မင်္ဂလာပါ!
And welcome to this newsletter.
It's where I (John Surico) talk each month about cities & all their discontents: streets, environment, energy, cultures, people, food, form, etc. This month, we cover:
- The future of outdoor dining;
- The potential of cargo bikes;
- The green rush;
& much, much more.
This intro comes to you from a plane floating somewhere above Ohio, en route to Seattle—one last bit of travel before the semester starts at NYU next week. (And a first time in the Pacific Northwest!) So I’ll be keeping it brief.
A quick note: it’s a delight to see the dedicated engagement with Streetbeat. Three years from launch, the newsletter averages an open rate of 60% (which, I’m told, is pretty good!) and about 1,100 views each edition. This last month’s was the most read yet. And I’m just amazed by that.
As always: thanks for reading, folks. Now, onto the news:
To stay
It’s been over three years since cities across the globe expanded their outdoor dining programs to contend with the Covid-19 pandemic, namely using curbside space (f.k.a. parking spots). Their longevity has been mixed: many cities have nixed them altogether, returning outdoor dining to sidewalks; others haven’t touched them at all; and some have tried a hybrid approach: they’ve kept the general idea of the program intact but with stipulations, typically related to seasonality, fee structure, or the design itself.
Urbanists fretted about the last option, holding Paris up as a warning sign. Henry Grabar of Slate reported that once Mayor Anne Hidalgo made permanent the Covid-era outdoor dining program in Paris—a city where terraces are a way of life—the applications dropped by two-thirds. This was largely blamed on the new rules: the setups could only last April through November, rather than year-round, putting the load on restauranteurs to figure it out.
But it didn’t last. ‘Summer terraces’ have since sprung up everywhere, enlivening plazas and streets once quiet or derelict. In short, restauranteurs did figure it out: they invested; they heard from (sometimes angry) neighbors; they shifted around hours; they cleaned up more. And people responded in kind. Now, the program’s popularity begs the question of a recent headline in The New York Times: Can There Be Too Many Cafes in Paris?
New York City is about to embark upon a similar experiment in public space management. With the signing of Mayor Eric Adams’ pen this month, ‘Dining Out NYC’ is now the largest permanent outdoor dining program in America. (It has a flashy new website, too.) And it’ll follow the same eight-month season as Paris, meaning the current existing structures, most of which have been up since 2020, will have to come down next year. (Sidewalk seating is allowed year-round.) Some critics—I’ll call them supportive opponents—say without a full-year option for curbside dining, eateries with little room for storage will be less inclined to schlep out a setup every year. But if Paris tells us anything, the demand is there. And maybe that judgment is too quick to make.
This fall, the city’s NYCDOT enters the rules-making process, where specific design guidelines will be hashed out for future structures. Last year, I sat on a design jury of planners and other practitioners through the Al Fresco NYC coalition, when the legislation itself was still in question. We spent several meetings deliberating on issues like modular flexibility, visibility, and access. Now, that work will help guide the city’s thinking.
Here are three things I’d like to see:
No overhang. Having enclosed sheds up to the corner is just as bad as having an SUV or pick-up park there. It’s terrible for daylighting, or making intersections more visible for pedestrians to see oncoming traffic. Open-air structures, where the line of vision can go straight through, are preferred.
Accessibility requirements. Outdoor dining has had a rough track record with accessibility. It’s improved since I reported on it for Bloomberg CityLab way back when, but still, the spaces are often too tight or steep for people with disabilities to enjoy. The new structures will remove any flooring, so restaurants can better clean the street itself. But with that, the city needs to ensure that they’re doing everything they can to make that step-down easy.
Equitable outcomes. The city’s pre-Covid outdoor dining program itself was a flat fee but notoriously complicated. Then, in the Covid emergency, restaurants gobbled up public space for little to no charge, even if it doubled seating (and tabs) for some. A major strength of the new program is the equitable fee structure: restaurants will have to pay more to set up structures in busy Manhattan than, say, the outer Bronx. But it’d be great to see the fees spent in an equitable fashion as well. Mike Lydon of Street Plans once pointed me to San Diego, where outdoor dining fees are redirected to bike lane and plaza work in underserved neighborhoods. (They also offer grants for eateries to build structures!) We should do the same.
Give berth
One of the most promising advances on our streets right now is the advent of the cargo bike. They have the potential to offset the spike in congestion from online delivery; in fact, two cargo bikes are the equivalent of one box truck. With that comes safer streets, as larger vehicles are disproportionately responsible for traffic-related injuries due to size and blind spots. It also means cleaner air: switching from a truck to a cargo bike reduces CO2 emissions by 14 tons a year—or the equivalent of driving around the world once, and then some.
