Surf and turf: what the city of Montréal offers

An afternoon stroll at the Cité-du-Havre neighbourhood in Montréal presented me with a surf and turf feast. Walking towards Dieppe Park I encountered people—not those who dressed like me with shorts and a hoodie—but those in wetsuits or colourful bermuda shorts, carrying full-sized surfboards. I happen to be a curious person so I followed them into a green space, passing through a 20-meters long segment with “No Trespassing” signs onto a trail next to the rapids. The trail has several signs that say the City of Montréal which lessened my worry about the earlier trespassing. Nonetheless at this point trespassing or not was no longer an issue at stake. My attention was fully drawn to those surfers who were already catching the waves on the St. Lawrence River.

This is urban surfing and I enjoyed what I saw. I like to think of water as an extension of urban space. The activities happening on the water also represent a unique human-space relationship. Surfers appropriate the urban space as they maneuver the waves. It was later that I learnt (from an all-season surfer there) that this particular spot has four waves. As he pointed towards the waves I imagined those waves as natural designs on the water and as surfers paddle in and out of the currents, perform with the standing wave, and ride with various sorts of surfboards they are concurrently initiating a dialogue with the water space. In this sense the surfer, the surfboard, the waves, and the techniques together engage in the interaction with the urban space—the water.

The surfing spot I was at is known as the Habitat 67 surf. The trail next to the rapids is adjacent to the Habitat 67 housing complex. Habitat 67 is an experimental urban residential complex designed by Israeli-born architect Moshe Safdie. It was designed as the Canadian Pavilion for the World Exposition of 1967 with the intention of exploring experimental solutions for high-quality housing in dense urban environments. Habitat 67 was constructed from 354 identical and completely prefabricated modules (referred to as “boxes”) stacked in various combinations and connected by steel cables. Safdie aimed to create a series of properties with their own identities hence each housing unit featured its own roof garden and could be accessed from an external "street". Today Habitat 67 remains an iconic building in Montréal.

That afternoon I had a feast. Toward the St. Lawrence River I savoured the surf—the surfers and their performativity with the water space; toward the land I savoured the turf—the iconic building which shows and tells stories and ideologies of the past as well as the present.

Figure 1. The trail next to the rapids borders Habitat 67. This trail leads to the spot where surfers launch. Image source: Judy Chen. Montréal, 2021.

Figure 2. Habitat 67 housing complex. Image source: Judy Chen. Montréal, 2021.

Figure 3. The surfers on the St. Lawrence River. It was truly an amazing experience to see real surfers in the middle of the city. Image source: Judy Chen. Montréal, 2021.

Figure 4. Surfing the Habitat 67 river wave. Surfing is a unique addition to the cityscape. Source: Judy Chen. Montréal, 2021.

Additional reading

The Unexpected Benefits of Surfing (BBC, 2021)

The Urban Sacrifice: Notes on The Human Scale by Andreas Dalsgaard

The 2013 documentary The Human Scale explores how our processes of urbanization, particularly since 1960, have had major consequences at the human scale, in terms of community, connection, and quality of life. To express this, the movie visits several cities in different parts of the world that each highlight something lost from urbanization.

This documentary shows how different parts of the world have arrived at the conclusion that it may be worthwhile complicating the markedly capitalistic mode of living and, depending on the circumstances that preempted this conclusion, illustrates the moves made in response to these notions. Interrogating why there is growing energy against our modern way of life relies heavily on what the price of convenience, luxury, possession, and other forms of capital accumulation has had on our social network and connectivity to those around us. In essence, the world we have created and still create through capitalism is not innately made to serve the totality of our needs as humans. In this, modernity could be seen as a movement that is not concerned with humanity or a movement predicated on removing people from their natural state of being. This documentary does a great job of revealing these issues but also offering reassurance that we still have time to change and positioning planners and other urbanists are the arbiters of this change moving forward. Because of this, the documentary has an ironic optimistic tone, as a planner, because it entails a big problem that is also localized enough to be tangible in practice.

