What makes a city approachable?
I recently got back from a trip to Japan. I had a lot of expectations going there, some of which were true and others which weren't, but there was one thing that caught me completely off guard: the overwhelming sense of approachability that seemed to pervade the entire country. I made it to Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto, and Hiroshima while I was there, and in each of those cities, where I expected to feel like a lost American, I instead felt strangely comfortable. Not living-room couch comfortable, but more "family dinner at a new friend's house" comfortable. I didn't know the people around me, but the challenge of fitting in and becoming familiar with such a far-away place seemed oddly manageable.
It took some reflection to finally craft an explanation for the phenomenon, but eventually I was able to settle one one particular difference that I felt was responsible.
In the US, we're particularly rigid about the way our cities are laid out. We have zoning laws which separate residential, commercial, and industrial, and are responsible for a lot of the "live away from where you work away from where you shop away from where you live" type development that we've come to know. In recent years, we've we started to repair the damage those laws did--we now know the joys that walking, public space, and community can bring, and we've revisited the old zoning laws to allow for combination commercial / residential developments in an effort to recapture them--but despite everything, American cities continue to lack the level of approachability and accessibility that Japanese cities have in spades. So what was the one key thing that made all the difference? The alleyways.
Japanese alleyways are unusual in that unlike American alleys, they aren't used simply for trash storage and sewer drains. In fact, they aren't even really alleys; they're tiny streets, and they're perfect for people. The innards of the blocks in Japan are subdivided with narrow, neatly paved walkways that are fair game for everything from pedestrians, bikes, and skateboards to even cars (although to be fair, driving a car through the alleys can be a struggle, especially if you need to pass another one going in the opposite direction), and instead of being lined by tall walls of cold brick and stone, they're filled with almost as many restaurants, shops, and businesses as the main boulevards themselves. Occasionally you'll even find a city park smack in the middle of a random block. The result is that each individual block is almost a small-town neighborhood, right within the city. They're self-contained communities that all the residents of the block become a part of, just by living there. In essence, it's a second family. The homes and shops and restaurants are owned by people you either know already, or are destined to meet soon enough, and though you may not choose to actively seek friendship with all these people, you'll continue to see familiar faces in familiar places and recognize them as members of your family. Everyone walks the same streets to get home at night. Everyone has at least one thing in common. At its simplest, the streets woven into the insides of the blocks are what turn a small chunk of city into home--a place where everyone knows your name, nestled comfortably into the boundless city around it.
Stateside, we don't quite have that. Sure, we have people living in apartments and others working in nearby restaurants, but we as a community don't own our blocks here. We may own the real estate, but the soul of the block belongs to the city, and we simply camp out around the edges.
Without the networks of roads and paths to break up the blocks to create space for people, we walk around our blocks to get where we're going, avoiding the casual encounters that would otherwise occur at their core. We have no space to be social, away from the threat of cars whizzing by at uncomfortable speeds. We don't have the luxury of separation between home and the hustle and bustle of the boulevards outside it. And most of all, we have no place in which we can simply be. Boulevards are designed to transport people, so by simply standing on one, you're expected to be going somewhere. But inside a block, no one would think twice if you were to pull up a couple folding chairs and sit and chat with friends for hours.
Granted, I've seen a similar kind of community sprout within apartment complexes here in Los Angeles. Some of the bigger ones will have pools and open space on the inside that are great for getting to know your neighbors, but the difference is that they're not public. They're closed off to all but those who already live there. Internal relationships are indeed important, but they fatally lack the flux of casual guests and travelers. New friends and new experiences are what fully satisfy our needs as social creatures, and without a healthy mix of new and familiar people, it's just not the same.
So that was it. That's the reason I felt so safe and comfortable in a city I didn't even know. I was never simply lost among 30 million strange people, because at any given time, I was a guest in someone else's home. And all I had to do to belong was say hello.
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