The Burgh

“The Burgh”

That’s the thing about Pittsburgh, it seems like the last place anyone would build a city. It’s three rivers flowing through steep hills and deep ravines and surrounded by even higher hills. Any sizable tracts of level ground are scattered among steep terrain and along the edges of the rivers. Whoever that first person was who stood there, looked around and thought it could ever be anything more than a small military outpost must have been a true visionary.

I thought about that as I drove from the airport in a stripped down Nissan Altima, the last available midsize that Enterprise had. The woman at the rental car counter told me to take the Parkway to the tunnel and then over the bridge but the word Parkway was not on the map she’d given me. In fact there was a lot of information missing from that little map. The highway sign read Route 376 Downtown and it was the only road I could see from the rental parking lot so I took it. I drove for about fifteen minutes and the impressive view of the city straight ahead of me didn’t offer many clues about what to expect. I didn’t know anyone in Pittsburgh and the little I knew about the place I’d learned from seeing aerial shots during the Steelers games on TV and from doing a couple of Google searches. It wasn’t much to go on but enough for me to know it was worth a closer look. I’d had enough of upstate New York small town living and a major lifestyle change was in order. I was eager to explore a large city and sample all that it had to offer.

Through my online searches I’d learned that there were over four hundred bridges, four tunnels and two inclines that people used to navigate the city. It sounded confusing but the closer I got to my downtown destination the more intriguing it had become. The overhead signs on the highway were the first clue that a driver had to pay close attention to what laid ahead. The rental car woman said to stay on the Parkway and it would take me through the Fort Pitt tunnel so I did what she’d instructed. When I came out of the tunnel there was a sign for Route 279 but not one for Route 376 and with a huge bridge over the Monongahela River looming in front of me all I could do was stay in my lane and follow where I thought it would lead me. That was my first lesson: Pittsburgh roads didn’t all enter and exit in any consistent way.

The main highway appeared to curve to the left but a sign told me that I should exit right to remain on 376. I’d have to exit to stay on the road I was already on. Unfortunately I was in the center lane and the traffic wouldn’t allow me to get into the right lane to exit. Moments later I was headed north on Route 279, over another bridge over the Allegheny River. I could see the tall buildings in the center of downtown receding in my rearview mirror. As soon as I’d crossed the second river I began to look for a place to pull off the road. Because my rental car didn’t have onboard navigation and my cellphone signal was erratic among the tall buildings, the rental car map was my only link to any hope of getting downtown. I’d rented a room for two nights at the Renaissance Hotel and planned to walk around the city and get to know it from street level. At that moment I was seeing a whole other part of the city through a windshield and feeling a little nervous.

I saw a small retail plaza ahead on the right and quickly pulled into it. Sitting in the parking lot trying to make sense of the map wasn’t easy. The rivers, bridges, tunnels and major public attractions were labeled and except for a few major streets not much else was identified. Heinz Field was visible a few blocks away and signs for the Warhol Museum but nothing about how to get myself downtown. When I got out of the car and stood facing south. I could see the tall buildings and the part of the city I wanted to get to but had no clue of how to accomplish it. After a few minutes I got my bearings and found where I was on the map then got back into the car and pulled out into the traffic. There was nothing to do but keep trying.

Any small feeling of confidence I might have had left in me faded quickly when I read a large overhead sign that read: 6^th Street Bridge 7^th Street Bridge 8^th Street Bridge Ahead. I remembered from my last glance at the map that all three bridges crossed back over the Allegheny River but it didn’t note which ones connected to Canal Street which was the street I was on. As it turned out none of them did. All I could do was look down and to my right and see three bridges that could each take me in the right direction but that I couldn’t get on. My frustration was slowly turning into anger. After a few blocks in thickening late afternoon traffic I saw a sign for Route 579 Downtown and my spirits lifted. That is at least until I got to a cluster of multilevel roads and saw that Canal Street only went under 579 but didn’t connect to it. Once again I’d seen another bridge that could take me toward my destination but couldn’t get on to it. I was angry and thought to myself, “How do people get around in this town? How will I do it?”