But even as the technology has gotten more accessible and affordable, urban infrastructure, both hard and soft, is still playing catch-up to cargo bikes. Bike lanes are not designed to handle their widths. Charging networks often overlook them. And the laws on the books still haven’t adapted to their presence. E-bikes, in general, are (still) the most popular EVs on the planet, but cities are only just now grappling with what that all means.
For example, in New York City, cargo bikes are limited to a maximum width of 36 inches and three wheels. Newer models, which can handle heavier lifts, are wider and typically four-wheeled. Last year, cargo bikes in New York City delivered 5 million packages—a startling figure for something still in the ‘pilot’ phase. More and more companies, like Whole Foods and UPS, are actively testing them out. So clearly, there is latent demand.
That said, I was glad to see the city’s Department of Transportation (NYCDOT) move to rewrite those rules this month. I called for the state to do this in a commentary I wrote for Center for an Urban Future in June, but they’ve been slow on the uptake—an e-bike subsidy program, an increasingly popular policy nation- and worldwide, has also stalled in Albany. So instead, the city is going it alone. Some freight companies aren’t thrilled, but city officials and advocates think the small legal tweak could turbocharge the cargo bike movement.
Now, let’s talk about bigger bike lanes…
Green growth
For a while now, I’ve been a big fan of Trust for Public Land. They’re the pre-eminent organization when it comes to better parks and green space at a truly national scale. Their annual ParkScore, which gives a report card to cities on parks quality and access, is the gold standard. (I believe I annotated a report they did on the economic impact of parks in New York City—which we need to talk about more!—once here.) And their staff works closely with countless local leaders to craft park-forward policies and strategies.
So I was humbled when TPL asked me to moderate a ‘Park Bench Chat’ this month with the theme of parks development as equitable development. Or, in other words: how can (or why should) parks help build equity in a city? For it, I sat down with Mayor Danene Sorace of Lancaster, PA, the site of many family trips to Amish markets and antique train museums. Mayor Sorace has made parks a key pillar of her tenure; she talked about how her team is thinking through parks investment in the growing city, outreach to Latinx and refugee populations, and building coalitions and political will for parks.
You can watch the full chat here. (And more to come soon with TPL!)
OSA: New form
An article I wrote in April 2021, entitled “Can ‘Open Streets’ Outlast the Pandemic?’” for Bloomberg CityLab, is how I first entered the fray of 31st Ave. I met the volunteers in my neighborhood, thought what they were doing was rad, and said, ‘Eh, why not?’ Three seasons later, we’ve come a long way.
The short answer to the question I posed then: Yes. Like outdoor dining, a number of cities are still toying with Covid-era traffic calming measures. I’ve made a point here that Open Streets (or whatever moniker it goes by in your city), at its core, is an iterative design process: you try a new street layout, see how it goes, and then slowly build upon it over time. But where that path leads can very, because every public space is unique.
In New York City, I’ve found that Open Streets, when made permanent, fall under pretty distinct intervention types. This summer saw a handful of new entries, so it’s worth recapping where this Covid-era program is taking us now.
Superblocks. The grandest vision of Open Streets is reserved for large-scale projects. Typically, it involves dicing up a corridor into a series of shared streets, plaza blocks and access-only points. That, in turn, creates a ‘low-traffic’ corridor for walking and cycling, as it becomes difficult for cars to drive directly down a street. Barricades may still be used after. (Examples: 34th Ave, Jackson Heights; Broadway Vision, Flatiron District.)
Bike boulevards. This second tier, in terms of extent, is preferred when street space is tight and cycling is popular. Two-way bike lanes offer a fluidity of movement, but sometimes they’re ‘contraflow,’ or against traffic. To make that work, traffic is either diverted to parallel streets or converted to one-way for select portions. (Examples: Berry Street, Williamsburg; Underhill Avenue, Prospect Heights; and potentially 31st Ave, Astoria.)
Plazas. The straightforward redesign finds itself on shorter blocks, which are often either ‘slip streets’ (an antiquated road layout) or alleyways. Traffic is blocked completely through the use of quick-build materials, like bollards and boulders, and the space is filled with planters and seating. Typically, too, you have ‘anchor businesses’ or partners to manage it. (Examples: Banker’s Anchor, Greenpoint; Doyers Street, Chinatown, seen above.)
Street improvements. Barring a full redesign, cities can perform ‘upgrades’ to enhance the Open Street experience. This includes the deployment of loading zones, for short-term deliveries; curb extensions, for safer turning and crossing; and mid-block ‘bump-outs,’ for slower speeds. (Examples: West 103rd Street, Upper West Side; Vanderbilt Avenue, Prospect Heights.)
Before we move on, I just want to flag two September dates:
Thursday, September 14th: If you’re around the Western Queens area (I know that’s only a select few of you), please stop by the NYCDOT visioning workshop for 31st Ave. It’s a great opportunity to have your voice heard on Open Streets, cycling safety, and a better block for all.
