navigate la

navigate la

As I sit in the turbulent metropolitan red line a sense of déjà vu passes over me. My body dances back and forth swaying in harmony with the other people occupying my cabin. For many of these people the sudden accelerations, sways, dips, and turns are all expected, every move is anticipated; they do this dance habitually and know how to eloquently shift their body with the expectancy of the next oscillation of the cabin. But for me, the newcomer in this cyclical pattern of travel, I sway awkwardly through the cabin trying painstakingly to not smash into the person on either side of me. The clumsy shuffling of my feet as the track jogs suddenly to the left is what sparks within me a sensation of déjà vu, or rather a reminiscent feeling of a past experience.

 

My mind has immediately conjured the inclination that I have switched locations. I feel as if I am now traversing the Bay Area Rapid Transit system rather than the Los Angeles Metro. The swaying and rocking of the cabin has brought me back to the memories of my first subterranean experience. Deep within I hope that this train has somehow shifted locations and when I reach the next stop I will be transposed to the Bay Area. Quickly reality settles back within me as we approach MacArthur Park, the stations next stop. As the cabin decelerates and the decrepit and lifeless station comes into view I am filled with disappointment. It is at this moment I realize what I am longing for…

 

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Looking out the window of the cabin, the station seems somewhat inanimate. Sure, there is the bustling movement of people coming on and off the subway, but the area itself is banal, uninspiring, and to be honest a little bit on the grungy side. I notice the confusion of some of the other passengers; these people like me were also new to this method of travel. Throughout the length of our journey together I noticed their amateurish shuffling while the system carried us on its unsteady dance and knew I was not the only person unaccustomed to this routine. Watching their faces as we approached the station I could see an expression of doubt about our definite location. It’s here as the cabin doors began to close and several of these people narrowly escaped in time that I notice the stations lack of identity.

 

As the cabin began to pick up momentum again I thought about our last stop and its lack of identity. I noticed over and over again the confused look on first time riders as we made our way to several other stops. Each station looked almost the same with almost no character to differentiate itself from the others. At this point in time I began to think about the larger context of Los Angeles. Constantly in my life I have heard people discussing how much they wanted to move to LA. How they wanted to go be a movie star, be a designer, work in fashion, become a rock star, or just to put it simply; make it big. Hearing these aspirations always brought into my mind the conception of LA being this amazing city. In my head it was always a place of beauty, a place where one could walk the streets and not be scared, and a place where everyone’s dreams come true. Little did I know that my conception of LA was an idealistic day dream and that instead of streets paved with gold the streets were cracked and rotting of filth.

 

Sure there are beautiful moments within the fabric of this city but for the most part each of these places lacks any true identity, much like the metro itself. Each area is comprised of large shopping malls, suburban housing, corner stations, and most importantly parking lots. Sense of place seems to be defined by the words comprising the signage that’s aggregated throughout a neighborhood and the gradient of squalor amongst the streets. Language and grit is that what constitutes place? I begin to have doubt in my debased daydreams of Los Angeles as the cabin I’m in rapidly jolts left making me awkwardly shuffle my feet once again to keep balance. This sudden turbulence shakes up my thought process and leads me once again to the feeling of being transposed. As we continue down the flickering tunnel I begin to feel as if I am traversing the underground world of San Francisco and am comforted by the thought of possibly getting out of this cabin and entering its fabulous downtown. My mind conjures up images of Union Square and how defined and prominent it is amongst the buildings that surround it. What makes this area any different than the streets I have been traversing in Los Angeles? I begin to think of the minute details and realize that even within this well defined place exists squalor, poverty, and the broken dreams of many people. Why is it that this place has such a greater sense of identity? Could the architecture of the surrounding buildings be what offers the area its character? As I begin to think this discussion over in my mind the cabin suddenly decelerates and the station begins to come into view.

 

As I look out the window I notice a slight difference in the station we just arrived. Getting out of the cabin and onto the station I am dumb founded by the sudden embodiment of character. Though its construction was still that of concrete and steel there seemed as if there was a greater sense of thought put into its design and craft. I began to feel as if somehow the station had begun to answer the thoughts I was having on my journey through its long dark tunnels. As I continued toward the escalators to bring me to the city above a sense of arrival had come over me. Light filtered down from the city above illuminating a concrete wall displaying hundreds of sentences that glistened in the sunlight. There was a sense completion at this station, a sense that I was now somewhere that could have character and appeal. As I began to ascend the escalator, light continued to wash down blinding me momentarily as we ascended into the outdoors. While I was blinded I prayed that I would become part of a larger place, that I would be somewhere with a strong sense of identity, somewhere like union square. Continuing slowly up the escalator my heart was racing as my vision begins to come to focus. Directly ahead I noticed historic looking building a building with a strong sense of identity but the building was in disrepair. My aspirations were still not sunk yet as I had not fully reached the end of the escalator but as I drew nearer to the end I noticed my ambitions were capsized. As I glanced around I saw the rush of traffic to my right and the same generic gas stations, shopping malls, and parking lots that constitute most of Los Angeles. Disappointed I turned back around took the escalator down and awaited the next train home.

 

Beginning to grow used to the rhythmic turbulence of the cabin I began to daydream once more. I found myself at the station I had just left, yet it was different. As I ascended the escalator above, I now found myself within a lively plaza full of character. No longer was the area littered with gas stations and parking it was now the embodiment of what I had been searching for. As the train decelerated once more I realized the potential of the previous station. I saw within it the ability to be a catalyst of growth for the local context and that of the greater Los Angeles area. A place to gather, socialize, work, shop, be educated or just go to get away. My image of Los Angeles began to slightly change within my head, I no longer found it a squalor with no sense of place instead it had became a place of great potential, a place ready to make something of itself, a place in which people could share their backgrounds and create identity.