All in all, The Human Scale was successful in alluding to issues within cities that have historically been ignored in favour of the push for urban capitalism. With its several case studies, it is very clearly grounded in experience and accounts for regional differences in the debate quite fluidly. As far as drawbacks, its vision is rather idealistic. Embracing the human scale makes sense from our current position, but probably will come with its own drawbacks. Nonetheless, I would recommend this movie for any burgeoning urbanists or any city dwellers who wants to talk to their neighbor.

The new threat, the old paradigm: housing, homelessness, and the COVID 19 crisis

If the only effective recipe to prevent the spread of Covid-19 was to stay at home, at least 800 million people around the world who do not have a proper home or live in informal settlements where physical distancing is almost impossible, could not fulfill it, according to the UN Human Rights Council report.  Homelessness and housing inequality have long been challenging governments worldwide - especially those countries that have historically ignored poverty, marginalization, stigmatization, and discrimination issues. The COVID-19 outbreak just exposed and exacerbated this chronic homelessness crisis into a housing emergency of global dimensions.

“Housing has become the front line defence against the coronavirus. Home has rarely been more of a life-or-death situation.”

Leilani Farha - UN Special Rapporteur on the right to adequate housing

The pandemic raised many questions about important aspects of human rights laws relating to the right to housing; national and local governments have no choice but rapidly act to respond to the crisis: evictions and rental contracts cancellations were temporally suspended, measures to protect renters and mortgage payers were established and overall, facilities that provide services for homeless people, including shelters, drop-in centers, and soup kitchens were created or enlarged. Although being valuable measurements to mitigate the impacts of COVID-19 and also key actions that could contribute to future outbreaks, the problem is far away from being solved and one main question still remains: beyond temporary measures, are the governments ready to move towards a more permanent solution to ensure that the right to adequate housing is protected and fulfilled for homeless people, persons who live in informal settlements and so many other vulnerable groups?

Alleviating Urban Economic Hardships: Stockton’s 24-month UBI Experiment Offers A New Template

Starting in February 2019, the City of Stockton began the SEED initiative, a 24-month pilot program giving 125 people who were at or below the median income level, $500 a month. This payment differed from pre-existing social welfare programs as there was no work requirement and the payments were unconditional. The key findings from this program include:

·       Guaranteed income reduced income volatility, or the month-to-month income fluctuations that households face.

·       Unconditional cash enabled recipients to find full-time employment.

·       Recipients of guaranteed income were healthier, showing less depression and anxiety and enhanced wellbeing.

·       The guaranteed income alleviated financial scarcity creating new opportunities for self-determination, choice, goal-setting, and risk-taking.

(West et al. 2021; pp.1)

So, what does this mean for urban planning? I posit that we, as planners, can utilize this increased level of risk-taking to further substantiate our experiments in new urban forms and practices. One major hurdle in planning is lack of public participation, and programs like UBI could possibly increase the likelihood of people participating in other experimental urban practices, creating more optimal conditions for planners to gain applicable knowledge about their constituents.

Reference

West, S., Castro Baker, A., Samra, S., & Coltrera, E. (2021). Preliminary Analysis: SEED’s First Year. stocktondemonstration.org. Retrieved 2021, from https://static1.squarespace.com/static/6039d612b17d055cac14070f/t/603ef1194c474b329f33c329/1614737690661/SEED_Preliminary+Analysis-SEEDs+First+Year_Final+Report_Individual+Pages+-2.pdf

Of borders and islands

American Dirt was one of my summer reads. Written by American author Jeanine Cummins it tells the fictional story of a Mexican mother and son’s journey to the border after a cartel murders the rest of the family. The story covers various themes, from the love and strength of a mother for her son, cartels’ geographical spaces of power, the potential risks journalists face to the hardships migrants endure and the sacrifices and choices one made to keep the family safe.

The story begins in Acapulco, Mexico. The opening chapters depict how a tourist city and its inhabitants find themselves in a tension with the presence of the growing narcotic power. Acapulco is one of Mexico’s coastal tourist destinations—until violence scares most of the tourists away. Many of its inhabitants, like Lydia the protagonist, not only suffer financially from the decrease in tourists but also feel the quotidian suffocation—torn between wanting to know if quieter streets mean less violence and insulating themselves from the ugliness of the narco violence.

