Demystifying Downtown: an introduction

Downtown Houston gives a false impression of the city it represents. In fact, for the past couple of decades, Downtown has experienced the opposite of the rest of the region: while the city’s population has practically exploded and the metro has become a haven for both mega-corporations and immigrants seeking to flush money into a prosperous resource-driven economy, the Central Business District has stagnated and rotted. Whatever vitality that colored the city in the 1940s – before the Interstate Highway System – has fled to the suburbs. Downtown’s Manhattanized street grid, once filled to the brim with business, is now a high-density relic in a sea of dozens of no-density surface parking lots. Sure, a cluster of attractive award-winning skyscrapers continues to fuel Houston’s national image, but behind that facade is a disappointing story of extreme suburbanization and long-wasted opportunity.

Unfortunately, the story of Downtown Houston is not unfamiliar to many other Sunbelt cities across the country. For many places, urbanism simply ceased to exist for most of the latter half of the 20th century – and the more extreme the rate of growth, the more devastating the impact on the traditional city center. Houston’s economic boom in the late 1970s was nothing short of insane. The region built and then overbuilt, spreading the suburbs to their geographic extremes and sapping the Inner Loop dry of wealth. There are many lessons to be learned from Houston’s poor planning during this time period – and many of the city’s most troubled districts are a direct result of a failure to accommodate any sense of foresight into the region’s growth (not that I don’t have some forgiveness for the leaders at the time, any city would get overly excited about that sort of economic opportunity). I could go on extensively about the garden apartment problem, the food deserts, the suburbs lost in time… but the focus is on Downtown, which is quickly (and thankfully) seeing its fortunes change.

The primary theme of urban development for the 20th century was suburbanization. In the 21st, it will be reurbanization. The suburbs have been ousted as an inefficient and undesirable form of land-use policy. Their propagation has created a society where most are forced to become dependent on homes that are isolated, cheaply built and expensive to occupy (especially when transportation costs are taken into account). These cookie-cutter developments lack a sense of community and force individuals to rely on their vehicles – and the traffic that they create – to have any sort of life whatsoever. This is especially prevalent in Houston, where thousands upon thousands are forced to endure grueling rush hour traffic, accidents ranging from inconvenient to deadly, and psychological degradation that breeds road rage and stress.

The most recent development boom has seen a sudden reinvestment in Houston’s densest districts – Downtown, Midtown, Montrose, Upper Kirby and Uptown. After decades of development being focused almost exclusively on suburban tracts at the edge of the metropolitan area, traditional density has become fashionable again. Indeed, this animation is especially useful at portraying the sea change:

Residential is fast approaching the Downtown core. Indeed, this is in no small part due to efforts by the municipal government, especially a new residential incentive that provides a hefty per-unit discount to developers who construct apartments in the city center. However, supplanting surface parking lots and derelict warehouses with new upper-class residential projects is a tall order. A lot of additional efforts will have to be undertaken to ensure the success of any sort of revitalization vision for Downtown. At the moment, the city center simply isn’t poised to take full advantage of pro-development economic conditions. Downtown lacks grocery stores and basic retail (barber shops, dry cleaners and the like) amongst other things. And, of course, the oversupply of surface parking lots severely detracts from the district’s walkability.

It can be safely assumed that, with time, the basic residential amenities that Downtown lacks will come with the new development. However, if the City of Houston truly wants to turn the CBD from a really big office park into a bustling high-density neighborhood, it’ll have to take some significant initiative. Over the next few months, I’ll present a number of ideas that I feel could help turn Downtown into a mixed-use gem. These include:

• Establishing dedicated retail and shopping districts that provide a true walkable experience.
• Beautifying traditional vehicular entrances to Downtown, especially on the northside of the district.
• De-spaghettifying and rebuilding the freeway infrastructure that surrounds Downtown as well as mitigating the impact of these concrete monoliths on inter-neighborhood transportation and interaction.
• Turning the stretch of the Buffalo Bayou that traverses Downtown into a unique asset to the city.

Houston is among America’s next generation of great cities. However, our lack of a proper urban core – or the mixed-use amenities that Americans are increasingly demanding – will only work to our detriment. What does it mean when Houston is considered one of the most ugly and pedestrian unfriendly cities in the nation? It means this city become unattractive to the newcomers that fuel its economy. And while most outside of Texas far overexaggerate Houston’s negative attributes (and often completely ignore its positive qualities), it’s still important that this city emphasize the availability of a lifestyle that isn’t rooted in the suburbs – an urban approach to city living which is quickly becoming the norm across the nation. Houston should be a city where both the urbanist and suburbanist can live in harmony. A reinvigorated Downtown will go a long way to making that a reality.

