A Trip to the Future

My resolve into building an optimistic and healthy future is being strengthened by our current global crisis fighting the Covid-19 pandemic. But my path to reaching this commitment has been long. In fact, it has been very long—over 8,000 kilometres long because I recently drove out to Los Angeles in pursuit of new business and career opportunities, only to make an abrupt U-turn back to Toronto as international efforts to constrain the coronavirus impacting the human species rapidly escalated. After many lonely hours listening to podcasts and news updates from around the world, I am relieved to say that I am safe and sound back home where I will remain in self-isolation.

 The aborted mission began on the second day of March and only after months of reaching out to individuals and organizations doing spectacular work. When speaking with so many creative, forthright and helpful people in the Los Angeles area, the prospects seemed encouraging, engaging and full of optimism. They say “The grass is greener on the other side of the fence,” but the appearance of more lucrative pastures seemed very real. And I felt well prepared. After all, I’m an experienced and mature professional with a unique understanding of the world of architecture, urban planning and design.

With my U.S. passport, a degree from Harvard and a long list of clients, publications, exhibitions and other professional (and life) experiences, I loaded up my Subaru with two months of essentials—along with Mozart, my trusted Australian Shepherd—and made my way westward across the United States. The trip was immediately epic.

By day two, news of the coronavirus outbreak spread although the public health crisis seemed to be nominally controlled. Although the challenge to contain the virus was severe, it did not yet resonate just how wide this Pandora’s Box had been left open, nor for how long. I was still scheduling meetings en route and for me, the excitement and anticipation were only mounting. I travelled straight across Iowa and Nebraska. (Is there any other option but to go straight across?) I then climbed Colorado, stopping at the well-appointed ski resort of Vail where life was good—and parking was exorbitant. Skiers were living large, eating at pseudo-Swiss fondue restaurants or shopping for luxury timepieces while cradling carbon-fibre ski helmets. Philandering South American dentists were philandering, talking on their cellphones whilst shopping for expensive ski apparel for their ski bunnies. In Vail, they practically list the Dow Jones index beneath temperature forecasts. The talk was still focused on the Democratic primaries.

Winding my way through glorious Utah, the landscape was tear-inducingly beautiful. Grand. Expansive. Heroic. I was listening to Sinatra’s “That’s Life,” because…well…that’s life and it seemed appropriate to my circumstances! Lana Del Rey’s words were keeping me alive. I crossed the Nevada state line, bedding down in Vegas. It was my first time in Vegas and a really deplorable place it was. It was also revelatory.

 Studied by architects with a love-hate hard-on for its architectural eccentricities and excess, the city needs a fundamental 21st century rethink amongst the scholarly to dissect elements far more disturbing than any related discussions Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown kicked off in the 1960s. Entering into Vegas, I drove past Amazon’s unearthly huge distribution center. To me, the over-the-top glitz and accumulated wealth of the Vegas Strip is reminiscent of Dubai’s Sheikh Zayed Road: it is a central urban axis studded with casinos, expensive shops, restaurants and hotels instead of Dubai’s axis of faster roads, taller towers, more expensive shops, restaurants and hotels. In both Las Vegas and Dubai, the city’s underclass remains housed on the nearby and highly contrasted periphery.

I stayed in a budget hotel off the strip—one that didn’t charge an exorbitant $200 pet fee or a $75 resort fee insipidly tacked onto a deceivingly low promotional nightly rate. Down the road from my hotel, I was reminded of my urban research in West Africa years ago. Seriously. The smell of open sewage, accumulated garbage, feral dogs and dangerous-looking housing was frighteningly real. Is this America? I took a walk inside a nearby discount mall—one that happened to allow dogs—only to see the world’s young hustlers hustle vegetable choppers, shoe polish, glass cleaners and discount electronics. They weren’t croupiers, valets or cleaners at “five-star” hotels. Or maybe they were, and this was their second or third gig. They were, however, very hungry to make something of their lives.

I was able to stop and talk to them for two reasons: my dog attracts a lot of well-deserved attention and there were few customers to hustle. Not unlike many of Dubai’s working class, those whom I met were from everywhere: Uzbekistan, Croatia, Mexico, Atlanta. Disarmed by Mozart’s doggy charm, they smiled and were beautiful. They were also young, tired and slightly less than dreamy-eyed. They were America’s working vulnerable. A similar story was to be had at a nearby restaurant called the Bootlegger where (and without Mozart) I had an Italian-style dinner served in an Italian-style restaurant by an Italian-style server who memorized her Italian-style family restaurant history very well. Here, what happens in Vegas, happens everywhere and across America: people are just doing what they need to do to survive. Two weeks later, I wonder what these hustlers, servers and minimum-wage earners (likely without proper healthcare) are thinking now that their livelihoods have been shut down. We know the U.S. has no real national public health infrastructure. What’s going to happen when these folks need to go to the hospital in the coming days or weeks?

