Becoming a Pseudo-Psychogeographer

After living in 5 cities in the past 4 years, becoming acquainted with urban geography has become what feels like a repetitive motion of sequential gestures and subsequent predictable discoveries.

So here it is, my

4 Steps of Urban Acclimation and Appropriation:

1) primary transport systems are demystified and efficient routes are catalogued for functional purposes
2) close-proximity commercial establishments and running trails are identified to compliment daily routine
3) highlights and temporal events become part of an internal catalogue of places, times, and experiences to be had
4) the fun part commences, and I begin to wander...

[found places from "random"wanderings...]

Much like Guy Debord's "psychogeography" of the 1950's (the term he defined as "the study of the precise laws and specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organized or not, on the emotions and behavior of individuals"), my urban experience is most shaped by moments of complete abandonment. It is the rule (rather than the exception) that I remember a place most vividly when it relates to an unanticipated, resonant experience.

On any given Sunday, I will submit myself to a somewhat restrained "pseudo-practice" of Debord's "Unitary Urbanism" in which ambience and associations become relative to the physical constructions that surround me. While I will sometimes cheat and map out a direction, vicinity, or happening evocative of suspicion or intrigue, it is the inbetween moments that comprise my vivid memories of time-in-space.

As I dig through the overflowing file-cabinet of memories and past-experiences, I am suddenly drawn to a day during my time in Florence. Residing near Fiesole, I rarely spent time on the Southern side of the Arno. Furthermore, many of my wandering bouts kept me intertwined in the espresso and market-infused spiderwebs of El Centro. However, on one of many remarkable days, I ended up on the other side of the Ponte Vecchio and continued to wander.

Shortly after I passed a miniscule shop with the best dried fruit I have ever had, I stumbled upon a small market in the Piazza di Santo Spirito. Channeling the less-exposed hippie culture of Florence, wares ranging from hemp clothing to homemade cheeses were juxtaposed with urban furniture of Golden Ages' past.

While I had visited the piazza in its unactivated state some weeks before, it remained a non-descript blip on my cognitive radar. However, the market's phenomonological qualities activated the space as I had apparently "never" known it.

My experiences thus far in London are similar. While I couldn't rave about my class trip to Parliament, nor could I tell you a direct route to Trafalgar Square, I could easily share with you my favorite side streets packed with restaurants and people within a two-mile vicinity of the West End. Or I could take you to Brick Lane and point out to the piece of pavement where the "soul shack" sets-up shop on Sunday's to play Shuggie Otis and sell used cd's.

Thus, while I am sill formulating my opinions, I am beginning to believe the relationship between space and place has less to do with form and more to do with the "ambience" Debord invokes.