It was another six blocks of driving before there was a way for me to turn around and at least head back in the general direction I wanted to go. With so many unlabeled streets on the map, reading the street signs was pointless. I stopped at a convenience store, hoping to find someone inside that could give me directions. That turned out to be my second lesson: Pittsburgh people spoke a strange, local dialect unique to the city. I walked in and saw a sturdily built woman in a red smock restocking shelves of gum, candy and all kinds of things a healthy person shouldn’t ingest.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m trying to get downtown and I’m kind of lost. Can you help me?”

She turned and looked at me. “That depends. Dahntahn’s a big place. Are yinz goin’ some place special?”

Her dialect was strange but I understood it, sort of. “I’m trying to find the Renaissance Hotel. It’s on 6^th Street.”

“Then ya’ need to take the 6^th Street Bridge.”

“Well, I was going to try that but it didn’t connect to the street I was on.”

“You aren’t from around here, are ya’?

“Uh, no I’m not. So how else can I get downtown?”

She thought for a moment then answered, “Well, all I can say is that yinz need to get on the 579 and go over the bridge.”

Which bridge, you have so many?”

“Vetrins. It’ll take you right to the convention center.”

“And then where do I go?”

“Sorry, I can’t help you there. I don’t get downtown much anymore.”

I didn’t feel a whole lot better but hoped her strangely spoken directions would at least get me closer. “Okay, thanks, but how do I get back to 579?”

“Ya’ turn left out of the parking lot, head on down the hill and turn left again after the Jine Iggle.”

I hesitated, trying to decipher what she’d said. “What’s that?”

“It’s the supermarket, the drugstore n’at.”

It took me a moment to realize she was referring to a Giant Eagle store. “Okay, got it. Thanks again.” I hoped her directions would be easier to follow than her side of the conversation had been. It was like she’d spoken a whole different language.

I drove back down the hill, saw the supermarket and turned left. A sign reading Veterans Bridge to Downtown hung above the road and I immediately felt some relief. That was lesson number three: Never let yourself feel comfortable about finding your way around Pittsburgh. The entrance ramp on to 579 was wide and easy to access. I accelerated into the traffic and crossed the Allegheny River for the second time. The highway was elevated enough for me to look out over the downtown area. Somewhere in the midst of all the traffic and buildings was the Renaissance Hotel. It was a somewhere that I’d hoped would become clear soon because I was in need of a bathroom break.

When the highway crossed over Liberty Avenue things really got confusing. There were exit and entrance ramps to the left and right and street signs that were of no help whatsoever. I was looking for some sign that read Sixth Street but that was wishful thinking. The exiting and oncoming traffic created a roadway choreography that demanded my total concentration. I knew I had two choices, take an exit somewhere and try to find my way on rush hour surface streets or stay up on the highway and hope a sign or clue would reveal itself. I chose the latter. After about ten more minutes of driving I realized I should have exited somewhere when I’d had the chance. A sign over the roadway read Liberty Bridge/Mount Washington and I’d just passed my last chance to exit. When I saw another sign reading Liberty Tunnel my anger returned stronger than ever. For the first time I was rethinking my plans to move to this unnavigable city.

Being trapped on a highway leading me further away from my destination was bad enough but when I began the downhill slope to the bridge and looked down I saw that I was crossing over Route 376, the road I’d come in on from the airport. “God dammit! I shouted. I was starting to think I’d have to drive over all four hundred freaking bridges in that city before I got to my hotel. My hands were getting cramped from gripping the steering wheel so hard for so long and they only got worse as I drove through the tunnel under Mount Washington. When I exited into the fading sunlight I decided to pull over at the first chance and try once again to figure out exactly where in the hell I was. And I really had to pee.

The exit to the right put me on Route 19 and a fairly large commercial strip appeared on the right. My priority was to find a restroom and fortunately a Shell station gave me the relief I sought. At the end of the small plaza I saw a restaurant and decided it would be a good place to sit for a while and get my bearings. I relocated my car to a parking space near the entrance, grabbed the map and walked in. Seeing that they had a bar gave my mood an instant lift and I settled on a stool at the far end. I would have felt more comfortable drinking at the bar at the Renaissance so I wouldn’t have to do any more driving but I’d had a stressful day. A vodka and tonic was in order, drive or no drive.

