Connection
On the move:
Living car-less in Southern California
Above Sunset in Costa Mesa
Above A beautiful day in the neighborhood
“Sometimes it’s like another planet,” I told her.
up explanation, I’ll add: “I don’t have a car yet.” Other times, I’ll go on: “I only have a bike.” These five words baffle, concern, and even inspire pity in most listeners.
I moved to Orange County just two months ago, so the picture I painted to my old architecture school roommate was new to us both. “It’s not like being surrounded by space,” I went on — “it’s like being on top of it.” Space is reduced to a rippled surface eternally baked by the sun. Asphalt launches toward the horizon, blurred by heat mirage. The forests we had grown up with were light-years away. Here, there were only palm trees, scraggly bushes and cacti: spiky, blooming aliens that had steeled themselves for centuries to withstand apocalypselevel conditions. They feed off of the sunlight, so incessant that the landscape almost hums. I remember my first time flying over this bizarre terrain, fascinated by the suburbs spreading like a rash over the low, dry hills, between office parks and strip malls the size of small towns. It was clear at first glance, and it is even more clear to me now: like many “cities” in the U.S., the suburban sprawl between Los Angeles and San Diego was never constructed for humans. It was made by humans to exchange capital: to drive our energy-thirsty steel pets to one destination, one strip mall, one suburban paradise at a time. Space is what flies past the windshield. It was made so successfully that the phrase “I don’t have a car” immediately invites questions. Sometimes to avoid any follow-
40
I don’t blame them. By the laws of Southern Californian culture, the notion that a resident would actively choose this lifestyle doesn’t make sense. I should be deterred by the prospect of waiting for a bus, but not by waiting in constant traffic. I should not be able to traverse the city practically for free, or at least without paying for gas, tolls, parking, auto insurance, repairs, etc. The urban planners, politicians, etc. who created this city thought so as well. Nevertheless, I am learning to traverse this new landscape on two feet, two wheels, and one underrated public transit system. The process has sculpted my perception of space, accessibility, and the agency that both residents and design professionals have to be the change they want to see in their built environment. On this planet, as in all my previous ones, I walk more than most people I know. Usually for business, often for pleasure. But getting around Orange County on foot can feel less like a mode of transportation or pastime and more like an endurance sport. I navigate the shade-less sidewalks with a baseball hat and squinted eyes, grateful for the vitamin D but not for the slight headache that catches up with me after a long day on my feet. In the many “neighborhoods,” where every other street is a six-lane highway, I can spend just as long walking
