Very few neighborhoods are as well-defined as Alphabet City. You get a distinct feeling that you've crossed over some boundary once you pass Houston and make your way up Avenue C. Historically close-knit and rugged, Alphabet City maintains a flavor all its own. Though that's starting to change little by little. You can start to see signs of gentrification taking root with shiny new apartment buildings, which look completely out of place amongst the older New York standbys.

Between Houston and 2nd Street the narrow triangle formed as Ave C works its way northward is occupied by a Mobil station – a rare sight in Manhattan. Normally gas stations are relegated to the outermost reaches of the borough– this one manages to sit itself inland by two blocks.

In the shadow of the Williamsburg Bridge, this short street acts as a conduit between the Lower East Side and Alphabet City. Half of its entire length is dominated by two grade schools – the southernmost of which features an interesting round building and a large open playground. The remainder of the block seems to be in a struggle between modern and vintage as new buildings bully their way in between classic-looking New York walk-ups.

Dark, dingy and just a little bit sketchy, the street is exactly what you'd expect from the Lower East Side. The schools bring a bit of whimsy, but they're fighting a losing battle. There are a series of local shops, none of which look terribly inviting, but I'm sure carry a local following just-the-same. Approaching Houston Street, there's a feeling of relief, as if you've just walked out of the desert to find a vast world of riches…or in this case gas stations.

The northernmost street which still follows the natural contour of Manhattan, East Broadway is subject to several strange intersections as the grid plan attempts straighten itself out. The north side of this block begins with an interesting island created by Canal Street abruptly ending. The triangular patch of land is home to a single tree which looks just about as picturesque as possible. Seward Park, while dark and tree-filled is a welcome addition to an otherwise bland neighborhood. A branch of the New York Public Library separates the park from a housing project.

The southern side of the block is densely packed with a myriad of different buildings – ranging from restaurants to temples to apartments. Not having many buildings directly across the street creates a rather lop-sided feeling. 

Starting on a dark, quiet lane, Henry Street is a bustling mixture of stores, apartments and restaurants. In a way it's appears very similar to the old New York neighborhoods from the early 20th Century. Without a chain store in sight, the entire area seems completely self-sufficent, relying on a number of unique services that are almost all locally-owned. Likewise, there are hardly any commercial buildings. All the storefronts have apartments sitting directly on top of them and very few of the buildings reach above six stories. With a bit of re-dressing, you could probably shoot a period movie here without much trouble. 

The main attraction (or distraction) here is the Manhattan Bridge. Leaping right over the center of the block with it's long approach ramp, it's a bit of an ominous structure. Every few minutes you can hear an N, Q, B or D train rumble overhead, adding to the dread. Walking under it, I had a strange sense of déjà vu when I noticed how similar it was to the Manhattan side of the Queensboro Bridge. Built in the same decade, the Queensboro shares a handful of structural similarities, including stone archways which jump over the street. In this case, I also noticed how similar the neighborhood below the anchorage was. Up on 59th Street the Queensboro market is home to a beautiful Food Emporium which sits inside the bridge itself. Down here the Manhattan Bridge has a supermarket sitting directly underneath it as well. Though, the vast cultural differences of the Lower East Side and the Upper East Side make it an easy comparison to miss; really they they only share a common function. Aesthetically the two markets are worlds apart.

There's an imaginary line that runs across all of Manhattan. This line is where the streets cease to follow the seemingly random layout of New Amsterdam and begin to to conform to the Commissioner's Plan of 1811 – which dictated the street grid of Manhattan starting around Houston Street and continuing up in to the Bronx. If you simply glance at a map you can clearly see this change occur. On the west side the grid doesn't take hold until 14th Street where the insane organization of streets known as the West Village finally meet its match. The east side, on the other hand, begins to have normal easy-to-navigate blocks as far south as Canal Street. Which is where we find ourselves today. While these blocks aren't your standardized "Commissioner's Plan" style, they at least follow the geography of the island in a more logical manner than their counterparts to the south.

The changeover between these different grid layouts often results in strange block arrangements and even the occasional curved street. Clinton Street begins its life down on South Street after which it cuts through the LES. However as it crosses East Broadway it makes the slightest turn east to make up for the change in orientation of the surrounding super blocks. Being in the middle of a housing project you encounter the expected oddities such as low-rise retail and spacious lawns, but off on the horizon you can see beacons like the Chrysler Building which help to orient you.

As Clinton settles into a route which will eventually find itself turning into Avenue B before looping around at 14th Street to morph into Avenue A, the surrounding apartments taper off into an industrialized wasteland. In the distance the gentrified high rise buildings of the East Village and Alphabet city stand out like sore thumbs amongst the older structures look utterly defeated. 

As the dizzying rate of gentrification continues along the Bowery, it becomes more and more of a spectacle to watch the changes. Many parts of the historically-depressed Bowery are home to specific industries such as lamps or furniture, or in this case commercial restaurant supplies. In the age of online retailers providing everything you could ever imagine, it's strange to see 10 or 12 shops in a row all selling the same basic supplies – yet here they are. But while old grease traps are being power-washed on the sidewalk for resale, across the street strange buildings such as the New Museum sit as if they had always been there.

South of Houston it's still possible to see remnants of the neighborhood's former self, though they're very quickly being turned over to developers. The past decade has seen the whole area north of Houston transformed into something entirely unrecognizable to anyone who hasn't visited since the early 90's.