"Isn't Downtown scary?"
It's a question I hear constantly. In 2024, my colleague Ken Crawford tackled similar fears about Fairmount Park in an article for the Gazette. He wrote about how perception had turned against the park, how it "was seen as seedy and scandalous," but concluded that "the bad reputation, if it ever was, is no longer warranted." Downtown faces that same gap between reputation and reality.
I didn't understand the stigma at first. When we moved here and I started scheduling meetings with new colleagues, I'd suggest Starbucks on 3rd and Market, or Back to the Grind. There was always a silence. Then: "Uh, how about somewhere else?" It took me a few tries to realize they were afraid to come Downtown.
Their fear isn't baseless. My friend Alicia is in her early 70s. She remembers when Downtown Riverside was the place to shop, the place to be. Then came the years when people warned her away: "don't go there." And she didn't. For decades, Downtown became a place she avoided, a lost relationship. The Mission Inn was fenced off. Theft was rampant. The fear wasn't paranoia. It was rooted in reality.
When I invited Alicia to walk Festival of Lights with us, she was hesitant. But she agreed, as long as it was a group. That first evening, watching her ooh and aah at the lights like a young girl, stopping to watch street performers with pure delight, I saw something shift. She wasn't just seeing lights. She was reclaiming something she thought was gone.
Every year since, Alicia texts me around the holidays. "I still remember how much that night meant to me," she wrote recently. "Not just for me, but for the community. For bringing back the magic of Christmas in Downtown Riverside, for reminding me that this place I loved could be beautiful again."
Alicia's fear wasn't irrational. It was rooted in real history, in real change. But Downtown has changed again. And she's proof that it's never too late to come back.
I grew up in Alta Loma, right at the foothills. I moved to Rancho Cucamonga, then settled in Upland for a good while. When my husband and I decided it was time to buy, we knew two things: we love a good downtown, and we love the appeal and uniqueness of an old home. We frequent San Luis Obispo and Oceanside, and we always choose to stay downtown wherever we visit. There's something about walkable streets, local shops, and architectural character that feels like life, not just living.
Our first home purchase took us all through Upland, Ontario, and Pomona. Then we thought: we don't know a whole lot about Riverside and Redlands, but let's give it a try. We opted out of Redlands and went on a six-home viewing day in Riverside. First up just happened to be the home we decided to purchase: a 1929 three-bedroom that felt like home from the moment we walked up the walkway.
But we weren't naive. For the next couple of weeks, we did drive-bys early in the morning, late at night, and every time in between. We walked the Main Street pedestrian mall, got some coffee, read loads of online reviews. We took the plunge. And to this day, I tell people it was the best decision we ever made. I've never felt more at home.
Something else I say: "Downtown living has its quirks and perks."
The Quirks:
Parking in any downtown is tricky. Walking is inevitable, and it's both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing for health and exercise, for slowing down and seeing the beauty of the city, but it can be a curse when you're late to a meeting, or it's raining, or it's a sweaty summer day. Even if you choose to drive, you're still walking unless the stars align and you get a spot right outside your destination.
Homelessness is a big one for every single downtown I've ever visited. It's tough, and at times it sure can be awkward and uncomfortable. I've had my fair share of interactions with struggling folks. When you live Downtown, I may not know the name of each person experiencing homelessness, but I am familiar with where they stay and their demeanor. I have an invisible map in my head of when and where I need to cross to the other side when I am walking alone, not out of fear, but wisdom.
When we first moved here, my initial thought was I would hand out snacks on my walks to every single struggling person I came into contact with. This shifted as I got a better grasp on those with serious mental health and personal space issues, and for those individuals I choose to cross the street and give them space when I am alone. Wisdom, not fear.
I use my gut and don't make eye contact with every single person here in my town or anywhere, might I add, but I do treat every person as human. I nod and smile. Sometimes we exchange greetings, sometimes just a nod is enough. Uncomfortable for me is because homelessness is a tragedy, but it's real and obvious, and I do not have the answers, words, or tools to fix it.
Busyness is another quirk, though to me it's vibrancy. Weekends are packed with farmers market goers, and events like the Tamale Festival, Mucho Gusto, Anime Convention, and the big one, Festival of Lights, fill the streets with people. Maybe this one qualifies as parking, but my street also gets impacted with those coming to enjoy the festivities. But hey, I signed up for this. I love that people choose my town to visit, and if a few nights out of the month I have to park a little further away from my house, that's okay. If these visitors feel welcome during the holidays, they will return off-season, and that's what a thriving Downtown needs. Sure, I'm human, but I remind myself: I don't own this street. To be honest, Downtown living probably isn't for everyone. I have a few family members who don't enjoy walking to dinner, and that's okay because we are all different.
The Perks:
Date night is a walk away, or in our case, a tandem bike ride where my husband drives and I sightsee. Friends and family come over and we walk to dinner, browsing shop windows on the way there and back.
Our favorite go-to is Heroes for dinner, where we hop on the tandem, roll across Lime Street, and lock the bike up to the great big beer vat. Next up is weekly Taco Tuesday at Arts with friends, same route for the ride, and Debbie is always our server, knowing everyone's order down to how many drinks and tacos each of us anticipate. We'll stop by the Food Lab on the way home to watch karaoke, which is always fun. Taco Station is another favorite for the lively community vibes, friendly staff, and delicious food and drinks. And the Food Lab is always a great pick when you just aren't sure what you want to eat, giving you the freedom to get a little of this and a little of that in a fun and vivacious atmosphere.
