But we also know that there was some things that were gained. And for this episode, we want to ask the staff at Atlas Obscura about what places they gained during the pandemic, what new relationships were formed during a time when you could do so little of what your normal experience was, when you had to kind of find this whole new way of being in the world. And I know at least for myself, you know, I came to know this state park nearby me incredibly well during that period. It was a kind of glorious haven to retreat to during a time when a lot felt really uncertain. And I still love it. It is a very, very special place to me in no small part because of the role it played. Well, I could not see people very easily or go to the places I was used to going. So we are going to talk about all the relationships that people built with new places during the pandemic. And there are some really, really surprising stories in there. Okay, here is the episode.

This is an edited transcript of the Atlas Obscura Podcast: a celebration of the world’s strange, incredible, and wondrous places. Find the show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and all major podcast apps.

Luz Fleming: What’s up, everybody? This is Luz Fleming, your audio guy. So me and my family moved to Vancouver, B.C. in August of 2019, just months before the pandemic hit and everyone went into full lockdown. And I barely had a chance to get to know anybody before that. I was lucky enough to meet a drummer named James Ash. And we became fast friends. But when we could no longer meet in person indoors as musicians, we decided to try to find a place outdoors where we might be able to meet safely and play together at a safe distance outside with plenty of moving air. So, I remembered this tunnel that runs under the on ramp to the Iron Workers Bridge onto the One. And the tunnel is between Empire Field and New Brighton just before you leave Vancouver for North Vancouver. And I remember riding through that tunnel with my son on our bikes and just immediately noticing how amazing the acoustics were. And there was this incredible slapback delay slash reverb. And we would hoot and holler and snap. And we did it every time we rode our bikes through there. So when James and I were trying to decide where we could meet and play music, I immediately thought of that tunnel for its acoustics. And it had the added benefit of being a tunnel where we could go there and play during really wet, dreary, cold Vancouver days. And we wound up meeting there regularly. And soon enough, James had some friends and some fellow collaborators who really wanted to get on board. And so other musicians would come and sit in with us, and we did a bunch of recording, and absolutely everyone who drove by or walked by or rode their bike interacted in some way or another. Whether honking a horn or waving or thumbs up or stopping and staying for a while and chatting with us. And it was just such a great way to keep that musical collaboration continuing and to receive that communal energy back and forth. It just became this incredible meeting place. And yes, now that we can meet indoors and other closer quarters, we have gone to the tunnel less and less, but we still do go back there just to meet in that really cool space and hear those incredible acoustics and to remember about that time that we shared there and the community that was built around that space. Here’s a little recording of some of the stuff we did there.

Johanna Mayer: Hi, this is Johanna. I live in Brooklyn, New York. I’m the senior producer of the show. And the place that I really got to know during COVID is a cemetery, Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn. And it might sound kind of morbid to think about strolling through a cemetery in the midst of a pandemic, but it’s really one of the most peaceful and beautiful places that I have encountered in the city. It is just full of magnolias and cherry trees. It’s also the highest point in Brooklyn, is in that cemetery. So you can walk up the hill and you get this incredible view of Manhattan. I don’t know if anybody else remembers how clear the skies felt when airline traffic was down during that time, but it was just this really cinematic, crystal clear view of the city from that point in Brooklyn. I also learned, side note, that in about the 1860s, this was one of the first rural cemeteries in America. And other people thought the cemetery was beautiful too, because it was one of the biggest tourist attractions in the United States. It was second only to Niagara Falls for a time, which is amazing. I spent a lot of time walking through that cemetery during the pandemic. The parks in the city got kind of crowded. The cemetery felt a lot more open. I remember one particular afternoon, I walked in there and heard bagpipes being played, which sounds maybe kind of corny in retrospect, but it was very moving at the time. A whole groups of little clusters of people in their own little pods were standing at a distance, everybody watching this bagpipe player in the cemetery under the magnolia trees. I think about that moment a lot. And I still go to the cemetery all the time. It started during the pandemic, but just this past year, I moved so that now I live right across from it. I can see the cemetery out my window. And it feels odd to have gained a place during the pandemic, because so often we hear about the loss, but I am just really thankful that that cemetery is in my life and on my radar now.

Kameel Stanley: Hey Atlas Obscura, this is Kameel, also the executive producer of the show. One of the things that COVID brought into my life was hiking. Before COVID, I had hiked off and on, but not very regularly and certainly not as much as I started doing in that period of the lockdown when we were told we couldn’t really leave and things like that. Well, my rebellious spirit automatically said, well, if I can’t leave, then I must leave. I must leave the house. So one Saturday morning, I looked up, “Where’s the nearest state park to me?” and drove about 30 to 40 minutes and ended up at one of the state parks not too far from the city. And this park called Babler kind of became my place. It became a cherished place that I still go to many Saturdays, and it’s a place for me to be surrounded in nature, but it’s also become a place that I can’t imagine my life without. There are well-worn paths, there are paths that if you’re a little adventurous, you may not know exactly where you’re going. I’ve gotten attuned to the change of the seasons. I know at what point of the year I like to hike through there and at what point of the year I don’t. It’s no surprise if you know me, it’s when it’s cold. I’ve gotten to see how things change when a tree falls or when an animal has run through. It’s where I’ve worked out problems. It’s where I’ve cried. It’s where I’ve laughed. It’s where I’ve met strangers who have been kind to me. It’s where I’ve gotten angry at the world when I see people carving things in the trees. It’s really, really special. It’s about that time of year when the weather is finally good enough for me to be out every weekend on the trails, and I cannot wait to get to Babler this weekend.