How to Feel About Boulder?

Note: I began this entry several days ago, but didn't get a chance to finish and post until now. I've since moved from Boulder to rockier pastures (namely southern Utah), and should be posting about said pastures shortly. In the meantime, enjoy this very lengthy analysis of an interesting place.

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Boulder: Part 1

Boulder, CO (June 29):

I'm writing this post from Trident, a used bookstore and coffee shop on Pearl Street, the hub of capitalism around which this strange city revolves. Trident's the kind of folksy establishment whose menu of offbeat caffeinated beverages (mate is a popular item) targets students, and whose prices target the yuppies who make up the bulk of Boulder's population. I'm drinking a $2.75 Arnold Palmer (half of which, to my disappointment but not surprise, is ice), after an irate barista informed me that, if I wished to avail myself of the free wireless, I'd better throw them some business. Who knows how many students have been seduced by the twin seductions of free internet and pricey caffeine, account funds worn away by an erosive trickle of iced coffee?

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Boulder, according to our nation's publications, is the best place to live in America. If your favorite magazine, be it Forbes or Backpacker, has published any sort of urban rankings recently, odds are that Boulder is at or near the top. In the last couple of years it's been named the Most Educated City in America, Best City for Singles, Top Place to Retire, Best Place to Raise an Active Child, and, by Outdoors Magazine, America's ultimate Dream Town. It's been placed in the top ten Healthiest Cities and Greenest Cities and Artistic Communities and Jewish Neighborhoods. (For a complete list of its accolades, which could take a while to read, click here.)

And, for the most part, my brief experience has corroborated that. Boulder's the most beautiful American city I've ever visited. It's situated in a gorgeous valley, the hollow where the Great Plains and the Rockies collide, and above the city loom the Flatirons, spectacular sandstone promontories that serve as harbingers to the country's greatest mountain range. Beyond the Flats begin the mountains in earnest, snow-topped, toothed behemoths that put New England's Whites, my previous gold standard for montane environments, to shame.

The Royal Arch, a rock formation found at the Flatirons

To the east lies an almost immaculate swath of meadow called the Green Belt: with brilliant foresight, the city of Boulder purchased miles of land between itself and Denver, to prevent the encroachment of its larger sister's suburban sprawl. Thus, although Boulder is blighted by the occasional strip mall, they aren't nearly as pernicious or pervasive as other cities'. Certainly there's nothing as ghastly and soul-sucking as Yonkers' Central Avenue, or Amherst's Route 9.

Eli surveys his domain from atop Flatirons;
Denver and Green Belt are out of frame to the right.

Consequently the city, especially around the University, is incredibly walkable and bikeable (and yes, it's America's second-most bike-friendly city, according to no less an authority than Bicycling Magazine); although Boulder resembles a large suburb more than a city, it hasn't fallen prey to the car culture that has come to define the 'burbs and degrade America. The cars that exist, it almost goes without saying, are Priuses, and for good reason: the city's government has reserved prime parking spaces solely for Hybrids (perhaps made possible the dearth of handicapped people in America's Outdoorsiest City), and Boulder's Rec Center even has spaces for plug-in cars.

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On my second day in town, my friend/guide Eli and I venture up to Indian Peaks, a stunning national forest barely an hour out of town. Eli, a backpacking, climbing, and skiing fanatic, is the kind of ecstatic outdoorsman who says things like “Topo maps are my guilty pleasure,” and bemoans the sad fact that his UC classmates would rather spend their Sunday mornings hung over than on an alpine slope. (He’s also from Amherst, which means we’re able to make plenty of jokes about Indian Peaks’ inferiority to the Pioneer Valley’s own humble Seven Sisters Range.)

The hike takes us through a series of still-thick snowfields, though they're disintegrating rapidly - only a week of skiing these perfect chutes remains. Cliffs and promontories rise on either side as we scramble over snowmelt, scree, and pockets of wildflowers; eventually we wind our way into a sheer-walled basin impassable without climbing gear. The barista is again giving me the stink-eye (my Arnold Palmer is now a slushpile), so I won't rhapsodize about the scenery for too long; suffice to say that it is visceral and overwhelming in a way that New England's charms - rolling hills, thick greenery - are too subtle to match. There's something both gorgeous and sinister about exposed rock, its spectacular rawness. Here are a few pictures (more on Facebook).

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Boulder, then, is almost preposterously picturesque; its citizens are without fail environmentally conscious, well-educated, and liberal; its municipal policies are progressive; and, to boot, it boasts one of America's greatest party schools. (And, because alcohol tolerance decreases with elevation, it's even cheap to get drunk - a fortunate coincidence, considering Boulder's myriad microbreweries.) No city in the country, at least on paper, could play better host to my personality and values; for the last three days I've felt, well, like a fish very much in water.

Why, then, does something about this city make me feel profoundly uncomfortable? Why does its perfection seem so contrived?

