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Yahoo
3 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
In a world without people, how fast would NYC fall apart? Here's the timeline.
Imagine the ceaseless cacophony of New York City suddenly stopped. No sirens wailed. No cars zoomed. No subways rumbled beneath sidewalks. All eight million New Yorkers disappeared overnight. Now, imagine what would happen next. If no one's around to sweep the sidewalks, weed Central Park, or turn the power grid on, nature would move in—and quick. Dandelions would spring up in asphalt cracks. Raccoons would move into abandoned apartments. Sidewalk trees would outgrow their planters. But just how swiftly would the city disappear beneath a curtain of green? We talked to architects and urban ecologists to map out a potential timeline. With no one to maintain the power grid, the Big Apple would go dark within a few days. The Milky Way would illuminate Midtown as light pollution disappears overnight. Without air conditioning and heat, 'you start getting weird temperatures inside the building. Mold starts to form on the walls,' says architect Jana Horvat of the University of Zagreb, who studies building decay. Some green energy projects in the city might stay lit for longer, such as the solar and wind-powered Ricoh Americas billboard in Times Square. Eventually, though, even the Ricoh billboard would go dark; not because the billboard would lose power, but because there would be no one to replace its LED lightbulbs. Without power, the pump rooms that clear out 13 million gallons of water daily from the subway would be useless, and the train tunnels would begin to flood. 'Probably this water would result in [the subway] being, you know, occupied by new species,' says Horvat. 'Some plants would start growing, some animals' would move in. Likely, species that already thrive in the subway—rats, cockroaches, pigeons, opossums—would be the first ones to take advantage of the human-free passages. Within the first month, the manicured lawns of Central and Prospect Park would grow wild and unkept. 'When you stop mowing a lawn, you get a meadow,' says botanist Peter Del Tredici, a senior research scientist emeritus at the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University, who wrote a book on urban plant life. Within a month, dandelions, ragweed, and yellow nutsedge would start popping up in the now knee-high grasses of New York's iconic parks. 'First, it's herbaceous plants, but then, you know, you get trees and shrubs and vines,' says Tredici. In a year without people, many of New York's buildings would start to deteriorate. 'The glass facades would be the first to go,' says Horvat. The single-pane glass on brownstones and family homes would be the most vulnerable, but in a decade, even the heat-strengthened glass on skyscrapers would start to wear down and crack. And once windows break, water gets in. 'Then you'll have plants start growing in there,' says Tredici. Apartments would transform into humid hothouses, the perfect habitat for mosquitoes, water snakes, fungus, and rushes. 'It's like a wetland on the second floor.' Without maintenance, the asphalt streets and parking lots in New York would quickly degrade. Freeze-thaw cycles would create cracks. 'Water settles in that crack, and then that's all the plants need,' says Tredici. First, mosses would grow. Within a decade, young trees may even sprout. The London planetree, the most common street tree in New York, is particularly known for its resilience and fast growth rate, and any of its offspring could quickly find a toehold in a deteriorating asphalt parking lot. Within a decade, the Statue of Liberty would also start to deteriorate. The statue's copper plating would start to split, allowing sea spray to break down its interior steel skeleton. Steel 'is a very durable material, but it is very prone to corroding if it comes in contact with damp conditions,' says Horvat: That's bad news for New York, a city made from steel. In the decades since humans abandoned New York, a 'novel ecosystem' would emerge, says Tredici. 'It's not going to look like anything that's ever existed anywhere in the world.' Tredici points to Detroit as a case study. Today, crabapple trees—tough ornamentals native to the Central Asian mountains—blanket Detroit. 'They actually will spread all over,' says Tredici, and after 50 years without humans, Central and Riverside Park's crabapple trees would grow among a young forest full of London planetrees, honeylocusts, pin oaks, and Norway maples (the last three being common New York street trees). Nightshade vines and poison ivy would creep up buildings, and mosses and resilient weeds would cover the higher reaches of exposed windy skyscrapers. Among the greenery, more and more animals would call Manhattan home. Deer, rabbits, groundhogs, and wild turkeys would move in. Larger predators—coyotes, bobcats, black bears, and copperhead snakes—would follow. Peregrine falcons, bald eagles, red-tailed hawks, and great horned owls would nest in hollowed-out buildings, while feral cats prowl the abandoned upper floors of apartment buildings, feasting on mice and birds. Despite their futuristic look, the city's newest spires, such as 10 Hudson Yards and 111 West 57th Street, would be the first to fall. These buildings rely on slender, reinforced steel skeletons encased in reinforced concrete. But when the power shuts off and water seeps in through these buildings' glass