Living: airbnb in Tremont, Cleveland, OH

Working: Tremont Coworking

Laundry: Soap Opera, Cleveland, OH

I’ve arrived in Cleveland.

In Temont. Tremont, which echoes of familiar places. Echoes of the recent past – though unique to itself.

This place where suddenly in the eclipsing brick and timber I could be in Milwaukee, Riverwest, the Polish Falcon. Chicago, the Ukrainian Village, Innertown Pub. Minneapolis, Northeast, gazing at a gallery. Pilsen, left foot forward in gentrification.

Turn the corner, take a look, and Cleveland rises beyond the bluff. The bridge a beacon to guide you there.

This neighborhood sings rich in echoes. From an immigrant past. The marks of the Polish and Ukrainian homes flourish. They incubate from the city that lies just beyond – if you only chose to escape this lush landscape of urban history.

Echoes of Minneapolis – for here I find again my temporary home – my bed – a mere few blocks from my coffee shop – a small batch roasting record store – and my coworking space hiding above the local taco bar.

And with an undeniable voice, the world of the upscale and the new knocks upon the neighborhood’s door. Building at the threshold, and altogether out of place, but expected.

I expect to settle in, comfortably, to this soothing urban embrace. A nest within the city larger. Only to venture out towards Cleveland proper this weekend. To venture into this rust belt staple, much like Milwaukee, which clings in all the past and present to the Great Lake which fed it through its infancy, and adorns it in its present age.

The looming metropolis stands in stark contrast to Sandusky – the resort town perched upon Eire. Itself a minuscule reminder of prior grandeur in both recreation and industry.

Here we find Cedar Point, the crowning regional park of the Cedar Faire company.

At seventeen roller coasters, it comes in count second only to Magic Mountain. And to my surprise, it sports little else.

In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been so sad inside an amusement park before. There’s a bleakness here, from all this steel, that robs this place of magic.

You could assign the blame to my being here alone. And you may, in part, be right.

But it isn’t the only factor.

Maybe it’s because, to almost no degree, you cannot call this a theme park. For there is no theme – no land unique to each part.

And while regional parks don’t come close to the epic thematic adaptations at Universal Studios or Disneyland – nor should they; their attendance can’t support the investment – that doesn’t preclude theme from at least some attention. My home town park, Six Flags Great America outside of Chicago, serves as proof of possibility.

Great America divides each distinct land through thematic appropriation applied towards buildings, landscaping, and attraction naming. Each a meaning signifier in support of the area’s particular theme. Even small details to the queues and loading spaces serve as proof that regional parks are quite capable of sculpting immersive spaces – of creating story spaces you can walk into. And it makes all the difference.

There is but one exception to the stoic honesty, robbed of story and theme, which lies at the heart of the Cedar Point park. And that is the collection of animatronic dinosaurs.

Planted in an outdoor garden, incubated on an island, this space is rare in this cedar faire in the captivation of magic.

Surprisingly, the robots alone make little impact on the tone created in this space. Instead it is the lush vegetation, creating isolation, and shielding the guest from the outside world. From the busy screams of metal in the park beyond. It is this isolation, through vegetation, which most cultivates the effect.

The dinosaurs merely cohabit within this space – adding flesh to tone. Like the guests that walk the path, they are visitors within.

And maybe it’s the cobwebs that litter these creatures, but the horticulture holds a much stronger presence – and seems much more the important factor in this park’s otherwise unmatched space.

In fact, cobwebs infect just about every space in this park, from the steel of the coasters to the wood of the restaurants. That’s great if it’s halloween, but hardly fitting else-wise.

It contributes to the bleak feeling of this theme deprived world.

We create shared experiences in the theme park design world. It is a core pillar of our work. It is why we still create value, and continue to do so, on the cusp of the impending Virtual Reality (VR) boom. It’s why we wait in anticipation for the next phase – Augmented Reality (AR) – which is so much more capable of cultivating shared experiences. Just look at the chance encounters and congregations brought on by Pokemon Go.

You could say that here in this amusement park, the creation of amusement relies heavily on the creation of shared experiences. It’s actually actively difficult to find enjoyment without it.

But in the company of friends and family, excited in the anticipation of the queue, exhilarated and screaming at each other through the ride in the protruding and receding Eire Sandusky lakeshore, and excitedly recounting to each other their shared moment as the train pulls in to unload, the core magic inside this place comes alive.

That is where the capital lies. That is the value. That is the purpose of this place.

And I think the management understands this – or else I expect their investments to divest from all this steel.

I could spend an eternity attempting to guess at the Cedar Faire company’s particular business goals for the park. But I would never know for sure. It’s not my expertise – and anyway you really need to know your guests, and know them well, to steer growth through seasoned goals.

What I do know in steel is a little more familiar – the drum of the dryer, of the laundromat cart. And for this week, I need them no longer.

As I pack my clothes away I prepare for the week ahead. I wonder what Ohio has in store. Cleveland calls just outside the laundromat door.