I was sitting in the Au Bon Pain in Davis Square, Somerville, Massachusetts sipping a coffee, watching the empty streets. It was barely 8 AM on a Sunday, so the square was deserted. Normally, I would never do anything so crazy as to be awake at 8 AM on a Sunday, but that's what jet-lag will do to you. I liked it, though. Being awake early gives you a new look at the streets and houses, when they're quiet and the people who are awake are a little less rushed.

I was in the perfect spot to observe the center of Davis Square, where College Ave meets Highland Ave and Elm St and Holland Ave and Day St. I was stuck by how picturesque the intersection is when it is not clogged by cars, as it usually is. It being early in the morning, it dawned on me to wonder how it is that this meeting of five major streets can be considered such a nice walking area. Davis Square is one of the nicest parts of greater Boston, with a European feel, a perfect atmosphere for strolling, and a lively nightlife. It was named one of the country's fifteen hippest places by some magazine that knows about hipness. Why? Why did that happen here when any other five-way intersection in a ten mile radius is a pedestrian's nightmare, full of honking, speeding, careening cars.

I compared it in my mind to the nearby Powderhouse Square, which is nice enough, but somewhat empty, and Porter Square, full of big boxy stores and parking lots. It struck me that those other areas were designed with cars in mind, while the older Davis Square was not. When driving, I go way out of my way to avoid the Davis Square intersection, because traffic moves so slowly there. Porter is based around the zippy-zoomy Mass Ave, Powderhouse is a nicely efficient (if a bit scary) rotary. Davis, in contrast, would make any decent civil engineer scratch his head. A diagram of the angles of the roads resembles a strange lopsided monster. The streets were drawn up just where Betsy the cow decided to wander.

Here's the thing, though: the very qualities that make Davis a pain to drive through make it perfect for actual real people. The strange angles make for open spaces. The one ways, the twisting narrow streets, the big sidewalks make for slow-moving cars and streets that can actually be crossed. And of course the subway station makes cars less necessary and makes the area a hub for pedestrians.

Turns out there is a whole continent like that.

I just got back from another trip to Italy. This time, I stayed in an apartment a bit outside the center of Rome. My residential neighborhood gave me some new perspectives. It was nice not being surrounded by tourists all the time, and being able to practice my Italian at the local stores without being responded to in English. I also saw some of the city's transportation challenges.

Rome is, obviously, an old city. Cars have only existed for the last three percent or so of its lifetime. Clearly it was not designed with the automobile in mind. Parking is as easy to find as a decent hamburger, that is, pretty much impossible. Chaos is the natural order.

I took the bus into the city center almost every day. About four or five times the bus had to stop to wait for a car that was double parked to move. This would usually involve the bus driver honking the horn for about five minutes, then getting out, finding the car's owner, having a heatedly animated discussion involving a lot of handwaving, waiting for the car to move, then smiling and waving cheerfully until the next time. As I looked around the other riders didn't seem to notice what was going on, or maybe they were so used to it they didn't think twice about it. It's certainly entertaining to watch.

The city of Rome is working hard to trim the terrible traffic troubles, as evidenced by the large construction digs everywhere for two new metro lines. The city's history and stratified construction make for unique challenges. Every ten yards or so, the dig has to stop as archeologists come in to examine an ancient Roman wall, amphora, or leg bone. The new lines will be welcome, and are the right solution to the issue.

A sleek new highway or surface road system just would not do. Rome would not be Rome without it's cobbled stone, spaghetti streets, radiating rotaries, random ruins, and piazzas, piazzas, piazzas. A driver's headache but a pedestrian's fountain of happiness and part of the city's soul.

So what's the solution? Are doomed forever to choose between walkability and moveability? Is there an eternal struggle between efficiency and elegance, form and function? Or can there ever be a true middle ground, a system that accomplishes both goals? London has gone so far as to charge a fee for cars to enter the city center. That is a typical European approach that would never fly in the US: taxing the problem away. That is not the right answer.

As your humble weblog writer, I know I'm no Simeon De Witt, but I have confidence balance can be achieved. Manhattan has gone a long way, with it's grid-like street pattern, superb public transportation, and affordable taxis. We'll have to wait until 2011 (at least) to find out if Rome's new metro lines will help traffic. Something tells me Romans will be hesitant to give up their cars and motos, but it may make the bus rides a little more pleasant anyway. Boston has buried the superhighway under the city, which has certainly enhanced the city's aesthetic appeal, though the public transport is still severely lacking.

One thing is for sure. As more and more people try and get to more and more places, as fuel prices go up, as days get longer and weekends get shorter, transportation will be one of the features separating the livable cities from the spaghetti balls of honking cursing congestion.