Getting around sustainably — for a change
Jogging down the steps of Berlin’s Jannowitzbrücke U-Bahn (subway) station, I hear the whirring noise of a train pulling up and my steps accelerate, heart rate rises. I push through rowdy teenagers, skirt an elderly woman, and pile into a cramped car as blinking-red doors close behind me. Meeting the eyes of onlookers who most definitely saw my struggle, I grab the nearest pole and feel my body sway backwards as the train lurches forward.
This is public transportation in a big city. I must decode a map of interweaving lines, endure sweaty others crowding into my personal space, and hold on for dear life, trying not to let my mind wander… How many people have touched this handle?
It’s an experience that’s still new to me. And it really shouldn’t be since I come from San Diego, a city of nearly 3.3 million people — hardly fewer than in Berlin — that sits on the west coast of a wealthy and developed nation.
As a teenager living in the suburbs, I assumed that everyone has a car. It was the only life I knew and was therefore all I could ever want. If you had one, you were independent, liberated from parent chauffeurs and free from the guilt of asking friends for a ride. With the nearest bus stop more than an hour’s walk from my house, my Prius was my ticket to the city — downtown, beaches, life beyond my sprawled-out neighborhood of tract homes, Target-anchored shopping plazas, and high school football games.
Now, I peer around the cramped train in Berlin, careful not to make prolonged eye contact or bump anyone with my gawky arms, and I can’t fathom this city without its extensive system of U- and S-Bahns, buses and trams. They keep the city going. The commuters and the tourists, the old and the young, the rich and the poor, all different walks of life connected by a shared means of accessible mobility. You can get from one end of the sprawling city to the other within an hour, and with only a ticket (make sure it’s validated!) in your hand. Here, automobiles do not set the daily standard for survival.
Of course I sometimes miss my car, where I can unapologetically blast music, privately talk on the phone, and take myself right to my desired destination without changing vehicles or walking an additional 20 minutes. But there are downsides to heavy traffic, rising gas prices, and burgeoning emissions, downsides that I get to forget on the Berlin transit network. Having a car might be a luxury, but it’s a costly one, to both ourselves and our ever-degrading climate.
The profit-driven development of privatized, automobile-dominant cities has hurt the well-being of those who live in them. Without public transportation, our interactions are replaced by honking at or tailing others, anonymously, behind the glass shields of our encapsulated vehicles and with no need to ask others for guidance. After all, Siri knows the way.
Public transit means shared spaces that force interaction, reducing feelings of isolation and raising happiness levels. The science is best explained by Charles Montgomery in his book Happy City, but the moral of the story is that people need real-life contact with each other for fulfillment.
San Diego’s urban planning was designed for cars and business. Not for the people’s benefit, and surely not with consideration for the environment. I wonder what’s holding back my ‘liberal’ hometown from making the shift. It can’t be about money in one of the richest cities in one of the richest nations in the world. And we’re supposedly trying to be more sustainable — creating green infrastructure, installing solar panels, seeking renewable energy.
Here, on Berlin’s subway, it seems like the most obvious answer is right before our eyes. Cut the privatized commuting and bring on the transportation that serves everyone. Berlin’s got it down. So does Singapore. Prague. Copenhagen. Tokyo.
Twelve minutes, eight stations, and six kilometers later, I’ve made it to my stop. I squeeze off the still-crowded train and ride up the escalator, nose twitching at the smell of warm pretzels. Breaking into the daylight, eyes adjusting, I find myself in an unfamiliar, unexplored area of Berlin.
Now where is my bus stop? I hurriedly pick up the pace.
Isabella Genovese is a UC Santa Barbara student majoring in Global Studies and Environmental Studies and minoring in Professional Writing. She is reporting from Berlin this summer as part of ieiMedia’s Berlin Beyond Borders editorial team.
