19 minute read
Watch this space
As COVID-19 rearranges our world, spaces that are normally managed by landowners and designed by landscape architects have become radically altered by the habits of their users. We asked six practitioners to watch their local spaces and report on the changes that have taken place.
Beirut balconies
Nikolett Puskas
Nikolett Puskas is a PhD candidate at the Institute for Global Prosperity and holds an MSc in leadership for global sustainable cities, an MA in sustainable design, and a BSc in light engineering.
Beirut has many balconies that had social significance before, and flat roofs, but during the quarantine times, these spaces were truly reinterpreted. For these were the only spaces people could use for a breath of air, doing sports, gathering with neighbours for coffee, cultivating mini-gardens, or simply for a change of scenery. Ultimately, the balcony and rooftop gained new meaning: people from facing houses connected through them, sharing some kind words or a smile, something that they might not have done in ordinary times. Lebanon took serious measures from early on, transforming daily life to contain the spread of the virus. People here are very social, so they transformed their gatherings, connecting through their balconies and sharing social moments on their open gangways, obeying social distancing measures.
Beirut balconies.
© Nikolett Puskas
All places are unique, and all have their own challenges. The hot weather struck in Beirut early on, so some people started to put small pools on their rooftops, adapting to the situation in whatever way they could. There has been tremendous social support among neighbours and friends, and with good spirit and laughs we kept each other hopeful for better days to come.
This period offered a moment of deep reflection, as for many of us our workspace was relocated to our living space. For most of us, there are no gardens attached to our houses, or parks for a walk – which was forbidden for a long while anyway – so mostly we had to reinterpret our living spaces to become both our offices and spaces to exercise. ‘Public spaces’ became semi-private spaces that are conceived as passageways or foyers to get to one’s flat, and rooftops (ordinarily used to store water tanks and satellites) became crucial outdoor social and recreational spaces. I believe times like these offer opportunities for creativity and a new way to look at spaces which might be considered ‘tiny’– their perceived value grows immensely, as for some of us this is the only space to have a bit of greenery. The notion of nurturing a small balcony garden was suddenly invaluable.
In these extraordinary times, there is an opportunity to truly contemplate transformative change, as some of the ‘what ifs’ have now been tried (out of necessity), for example the alternative use of balcony and rooftop gardens. There is no measure or act ‘too small’ to start change, and perhaps if we focus on the opportunity this pandemic has given us, we as a species can collectively start making changes for a regenerative future.
Stop parking, start cycling
Anushka Athique
Anushka Athique is a landscape architect
On the 23rd March as the cities suddenly emptied, as did the arteries that served them. By the end of the month, there were no cars in the Nikolett Puskas is a PhD candidate at the Institute for Global Prosperity and holds an MSc in leadership for global sustainable cities, an MA in sustainable design, and a BSc in light engineering. street outside our house. Other than key workers, numbering perhaps four, no one was using the train. The two station car parks were empty. The school closed. The playgrounds closed. Our local parks seemed too busy, and there was always the risk of meeting other children; trying to keep the under 5s apart was too hard and too damaging. So, we stayed at home.
The station car park that has been transformed into a training space for young cyclists.
© Anushka Athique
With the de-densification of the city, we gained 4680m2 of extra space right on our doorstep. Very quickly, the dominance of cars – one of the biggest barriers to giving our children independent mobility – was removed.
Drawing of the station car park.
© Anushka Athique
After a few weeks, families were using the station car parks to teach their small children how to cycle. The specifics of these emptied-out spaces were ideal for this activity and demographic – a hard surface, closed to traffic, with only one entrance/exit and a barely perceptible slope. Wide enough for swerving, long enough for sudden stops, and big enough to accommodate up to three families at once. At a time when freedom of movement was being curtailed, we as a neighbourhood of young families were able to increase the sense of mobility for our children. This ability to navigate one’s own neighbourhood, safely and independently, is as crucial for young children as it is for teenagers and adults. It’s just a question of scale.
By the end of April, as proficiency increased, multiple families were able to use this space. Adults spaced themselves across the site and children raced in between. They were able to ride together while, due to their speed, remaining separate and distanced from each other.
There were no physical changes to either car park, but their use was now dictated by the specific requirements of children ages 3 – 7 on two wheels, and by the social etiquette concerning the psychological rather than physical carrying capacity of these spaces.
By May, children moved onto the streets and – for a brief moment – cars gave way to children.
In June, the infant school reopened and activities resumed a more normal outlook. The car parks have stopped being used for cycling and are perhaps now awaiting a new use. However, in our house the word ‘car park’ has become synonymous with going for a cycle.
Lockdown green belt
Mena Shah is a graduate in landscape architecture at the University of
When I first moved to South Edinburgh about two years ago, I was a little frustrated to end up living in the suburbs, far from the centre with less amenities around, and my commute to university from the edge of the city was long and I was often stuck in traffic. Just at the back of the house I lodge in is a thin shelterbelt of woods, and behind that is the continuous sound of construction works for new developer-led housing eating away at designated green belt sites. Walk a little further beyond that and you’ve reached the Edinburgh bypass that circles around the city, and a pedestrian path that runs parallel to and above a long stretch of the bypass. The traffic is constant, with the sound of lorries, buses and cars all day and all night.