From Vegas, I arrived in Los Angeles—celebrating with a much-needed and highly symbolic car wash. L.A. is a diverse and complex city of obvious, iconic and hidden beauty, charm and character. For me, it’s clearly a city of neighbourhoods and unfortunate misunderstandings where millions of citizens have cultivated their own unique mental maps. For my nine days in Los Angeles, I met with people who elicited authenticity, aspiration, creativity—and ideas.

News about Covid-19 took a turn for the worse on my fifth day. Sports teams announced the end to their seasons, then museums, academic institutions and the very organizations that I set out to meet were shutting down. Meetings were tumultuously cancelled. Everything began to go frightfully dark. Social distancing became more than a hashtag—it became a mantra.

For three more days, I wondered if this global crisis will be a two-week phenomenon or a months-long reality. I found solace in the incredible variety of trails and parks of Los Angeles. Mozart was happy to discover these L.A. places, an extensive and underappreciated aspect to daily life that I had no idea existed. Restaurants, bars and stores were still open, but my dog and I were free, alone and relatively safe in the many hills and trails of Los Angeles. I cannot neglect to mention my dear friend of nearly 20 years—Una—who helped me navigate the turbulent waters upon my arrival and who single-handedly manages to keep her mom and two kids safe and otherwise busy, tutored and occupied as necessary.

 By the weekend, it became clear to me that I had to make a run for the Canadian border. Life was changing by the day, if not, by the hour. I was on the road Monday morning, taking a different route right through Arizona, New Mexico, Northern Texas and into Oklahoma. A far less inspiring route than my outward-bound journey, it was much easier to drive. It also happens to run more or less alongside the decaying but somehow still historic Route 66.

Whatever appeal Route 66 had at one time, it died somewhere between the eras of Nixon and Reagan. The road itself is slowly crumbling into oblivion and the remaining establishments that irregularly dot this interminable roadscape have lost their lustre long ago. There is definitely wry symbolism to be found every few miles, either through politically incorrect billboards announcing moccasins and souvenirs “made by real Indians” or “Chinese massages” illustrated with servile outstretched arms reaching towards unrealistically trim white backs and the number of the nearest highway exit. With the advancing coronavirus, any remaining appeal accorded to eating a “home-cooked meal” in any diner along the way was greatly diminished by the health risk associated with unwashed (and likely underpaid) hands. Fortunately, I had my bag of survival groceries for my much-hastened return trip to Toronto.

By the time I reached Oklahoma City on the second night, news of the pandemic had sunk into the skeptical minds of America’s Heartland. My hotel shut down one of its floors. I avoided the elevator, pushing open the panic bar of the fire stairs with my hip and used all the bleached-white towels to open doors and cover surfaces.

On the fourth day, I reached the Detroit-Windsor border. Live coverage of President Trump’s daily news conference was being broadcast on NPR just as I approached one of the kiosks operated by Canadian Border Services. I was asked questions through a microphone which ended with a one-way mirrored glass panel opening just long enough to give me a Coronavirus fact sheet. The line-up was efficient and relatively quick. Still, massive amounts of trucks were coming through, hopefully, loaded up with toilet paper and cleaning supplies. My mind slowed down as I merged onto the much-too-fast 401 into Toronto. Relief. Almost home. Evidently apprehensive about the future.

I unpacked the car, took a shower, heaved a sigh and began to relax. I then slept for nearly 12 hours. It seemed as though a whole year has passed, not 19 tumultuous days. The world has changed, forever.

 I’m optimistic about the future. We will still need to prioritize, plan and manage our collective future. We will still need to think about our cities and how we live in them (instead of living within our cities in self-isolation). And I will still need to help guide initiatives that will impact our built environment: the challenges ahead will likely be different from before, requiring new strategies and insight. I am confident that others will need my help to lead them through this mess. Together, we will work on a future that is not only bent out of shape by the current pandemic but one that will reflect a greater understanding of our social and economic frailties, corporate greed, political failings and the necessary re-evaluation of technology that simultaneously impedes and enhances our ability to become better humans.