curtain walls, these high-rises would rot from the inside out. The Empire State Building and Chrysler Building would likely outlast their younger rivals. Built to support much more weight than necessary (a safety precaution in the early days of skyscrapers), these giants' steel frames are bolstered by thick masonry and interior walls. Ten Hudson Yards might last a century. The Empire State Building might last 50 years longer, but eventually even these historic titans would collapse. After a century, New York City would 'become a forest,' says Tredici. A canopy of mature trees over a 100-feet-tall would replace the city's skyscrapers. Soil would regenerate. Concrete, one of the world's 'strongest' construction materials, says Horvat, would dissolve. New York's carefully manicured river parks, such as the Hudson River and East River Park, would transform into wetlands teeming with eels, egrets, turtles, beavers, and muskrats. But even as skyscrapers fell and forests grew, parts of New York would 'survive for centuries in this ruinous state,' says Horvat. Cracked marble lions would stalk the forest floor. Soil and underbrush would obscure once-gleaming granite fountains. Rusted steel beams would jut out from dense root systems. Even without humans, pieces of New York would endure—a fragile legacy for the future to either uncover or forget. This story is part of Popular Science's Ask Us Anything series, where we answer your most outlandish, mind-burning questions, from the ordinary to the off-the-wall. Have something you've always wanted to know? Ask us.
Yahoo
5 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
In a world without people, how fast would NYC fall apart? Here's the timeline.
Imagine the ceaseless cacophony of New York City suddenly stopped. No sirens wailed. No cars zoomed. No subways rumbled beneath sidewalks. All eight million New Yorkers disappeared overnight. Now, imagine what would happen next. If no one's around to sweep the sidewalks, weed Central Park, or turn the power grid on, nature would move in—and quick. Dandelions would spring up in asphalt cracks. Raccoons would move into abandoned apartments. Sidewalk trees would outgrow their planters. But just how swiftly would the city disappear beneath a curtain of green? We talked to architects and urban ecologists to map out a potential timeline. With no one to maintain the power grid, the Big Apple would go dark within a few days. The Milky Way would illuminate Midtown as light pollution disappears overnight. Without air conditioning and heat, 'you start getting weird temperatures inside the building. Mold starts to form on the walls,' says architect Jana Horvat of the University of Zagreb, who studies building decay. Some green energy projects in the city might stay lit for longer, such as the solar and wind-powered Ricoh Americas billboard in Times Square. Eventually, though, even the Ricoh billboard would go dark; not because the billboard would lose power, but because there would be no one to replace its LED lightbulbs. Without power, the pump rooms that clear out 13 million gallons of water daily from the subway would be useless, and the train tunnels would begin to flood. 'Probably this water would result in [the subway] being, you know, occupied by new species,' says Horvat. 'Some plants would start growing, some animals' would move in. Likely, species that already thrive in the subway—rats, cockroaches, pigeons, opossums—would be the first ones to take advantage of the human-free passages. Within the first month, the manicured lawns of Central and Prospect Park would grow wild and unkept. 'When you stop mowing a lawn, you get a meadow,' says botanist Peter Del Tredici, a senior research scientist emeritus at the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University, who wrote a book on urban plant life. Within a month, dandelions, ragweed, and yellow nutsedge would start popping up in the now knee-high grasses of New York's iconic parks. 'First, it's herbaceous plants, but then, you know, you get trees and shrubs and vines,' says Tredici. In a year without people, many of New York's buildings would start to deteriorate. 'The glass facades would be the first to go,' says Horvat. The single-pane glass on brownstones and family homes would be the most vulnerable, but in a decade, even the heat-strengthened glass on skyscrapers would start to wear down and crack. And once windows break, water gets in. 'Then you'll have plants start growing in there,' says Tredici. Apartments would transform into humid hothouses, the perfect habitat for mosquitoes, water snakes, fungus, and rushes. 'It's like a wetland on the second floor.' Without maintenance, the asphalt streets and parking lots in New York would quickly degrade. Freeze-thaw cycles would create cracks. 'Water settles in that crack, and then that's all the plants need,' says Tredici. First, mosses would grow. Within a decade, young trees may even sprout. The London planetree, the most common street tree in New York, is particularly known for its resilience and fast growth rate, and any of its offspring could quickly find a toehold in a deteriorating asphalt parking lot. Within a decade, the Statue of Liberty would also start to deteriorate. The statue's copper plating would start to split, allowing sea spray to break down its interior steel skeleton. Steel 'is a very durable material, but it is very prone to corroding if it comes in contact with damp conditions,' says Horvat: That's bad news for New York, a city made from steel. In the decades since humans abandoned New York, a 'novel ecosystem' would emerge, says Tredici. 