Houston, part 4: Parks and trees

Houston is gifted with a climate that, while not well suited to humans, allows for a bounty of natural beauty. The region’s relatively high rainfall and extremely long growing season (up to ten months) means there’s no lack of greenery. Houstonians don’t have to put much effort into lush, trimmed lawns and extravagant flowerbeds. Unlike other parts of the nation, Houston can afford to landscape its way to aesthetic highs.

However, it doesn’t seem that the municipal government itself has really subscribed to this philosophy. It doesn’t take much Internet searching to find people who talk down on Houston as one of the ugliest cities in the country. Other parts of the nation (and the world) speak of stereotypes that don’t fall too far from reality – wide expanses of concrete parking lots, vacant strip malls, schizophrenic utility lines, weedy ditches and decaying freeways. Unsurprisingly, when the New York Times named this city the #7 place to visit in the entire world for 2013 travelers, half of the comments section was dedicated to dismissing this sprawling, classically American town:

If I was offered a free ticket to either Hell or Houston, I’d start packing my flame-retardant pyjamas.

Life is too short to spend your vacation in Houston.

You pick Houston for #7?! Seriously?
That’s where to go when you ever want to feel depressed.

It’s an unfortunate stigma for the fourth largest city in the United States. There’s no doubt that Houston has its share of attractive areas. It may not have the scenic mountains and harbors of the major Californian cities, or the urban landmarks and cultural history of the New England metros. However, the city has enormous potential natural beauty. Canopies of broad oak trees, meandering bayous, lush lawns and extravagant gardens could transform the entire area’s image. Of course, once you go east and reach the port and Ship Channel, there’s no salvaging that mess of refineries and industrial parks. Still, the rest of the city could look completely different with just a bit more initiative from developers and, most importantly, the city government.

For most of the 20th century, Houston was so radically pro-development that there was little concern for preserving the natural features of the lands surrounding it. As I’ve discussed in previous posts, the city – with much assistance from the federal Army Corps of Engineers – stripped the numerous bayous that snake through the suburbs of any natural vegetation and straightened them into linear ditches. To this day, a vast majority of the bayous within the city, aside from the flagship Buffalo, remain lined with stained concrete and devoid of any fauna whatsoever. Take, for example, the White Oak Bayou, which straddles Interstate 10 on the final approach into Downtown from the west:

Keep in mind that the White Oak is one of the city’s largest and most important bayous, and its confluence with the Buffalo in Downtown is the founding point of Houston itself. As one drives on Interstate 10 to or from the city center, this bayou is incredibly visible as it runs parallel to the freeway for a significant length. For many visitors, one of their first scenic views after turning away from the skyline is the White Oak. Sadly, it acts as a precursor for the rest of the city’s depressing image, instead of an attractive centerpiece of a metropolis built on its rivers. Lined with discolored concrete, devoid of trees or trails. It’s barely a bayou. More of a ditch.

Now, I can understand the need for flood control in a region as swampy and flat as Greater Houston. This city would be radically different without the awesome might of the Army Corps of Engineers. The amount of work that’s  gone on behind the scenes to allow Houston to sprawl across the prairie is truly an engineering marvel. However, the way that it’s been done over the last 70 years (the Corps began straightening bayous in the 1940s) is simply wrong. Flood control and natural aesthetics can be harmonized – trees are effective against erosion and other geological problems by their very nature. However, the various levels of government that have dictated the city’s development throughout its history have more often than not decided to completely decimate natural plant growth in favor of featureless concrete and grass. It’s a major reason why Houston has no image when it comes to natural beauty. This city could easily recreate Atlanta’s famous tree canopy – the climate certainly allows for it. However, drive around the city – especially out in the suburbs – and you’ll find more of the same old concrete and dying grass. Houston is one of those cities that loves to build avenues with wide medians – but then it just leaves them there. No trees down the middle. No flowers. Just brown grass. The same goes for the multitude of freeways – concrete from edge to edge. Only during recent projects, such as the reconstruction of the Katy Freeway, has the incorporation of the natural environment actually been a feature of the city’s infrastructure.