One of our favorite things we adopted as soon as we moved here is ArtsWalk, the first Thursday of each month. All museums and galleries open for free, art vendors fill Main Street, and it's my absolute favorite night to be out and about. We try to incorporate it every single month.
There's the uniqueness and charm of each home here, houses that have stories of their own, and city buildings so close I can walk to get stamps, pay my RPU bill, or attend a meeting at City Hall. Then there are the sounds of the city: church bells, trains, cheers and singing from outdoor concerts, the hum of cars coming and going, all of it vitality.
On my early morning walks, I see the regulars: the guy walking his two white dogs, the couple who meander with their coffee mugs for fresh air and pleasure, coffee shop owners flipping the lights on, the run club passing by. I also frequently walk with my adult daughter. We talk and walk, share and catch up, and typically stop to grab a quick coffee before heading home to get ready for work at Copper Goat or Arcade. My favorite thing is walking to a meeting or to meet with a friend and popping into a store or two to buy a birthday gift or even a little something for myself. Mission & Main Mercantile is my go-to for gifts, and Downtown Apothecary is for a little gift for myself.
On a recent morning, I walked to a work meeting at Arcade Downtown. The sun was warm on my back, and I had time, so I took a side street I don't usually walk, just to see what I'd notice. A shopkeeper was unlocking their door, someone else walking their dog nodded hello. I popped in an AirPod and let the music become the soundtrack to my morning. When I turned onto Main Street, the old architecture above me, the hum of the city waking up around me, I felt it again: this is exactly where I belong. Not in spite of the visible realities of Downtown life, but because of them, because I'm part of something alive and real, comfortable but aware, at home in a place that asks me to be present.
That sense of belonging extends beyond my solo walks. Every New Year's Eve morning, four of us meet for breakfast. It started when my next-door neighbor, now a dear friend, introduced me around. The ritual begins with the neighbor who lives farthest from our destination walking to the next house, then those two walk to collect the third, and finally all three arrive at the fourth person's door. By the time we reach the restaurant, this year it was Taco Station, we've already caught up, laughed, and fallen into rhythm together. We try somewhere new each time. One year, when illness postponed our breakfast, we met for dinner at Fuego Hibachi instead. After breakfast, we meander back home, stopping to window shop at the Mission Inn Foundation store, lingering over resolutions or the lack thereof. It's become one of my favorite mornings of the year, a ritual that exists only because we can walk out our doors and find each other.
When I asked these neighbors what they'd want people to know about living Downtown, their answers reflected what I've experienced.
Jodi Moran's perspective comes from having lived both places. "I have lived in the suburbs, and I have lived downtown. Downtown wins every time," she says. "Everything is right there: coffee shops, music, bookstores, galleries, late-night dining and early-morning breakfasts. Downtown, walking replaces driving. I am only blocks away from the library and City Hall. I can walk to it all. Culture is embedded in my daily life. I'm surrounded by museums and historic buildings. Beautiful architecture fills the streets. Street art, protests, and festivals are facets of my daily life. Music rings out from bars, laughter and the sound of good conversation fill the streets. The city of Riverside is an integral part of my life rather than something I pass through in a car."
Christal Pennington loves the convenience and community. "There is so much to do close by, just walking around. Volunteering at the Mission Inn Foundation is a convenient walk, and I enjoy being a part of our city," she says. "It's beautiful downtown, not scary. The city does a pretty good job keeping it clean. I think one thing people would be surprised by is that we know many people by name in the local businesses. It's not just a 'stop by once in a while,' but it is a community we support on a regular basis."
This one is going to sound funny, but the corner of Main and First, there's an old gas station. It's fenced up and many call it an eyesore, but for me, I see potential and know it'll be something amazing one day. I can't wait. And the Main Street pedestrian mall, at any time of the day, it's pure nostalgia. Don't miss looking up. The architecture of the old buildings mixed with new is a sight to see.
Over the years we have hosted many groups of friends and family, and there is always someone who says aloud: Wow, I didn't know Downtown Riverside was so cool, so pretty, so fun, has so much to do.
So when people ask me, "Isn't Downtown scary?" I understand where the question comes from. I understand Alicia's hesitation, the awkward silences when I suggested coffee shops, the decades of reputation that preceded my arrival. But I also know what I've found here: a place where Debbie knows my taco order, where neighbors become dear friends through the simple act of walking out our doors, where church bells and train whistles become the soundtrack to daily life, where I can pop into a shop for a birthday gift on my way to a meeting, where the architecture tells stories if you just look up.
Downtown living has its quirks, absolutely. But the perks far outweigh them. And the thing that once scared people away, the thing that kept Alicia at a distance for decades, has shifted. Downtown Riverside isn't the place people remember from the decline. It's not the place they imagine when they hear warnings whispered secondhand.
It's a place where I walk alone in the morning, comfortable and aware, part of something alive. It's a place where visitors say, "Wow, I didn't know Downtown Riverside was so cool, so pretty, so fun." It's a place where a woman in her 70s can reclaim the magic she thought was lost.
Downtown isn't scary. Come back, or come for the first time. Either way, you might be surprised by what you find.