'It's not going to look like anything that's ever existed anywhere in the world.' Tredici points to Detroit as a case study. Today, crabapple trees—tough ornamentals native to the Central Asian mountains—blanket Detroit. 'They actually will spread all over,' says Tredici, and after 50 years without humans, Central and Riverside Park's crabapple trees would grow among a young forest full of London planetrees, honeylocusts, pin oaks, and Norway maples (the last three being common New York street trees). Nightshade vines and poison ivy would creep up buildings, and mosses and resilient weeds would cover the higher reaches of exposed windy skyscrapers. Among the greenery, more and more animals would call Manhattan home. Deer, rabbits, groundhogs, and wild turkeys would move in. Larger predators—coyotes, bobcats, black bears, and copperhead snakes—would follow. Peregrine falcons, bald eagles, red-tailed hawks, and great horned owls would nest in hollowed-out buildings, while feral cats prowl the abandoned upper floors of apartment buildings, feasting on mice and birds. Despite their futuristic look, the city's newest spires, such as 10 Hudson Yards and 111 West 57th Street, would be the first to fall. These buildings rely on slender, reinforced steel skeletons encased in reinforced concrete. But when the power shuts off and water seeps in through these buildings' glass curtain walls, these high-rises would rot from the inside out. The Empire State Building and Chrysler Building would likely outlast their younger rivals. Built to support much more weight than necessary (a safety precaution in the early days of skyscrapers), these giants' steel frames are bolstered by thick masonry and interior walls. Ten Hudson Yards might last a century. The Empire State Building might last 50 years longer, but eventually even these historic titans would collapse. After a century, New York City would 'become a forest,' says Tredici. A canopy of mature trees over a 100-feet-tall would replace the city's skyscrapers. Soil would regenerate. Concrete, one of the world's 'strongest' construction materials, says Horvat, would dissolve. New York's carefully manicured river parks, such as the Hudson River and East River Park, would transform into wetlands teeming with eels, egrets, turtles, beavers, and muskrats. But even as skyscrapers fell and forests grew, parts of New York would 'survive for centuries in this ruinous state,' says Horvat. Cracked marble lions would stalk the forest floor. Soil and underbrush would obscure once-gleaming granite fountains. Rusted steel beams would jut out from dense root systems. Even without humans, pieces of New York would endure—a fragile legacy for the future to either uncover or forget. This story is part of Popular Science's Ask Us Anything series, where we answer your most outlandish, mind-burning questions, from the ordinary to the off-the-wall. Have something you've always wanted to know? Ask us.
Calgary Herald
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Calgary Herald
New Ottawa restaurant, gothic Italian speakeasy hidden behind a bookcase in the ByWard Market
A concealed door in the ByWard Market swings open onto candlelight and the low thrum of The Cure. Article content You're not in a club, nor are you near some of the noisier parts of the Market, which flood with bar spillover after hours. You've found Tredici, a gothic Italian speakeasy accessed by a faux bookcase on Clarence Street. Article content Article content Much like the intimate space, the menu is compact and committed to a noir aesthetic. The theme carries through each course, among them, bone marrow bruschetta for starters, squid ink fettuccine for main and tiramisu stamped in Roman numerals for dessert. Article content Article content Article content Tredici, which opened around six months ago, is the passion project of Barry Moore and Matthew Bishop, veterans of Ottawa's food and drink world. Article content Between them, the co-owners have cooked, bartended and managed across the ByWard Market for more than a decade, watching it hollow out after waves of closure, then flicker back to life. Now they run a place on their terms. Article content 'We didn't make it easy on ourselves, being a sort of hidden spot in the Market,' said Moore. 'We want it to feel classy and a little upscale but not inaccessible.' Article content Article content The space is moody with empty picture frames, dripping candles and black-on-black table settings. Article content A block away, heavy metal bar and restaurant The Koven goes full throttle with band-themed burgers and a blast beat playlist — great when you're in the mood. But Tredici keeps the volume lower, in both decibels and atmosphere. Article content Article content 'Our investor originally wanted twelve seats and a bartender,' said Bishop. 'We thought, sure, but let's bump it to thirteen and call it Tredici. Thirteen is a lucky number in Italy.' Article content There's a certain symmetry to the gamble. Bishop spent time in Northern Italy, and it shows in Tredici's food, particularly its stripped-down, ingredient-first approach. Article content Menu items spring from 'experimentation (and) what's in season,' he said. '(We have) connections with local farmers… I just got beautiful asparagus and young garlic from Rideau Pines (Farm) that I'm working on a dish with.'