And with that remark, I can go on to say that the situation is improving. As the city matures and attracts more young people into the Inner Loop, the need for more aesthetic quality is finally reaching the heads of government. Some of the projects going on to revitalize Houston’s green spaces are truly exciting. The much publicized Buffalo Bayou Park along a stretch of the waterway west of Downtown will completely change the public perception of the city’s flagship natural feature, and encourage further development (and, subsequently, much needed densification) within the vicinity of the city center. Similar (yet much less radical) revitalization efforts are underway along other rivers, such as Brays Bayou. The city’s approval of a new system of trails will bring greater attention to the historically underappreciated bayou system. However, more needs to be done – especially outside of the 610 Loop. Houston needs to do away with its decrepit sprawl image if it wants to be taken seriously on a national level. We need more trees, and not just in obvious places like the banks of the bayous. The city’s wide avenues and highways could receive a much needed dose of nature. The western Interstate 10/Interstate 610 interchange is a good example of the type of landscaping that Houston’s concrete corridors need – under the web of ramps are a bounty of pine trees and even bike trails. It doesn’t feel like a conventional freeway junction, it’s wooded and green – and that’s the type of atmosphere this development-crazy city really needs. In my Energy Corridor post I mentioned the large oaks that line Eldridge Parkway, making it an attractive spot for pedestrians and mixed-use development. Sadly, so many of the roads that crisscross nearby are the antithesis of Eldridge – they’ve been stripped of nature and lined with weedy asphalt and concrete.

Houston has a great gift in its abundance of trees. They are what make our most attractive areas notable. Nature is the cure for the vices of power lines, concrete and development. It may be far too late to stop the sprawl – but we could at least make it look good. You don’t need mountains, majestic rivers or sparkling bays to make a city – rather, it’s all about making the manmade mix with the natural. Now, it’s Houston’s chance to finally make that happen, and make up for the decades of putting the manmade over everything else.

Travel, part 1

Crescent City, California has to be one of the most depressing places I’ve ever been.

Just south of the border with Oregon, Crescent City lies along the picturesque mountainous, rocky Pacific coastline. It’s a small town. Only 8,000 people live here.

This place isn’t depressing like other towns. It seems abandoned to the curious tourist – but not the sort of abandoned that you’d find in places like Galveston or Detroit. There are empty buildings, vacant city blocks. However, they’re not dilapidated. There’s no graffiti, no signs of crime or general shadiness. The uninhabited structures just kind of sit there. The persistent coastal winds and misty rainfall rust and erode them, but it seems natural in this setting.

For most of the day the sky is overcast with a featureless shade of grey blanketing the horizon. You can’t see past a couple of miles, obscuring the most interesting scenery around – the mountains – from view. The temperature barely rises above 60 degrees – and it’s the middle of July.

Crescent City lies along U.S. Highway 101, the major artery connecting everything north of San Francisco. Therefore, the city certainly isn’t abandoned. Along 101 you’ll find a mish-mash of fast food joints, department store outlets and grocery stores. There’s a limited selection of motels and inns catering to the visitors who simply need a base from which to visit the truly incredible redwood forests just east of the city limits. The southwest corner of the area sports a crescent shaped harbor, notable for having been severely damaged by two tsunamis in recent history – one from the Good Friday earthquake in 1964, and another from the 2011 Japanese earthquake.

The 1964 tsunami managed to wipe out over 30 blocks of the city and completely incapacitated its economy through the following decades.

Much like Galveston, Crescent City seems to have never recovered to its former glory. Of course, the outsourcing of vital industries like shipping and logging have made any rejuvenation of this place a far-fetched fantasy. It’s eerily quiet around here. People live here, yes. But it doesn’t feel like it. The “business district” is almost completely devoid of life. Really, that applies to any part of town outside of the Highway 101 corridor. Besides the natural formations (forests and coastline), the town’s most notable features are a lighthouse, a small aquarium, an obscure casino and a cheese museum. Aside from the chain stores and restaurants, everything is closed by 5 or 6.  A good majority of the town’s tourists vacate the premises by 9 in the morning, returning once it’s dark.

But the quiet, aimless existence of Crescent City is somewhat blissful. There’s a good selection of homes straddling the cliff coast of the Pacific Ocean. They’re beautiful houses with gigantic windows looking out to the rocky sea. Around the city are some incredible beaches and windswept, grassy peninsulas. It all seems to speak to a simpler time. A time when our lives weren’t consumed by the complacent routines of work and city life. When having loads of money and aspiring to live in some idyllic cookie-cutter suburb wasn’t necessarily the American Dream. When life wasn’t stuck in fast-forward, speeding down a narrow highway of obligations and expectations. I don’t even know if there’s ever truly been a time like that. However, Crescent City feels like it’s from that lost era. In that sense, it’s probably the happiest place on earth. It may not be particularly interesting or appetizing – but at least it’s peaceful. That’s the sort of environment you’d be hard-pressed to find nowadays.