that if you have to trust anyone, try avoiding finding yourself choosing amongst a collection of real estate agents. I always think back to the days of the shady land speculators that sold and sold again a good chunk of the West, or when people would successfully sell a portion of the Brooklyn Bridge, or perhaps when someone could unload a prime tract of swampland in Florida. Or look around today.

For instance, in remote Box Elder County, Utah, local officials have had to notify 3,000 unsuspecting individuals who bought parcels of land from smarmy developers that their purchases were illegal and invalid. The culprits in this sham never bothered to get subdivision approval from the county, which would have allowed them to legally carve up and dispose of their tracts. The sad folks who fell into these schemes are proud owners of investments which amount to little more than mirages that appear in that desert region. Using eBay and other willing Internet providers, the sellers have netted millions, from such far away sources as Germany and Australia. Even if the new owners wanted to see their lands, they would have no right, because they have no access from public rights-of-way.

Okay, so we're talking about a simple case of fraud, committed on people who in a lot of ways have no one to blame but themselves for their stupidity. Apparently many of them didn't even bother to take a look at their new little slice of heaven before they plopped down the asking price from afar. But underlying this episode, along with the matter outside my window, is the way in which land use so often gets lost in the shuffle, or gets twisted in a way to become unrecognizable from the truth. As they say, the truth is out there, and doesn't take much to find the answers. In a way I want to jump into the fray, and help guide my neighbors on their path to NIMBYism. On the other hand, it's almost more worthwhile to let them jump in and fend for themselves. Not only will they learn about the land use process, they'll realize that the next time they require the services of a real estate agent, or are thinking about buying into a desert oasis, they may want to do a little independent research to make sure they know the facts.

Free Stuff!

Walking back from the gym over the weekend, I came across an odd sight on the side of the sidewalk. Hanging from the iron fence guarding a brownstone were various articles of clothing, suspended from hangars originating from a local dry cleaners, as if to lend the impression of cleanliness to the offerings. Boxes sat underneath the clothes, filled with books and other knickknacks. I've seen this sort of display before out in the neighborhood, but what changed it for me was the modest, handwritten sign accompanying the wares that read "Free Stuff!" I suppose that made things more appealing for my neighbors, as I watched them scavenge through the goods for that gem amongst the roughness. I wanted to look, but in the back of my mind, I imagined the impromptu sidewalk sale could have been for all sorts of reasons. My favorite was imagining it as a spurned lover trying to get back at the one who rejected him or her. In any event, I kept walking.

But another tidbit of interest struck my fancy that brought me back to the wares on the street -- at least in my thoughts. Back in December, Sao Paulo, Brazil, in response to perennial offenders of their restrictions, and in an effort to combat "visual pollution," imposed a ban on all outdoor advertising throughout the city. Not only would billboards and signs have to come down, but all forms of public advertising, including paper flyers and streamers fluttering from planes, were eliminated from the 11-million strong city. Living in a place where Jameson's can splash ads for their Irish whiskey across the insides of subway cars ridden by schoolchildren, I was astonished to learn the extreme steps the Brazilian metropolis has taken to relieve the populace from information overload. Having spent hours of my life reshaping and haggling over every imaginable aspect of commercial signage for projects on my file list, I can almost appreciate the simplicity in Sao Paulo's efforts.

But putting aside the First Amendment issues, particularly since Sao Paulo is not subject to the U.S. Constitution, the question becomes who controls the public domain? Sure, billboards have been the bane of many a municipality's existence, particularly those that have highways passing through them. Zoning ordinances commonly attempt to keep them out. But what about those places that have turned advertising into inherent parts of their identity? In New York, Times Square has turned the cacophony of sight and sound that is eyesore advertising into an art. The Pepsi-Cola sign in Long Island City became a historic landmark. For those fans of The Sopranos out there, how could Tony Soprano drive through Jersey without passing by the "Drive Safely" signs posted on the Citco oil tanks along the New Jersey Turnpike, or Pizzaland once he makes it to the local streets. And what about my former home, where the Hollywood sign started as an ad for a housing development. Don't these icons have a place in our places?

I can certainly understand the source of Sao Paulo's frustration. Commercial enterprises have long sought to stretch the bounds of decency in order to gain attention for their goods and services. Fast-food restaurants rely on huge signage to draw in the impulse buyers who make up a large percentage of their customers. Even the City of San Francisco went too far last year when it tried to scent its bus stops with the warm goodness of cookies to push milk. But the absence of all signage and advertisements would in a way denude the very things that define a community, not to mention make it kind of difficult to pick out where you're trying to head when you don't know exactly where you are. Sao Paulo's honorable plan will most likely end once the litany of lawsuits work their way through the Brazilian legal system. But once the dust settles, it sure is interesting to think about a world without the daily bombardment of our commercial world. Would it be kinder and gentler? Probably, but then how would we know when someone's giving away free stuff?