Vancouver Sun
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Vancouver Sun
New Ottawa restaurant, gothic Italian speakeasy hidden behind a bookcase in the ByWard Market
A concealed door in the ByWard Market swings open onto candlelight and the low thrum of The Cure. You're not in a club, nor are you near some of the noisier parts of the Market, which flood with bar spillover after hours. You've found Tredici, a gothic Italian speakeasy accessed by a faux bookcase on Clarence Street. Much like the intimate space, the menu is compact and committed to a noir aesthetic. The theme carries through each course, among them, bone marrow bruschetta for starters, squid ink fettuccine for main and tiramisu stamped in Roman numerals for dessert. Cocktails like the black vodka Nerotini and the absinthe-rinse Corpse Reviver Thirteen lean theatrical in name, though regulars swear by their balanced construction and depth of flavour. Discover the best of B.C.'s recipes, restaurants and wine. By signing up you consent to receive the above newsletter from Postmedia Network Inc. A welcome email is on its way. If you don't see it, please check your junk folder. The next issue of West Coast Table will soon be in your inbox. Please try again Interested in more newsletters? Browse here. Alcohol-free options are made with similar care. The lemon-basil Numero Zero, for example, lands herbal and complex — easily the best mocktail I've had in three years sober. Tredici, which opened around six months ago, is the passion project of Barry Moore and Matthew Bishop, veterans of Ottawa's food and drink world. Between them, the co-owners have cooked, bartended and managed across the ByWard Market for more than a decade, watching it hollow out after waves of closure, then flicker back to life . Now they run a place on their terms. 'We didn't make it easy on ourselves, being a sort of hidden spot in the Market,' said Moore. 'We want it to feel classy and a little upscale but not inaccessible.' The space is moody with empty picture frames, dripping candles and black-on-black table settings. A block away, heavy metal bar and restaurant The Koven goes full throttle with band-themed burgers and a blast beat playlist — great when you're in the mood. But Tredici keeps the volume lower, in both decibels and atmosphere. 'Our investor originally wanted twelve seats and a bartender,' said Bishop. 'We thought, sure, but let's bump it to thirteen and call it Tredici. Thirteen is a lucky number in Italy.' There's a certain symmetry to the gamble. Bishop spent time in Northern Italy, and it shows in Tredici's food, particularly its stripped-down, ingredient-first approach. Menu items spring from 'experimentation (and) what's in season,' he said. '(We have) connections with local farmers… I just got beautiful asparagus and young garlic from Rideau Pines (Farm) that I'm working on a dish with.' His proudest creation is the chili beef ragù, he said, inspired by Chinese chili oil and dan dan noodles but adapted with fennel, garlic, cayenne and anchovies. 'It's unique, but still very Italian… A lot of love and passion went into that one.' The house focaccia is made daily using a recipe they have been reworking since opening last November. 'We make it every day from scratch,' said Bishop. '(We) use fresh yeast… and get the best quality ingredients we can to make the thing that starts off everyone's meal, but still can be memorable.' The version served during my visit was warm, herbed and soft-centred, paired with olive oil and balsamic for dipping. My dining companion commented on the texture and found the portion size generous. We were glad to accept an extra slice each from Bishop, our server that night, to sop up the remaining sauce of our shared cacio e pepe. 'We don't want it to feel like one of those places that drops bread on your table and disappears,' he said. 'This is supposed to feel homey.' The attentiveness carries through to the drinks. While Tredici's original beverage list offered wine and beer only, the frequency of requests for non-alcoholic options prompted them to expand. Most of the mocktails reflect the cocktail menu but also stand on their own. Ingredients like black pepper, balsamic and citrus keep the drinks from feeling ornamental or watered down. 'We always want something unexpected,' said Moore, who seems to have a knack for adding edge without overcomplicating. 