“Hi there, what can I get you?” An attractive young woman slid a coaster and menu in front of me.

“Well, let’s start with a Stoley’s and tonic.”

“Sure. Interested in looking at the menu?” Her smile was distracting.

“No thanks, I’m trying to get downtown and I guess I’ll wait until I get there to find dinner. That’s assuming I get there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I left the airport around two-thirty and I’ve been driving all over the place but I couldn’t figure out how to get to my hotel downtown.”

A well dressed man two stools down turned toward me. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but hear the conversation. So you’re having trouble getting downtown?”

“Trouble doesn’t begin to describe it. I’ve driven a complete circle around it but couldn’t find the right way to get there. How do you people find your way around this place?”

He smiled. “Well, I guess it depends on where you live and where you work. Lots of people refuse to drive in the city because the streets are so winding and narrow. We have the T-System and lots of buses but the schedules are confusing. You have to allow extra time for transfers, and the constant street closures can drive you nuts.”

“So if I decided to move here what advice would you have?”

The bartender set my drink in front of me and said, “I’d advise you to keep a vodka tonic nearby at all times because even the locals get lost.”

The man laughed. “Yeah, there’s kind of a common feeling that you don’t go downtown unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

I looked at both of them and asked, “How do you handle it all?”

The man said, “I live up here on Mount Washington. I take the incline down the hill to Station Square. That’s where my office is. My wife and I do everything down there or up here on the hill.”

The bartender nodded. “Yeah, Pittsburgh was never laid out like with a master plan, it just kind of grew into a city. It’s like a big patchwork of neighborhoods and that’s kind of how you live, close to home.”

I took a sip of my drink and sat for a moment before saying, “By the way, I have to ask you something. You both speak normally. I mean you don’t talk like this woman I talked to this afternoon. She had this strange kind of accent or something. What’s that all about?””

They both laughed at the same time. The man leaned toward me. “That’s called “Pittsburghese” and I have no idea how it started but you’ll hear it all over town.” He grinned and asked, “Do yinz understand that?”

For nearly an hour the two of them and an occasional patron joining the crowd at the bar filled me in on the real Pittsburgh. Not the sanitized hype from the Chamber of Commerce ads but the things only a local would know. The places to visit and the places to stay away from. The best places to shop and dine and the few easy places to park if you absolutely had to be downtown. They even warned me to stay away from the Northside when the Steelers were playing a home game because there’d be no place to park or find a seat in a bar. I was starting to get a clearer picture of the city but I couldn’t figure out if that picture was positive or negative.

A glance out the window quickly brought me back to the moment. It was dark outside. If I couldn’t find the Renaissance in the daylight I’d never find it at night. “Well, folks, if you don’t have a hotel close by I’ll be sleeping in my car tonight.”

The bartender said, “No problem.” She pulled a pen from her apron and began drawing on a napkin. “There’s a Sheraton down at Station Square. You turn right when you leave here, go two blocks and you’ll see a sign for incline parking. You take the incline down the hill and you’ll see Station Square. It’s within walking distance. You can’t miss it.”

I thanked her, shook the man’s hand and paid my tab, then sat in my car wondering if a map hand-drawn on a cocktail napkin would be any more useful than the lousy one from the rental car counter. But I knew I had no choice. In less than a minute I was back on another Pittsburgh street trying to find my way somewhere. To my delight the bartender’s map was spot on and five minutes after I’d parked I was having my first trip on an incline. Five minutes after that I was walking toward the Sheraton. And half an hour after that I was sitting at the bar with dinner and a drink in front of me and a head full of thoughts about the stressful day I’d had, thoughts about the people I’d met and mostly, thoughts about Pittsburgh. Sleep didn’t come easily that night.

The next morning the woman in the ticket booth at the top of the incline gave me directions to follow Route 51 to get back to Route 376. It was a short drive along a winding, tree-lined road and when I came around a bend into an open area I saw it, the final punctuation to the story of my trip; a large, green sign that read Route 376 Airport Left Downtown Right. I took a deep breath and clicked on the turn signal.