A new deserted pedestrian path at peak time
© Mena Shah
able to use this space. Adults spaced themselves across the site and children raced in between. They were able to ride together while, due to their speed, remaining separate and distanced from each other. closed to traffic, with only one entrance/exit and a barely perceptible slope. Wide enough for swerving, long enough for sudden stops, and big enough to accommodate up to three families at once. At a time when freedom of movement was being curtailed, we as a neighbourhood of young families were able to increase the sense of mobility for our children. This ability to navigate one’s own neighbourhood, safely and independently, is as crucial for young children as it is for teenagers and adults. It’s just a question of scale.
I found myself using this pedestrian path more often, discovering what lies beyond its two ends by bike, and on foot. I would walk through a paradise of scented spring flowers and lush green shrub, and branch off into a post-industrial nature reserve, catching a glimpse of roe deer, or take a longer ride into the woodland rich Roslin. Another day I discovered an extended route towards Musselburgh and the seafront, and realised it was a comfortable distance to get to beautiful natural spaces, and not as far as I once thought. The path was buzzing by lunchtime, with people respecting their distance while enjoying the route and greeting one another. I wondered why I had never felt this excitement before on the path. I later realised, as the lockdown eased and vehicles began to fill the streets again, that it was the unpleasant sound of the bypass and car dominance that never really attracted me to this path, or to cycling around my area in general.
New housing development on Lasswade Road.
© Mena Shah
With the easing of the lockdown and more social activities slowly taking over, I took myself back to the path after weeks of absence. It was a weekend and peak time for this path to be busy during the time of lockdown, but this time it was absolutely deserted. It made me question the structure of the city, and ask what this land is being used for. With so many new housing developments on the edges of the city that could benefit from such a path, the potential is not being realised. I imagined this long and straight pedestrian path with many more branches to wander off into. I started to envision these green belt sites between the new developments of the peripheries as market gardens to serve the thousands of new people moving in, increased biodiversity and nature reserves, and the noise of play instead of cars. I believe realising this potential could reinforce the protection of green belt land while providing better places and opportunity for sustainable living.
Emergency measures in Ethiopia
Oana Baloi
Oana Baloi is a landscape architect supporting increased resilience of communities in fast growing settlements and cities in locations with high climate change vulnerability. She is currently working for UNHabitat Ethiopia on urban and settlement planning in response to migration and displacement.
More than ever, landscape architects seek to incorporate public health concerns into the design of everyday landscapes, from walkways to window views. The importance of this work was highlighted when the first cases of COVID-19 were recorded. Landscape architects need to adapt their approaches to support the response to the pandemic, using the skills within their capacity. In many cities, landscape architects have contributed to the response to the pandemic, by supporting local administrations to identify spaces for ad hoc health facilities, rearrangement of open public spaces, among other activities. Landscape architects ought to contribute to improving urban planning policies, guidelines and practices that ensure cities and settlements are resilient to any potential risks, like the COVID-19 pandemic. A favourable policy environment can support application of public health measures in landscape design, for example by conditioning a minimum percentage of open green space per number of urban dwellers. Despite international commitments and national urban policies in place, many countries have large urban areas that often remain unplanned or that have underfunded infrastructure and services, with crowded conditions that do not allow physical space for the provision of decent housing and essential services within walking distance from households. With increasing evidence on the health benefits of open public spaces and an emerging need for environmental and public health considerations in designing urban space, landscape architects must increase their engagement in city and settlement planning.
Improving and demarcating public space in order to safeguard public health.
© Oana Baloi
Applying public health indicators to measure the impact of our work at operational level, or even at policy/ guidance level, is not only relevant for cities but also for temporary settlements. The national governments and organizations mandated with humanitarian assistance operate under agreed standards and procedures to ensure housing and basic services for all affected individuals. For example, the total open space in a settlement for displaced communities should be no less than 30 m2 per person, the distance between houses at minimum 2 metres, and a minimum 50m of empty space provided for every 300m of build-up area, with one personal washing facility for 100 people and depending on the water flow, preferably supplied through gravity-fed systems on higher ground. The standards and guidance can easily be adapted to different geographical locations and can incorporate various risk prevention measures including viral pandemics.
In Ethiopia, one of the first measures taken by settlements’ management was the identification of potential hot spots in the spread of the virus, mapping the market and open space around the distribution centre areas most at risk. In some cases, the density of the shelters also poses a risk. The government agency managing the settlement then prepares for spatial rearrangement including for relocation of some houses if the shelters are too dense, in order to create space for physical distancing. The main planned interventions in public spaces are the rearrangement of open space, market space redesign, mapping and planning one way access routes across the dense settlements, and ensuring access to hand washing facilities at identified potential hotspots to limit the spread of the virus. Users find it easier to keep required physical distancing and ensuring business continuity at the marketplace. The one way routes ensure people walk in one direction and keep distance, while at market places the vendors and market users will also be able to keep distance from customers and have handwashing stations for their use as often as possible.