The falling apart of the city leads to the path of migration. Forced to leave Acapulco, the protagonist takes her son on the journey to the border. It is then I learn the meaning of city to migrants. City means hope. The sight of a city signals numerous possibilities—the geographical proximity to the North, the shelter of the Church or migrant centre, food and water provided by those kind souls, and the encounter and information exchange with other migrants.

The story of American Dirt reminds me of the book I read for my Latin American Studies course at UIUC many years ago. Tunnel Kids by Lawrence Taylor and Maeve Hickey. I remember how much I enjoyed the book. I was fascinated by the story of twin cities, Nogales, Sonora and Nogales, Arizona. At the U.S.-Mexico border and beneath the streets in the drainage tunnels, tunnel kids, as referred by the authors, make a place out of their own struggles and survivals.

I am very drawn to issues of border. The idea of crossing a “line” and entering a different country while still sharing the common ground fascinates me. In the years I spent in Philly and New York for every family visit to Toronto I chose bus as my ride—even when sometimes airplane tickets were significantly cheaper. In this 13 hours of bus ride I got to pass through many different cities. I got to see city at its dawn and its dusk. I got to see streets, buildings, and people. I enjoyed watching and observing. All the way until I hit the U.S.-Canada border I found it intriguing how by crossing the border—which is both visible and invisible—the nationality of the land changes. Though sharing the common ground and similar geographical features different cities and different countries denote differences in culture and society. This, in turn, leads to the observed differences in the human-space interaction and relationship.

Taiwan is my home country. The island of Taiwan. Perhaps it is this—being raised on an island without land borders—that cultivates my interest toward borders, border-crossing and the stories of and around borders.

Pocket libraries in the city

I was thrilled last month when I learnt that the school library has reopened. On a Monday morning in August I went to the library to pick up the books I reserved; the librarian informed me that the library has reopened. I remember asking her, with my eyes wide open, “Does that mean I can come at anytime and check all the books I want from the shelf?” She gave me a big smile and said yes. She also said that it has been too long, “18 months,” she said.

The pandemic has brought changes to many things and in various aspects. One thing I missed a lot was the library visit. Contactless pick-up allowed us to have access to books but the whole library experience was no longer the same. I missed the access to the library environment. It was then I realised how the physicality of libraries mattered so much to me. I want access to books but I also long for access to libraries. I miss walking back and forth the library aisles, looking for books on the shelf, and occasionally, peeking at the books others picked up. Many of my library visits ended with more books than planned—though I always brought a ‘books to check out’ list the actual library visit often changed the game. In the act of looking for the books I had in mind, I also got attracted by books that were on the same (or near-by) shelf. I also enjoyed finding the library carts, scanning through books that had been checked out, returned, but hadn’t made their way back to the shelf. In searching for books I found more books and more nice surprises. This library experience is very different from contactless pick-up in which you only got what you asked for.

During this period of library closure, the little libraries in the public serve to alleviate my longing for the library experience. One can find this book-sharing box at various parts in the city. The take a book, leave a book movement has grown in popularity over the past years. Advocates believe that little free libraries improve access to books, help tackle low literacy rates and encourage community building and creativity.

Despite some critics facing these little free libraries (the main critique was on the issue of branding and trademarking the word ‘library’) , I enjoy spotting these pocket libraries in cities. I feel excitement at the first sight of the book-sharing box—look, there is a little library that I can visit—then I feel excitement by the fact that I am allowed to pick and hold a book and turn its pages. Pocket libraries are hidden treasures in the city; you don’t know when and where you’d spot them and you won’t know what books await until you visit the little library.

Figure 1. The free little library located outside Limestone Organic Creamery. Scones and books are the perfect pair for teatime. Image source: Judy Chen. Kingston, 2021.

Figure 2. An old backyard BBQ turned book-sharing box. I found this little library on a residential driveway while on my bike. Image source: Judy Chen. Pointe-Claire, 2021.  

Figure 3. The Free Books shelf located outside Phoenix Books on Sherbrooke. The time when I went for photos they only had one book left on the shelf. Image source: Judy Chen. Montréal, 2021.