Curb Your Enthusiasm

[Beware: this reflection becomes increasingly ridiculous]

Coconut Grove—my neighborhood for these two months—features beautiful homes, with tiled roofs and sculpted gardens. In their driveways sit Audis and Range Rovers, Mercedes and BMWs. But the Grove does not have a gutter. That’s right folks: there are no curbs in my ’hood.

Sidewalks in the Grove are level with the street. There is no step down; there is no barrier for runaway cars; there is no place for the drunks to lie (coincidentally, but probably not consequently, there are no drunks either). Sidewalks are also level with lawns and driveways, and frequently end rather than disturb the sanctity of either.

The sight is oddly striking. We all have in our mind’s eye a picture of a suburb, of how one looks, indeed, of how they should look. But the continuous sidewalk, the sloping driveway, even the curb is hardly to be found in Coconut Grove. Walk into town and they will reappear, but along the palm-lined residential streets they are absent.

In my experience, such flat uniformity characterizes poor neighborhoods. Cars parked on lawns and poking into the street from overflowing small driveways—other typical indicators of less than desirable neighborhoods—are also common in the Grove. Yet it is a pricey area; looking through a boutique’s window the other day, I admired a pair of shoes with a price tag that rivaled my week’s paycheck, and the neighboring wine shop’s prices made the shoes seem like a trifle.

As mentioned, sidewalks in the Grove are seldom continuous. For instance, concrete curves along each corner, but hugs the corner property’s fence, not the road; thus, a pedestrian traveling straight on must cross a buffer of grass. To complain of such conditions is prissy, I agree. Yet, after a few blocks and the accompanying number of encounters with wet, if not soggy lawn, I felt put out. Surely these Miami civic engineers know the score, I thought. It’s a citizen’s right to cross from street to street along a concrete path with carefully manufactured—and preferable scentless—landscaping available for viewing, not for interaction (read as: stepping on).

But really, it’s odd how inconvenient it feels to have to across half a dozen feet of grass twice every block. California’s never-ending sidewalks clearly have lulled me into pedestrian conformity. I am now awakened. Here in Miami, home of the progressive sidewalk movement, I have found out what a sidewalk can be.

The Grove is clearly the movement’s headquarters. Walking through the neighborhood, one’s sidewalk might be interrupted by anything. Driveways are the most frequent culprit, but sometimes or patches of grass cause a detour, if not an outright halt of the concrete path. I feel like a trucker on the way to work, always looking ahead to see how conditions are developing and carefully plotting my course according to the latest information.

In truth, I should be overjoyed by this whole situation. Does any place in America need more concrete? Surely a little less sidewalk is hardly an inconvenience; after all, there is 15 feet of road just a grassy step away. Yes, of course there is, but there are also Miami drivers. (Now read on, exciting digression ahead! And as a sidewalk disciple, you’re always looking ahead!)

By phone, my dad told me of his decades old experiences with Miami drivers. Sadly, time has not cooled their temperatures. More impatient people could surely be found and I have heard tales of Italian motorists, but by U.S. standards, the drivers of Florida’s beach capitol are nuts. A moment’s hesitation at a changed traffic light draws the horn, waiting at a red turn signal when no one is coming draws the horn, and, of course, stopping for a pedestrian draws the horn.

The other day, I walked to the morning train behind a mother pushing a stroller. As she started into a crosswalk, a pickup rumbled round the corner into the street she just starting to cross, causing her to pull to a startled stop. The driver, who would have been able to see her from way down the road, brought his truck to a brief stop, only to start rolling again, perfectly willing to take the right of way. She had begun again too, and they both stopped again, and this time the driver yielded completely, but with some regret it seemed to me. Those poor Miami drivers; at least they don’t have to cross sodden grass.

You would think the muggy, humid climate of Miami would create laid-back, lethargic drivers willing to give you the right of way. You would think that A/C would cool their temperaments. You would think it would make them anything but eager to reach their destination and therefore leave the chill confines of their cars. That’s what would happen to me. I’d never leave the car. The bad news is that the Miami driver syndrome can only get worse. Unless Al Gore is right and melting ice caps flood southern Florida, global warming is only going to make more drivers hot, ornery and horn-prone. This could hurt the progressive sidewalk movement.