Wednesday, September 27th: I’ll join NYCDOT public space chiefs Kyle Gorman and Emily Weidenhof, and Lonnie Hardy, an Open Streets organizer from The Bronx, on a panel moderated by Open Plans’ Jackson Chabot (a Streetbeat regular!). Hosted by the Neighborhood Preservation Center, the night asks: how can Open Streets help neighborhoods preserve culture?
Bright Side: The Big Push
It’s been a tough summer to be cheerful about the climate. We are staring into a deep, dark abyss of extreme weather, each wildfire and storm seemingly worse than the last. International action is lagging, and the ‘green backlash’ is accelerating. We are living on a planet that is getting hotter and more divided.
So, the good news?
This month marked the one-year anniversary of the Inflation Reduction Act, the largest climate investment ever made by the U.S., the world’s historically worst polluter. Lots of media attention ensued. And while the White House still faces a public awareness problem, signs of the desperately needed ‘green transition’ are everywhere. Huge new solar and wind installments are breaking ground. EV sales will break the million mark in the U.S. this year. The country is in the midst of a manufacturing resurgence, the likes of which it hasn’t seen in years. And other global powers are passing their own ‘Green New Deals’ to compete. In fact, companies are investing so much that some actually think we’ll meet emission goals earlier than expected, which should be music to anyone’s ears.
This is what economists call The Big Push. It’s this idea that for a company to industrialize—or to go all-in on a certain industry or sector—they have to be sure they’re not going it alone. It’s like the developmental version of peer pressure: companies need to see that they’ll be okay taking a risk if everyone else is doing it. And that’s what we’re witnessing right now.
With the major climate, infrastructure and semiconductor bills, the U.S. essentially placed its bets on a number of specific industries, namely renewables, EVs and carbon capture. This is the hallmark of industrial policy: the government assumes the role of ‘market maker’ through massive subsidy and regulation, in the hope of convincing private companies (and even other countries) that the water is okay to swim in. The U.S. has done this before—think the Space Race, the Internet. And a year out from IRA, it’s happening again.
Now, some caveats: it’s unclear just how many jobs the green economy will create. (Or what even counts as one.) This investment isn’t a guarantee that we won’t hit the 2-degree Celsius mark, either. (Most experts agree that the world is in for a very bumpy ride, no matter what.) And local opposition is still proving to be a major hurdle to action. (NIMBYism is a helluva drug.) But for me, the news feels like a cool breeze in the midst of this brutal summer.
On the Radar: Dance Dance Dance, by Haruki Murakami
About once a year, I read a Murakami novel—a tradition I’ve followed since first picking up Norwegian Wood back in 2017. The writer is easily my favorite contemporary author; something about his books is entrancing. I’ve laughed for no apparent reason. I’ve entered almost dream-like states. I’ve read his books huddled up in corners, afraid of anything creeping up behind me. His storytelling—often in the first-person—has a bizarre, ethereal pace to it, like a post-modern noir; Twin Peaks set in Japan. But even that oversimplifies it.
If that paragraph conveyed anything, it’s that Murakami’s style is hard to explain, which, for me, is what makes it so intoxicating. But for this section, I want to focus on how Murakami treats cities in his novels and essays.
Drift, a coffee magazine I’ve done a lot of work for in the past with Angela, once featured an essay in its Tokyo issue about the author’s relationship with coffee. In almost every book, a character is seen drinking coffee, grinding coffee, roasting coffee, smelling coffee, going out for coffee, or day-dreaming about coffee. (Murakami and his wife owned a kissaten for years before he began writing.) Food and drinks, like coffee, are part of the protagonist’s stream of consciousness—they make their actions and thoughts feel tangible.They add color to an otherwise colorless landscape. And the same can be said about cities.
The books are inherently urban; most plots unfold in cities, and rural or off-grid places are where things go astray. Tokyo is usually the backdrop, but sometimes you’re taken to cities like Osaka or Kyoto. The landscapes are painstakingly detailed: Murakami describes the built environment—apartment buildings; restaurants, cafes and bars; hotels; etc.—down to every inch, and goes to serious lengths marking the way the characters move in between these spaces through sights, like people and places. (It’s Japan, so trains play a huge role, too.)
Each story has an underworld-ish component to it; the city beneath the city. In Dance, Dance, Dance, the most recent novel I’ve read, the protagonist wanders around snowy Sapporo in a haze, on a search to find something. He gets lost in the city’s rhythms; when he returns to Tokyo, where he lives, he asks as if awaking from a dream: what was I even doing there? He then assumes a different rhythm, unique to the capital. Even if some parts feel impersonal, he approaches each city with its own penmanship; a setting meant to sway the character one direction or another. In Murakami’s stories, the city itself feels like its own character. Their timelessness—neither here, nor there; a critique of ‘advanced capitalism,’ as he calls it—helps turn each page.
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