Sewer caps. I like sewer caps, but didn’t start really appreciating them until I met Anna, who is simply OBSESSED with sewer caps. In fact, she is so obsessed that she has a photo of one in her living room that she blew up to be about four times its normal size. Her blog is called “Drinking Fountains and Sewer Caps” (but the discussion of drinking fountains is another post altogether).
Anna’s obsession got me thinking more about sewer caps, and the ones I had seen in the past. For example, the sewer caps in Kristensand, Norway, which look like this:
Cool, huh? Those feet are mine on the right, and my friend Josh’s on the left.
So now I notice sewer caps. Some are non-descript. But it is not just the sewer cap itself–what is perhaps more important is the sewer cap as a location for meaning-making (forgive my temporary social constructivism coming out here). For example, I live in Washington DC now. I was riding my bike around the city when suddenly I was struck by this sewer cap:
It’s a normal sewer cap, like you would see in any city, but it is filled with cherry blossom petals, a symbol of our city right now (and the very reason that thousands and thousands of tourists are in our fair city this week).
So there you go. Start paying attention to the things that stand as sites of meaning-making. They can provide clues as to what the character of the city is.
You might also look up the book, “In the Sewers of L’vov” (http://www.amazon.com/Sewers-Lvov-Heroic-Survival-Holocaust/dp/0684193205), the account of a group of Jews who survived the German occupation of L’viv, Ukraine for over a year by living in the sewers.
I never considered that–a whole new reason to consider sewer caps. Not as nation-branding today, but as what they represented in the past.