Improving and demarcating public space in order to safeguard public health.
© Oana Baloi
At household level, families apply prevention measures such as voluntary fencing to ensure privacy and distance from people who pass by the roads and alleys. Usually fencing is an activity driven by cultural norms, but it is now a practice related to public health. The space around the houses is also used differently since people now spend more time in and around the shelter, improving public space between shelters in a manner that creates comfort, shade, provides green vegetation and sometimes food such as pumpkin, nopal, and spices.
Running through a pandemic
Tangina Ahmed
Tangina Ahmed is a graduate landscape architect at Gensler who recently graduated from the University of Greenwich.
The Roding Valley Park Trail is a green link that runs through the county of Essex. It primarily functions as a network of recreational routes that support walking, running, cycling and horse riding. The route boasts nature reserves, forests, parks, and lakes, and follows the River Roding. Prior to the pandemic, the typical run would consist of navigating populated streets to ultimately emerge onto the vacant trail to begin my run. Immersed in nature, the trail would provide respite from the noise of daily life; however, since March there has been a noticeable inverse in the number of people confronted on the streets to those on the trail. At the peak of lockdown as people grew tired of being cooped up in their homes, many took full advantage of the government’s grant of one daily hour of exercise as a mean to momentarily escape confinement. In my local area, this was made evident by the increased activity on the trail and the network of green spaces that are connected to it.
The Roding Valley Park trail.
© Tangina Ahmed
As a pre-existing user of the trail, admittedly an innate territorialism inspired a false sense of ownership over the space. The distinct increase in user activity felt much like an intrusion into a personal bubble. Running along this isolated and nature-enriched route has become a form of therapy over the years. Pre-pandemic, the trail had been a reliable getaway that enabled disconnection from the built world and allowed total immersion into the natural one. At the very most, human contact would be limited to subtle acknowledgments between a handful of runners in passing. Relative to this previous experience, the newly increased footfall creates competition for space, making it that much more difficult to maintain social distancing along the narrow trails.
Instead of running with a clear mind, I now find my thoughts are focused around anticipating a potential sidestep into shrubbery in order to maintain a safe distance.
The Roding Valley Park trail.
© Tangina Ahmed
In addition to the seemingly new community of lockdown-established runners, walkers and cyclists active on the trails, there has also been a significant increase in the number of passive users in the open spaces adjacent to the trails. The sports pitches, for instance, are now frequented by sunbathers, picnickers and gatherers of all ages. A recent run situated me in the presence of a young family of four collectively flying kites, a rather rare analogue activity in this digital era that arguably has been encouraged by the mental effects of lockdown.
The Roding Valley Park trail.
© Tangina Ahmed
Although the trail and the surrounding open spaces have had no major changes implemented, the users and the ways in which they occupy the space have evolved, highlighting a shift in priorities since March. This could signify a new milestone for public health, as people continue to adjust their relationship with open green space, reflecting an enhanced appreciation for both mental and physical health.
Good for kids?
Rihards Sobols
Rihards Sobols is a masterplanner and urbanist based in LDA Design’s Bristol studio
Queen Square is a splendid Georgian space, surrounded by tall terraces of offices and big trees. It is usually buzzing with people during the summer, never more than after 5pm on a sunny day when masses of young professionals like me spill out onto the spacious lawns. Picnics, cider, volleyball and laughter; the quintessential Bristol summer vibe. Queen Square works hard in other ways too, hosting festivals, boules, arts, runs and protests.After lockdown, it emptied out but that turned out to be a moment of change.
A stone’s throw from Queen Square is South Redcliffe, a high density council estate. Its community includes large families, many of whom have a BAME background. South Redcliffe lacks good open green space – as does that whole part of central Bristol. But even in the warmest weather, I had never noticed any of those families in Queen Square before.
Queen Square, Bristol.
© Rihards Sobols
The vacuum left by office workers started to be filled. Every afternoon, I would join a slow stream of people from Redcliffe on their way to Queen Square, to stroll, mill about, kickabout and assemble for picnics. The square came alive again with the sound of laughter. As we emerged from lockdown, the reopening of shops and restaurants started to bring the usual crowds back to Queen Square. It is a big space, but still it looked like a pendulum had started to swing and the families melted away. For weeks on end, Queen Square showed its potential to fulfil a real local need and it is no longer doing that. What needs to change in order for everyone to find Queen Square safe, friendly and familiar? Did the families just need more time to feel proper and lasting ownership of their new local park? Does the raucousness of a packed square put families off? Are there any subtle, even subconscious hints that this space is not for them? Or is the problem with the locality? Between the estate and the square are heavily trafficked roads, and perhaps it was the return of vehicles as lockdown lifted, the speed, noise and pollution, which made the short walk feel too dangerous for families to take.
There is one lasting marker from the time, though, albeit a virtual one. It can be found on Google Maps, where now a line under Queen Square, for the first time, says ‘Good for kids.’ I like to think that with spaces in and near the square designed and managed differently, it would be possible for all Bristolians to share the space fairly.