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Boulder: Part 2

The most obvious reason, and one that virtually every visitor remarks upon, is that it's so darn white. I worked last summer on Bald Head Island, a playground for rich crackers in North Carolina - not an environment, as you might surmise, that fostered much racial diversity. But BHI was Washington Heights compared to Boulder. University of Colorado seems especially homogenous: on Saturday night, Eli took me to a house party on The Hill, UC's social nexus. There were probably fifty kids at the party, and not a black or Hispanic attendee to be found. (To be fair, I did see one Asian.) The city's non-student populace seems no more diverse; to the best of my recollection, I've spotted two black people in three days. Rest assured, Boulder's unsavory status as one of America's whitest cities isn't advertised on the municipality's website.

Boulder’s racial homogeny isn’t so much an ailment as it is symptomatic of the city’s lack of socioeconomic diversity. Make no mistake: Boulder is a rich town. Perhaps there are bargain stores tucked away down some distant alley, but I never saw them. I never saw alleys, come to think of it. Pearl Street and the surrounding neighborhoods are chockablock (I knew I’d use that word some day!) with upscale retailers catering strictly to the bourgeoisie: there are more knick-knack and chazzurai peddlers, each claiming to be fun and funkier than the last, than you could shake a pair of jangly earrings at.

Every city has its pricey shopping districts, of course; but while 95% of New Yorkers will never buy so much as a sock on Madison Ave, I got the sense that everybody in Boulder frequents Pearl Street. Even the homeless people seemed to be doing well, at least compared with the wrecks who dwell in NYC subway stops: all of Boulder’s down-and-out play guitar, own Osprey backpacks, and bear funny signs like “Too young for Medicaid, too old to marry an heiress.” That slogan sure beats “Won’t spend your money on coke.”

Why is Boulder’s wealth a problem? Without getting too pedantic or sanctimonious, I'll elaborate.

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First, Boulder’s bleeding-heart citizenry is, by virtue of its political leaning, ostensibly concerned with social justice and the plight of the poor… yet it never comes into contact with poor people. At best, there’s something paternalistic and condescending about Boulder’s wealthy advocating for, and making decisions regarding the governance of, other cities’ poor. At worst, they may be pushing bad policies out of ignorance. (Analogously, Americans have been following the lead of Saint Bono and throwing money indiscriminately at Africa, a route that has furthered corruption on that continent and has led to its dependence on Western aid.)

The second problem with Boulder’s wealth is that it reinforces the notions that liberalism, environmentalism, and outdoorsmanship are inherently the provinces of the rich. Nothing, of course, could be further from the case, yet somehow all three stereotypes persist – thanks in large part to places like Boulder, where everybody’s fridges are filled with Whole Foods and their basements with expensive climbing gear from R.E.I. (Hey, I love those stores too.)

Debunking the ridiculous claim that environmentalists must be rich will finish off my headlamp batteries (I’m now writing from a tent in Sylvan Lake State Park), so I won’t touch that one. I will say, though, that the commoditization of the outdoors – whereby one is perceived to need $1,000 worth of REI, or LL Bean, or what have you just to venture into the White Mountains – badly hinders our country’s attempts to preserve wilderness. Because the outdoors is perceived as prohibitively expensive thanks to the prices set by upscale gear companies, non-outdoorsmen are hesitant to venture into the woods – they believe they can neither afford, nor survive without, $70 moisture-wicking hiking shirts, so screw the camping trip! Thus we see the hastening, tragic development of wild spaces, and the continued penetration of cars into those National Parks that do exist - just so Delicate Arch can be made accessible to people who think they can’t afford a tent and boots.

Whew. If you’re still with me, your patience will be rewarded with the third (and final) deleterious aspect of Boulder’s homogeneity:

Harmony that does not arise from discord is meaningless.

The entire time I was in Boulder, I was struck by its cohesiveness and municipal ingenuity, the friendly people and the progressive policies. But it’s easy to love thine neighbor and to agree on parking spaces for Hybrids and to generally get things done when everybody thinks like everybody else. There’s a theory that attributes the peace and prosperity of the Scandinavian countries to their homogeny, and I’m afraid that something similar may be happening in Boulder. The city clearly wants to fill the role of urban exemplar; yet other cities are home to meddlesome demographics like poor people and immigrants and conservatives, demographics with different and often diametrically opposed concerns. Forging cooperation in such an atmosphere (New York, Atlanta, even Lubbock) is a true achievement. Boulder’s accomplishments, on the other hand, are nice, but they’re also illusory and largely useless: they are born of like-mindedness, instead of sacrifice and compromise. Other cities can learn nothing from them.

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I hope I haven’t given the impression that I disliked Boulder, because in fact I loved it. My unease stems, actually, from Boulder's consummate awesomeness. I can see myself applying to graduate school there, living there, among people Just Like Me. But that prospect scares me, too: not only would living in such rarefied air cloister me from experience, but as an environmentalist, I’d be very much preaching to the choir. I don’t consider myself a missionary; nevertheless, I feel obliged to spread the good word. And Boulder’s about the last place that needs to hear it.

Still… those mountains…

Fin.