'I never want it to feel like you're drinking overpriced juice.' The masterful Lemon Mockarita delivered to our table had a pleasant, if unexpected peppery kick that gave the illusion of tequila, at least in low light. The meal ended on a high note with tiramisu, a plated-to-order version featuring pistachio cream and ladyfinger cookies that held their structure. The restrained sweetness made it easier to finish without feeling overstuffed. 'We wanted texture,' Moore said. 'Something with a crunch, not just mush.' Bishop explained that the idea came from seeing Instagram videos using pistachio chocolate . 'We tried it, played with the sweetness, and landed on something that wasn't too sugary,' he said. 'I've never liked an overly sweet dessert to finish the night.' Similar improvisation led to the bar's newly-released espresso martini menu with seven variations, like the chocolate and rose gin Bleeding Heart and burnt cinnamon and tequila De Olla. 'We couldn't get Kahlúa anymore because of tariffs,' Moore explained. 'So we used something else, and it changed the flavour.' Nothing launches without them both signing off. 'We look at each other, and if we both say 'yes,' it's on the menu,' said Bishop. 'We do this because it's fun. Because we still like doing it.' Tredici is open seven days a week from 5 p.m. to 1 a.m. And while it's steps away from some of the Market's busiest clubs, you wouldn't know it inside. 'We get people who come here to get away from that,' Moore said. 'It's a bubble. You step outside, and it's like a slap back to reality.' There's talk of expanding upstairs — something low-key, maybe a sandwich counter — but for now, everything they have is poured into the dark, dialed-in space below. 'All our time is pretty much spent down here,' Bishop said. 'And we like it that way.' smisenheimer@ For more smart picks and offbeat stories from around the city, subscribe to Out of Office, our weekly newsletter on local arts, food and things to do.
Ottawa Citizen
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Ottawa Citizen
New Ottawa restaurant, gothic Italian speakeasy hidden behind a bookcase in the ByWard Market
A concealed door in the ByWard Market swings open onto candlelight and the low thrum of The Cure. Article content You're not in a club, nor are you near some of the noisier parts of the Market, which flood with bar spillover after hours. You've found Tredici, a gothic Italian speakeasy accessed by a faux bookcase on Clarence Street. Article content Article content Much like the intimate space, the menu is compact and committed to a noir aesthetic. The theme carries through each course, among them, bone marrow bruschetta for starters, squid ink fettuccine for main and tiramisu stamped in Roman numerals for dessert. Article content Article content Cocktails like the black vodka Nerotini and the absinthe-rinse Corpse Reviver Thirteen lean theatrical in name, though regulars swear by their balanced construction and depth of flavour. Article content Alcohol-free options are made with similar care. The lemon-basil Numero Zero, for example, lands herbal and complex — easily the best mocktail I've had in three years sober. Article content Article content Tredici, which opened around six months ago, is the passion project of Barry Moore and Matthew Bishop, veterans of Ottawa's food and drink world. Article content Between them, the co-owners have cooked, bartended and managed across the ByWard Market for more than a decade, watching it hollow out after waves of closure, then flicker back to life. Now they run a place on their terms. Article content 'We didn't make it easy on ourselves, being a sort of hidden spot in the Market,' said Moore. 'We want it to feel classy and a little upscale but not inaccessible.' Article content Article content The space is moody with empty picture frames, dripping candles and black-on-black table settings. Article content A block away, heavy metal bar and restaurant The Koven goes full throttle with band-themed burgers and a blast beat playlist — great when you're in the mood. But Tredici keeps the volume lower, in both decibels and atmosphere. Article content Article content 'Our investor originally wanted twelve seats and a bartender,' said Bishop. 'We thought, sure, but let's bump it to thirteen and call it Tredici. Thirteen is a lucky number in Italy.' Article content There's a certain symmetry to the gamble. Bishop spent time in Northern Italy, and it shows in Tredici's food, particularly its stripped-down, ingredient-first approach. Article content Menu items spring from 'experimentation (and) what's in season,' he said. '(We have) connections with local farmers… I just got beautiful asparagus and young garlic from Rideau Pines (Farm) that I'm working on a dish with.'
