Running all the way to paradise
You, too, probably live close to natural beauty. But can you walk to it?
I spent my first few months in Barcelona running every morning. I would head south on La Rambla, where I lived at the time, to see what I could find. It had been a long time since I had been lacing up my sneakers every morning, so I took it slow, learning the city one milestone at a time.
The first day I found out that the city’s most famous promenade leads to… another walkway. At the end of La Rambla, after crossing a traffic circle overlooked by a bronze Christopher Columbus on an incredibly tall pedestal, I found myself on a path running alongside a harbor full of yachts.
The Spanish-sponsored Italian colonizer was just my first encounter. On a future run, I made it to a massive smiling lobster with a deep brown tan (really!). On another, I reached the base of a frowning pop-art face designed by none other than Roy Lichtenstein.

Energized by the public art and fresh port air, I ventured even further. Run by run, I found out what came next. Spoiler: more walkways. There was a narrower pathway lined by ritzy restaurants looking out at megayachts. A wide-open tree-shaded area followed, with skateboarders and off-leash dogs cavorting under palm trees. No matter how far I went, there were more delights. All for pedestrians, only.
I realize now that some part of me assumed, unconsciously, that at some point I would come to The End. I.e., the point where this never-ending pedestrian paradise gave way to “normal” car-dominated city life. Surely, experience whispered to me, these walkways could not stretch on forever.
It was not a conscious thought, just a learned belief. It was the product of, well, a lifetime of that being true. In California, no matter how lovely the path, you eventually have to get back in your car. You drove to get there, and you’ll have to drive home again. And yes, I did eventually come to The End. It was not, however, what I expected.
Successively longer runs had upped my limit. I could go further than ever. Getting off La Rambla was easy. Passing Mx. Shrimp and Mr. Lichtenstein, too. The fancy restaurants were a blur. I slowed a bit under the trees. Then I crossed the street for the first time and was pulled to a complete stop.
Before me was the beach. Golden sand, open sky, the Mediterranean stretching to the horizon. There were volleyball players in action, yogis in poses, morning walkers in twos and threes all over. I felt like I’d run all the way to paradise. Of course, I realize now that I should not have been surprised. I was, after all, next to the port from the start. Yet I could hardly conceive of a world, a city, a reality where I could run to the beach.
I have been lucky enough, as a Californian, to live most of my life near the coast. When I lived in Berkeley or Richmond, I was actually about as close to a beach as I am now, yet it was never a trip I would make by foot. In the Golden State, which may be more responsible than any other place for making beaches famous, it always took a car’s ride to get there. That day in Barcelona, I was shocked because my own feet had carried me to the ocean’s edge.
This might just seem like yet another blessing of Barcelona. Add it to the list: pleasant climate, a live-and-let-live people, Roman ruins, Gaudi, vermouth on the plaza, the warm lake that is the Mediterranean, a giant fried lobster statue. ‘I get it, it’s really nice there,’ I can hear you saying.
This is all true. But it’s also a choice. We have built our cities for vehicles, not humans. And it’ll be hard to change. It is a truism that it is hard to get almost anywhere in America without a car. Not to the beach, let alone work, home, the shops, nor out of poverty or isolation. We let cars dominate our cities and towns. We opt for so little density that there are hardly enough people to warrant more than a narrow sidewalk. We too often keep our natural beauty — whether sandy shorelines, lazy rivers, or verdant hills — functionally out of reach of anything but cars.
Yet there’s no reason we cannot change that. It is a long cheaper to lay a path than a road. I see reason for hope in Berkeley’s bicycle boulevards, streets that use bollards and other interventions to discourage anyone other than residents from driving on them, offer a low-cost model of giving streets back to the people, even if they’re focused on two wheels not two feet. Past visits to the still-growing Bay Trail, which snakes along the waterfront from Richmond to Oakland and beyond, always reminded me how much appetite there is for decent ways to traverse our coast by foot. And California took a first step by barring single-family zoning, which at best forces us to use land only for unaffordable solo-occupancy homes and at worst might be called red-lining 2.0. Hopefully the state continues down that path.
If we’re going to have any chance of preserving a habitable planet, we’re going to need to walk more. Particularly those of us in developed countries, living lifestyles that if everyone followed them would require two, three, four planet Earths. When walking is something you have to drive somewhere to enjoy, it’s time for some serious change. If roads reach everywhere, but every walk eventually reaches The End, change is overdue.
drop | Take a walk. Walk to your local beach. Or river, hill, forest, meadow, lake, reservoir, etc. Bring a friend.
ripple | Ask for more. Go to a local planning meeting. Tell them about the future you would like to walk in. Find out who has a similar vision and get involved.
wave | Make it better. Join others in a local organization to stay abreast of local planning decisions and push for cooler, human-centered options. Don’t know of one? Look at the list from America Walks — which you can also join. I just did. There’s not only place-based groups, but identity-based ones as well, like Outdoor Afro in Oakland.
This is new to me — and I’m learning as I go. Know of a great way to make change? Let me know.
Crossing | excerpt
The water is one thing, and one thing for miles. The water is one thing, making this bridge Built over the water another. Walk it Early, walk it back when the day goes dim, everyone Rising just to find a way toward rest again. ...
Read in full at poets.org
Some wonderful things — visiting family, a Friday-to-Sunday yoga retreat — and a very busy couple of weeks professionally kept me out of your inboxes for a couple weeks. My goal is to not let it happen again.
These weekly dispatches are free. If they make you think, that’ll make me happy. If they make you act, I’d be even happier. If you loved it, feel free to tell a friend. Pledges of support are completely optional.
This issue was a collective effort. Thanks to my editor-in-chief, Roshni Kavate; and my proofreader, Steve Kay. Any errors, of grammar or judgment, are mine alone.