From Pancras to Paris in 2 hours (and a slight case of Apples and Oranges)

Sometimes it's frustrating to compare Europe with America.



If you drive or take a train for two hours in any direction from Syracuse, New York, the most exotic location you may end up in is Canada. Or you may find ourself in the Adirondacks, Catskills, the now-famous Scranton, Pennsylvania of "The Office," Albany, the Berkshires, or, just maybe, the border of Vermont.

This past weekend, I took a high-speed Eurostar from London's new (as of November 14th) St. Pancras International Station to Garde du Nord. In an ear-popping, 2 hour voyage of anticipation, I was whisked from London's streets, scones, and studies to return to Paris's streets, souffles and sights for the fourth, and arguably best trip yet.



After a whirlwind of catching up with my first college friend, exploring the familiar (the Louvre.. at night, the Latin Quarter's Luxembourg Gardens, Montmartre, the Champs Elysees, and Tschumi's Parc de la Villette), and the unfamiliar (Belleville's canals, cafes, housing blocks, and the treasures of le marches des Puces), I couldn't help but think about the close proximity but incomparable variability of one European country to another on my train ride home.

While the United States varies greatly in its topography and certain indigeneous-related aspects of culture from coast to coast and North to South, there is something both comforting and horrifying that a 3,000 mile distance does not stand between American identity at its best, worst, and most consistent.

While cultural differences such as lifestyle, cuisine, etiquette, and historical background vary greatly from state to state, my curiousity regarding American culture's homogeneity was subtley summed up after a trip to Israel with forty kids from 25 states (North, South, West, East, and all the inbetweens included). Upon arriving at the airport, I was dumbstruck that six of the people in my group were wearing the same Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt and even more were listening to the same music, watching the same tv shows, and had a similar lens with which they were beginning to see and understand the world.

What role architecture plays in differentiating "identity" within the United States, I'm not quite sure. While architecture is arguably an important aspect of one's connection with "place," I am not certain if it correlates directly with one's immediate connection with self-identity.

For example, when a person is asked to define their self-proclaimed status as a "New Yorker," I rarely hear an explanation that involves a monologue regarding his/her love of the Chrysler building and a deep-rooted affection for Phillip Johnson's "ballet architecture." Instead, I am often spoon-fed an explanation I would sum up as something related to New York's uncanny capability to provide unqiue but familiar experiences manifested in a constant cycle of new restaurants, concerts, art openings, cultural events, and "happenings," not to mention the opportunity for "phenomenon" due to population density and resulting variability. Therefore, while these iconic images are one aspect of his/her memory and attachment with "place," architecture's integral role as infrastructure takes a humble backseat to the sociology and spontaneity it often accomodates.

With that said, I suppose my point is that while the role of the majority of "architecture" in the states is somewhat similar to the abercrombie and fitch phenomenon (however there are obvious, admitted exceptions to this rule), the whole "history" aspect of Europe throws a snag in this otherwise blanket theory.






When I go to Paris, I would be lying if I didn't say it was because of the architecture. I know this is true because I have never enjoyed walking a city more, and my primary enjoyment derived from walking is contentedly observing my natural and artificial surroundings. From Napoleon's boulevards to Haussmann's streets and parks complimented by the clean lines of French vernacular (with a few Swiss interventions), Paris remains an old but modern city that cannot take a bad photograph.

Thus when I think about my attachment to Paris, I remember the places and faces I encountered along the way, but I also remember my proximity to the Seine or le Marais for each cherished encounter.

While I can say similar things about time spent in the States, most of my most resonant experiences of place have been derived from natural topography rather than "architecture." Perhaps this is because it is still a "new" country, and my time spent in malls across the country, not to mention Colonial style residences and big block condominium villages have varied little from my time spent in other cities with similar amenities (fill in the state here _______). But reversely, I could argue that my time spent on a beach in Long Island resonated very differently than a trip to the coast of Maine.

Perhaps here lies the crux of my initial statement. The more time I spend in Europe, I have grown to appreciate the US for being the completely mammoth, geographically variable beast that it is. After spending the past summer hiking in Colorado, swimming in the Atlantic, and navigating New York's concrete jungle, I have as great of an appreciation for the unspoilt (and spoilt) American terrain and emerging cities as I do for Europe's graceful, on-going reconciliation of the old and new. While it may seem unfair to end this entry with an "apples and oranges" conclusion... I daresay my time in Paris has made me think observation and appreciation are far more powerful tools than comparison and conclusion. (When traveling, at least.)