Let’s do a little experiment: Google “1960s child’s car seat.” Done? It’s easy to chuckle half amused – half scandalized—at human practices from the past and wonder how could “they” be so oblivious. Well, the thing is, it’s still actually “us”, and as the song goes, “The times, they are a-changin’.” Cutting-edge gadgets from fifty years ago are today’s thrift store material, and I bet that what now are respectful positive parenting methods, will be considered (almost) children’s torture in the future. If I (may) exaggerate a bit, you get the idea, right? City planning is no exception. For much of the 20th century, urban development revolved around the automobile. Highways sliced through historic neighborhoods and rivers were turned into drainage channels to make room for expanding road networks. But over the last few decades, the trend has swung towards more sustainable, livable cities by shifting the focus back to people, bicycles, and green spaces. In some cases, the key has been found not in demolishing and rebuilding but in “recycling” existing infrastructures. Let’s look at two examples in South Korea and Lebanon.

Today a peaceful refuge in the heart of Seoul, the Cheonggyecheon stream was just over 20 years ago a vast elevated highway carrying 168,000 cars a day. This once lifeblood waterway, then turned into an open sewer, had been buried under concrete in the 1960s—which was at the time considered the pinnacle of modernity (see?). Some thirty years later, however, concrete was deteriorating. In 2002, an ambitious plan was launched to remove the highway and restore the stream. In little more than two years, with a cost of 386 billion won, the space was transformed into a vibrant cultural corridor with multifaceted impacts: the area is now 3.6°C cooler than surrounding streets and air pollution has dropped due to a significant reduction of traffic –  contrary to its critics’ gridlocks predictions. An urban open sewer is also part of the evolution of the Beirut River corridor, which defines the administrative border between the Lebanese capital and its eastern and south-eastern suburbs. Once a natural waterway and key migration site for birds,  through a canalization project in 1968 the river was encased in concrete and flanked by highways. Severed from both its ecosystem and communities, it was gradually transformed into a contaminated no man’s land.  In 2019 started an architect-led project for the reforestation of the space along the riverbanks. It aims to reconnect the river with its natural setting and the people who live nearby by bringing back native plant species and creating accessible public spaces, and has made good progress so far.

Both examples may be inspiring for cities worldwide grappling with aging infrastructures and the need to reduce emissions while adapting to climate change. And remember, before rolling our eyes at outdated practices, let’s try to imagine what we are doing today that future generations will laugh about (if not cry). I have several in mind, one being using perfectly clean drinking water to flush our toilets.